Daughter of Prophecy (40 page)

Harred paid no heed. He glanced at the roiling mass of fast-moving gray clouds that hid the sky and encompassed the granite peaks towering above them. It was well past dawn, but the narrow mountain trail remained dark and foreboding. The wind gusted, bringing a few snowflakes, and the temperature dropped steadily.

“How much farther we be searching?”

“As long as it takes.” Breanna was out there. Harred felt it in every bone in his body.

Elmar sniffed deeply and shook his head. “This storm we be riding into be a bad one.”

“You sure this is the trail to Balliolium?”

“My daddy and I be hunting this area since I could sit a horse. This be the only trail between Maude and Balliolium wide enough for a wagon.”

They had left Maude near midnight. Elmar and the innkeeper had both failed to dissuade Harred from leaving. A strong gust came howling down the trail, blowing leaves and snowflakes, startling the pack mule tied to the back of Elmar's saddle. The mule carried all the heavy cloaks and blankets the innkeeper could spare. Harred's pack mule carried food, horse feed, and a supply of medicinal herbs. The Tarenester warriors had been left in Maude to guard the wagons.

Tugging the wide-eyed pack mule forward, Elmar groused, “How do we know the Caemhans not be safe and snug in Balliolium?”

Harred surveyed the rugged landscape. “They're out here. I can feel her.”

Elmar raised his eyebrows but remained silent. They trotted on, straight into the gloom of the approaching storm.

Half a glass later it was much colder. Snow was beginning to cover the trail, and the wind was biting through Harred's cloak.

“This thing be right at us.” Elmar pointed down a ridge to his left as his cloak billowed out in the stiffening wind. “There be a cave not far from here. My papa and I camped there for years to smoke elk meat. We always left a supply of wood.”

Harred nudged his horse into a faster trot. “A bit more.” Somehow he knew that Breanna was in mortal danger from this brewing killer storm. He could feel her more strongly then ever.

Around the next bend they caught whiffs of wood smoke. A little farther on and they came upon a boy carrying an armload of branches and struggling against the cold wind.

The boy might have been eight. He looked up, eyes wide with surprise when Harred and Elmar cantered up through the falling snow. “Can you help us?” he called out. “My family is over this way. Our wagon axle broke yesterday.”

Harred jumped from the saddle and came to the boy. “Breanna and Loreteller Abel—are they with your family?”

Feldan nodded. His jaw was shivering. “How did you know? Uncle Abel broke his leg.”

“We will help you, son,” Harred said. He took the bundle of firewood and gave it to Elmar. Then he put Feldan into the saddle with him atop Coal.

“Our wagon axle broke yesterday,” Feldan said as they started off in the direction the boy pointed. “My cousin Breanna and I were helping Uncle Abel lever the end up so he could put on a new one, when . . . my end slipped and the wagon dropped and caught his leg. We got it off, but his leg was all twisted.” The lad's voice cracked and the words spilled out in a rush. “Now it's swollen bad and Aunt Cyndae says a storm is coming and we need plenty of wood . . . ”

“We're here to help, lad,” Harred said. “You're going to be all right now. Just hang on.” Harred dug his heels into Coal's side.

Harred and Elmar spotted the disabled wagon through the falling snow. They galloped to it and found Abel propped up next to the wagon. The wind whipped the flames of a small fire over which a pot steamed. A light dusting of snow covered the wagon and the bundles on the ground. The sky continued to darken.

Feldon slid off from behind Harred and ran to the woman kneeling beside Abel. A young girl snuggled in the woman's lap, wrapped within the folds of a cloak. On the other side of the fire sat another person, face concealed within the deep hood of a cloak. The figure stood, turned to Harred, and pulled back the hood. The wind whipped Breanna's hair around her face as her dark eyes fixed Harred with an unblinking stare.

Patting Abel's arm, his wife rose, listened to Feldon's report, squeezed the lad's shoulder, and then approached Harred and Elmar. She moved with an understated grace that reminded Harred very much of her daughter.

