Inheritance (37 page)

Ethin nodded, obviously in awe of the man’s size.

“He was about to questions the cooks and workers about last night’s guests,” Ager said for him.

Ethin nodded and made a move toward the main room. “That’s exactly right.”

Kumul grabbed the grieve by the arm. The man jumped as if he had been struck by a snake.

“God’s sake,” Kumul said gruffly. “I only want to ask you a question. Is there a place we can get horses around here?”

“We have two stable yards. I know Gereson has horses for sale at the present.”

“What do we pay him with?” Jenrosa asked.

“Can you deputize us?” Kumul asked Ethin.

“Deputize you? Why would I want to do that?”

“To catch the bastards who took our friend and killed Yran,” Kumul replied sharply.

Ethin was taken aback by the suggestion. “I’ve never deputized strangers before…”

“Who else in this town will pursue the murderers as ardently as we?” Ager asked.

“Well, no one, to be straight,” the Grieve admitted. “Pursuit of dangerous criminals is not the main objective in life for farmers and shopkeepers.”

“Then deputize us,” Kumul insisted.

“What for, sir? You intend to go after your friend at any rate. What difference would it make to you?”

Kumul licked his lips. “Because then you can advance us the scrip for our services.”

“Advance you a scrip?” Ethin looked shocked. “I have no resources for hiring deputies!”

Ager shook Yran’s money box. “You have this. Advance us enough coin against Yran’s estate to purchase horses for ourselves. We have none ourselves, and without them, we will never catch Yran’s killers.”

Ethin frowned in thought.

“Yran’s death cries out for revenge,” Ager added.

Ethin breathed through his nose and took the money box from Ager. He selected a handful of quarters and half-royals and gave them to Kumul.

“With that, you can buy four good horses, three for yourselves and another for your friend should you save him, but bugger the scrip. Yran had no family I know of, and I don’t think he would begrudge the amount if you revenge his death. You’ll find Gereson at the other end of town. While you arrange for your horses, I’ll question Lewith and company and see if I can get you more information.”

“I’ll stay with Goodman Ethin,” Ager told the others. “I’ll meet you at Gereson’s when I finish here.”

Kumul nodded and left with Jenrosa. They found the stable yard and presented their coins to Gereson, who, for that amount, said they could choose any four horses they liked and he would throw in saddles, bridles, and packs as well. By the time they had selected four mounts, fit mares with even temperaments, Ager had joined them.

“The only visitors at the inn who were still drinking last night after Yran let his workers go included Lynan, a pair of travelers, and three farmers. The grieve found the travelers still in their rooms, and they told him that when they went to their beds, only the farmers and Lynan were left in the main room and Yran was in the kitchen. Then one of the cooks said she knew the names of one of the farmers, and that he owns land in the east of the valley, on the slopes.”

“So we go there first?” Jenrosa asked.

“We follow the tracks you and Kumul found. I don’t think they’re heading back to the farm.”

“Why not?” Kumul asked.

“Because he must have known he was recognized last night, and that the grieve would come and at least ask questions, if not actually make an arrest. Besides, the farmer’s name was Jes Prado. Sound familiar?”

Kumul thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Never met the man, but he was a mercenary captain who fought for the Slavers during the war. Most captains on the other side took the queen’s amnesty and disbanded their companies after the war and settled down somewhere. I assume Prado chose this valley.”

“Well, I’ll wager he’s leaving the valley now. Most importantly, he’s not heading south.”

“So?” Jenrosa asked.

“Prado would not have taken Lynan unless he knew who he was and that he was outlaw, but he’s not heading straight for Kendra to deliver his prize to Areava. That means there’s more to it than we presently understand.”

“Maybe Areava doesn’t want Lynan to be seen in the capital,” Kumul suggested. “She may think he has support there, among the commoners at least.”

“Then why not kill him outright?” Ager countered. “I think there others involved, and Prado is on his way to meet them. More than that, Prado knows we’ll follow him, so he won’t stay on the road for long.”

“Then we’re running out of time,” Kumul said brusquely, and mounted the horse he had chosen for himself, a large roan with a black streak on her forehead.

Before the other two had mounted, the grieve appeared. “I don’t know what it is about you, Crookback, but I trust your face.”

“Thanks for that,” Ager said dryly.

