Fool's Errand (23 page)

As the cow swallowed the saliva that had filled her mouth at the sight of the pear, Mordecai slowly bit into the succulent fruit.

“It is funny, really,” he mused as he chewed, “I've always despised you and yet down here I find myself chatting with you as though we were old friends. I suppose there are times when even I can find a measure of comfort in having someone to talk to.”

Moira watched him through her curtain of stringy hair.

Mordecai took another bite of the pear, this time taking care to let the cool, sweet juice of the fruit run down his chin. “And by ‘someone,'” he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the barely eaten pear down onto the floor just beyond Moira's reach, “I mean, of course, someone who will never leave this dungeon alive.”

TWENTY-TWO

Ninety white beans left in the jar

^“
W
hat was that?” asked Rachel in a hushed voice.

“Nothing,” said Fayla shortly.

From deep within the Great Forest at their backs, the “nothing” roared again.

As Fayla casually notched an arrow into her bow, Persephone—who seemed to be feeling the cold more than the others—shivered violently and hugged her knees tighter. Since departing the Gypsy camp five days past, they'd been hiking north along the western edge of the forest with the river at their left side, never far from sight. They'd have saved a full day if they'd cut straight through the forest, but Azriel had convinced them that it was not worth the risk. The forest was unimaginably vast and in many places so thickly treed that no sunlight at all penetrated the canopy, and there was thus no way to tell direction. According to Azriel, a lost man might wander in circles for days until he finally perished of thirst, starvation or madness borne of the endless gloom. That is, if he wasn't first attacked by one of the lowborn rebel bands rumoured to hide among the trees or eaten by one of the many large, fearsome “nothings” that called the forest home.

They'd have saved another full day—and a good deal of exhaustion—if they'd travelled by horseback instead of by foot. However, since no horse (not even the indomitable Fleet) could be expected to climb up the side of a snow-covered mountain, they'd decided to forgo the luxury of mounts to avoid having to abandon them in the foothills to the mercies of the first hungry “nothing” that came looking for an easy meal.

Though Fleet had been visibly distraught when he'd realized that he was being left behind, as Persephone sat on the cold, hard ground listening to the sound of the distant roars, she was glad that she'd stood her ground with him. She was also glad that Cur had been far more interested in chasing after the silver-furred, half-wolf bitch he'd discovered running with the Gypsy dog pack than he had been in pursuing Persephone to parts unknown.

Knowing her faithful friends were safe with the Gypsies gave Persephone at least
one
comforting thought to cling to at times like this.

“Pay no mind to the roaring,” said Azriel easily as he fed another branch into the campfire that was doing little to dispel the cold. “It is only a bear.”

“Big bear,” gulped Rachel, whose prominent ears seemed to be quivering with the strain of listening for danger.

“Not as big as them that live upon the mountains,” offered Tiny, taking a surreptitious nip out of his hip flask. “They say those beasts can weigh as much as ten men, with claws and teeth to rip a man apart as easily as if he were a piece of wet parchment.”

“Tales to frighten children,” sniffed Fayla, even as she drew her bowstring tighter.

“That's not what I heard—” began Tiny.

“Either way, the only bear we need to concern ourselves with right now is a long way off in the forest and therefore of no concern at all,” interrupted Azriel cheerfully. “So why don't you all go to your tents and try to get some rest? Before tomorrow midday we should finally be north of the forest and into the mountain foothills; a few hours after that, I expect we'll be climbing in earnest and in need of every ounce of strength we can call upon.”

“Rest would be a good idea, Azriel, but, uh, I'm not sure you ought to take the first watch,” said Fayla with uncharacteristic delicacy.

“But—”

“Your wife looks cold,” said Tiny bluntly. “Be a good husband and go warm her up. I'll wake you—or, ahem, interrupt you—when it's your turn to stand watch and not a minute earlier.”

After removing another white bean from the Regent's jar and giving Rachel a grimace to show what she thought of Tiny's bluntness, Persephone crawled into the tent with Azriel. On the first day after leaving the Gypsy camp, she'd told Rachel what had happened on her wedding night. Rachel had not said much when she learned that Persephone had refused to consummate the marriage. However, she
had
given Persephone that same speculative look she'd given her when she'd declared that she was only marrying Azriel for the sake of others—that look that said she had knowledge of some greater truth and was content to wait for Persephone to discover it for herself.