This was an attractive, self-possessed woman, but the dark smudges under her eyes and deep lines etched around her mouth told of the burdens she bore. As the wind molded her cloak to her body, her brown eyes searched Harred's face, clearly attempting to assess the character of the young man who stood before her. “I am Cyndae,” she said with a shiver in her voice, “wife of Loreteller Abel de Erian en Caemhan of Clan Dinari. May the blessing of the Eternal be on you for responding to our need.”

“I am Harred de Tarenester en Wright, and this ugly one behind me is Elmar de Tarenester en Stuegin. We are of Clan Arshessa, and we stand ready to help.”

A wave of relief passed across Cyndae's face. She closed her eyes and nodded gratefully.

Elmar dismounted and strode through the swirling snow-flakes. “Dame Caemhan, I be sure the next two, three days, these mountains be trying to kill us. It be too exposed here on the trail. If we like to be breathing when this storm ends, we need to move to shelter.”

Cyndae brushed strands of hair from her face. “This has been an ill-fated trip. We would have been much lower by now except for this accident. Let me bring you to my husband. His leg pains him greatly. Fortunately, I have paste of poppy, and the tea from it has eased him.”

As she and Elmar went to Abel, Harred made his way though the swirling snow to Breanna. She watched his approach with a solemn expression. Snowflakes dotted her tangled black hair, mimicking a spray of white flowers. She had a smudge of ash across one cheek, and her lips were chapped and peeling from the wind.

He halted before her. Though disheveled and wrapped inside the heavy cloak, she filled his world.

“I knew you would come,” she said simply. Her eyes seemed to be memorizing every contour of his face.

His throat closed, and for a moment he did not trust himself to speak. “I knew that you knew,” he managed finally.

Her eyes teared. Then, with visible effort, Breanna steeled herself. Without another word, she turned and walked to where Elmar and Cyndae were tending to her father.

Abel Caemhan was drifting in and out of consciousness, the skin of his face taut.

Elmar squatted down beside him, lifted the blanket, and frowned when he saw how the swollen leg was stretching the breeches tight. He took his dagger and slit the fabric, revealing the bruised skin beneath. His frown deepened. “When we get him to shelter, I will make a brown moss and tangleweed poultice for his leg. After that brings the swelling down, we can set and splint it.” He glanced up at Cyndae. “Best you give him more swallows of that tea. Moving him now be bad, but to stay here be worse.”

Working with urgency, Cyndae, Breanna, and the two young ones gathered what could be brought of their supplies and placed them on the pack mule. Harred and Elmar made a litter from two saplings and a blanket, reinforced it with leather reins from the wagon, and placed Abel on it.

Elmar and Harred lifted the litter and led the group through the heavy snow toward the cave across the next ravine. Cyndae and the young girl rode double on Harred's gelding with the pack mule's lead line tied to rings in the rear of the saddle. Breanna rode Elmar's dun mare, a small, graceful hand reaching out from the cloak to grasp the reins. Bringing up the rear was Feldon, bareback on the Caemhan's wagon mule, his teeth chattering from the cold. Within moments, the disabled wagon was swallowed behind them in the gloom of the storm.

They reached the cave half a glass later. By the time they set the litter down inside the mouth of the cave, Abel was white-faced with pain and awake enough to recognize Harred. The loreteller made no effort to hide his displeasure. Harred ignored him and went out with Elmar while the Caemhans brought in supplies. Cyndae unwrapped a hot coal she'd brought from the other fire and started a fire with the dry wood that, thankfully, was still there.

Harred helped Elmar cut several green saplings to weave a frame for a barrier to enclose the mouth of the cave. Then Harred took the ax and told Feldon to come with him to gather fire-wood. While they worked, the lad told Harred that his mother had come down with lung fever right before Abel and his family arrived. She had lingered for two more days before finally succumbing, and that had delayed the Caemhans' return. The boy appeared numb when he spoke about his mother. His father had died weeks before. Harred realized this wasn't just a friendly trip with his aunt and uncle—the boy and his sister were going to live with Breanna's family now.

Every time Harred brought wood inside the cave and stacked it next to the fire, he felt Abel's eyes boring into him. Swallowing his anger, Harred told Feldon to bring in more dead wood, and went to bring the horses and mules into the back of the cave. That done, he went to help Elmar finish the panel.

