Cordimancy (30 page)

At the first crossroads, he ducked right, then jogged left again, following a glimpse of Shivi’s legs disappearing behind a pair of tethered horses. He nearly collided with Paka, who was bent double beside his wife, breathing heavily.

“Getting’ too old for this... sort of thing...” Paka panted.

“Both of us,” Shivi agreed.

Toril yanked off his helmet and submerged it in the half-full water barrel at the head of the trough where the horses were tethered, glad to be hidden from the curious eyes of passersby. He eyed the shop front a few paces away, where the owner of the horses was either working or visiting.

“We’ll never outrun the guards on foot,” he said. “They’ll be discovering we’re gone any moment.” He worked a couple gold coins loose from the slit in the hem of Malena’s cape, then began loosening the reins from the post.

“To buy a hiding place?” Shivi asked dubiously.

“I’ll leave it for the owner of the horses.”

“Ah.” Shivi’s face took on a calculating expression. She held out her hand. “Give it to me.” When Toril hesitated, she repeated the gesture imperiously.

Toril dropped the coins in her palm, wondering what she had in mind. She tugged the cape from Toril’s shoulder, bit along one edge, and tore it in half. “Veil,” she said, holding up the result. She wound it around her hair and cheeks, leaving only eyes exposed. When the gray disappeared and she straightened her shoulders, two decades seemed to drop away. “I’ll go in and find the owner and pay him myself.”

Toril opened his mouth to protest, but Shivi interrupted him.

“I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart,” she said tartly. “I can plant a cock-and-bull story that confuses whoever comes searching. Tell them I saw some horse thieves and they dropped some coin as they rode away. The owner will claim the gold; if I argue, it’ll just add to the uproar and make sure the story gets repeated.”

“You sure about this?” Paka asked.

Shivi tugged with affection on her husband’s beard. “Sleight of hand. Get them to focus on what’s irrelevant, while the real prize vanishes. You taught me that.”

Paka hesitated, but a clamor from the direction of the guard station galvanized him again. He tossed his turban in the water barrel, grabbed the saddlehorn, and swiveled to Toril. “Help me up,” he wheezed.

Toril lifted. The old man slid into the saddle with a grunt.

“Tell them... that you saw three strangers steal the horses and take off, headed upriver past where the fishing boats put in.” he said to his wife. “That’s away from the ferry, and from the bluff, and there are less folk when it gets dark. It’ll be hard to verify.”

She nodded.

“Take the other horse, too,” Toril said. “I’ll walk.”

When the older couple looked at each other, Toril grabbed the second set of reins and shoved it into Paka’s hands. “You need a better set of legs, but I don’t,” he said, as he worked the saddle loose from the second horse. “Once they decide we’re on horseback, they’ll assume we’ll stay there for speed. They’ll be looking for three people riding like the wind, not an old man ambling along with an extra horse in tow.”

Paka again looked like he wanted to argue, but the sound from the direction the guard station crescendoed. He dug his heels into the horse and nosed it and its unsaddled companion away from the water trough.

Toril tossed the saddle over his shoulder and turned toward a narrow alley between two shops across the way. “I’ll carry this for a while,” he said to Shivi. “The owner won’t say one of his horses is bareback, which helps Paka. And as long as I’ve got something interesting on my shoulder, folk will pay less attention to my face.”

40

rendezvous ~ Malena

Malena
bent, breathless, branches digging at her ribs. The horse on the trail below her hiding place paused, its rider scanning the faded twilight.

A bat flicked around his shoulder and zoomed away.

In the distance, shadows resolved into the form of a man, trudging up the hill from the edges of town, pulling a handcart laden with sacks of potatoes or something equally lumpy. A staff cut a diagonal across the top of the pile. He leaned, toes digging into the dirt, shoulders straining. When he saw the horseman near Malena, he eased the tongue of the cart down, put a hand at his back, straightened with a groan, and raised an arm in greeting.

“On patrol?” he called to the horseman.

It was the voice of Corim, who’d fed them and provided money. Malena felt her heart leap.

The horseman nodded curtly. “Some prisoners got away.”

Corim ducked his head in acknowledgement. “Heard about that.” He wiped a bulky forearm across his brow and yawned. “You just get back into town with the prefect?”

The man nodded. “Barely rode in when they sent me back. A couple men met us, all panicked that the general would have their hides. I guess they were left in charge when the rest of us rode out, and they got a bit careless.”

“Find anything?”

“Naw. It’s quiet.”

Corim nodded agreeably.

“What are you doing out here, with night falling?” the guard asked.

“I live up the road another half a league,” Corim said. “You know, at that cluster of houses just before the path starts climbing hard. Took my potatoes into town hoping to sell to an army wanting provisions. Thought I’d make a tidy profit, with everyone so frantic.” He spat in the dirt and shrugged. “When I got there I found the quartermaster away, so the whole trip was for nothing.” He rolled his neck and lifted his shoulders to alleviate some stiffness, then sighed. “You wouldn’t be packing out, yourself, would you? Maybe want a bit of extra grub in your sack?”