Much aggravated by Rachel's attitude, Persephone had not deigned to speak of the matter with her again. She had, however, continued to play the part of a new bride to keep up appearances for the sake of Fayla and Tiny. That included sharing an extremely small tent with Azriel (if an old blanket thrown over bent branches and pegged to the ground at the corners with sharpened twigs
could
be called a tent). The first night after leaving the Gypsy camp, she'd initially lain on her back with her arms pressed against her sides to ensure that no part of her touched any part of her new husband. Unfortunately, the tent was so narrow and Azriel's shoulders were so broad that this had required her to lie with half of her rigidly held body poking out of the tent. Not only had Persephone worried that this might seem odd behaviour on the part of a loving young wife, but after only a short while she'd begun shivering uncontrollably. Recalling another night when she'd been unable to keep her teeth from chattering and Azriel had tucked his cloak about her and seductively offered to join her beneath it, she'd waited for him to reach for her. But he had not reached for her, and eventually she'd been forced to wriggle back into the tent and give him a poke to get him to lie on his side so that there'd be room enough for both of them. He'd wordlessly complied. After she'd likewise rolled onto her side, he'd encircled her with his powerful arm and drawn her back against him. As they'd lain there unspeaking, close as a pair of nestled spoons, Persephone had hardly been able to breathe for wondering what might happen next. But the only thing that had happened next was that Azriel had started murmuring and smacking his lips softly as though in sleep. Warmed to the point of feeling decidedly overheated, Persephone had irritably done her best to quell the unwelcome urges that Azriel's closeness was provoking and force herself to sleep.

It had been the same every night since, except when Azriel—solemnly professing to believe it a
crucial
aspect of maintaining the charade that they were truly married—had knocked about the tiny tent emitting muffled grunts and moans suggestive of a pair of lust-filled newlyweds trying to conceal their passionate lovemaking. Though this ridiculous theatre—and the enthusiasm with which Azriel performed it—had mortified Persephone almost beyond the point of reason, she had forced herself to endure it in pained silence.

Until now.

“Not tonight,” she whispered the instant she heard Azriel take the deep breath that always seemed to precede the first moan.

Azriel—who'd crawled into the tent on his stomach and was yet propped up on his elbows—leaned close and reminded her that Tiny and Fayla were expecting him to be a good husband and warm her up.

Persephone swallowed hard at the sight of his broad-shouldered silhouette looming above her. “Be that as it may,” she whispered, “between listening to the sounds of the night beasts and knowing all that tomorrow may bring, I am not in the mood.”

“Spoken like a true wedded wife,” murmured Azriel, chuckling so seductively that Persephone almost reached for him.

But she did not reach for him, and after a long moment he rolled onto his side and pulled her close to warm her. And while she knew she ought to be grateful, she could not help feeling dissatisfied in a way that she was quite sure other methods of warming would have taken care of completely.

The next morning, Persephone emerged from the tent to find the ground covered with snow.

“It snowed during the night,” Tiny gruffly informed her as he tromped past carrying the freshly filled water skins.

“Yes, I can see that,” she said as she leaned over to brush snow off the knees of her fringed breeches, which she didn't think beautiful
or
maidenly, but which Fayla had convinced her and Rachel would be most practical upon the mountains.

Following Tiny over to the meagre fire, Persephone joined him and the others in a meal of cold roast grouse left over from the previous evening, washed down with a swig of icy water from the nearby river. When they were done, they broke camp and shouldered their various packs and bundles. Each carried his or her own bedroll, weapons, water skins, extra clothing, flint pouch, small purse of gold, dried meat and cheese enough to last one person several days and whatever personal effects they'd seen fit to bring along. In addition, the men carried the tents, the cooking pot, several goodly lengths of rope, two sturdy axes, trade goods and an assortment of Gypsy concoctions ranging from sleeping potions to poisons.

Loaded down as they all were, the going had been hard ever since they'd left the Gypsy camp. On this day it seemed especially so to Persephone, who could not seem to get warm no matter how briskly she moved and whose breathing felt more laboured with each step she took. She pushed herself hard and kept her complaints to herself, however, and by the time the sun had climbed high enough to melt the snow that had fallen during the night, they'd reached the foothills of the Mountains of Khan.

Leaning up against the nearest boulder, Persephone gingerly eased the pack off her back and took a small sip from her water skin. Relieved though she was to be beyond the gloom of the forest's edge, she was filled with trepidation at the sight of the mountains. Though she'd caught glimpses of their snow-capped peaks from time to time over the last two days, the trees had mostly shielded them from view. Now they rose up before her, monoliths of ice and rock and snow, some of such great height that their peaks pierced the clouds. Indeed, the tallest seemed to stretch to the very heavens themselves.

“The mountains are so vast, Azriel,” said Persephone, feeling decidedly small and insignificant by comparison. “How will we ever find the Khan?”

“I am counting on them finding us,” he replied as he carefully scanned the nearest peaks using the little brass spyglass he'd thought to bring along.

Looking as though she wasn't altogether sure that getting caught trespassing upon the mountains by the bloodthirsty Khan would be a good thing, Rachel said, “And if they don't find us? If we end up caught on the mountains at night without shelter?”