“I won’t come with you. I’m no horseman and could never hope to keep up. Find Yran’s killers and, if you’re able to, bring them back here for justice.”

Kumul looked darkly at the grieve. “We make no promise on that, but we will do what we can.”

Ager and Jenrosa mounted, and Kumul took the reins of the fourth horse. They rode north out of town, each desperately hoping that Lynan was still alive to be rescued.

Lynan slipped sideways off Prado’s horse and fell to the ground. He was barely conscious, and the shock of hitting the hard earth barely registered in his fogged brain. He heard curses and then commands. Rough hands half-carried him to softer ground. He was dimly aware of an argument going on in the background. Something grabbed his jaw and pain lanced through him. His vision cleared and he found himself looking into the face of Jes Prado, his head haloed by the soft light of a damp, cloudy dawn. He moaned. He had hoped in his delirium that all that had happened to him was nothing more than a nightmare.

“I’m going to stitch you up, boy,” Prado breathed into his face. “But first we have to clean your wound.”

Lynan started slipping back into the fog when a thick unguent was rubbed into his cut. Again, terrible pain tore through him. There was a brief moment when he thought it was over and he could retreat back into his troubled sleep, nightmare and all, but it was only the lull before the storm. His whole body spasmed when Prado used a heavy needle and sinew to close his wound. Prado was sitting on his chest to stop him moving, and his thugs held onto his head and legs. Lynan screamed, then slipped back into unconsciousness.

He did not know how long he remained unconscious, but when he came to, he found his hands were tied to a pommel and Prado’s arms were coiled around his waist. Ahead, he saw Bazik, and he could hear Aesor clopping along behind. His jaw throbbed with a terrible ache, and it felt as if it was twice its normal size. His tongue filled his mouth, and he tried to ask for water but could only manage a wheeze.

“Our friend is awake,” Bazik said, looking over his shoulder. Prado only grunted.

Lynan tried turning his head to look around, but the pain in his jaw only got worse, so he twisted from the waist instead. They were following a narrow but well-worn trail that wound its way up a gentle tree-covered slope. Leaves dripped water on him. A weak sun shone from a pale blue sky through the canopy, but the light made him feel colder. He again tried asking for a drink, but was ignored.

After a while the trail leveled off and the trees started thinning out. Lynan glanced quickly at the sun and saw they were heading north. He could see the Arran Valley to his right, its broad descent ending in a patchwork of fields and orchards. To his left, the ground was largely flat and covered in long grass with occasional clumps of wideoaks and heart-seed breaking the skyline. Farther east, the horizon was lost in a green haze which he thought might be a river valley.

The Barda River
, he told himself hazily.
Why are they taking me this way? We are heading toward Hume and not Kendra
.

As the day drew on, it got warmer, and Lynan’s drying clothes started to tighten around him. They left the shelter of the woods and headed into the plain, making their way from copse to copse, Prado obviously seeking cover wherever he could. As the sun neared its zenith, they stopped under the shade of a group of wideoaks. Lynan’s bindings were cut and he was pushed from the saddle to the ground. Prado knelt next to him and inspected his handiwork.

“You’ll live. There’s no infection and the stitching is holding. You won’t chew for a while, though.” He forced Lynan’s head back and held up a flask. Water splashed over the prince’s mouth, some of it spilling down his throat. He coughed and spluttered and his jaw felt as if it was splitting open, but Prado grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back again, forcing him to drink more.

Bazik came over and tapped Prado on the shoulder. “Captain, you should see this.”

Prado followed Bazik to the edge of the copse. They peered westward, back the way they had come. They talked urgently among themselves. Prado gave a command and returned to Lynan, forcing him to his feet with a kick to his back. Bazik and Aesor lifted him to Prado’s horse and tied his hands to the pommel again. The horses were tired and needed a rest, but Prado started off at a hard canter, heading straight east.

Lynan tried desperately to match the horse’s rhythm, but found he was bound so tightly to the pommel he could not lift above the saddle. He was being jolted with every fall of a hoof and the agony was too much for him to bear. He cried out, but was ignored. He tried to focus on the horizon. The valley seemed as far away as ever. He cried out again, and Prado cursed. Lynan heard a sword being lifted from its scabbard. Before he could react, Prado brought down the hilt of the sword against the back of Lynan’s head, and he fell into a black pit.