It was snowing heavily now. The wind numbed exposed flesh in mere moments as they stood outside the cave mouth pounding the sharpened ends of the frame into the ground and wedged the bottom with rocks. Fighting the gusts, Harred helped Elmar stretch two of the blankets across the frame so they could stuff moss and leaves between them to give a bit more protection from the wind.

Breanna came out carrying a wooden bucket with a rope handle. She set it down, filled it with snow, and lugged it back. She and Harred exchanged a long look as she edged by the frame. Turning back to work, he found his brother-in-law's eyes on him.

“More maidens than I've got fingers be hoping you approach them at the next
Arshessa
Maiden Pole,” Elmar said softly. “That's where you best be looking.”

Harred sighed. “Breanna's different somehow.”

“Yes! She be different because her bride price be already paid, remember? Besides, you see how Abel be acting. He'd as soon gut himself as be agreeing to a suit from you.”

“I know.” Harred stared into the cave where Breanna was emptying the snow into a pot over the fire. “But there is a way. Maybe.”

“A way to have a foot of Dinari steel be driven through you.” Elmar wove a rawhide string around the saplings and through the holes he'd stabbed in the blankets with his knife. “This between you and her, it be beyond my ken. You be talking to her two times, and you already risked dying for her once.” He gripped the blanket tightly as a particularly strong gust threatened to snatch it loose. “And that maybe still happen if you be taking that path.”

Harred grinned. “How could I be in danger with you guarding my back?”

“There'll be no back guarding at a
Wifan-er-Weal
. Stop this foolishness now. Maolmin Erian still be her kinsmen lord, right? It be the next thing to suicide to face that man. Particularly since he'd only be fighting you after he be watching you fight four of the best warriors the Dinari have and seeing your technique.” He gave Harred a level look. “You be something special with a sword in your hands, but facing Maolmin Erian be an act any sane man should fear . . . ” Elmar's voice tailed off when Breanna returned with the bucket to gather more snow to melt.

“I'll be back,” Harred said as he went to help her. Elmar's answer was lost in the wind.

Snow swirled, making it difficult to see. Breanna smiled at him when he approached. She allowed him to pack the bucket for her but then refused to let him carry it back. “You need to help Elmar.” She gripped the rope handle and made for the cave.

“You knew I was coming today,” Harred said.

She paused and lowered the bucket into the snow to rest. “Yes. It was . . . certain somehow.” She peeked at him then looked away. “I could feel you out there. I don't know how, but I knew you were looking for me. I . . . ” She looked him straight on. “I wanted you to find me.”

Harred felt the impact of her direct gaze. She had kept it shielded from him since the wool sale. How he'd yearned for those eyes to engulf him once more. And here they were.

“I came for you here,” he said into her eyes. “Know that I will come for you one more time.”

She tilted her head, puzzled. “When?”

“Lachlann. The Dinari Maiden Pole. I will voice my suit for you, and when your father refuses, I will fight the
Wifan-er-Weal
.”

Emotions chased each other across her face. Confusion, realization, and something that looked entirely like longing. But then it was gone, and her features hardened. She shook her head. “That cannot be. Must not be.” She grabbed the bucket and headed toward the cave.

Harred watched her go, the cold seeping into his legs and through his spine. Then he trudged back and helped Elmar finish the frame.

Within the turn of a glass, the wild storm winds hit with impressive fury, shrieking and moaning. With everyone huddled under two blankets apiece, Elmar kept only a small fire burning, constantly cautioning them to husband the firewood and watching every new piece thrown on the flames with the eyes of a jealous lover.

“Better to be a little cold now,” he warned. “Later, if this be bad as I fear, we burn more wood for a bigger fire.”

The fire was adequate for the game of eyes Harred and Breanna played with each other across the flames. He and Elmar sat huddled on the hard clay floor with their backs to the woven sapling panel. Eddies of sharp cold still filtered in and chilled their backs.

The Caemhans were on the other side of the fire, with Abel propped up against the far wall, his broken leg stuck out straight before him. Since Elmar and Harred had set him down inside the cave he had adamantly refused any more of the poppy tea, perhaps determined to remain clearheaded. Earlier he had held a long, whispered conversation with Cyndae. Afterward the mother had looked knowingly at her daughter, then at Harred, and had smiled sadly.