The guard shook his head. The two men studied the horizon in silence. Malena exhaled tensely.

“Heard a bunch of shouting from the upriver end of town while I was loading up,” Corim observed.

The rider tugged at his horse’s reins. “That’d be the rest of the patrol,” he said. “Probably raising a ruckus as they searched.”

Corim looked thoughtful. “Maybe. I think I heard some galloping, too.” He leaned against the cart and scratched his belly. A stone’s throw farther down the road, an indistinct shadow crested a rise, and Corim turned to watch. Malena raised a hand to shield her eyes. What had first appeared to be undulating, inverted legs began to resolve itself into a pair of plodding horse’s necks, then rolling withers. One horse had a bundle of clothing—no, a wispy-haired old man—clinging to its back. The breeze carried a faint nicker.

The guard kneed his palomino down the hill, eyes appearing to pass over the approaching traveler without interest. “Galloping, you say?”

Corim shrugged. “Sounded that way, maybe.” He adjusted the angle of the staff, bent back to the tongue of the cart, and heaved with a grunt. “Why’d they send you this direction, anyway? The prefect came down this road with hundreds of recruits not half an hour ago. This’d be the last direction I’d run if I wanted to avoid the law.”

“That’s what I said,” the rider grumbled. His horse ambled up beside Corim and executed a slow-motion side-step. “Where, exactly, did you hear this commotion?”

Corim pursed his lips. “Must have been the docks out beyond the market. There’s always some fisherman down there working on his nets, shouting about something, so I mostly ignored it at first. But then I heard a crash and two or three voices all at once, and some mighty fast hooves on the cobblestone. Right about the time the prefect arrived, now that I think about it.” He squinted back toward town, then thrust out his chin in a pointing gesture. “See that torch or lantern way up yonder? Maybe that’s them.”

The rider swore softly, dug heels into his mount’s ribs, and cantered downhill.

Corim waited for a few moments, forearms straining at the inertia of the cart; then, as the rider passed the approaching traveler and vanished beyond a stand of scrub oak, he once again lowered his burden with a sigh.

Malena crawled out of her hiding place, branches snagging on the fabric along the thighs of her shalwar, and stumbled as she straightened, brushing needles from her palms.

Corim wheeled, face registering alarm, then relief as he recognized her, then alarm again. With one hand he gestured her back into hiding; with the other, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the approaching old man and his pair of horses.

“Wait!” he hissed. “Not safe yet!”

Malena smiled. “That’s Paka. He’s with us.”

Once again, Corim’s face flooded with relief.

Feeling thoroughly aligned with that mood, Malena half-walked, half-slid down the gravelly slope, sending talus skittering, and grabbing an occasional branch to aid her balance. By the time she reached level ground, she was grinning broadly.

She couldn’t help it. After exiting the guard house, she’d slipped into the first open door she found—a farrier’s stable—long enough to discard the shimsal’s cloak. She’d waited there, heart pounding, behind a mound of hay, until she felt the baldness recede from her skull, and the bones of her cheeks soften. Then she’d eased out into the passing crowd and worked her way toward the outskirts of town, face downcast, desperate to avoid attention. Any moment she’d expected someone to raise a cry of alarm, but she’d somehow made it to the bluff road unchallenged.

Then she’d looked up, seen the prefect and his men riding down from the very hills where she was headed, and almost vomited in fear.

She could hardly meet them; they’d be sure to ask questions about a solitary woman heading into the wilderness on foot, without weapons or gear, with night falling.

Yet they’d seen her already. She could not run...

When the first row of men were within earshot, she raised her arm, praying that they wouldn’t notice her quivering, and hailed them with as much cheer as she could muster.

“Have you seen any
mihahim
?” she called.

They continued forward at a methodical trot, hooves clopping.

She repeated her question as they reined in beside her.

“Mihahim. Nari’s Breath.”

The men looked puzzled. One of the horses whinnied. She could see another score of riders rounding the curve behind the first party. She licked her lips.

“The apothecary told me I’d find some of the herb along the road up here,” she said, hoping her voice sounded steady. “With so many headed to battle, his supply’s run out, and he sent me to fetch more before nightfall. I’m almost out of time.”

The men had shrugged and denied seeing anything, and she’d waved them impatiently away. Then, before the next wave of riders, she’d pretended to spy something at the edges of a thicket, and hurried off the road.

It had worked. She’d walked into the woods with no raised eyebrows, no questions, and she’d hiked the rest of the way to the bluff without incident.

But her stomach was twisting with every step, and she had heard a raggedness in her breathing. Once she’d felt the itch of a teardrop on her chin.

She’d thought that after she picked a secure hiding spot, she’d feel better, but instead the terror had intensified; soon after she’d heard distant shouts and seen a searcher leave town, headed in her direction. She’d spent the last hour hugging her knees, dreading his approach, reliving the horror of her ordeal in the stable. The imperative to hide—to remain invisible at all costs, while dangerous men hunted her—had choked her breath, and conjured paralyzing memories and emotions.