Kumul kept the lead, able to maintain his mount at a brisk trot and at the same time keep his eye on the road. The others followed behind, Ager deep in thought and Jenrosa doing her best to stay in the saddle. She knew how to ride but had not had much experience of it since living in Kendra.

They rode for three hours before Kumul called a halt. “I’ve lost the trail,” he told them. “The ground is drying and I can no longer tell the old tracks from the new.” He slapped his thigh angrily.

“We should keep on, anyway,” Ager said stoically.

“What if you’re wrong?” Kumul asked. “What if Prado doubled back and is now heading south for Kendra?”

Ager shrugged. “There is nothing we can do about that. We must continue and hope to pick up some sign.”

Kumul looked up and saw Jenrosa dismounting. “What are you doing? We can’t rest yet—”

“Have you anything of Lynan’s?”

“What the hell has that to do—” Kumul started angrily, but Ager waved him quiet.

“I have his sword and the coat the forester gave him,” Ager said.

“Cut me a piece from the coat.”

Ager unwrapped Lynan’s coat from his roll and did as instructed. He handed Jenrosa a strip of cloth. Kumul opened his mouth to demand what they thought they were doing, but again Ager waved him still.

“If she is doing what I think she is doing, my friend, we will soon know in which direction Lynan is being taken.”

Kumul closed his mouth and watched on impatiently.

Jenrosa squatted near the road’s edge and gathered a handful of damp grass which she rubbed vigorously between her hands to dry. She then made a small mound from the grass and the cloth and withdrew a small glass from her pocket, using it to focus the sun’s light onto the mound. For a long time nothing happened, and Kumul became increasingly fidgety. His horse felt his frustration and started pulling on the reins.

“The grass is still too damp,” Ager said, but even as he uttered the words a thin stream of smoke started from the mound. Jenrosa chanted something under her breath and suddenly the mound was afire and blazing merrily.

“Bloody wonderful,” Kumul fumed. “Now we can all roast chestnuts.”

Jenrosa and Ager ignored him. When the fire burned out, she gathered the ashes in her hand and stood up. She chanted something once more and threw the ashes into the wind, carefully watching which way they scattered before settling to the ground. Jenrosa pointed east. “That way,” she said.

“This is mumbo-jumbo,” Kumul declared to Ager. “She is only a student magicker—”

“Kumul, which way is the wind blowing?” Ager asked him.

“From the north. What has that to do…” His question died in his mouth.

“And the ashes blew east,” Ager finished. “There was a trail about two leagues back.”

“I remember it,” Kumul said, “but there were no recent tracks on it.”

“Prado would have cut across from the road to the trail,” Ager said. “I think that is the way we must go.”

“North and then east?” Kumul asked. “Where
is
Prado going?”

Ager shrugged. “We must follow, whichever way he goes.”

Kumul nodded stiffly. Jenrosa remounted and they rode back until they reached the trail. They had only followed it for a short while before it started to climb out of the valley, and they entered the beginnings of a wood.

Kumul pointed to the ground. “It is still wet here, and there are tracks of three horses, one set deeper than the others.” He looked up at Jenrosa and offered a smile. “You were right.”

“I’m glad I’m useful for something,” she said without humor, but was surprised to find Kumul’s words made her feel better.

“You forget you saved Lynan from Silona,” Ager told her. “You may have saved him again.”

“Not yet,” she replied grimly.

The slope forced them to a slow walk, and Kumul ordered them to dismount and lead the horses to give them at least some respite from carrying their weight. Less than an hour later he stopped suddenly and studied the ground beside the trail. “They stopped here. Someone was lying on the grass. There is some blood.”

“God,” Ager muttered weakly. “They have wounded him.”

“We must go faster,” Kumul said, and mounted. He patted his horse’s neck. “I am sorry, but we need your strength,” he said to the mare.

The trail was still slippery from the night’s rain and the going was hard, but the thought of Lynan being wounded spurred them on, and their mounts seemed to sense their eagerness. They reached the eastern lip of the valley an hour before noon and risked a ten-minute rest to give the horses a break, then went on, their pace picking up as the slope became easier and finally leveled out. By the time the sun was at its highest point they had broken through the woods and looked out over a great plain.