Now, the comfort of not one, but two friendly faces, plus a surging hope that she’d truly escaped, brought fresh tears. She blinked them away and ran over to Paka to help him from the horse.

“I could just about kiss you,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice.

“Please do,” Paka replied with a twinkle, slumping out of the stirrup. A twang from rattled strings told her that somehow, he’d picked up his sitar again. He grunted as his feet hit the ground, then turned and gave Malena a hug. She caught a whiff of leather and nutmeg from his beard as he patted her back. His collarbone was visible, his fingertips light. Without his turban, he seemed frailer, somehow less solid, than she expected.

“Hear that?” said Corim. “You’ve got competition, potato man,” He reached out a hammy hand and shoved one of the sacks off his load. Underneath, burlap knobs and lumps surged. More potatoes tumbled out, and Toril sat up, hair disheveled, covered with dust. He coughed, spat, blinked, and wormed his way forward, tipping the cart forward in the process. As he stood, he smiled. And he spread his arms.

Time seemed to slow for Malena. She saw the confident grin on Corim’s face, the tension in Paka’s knowing eyes.

A public embrace was the last thing she wanted. She’d stood close to her husband, ridden with his chest at her back, even counted his breaths while he slept.

She saw the white glint of Toril’s teeth, framed by grime.

She stifled—what? a wail of grief? a whimper of frustration? a sob?—and stepped woodenly forward. Her face was burning. She felt biceps slide around her shoulders, felt a hand behind her neck, felt breath, then lips on her forehead. A thigh and hip touched her own.

She’d closed her eyes, she realized.

She trembled, turned her nose into the muscle and dirt at Toril’s shoulder, forced herself not to push at his chest. He’d held her this close, once before, in the stable on the night of her wedding.

She’d liked it, then.

Now, she just stood.

This was a good man. Flawed, perhaps—foolish and impatient. But good. He’d followed her, hadn’t he?

He’d left a warm stone and a pair of footwraps in her cedar-needle bed.

He’d stood beside her on the road, when the osipi attacked.

He’d pulled her out of the river.

He’d rescued Kinora from an abusive stepfather.

He’d let her sleep alone...

But he’d also left her alone, at the wedding feast, and in the stable.

He’d wanted to abandon the children and go to Sotalio to argue about politics. He’d wanted to count money this morning instead of seeking news from her sister.

He’d found her half-naked and humiliated, and he’d acquired that one-sided intimacy without her permission, then refused to let her embrace merciful death. He’d taken the choice out of her hands.

He wanted a wife, an ally, a lover... And he wouldn’t always take no for an answer.

And the fingers on the nape of her neck were triggering memories that strained every nerve and heart string.

Standing was the best she could do.

How
long that embrace lasted, Malena couldn’t say. After a while she heard a voice asking about Shivi, and she realized that it was her own, and that Toril was intensely focused on loading potatoes back onto the cart.

She cleared her throat.

“I expect that’s her just at the fork in the road,” said Paka, nodding back in the direction he’d travelled. “But these eyes of mine aren’t so great, anymore. Does it look like someone with a basket on her head?”

Malena squinted, then nodded hesitantly.

“We split up, but ran into each other again at the edge of town,” Paka explained, stepping around his horse to see more clearly. “She bought the basket somewhere, I suppose. Don’t know what she had in it. We couldn’t talk, but I know she wasn’t far behind me.”

“Then all of us have made it,” said a young, accented voice. A shadow flickered in a nearby stand of aspen, and Oji emerged, Hika’s black-and-white form trotting at his side. A bundle was tied across his shoulders.

Toril gave an exclamation of delight and rushed over to clasp his friend’s outstretched forearm. “Well met!” he gushed. “Well met, brother!”

Hika padded over to Malena and sniffed her knee, tail wagging. She scratched behind the dog’s ears.

Oji’s eyes crinkled.

“I bring news,” he said. “Both good and bad.”

“Let me guess. We’re not going to have much luck confronting Gorumim,” Toril said, his smile fading. “We figured that out when the shimsal took us prisoner.”

Oji raised his eyebrows. “Prisoner?”

“Long story,” Malena interjected. “The priest had no luck in Sotalio. Rovin set him up. And we fared no better. Gorumim used Two Forks as a staging area for his attack on Noemi. He has friends here.” She described how they’d been trapped.

“I haven’t raised a posse, yet,” Corim added dolefully, when she finished. “Even offering to pay triple what soldiers will make while they’re enlisted. Everybody’s too busy making last-minute preparations for war. Folk laughed when I suggested we ride out and meet the general to see what he was up to.”

Shivi was now close enough to see clearly. She had recognized them as well; she waved a hand in greeting, then used it to steady the basket balanced on her head.

Paka sighed, heavily. “Least we put one over on the guards,” he said. He dropped the reins he’d been holding and grunted as he stepped stiffly downhill toward his wife. “Toril and Malena aren’t still sittin’ in that cell,” he said over his shoulder. “Gorumim didn’t get everything he wanted. And tomorrow’s another day.”