On the Meldon Plain (The Fourline Trilogy Book 2) (20 page)

She shuddered at the thought and the vision of the Nalaide pursuing her. It reminded her of the Nala that had attacked her in the brush by the river.

“Haruu!” The shout sounded faint. Nat looked away from the worry etched in Soris’ face and saw Andris waving his arm over his head impatiently. He stood in waist-high grass near the crest of a hill. Soris placed his hand on her lower back as if to guide her forward. The touch was soft and comforting after his discomforting words.

“You’d know if a Nala was around here, right?” She shrugged off the idea that the Nalaide was searching for her. It was only a dream. She walked slowly toward Andris, enjoying the feeling of Soris’ hand on her back. Grass swayed in the morning breeze as far as they could see.

“I should know, but I’m not so sure after the Nala attack yesterday.”

“If you didn’t sense it yesterday, it’s probably because that Nala wasn’t even normal,” she said, trying to make up some rationale in her head. “It looked sick and its color was almost . . .”

“White,” Soris said. “Like the Nalaide in your dream. I’ll talk to Annin.”

“It was just a bad dream.” Her cloak swished against the grass.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Soris scratched his head.

Benedict emerged from behind a little copse of trees. He scowled at Soris and walked stiffly toward Andris.

“Eat up and get your fill of fresh air.” Andris tossed a broken loaf of bread toward them. Soris’ hand shot out and caught the bread. He tore the crusty loaf in half, handing Nat a chunk. She took a small bite, feeling little appetite.

“He’s got the wheel off.” Annin brushed past Andris and stood in front of Benedict. She touched the small bandage now covering his forehead. He flinched. “Hold still.” She peeled the bandage away and examined the neat stitches in the middle of his forehead. She retrieved a small jar from her satchel and dabbed the ointment lightly over the sutured wound. Benedict looked away with a deep-set frown.

“Don’t like a duozi touching you, do you?” Annin smirked as she placed a neat square of bandage on the wound.

Benedict grunted and crossed his arms.

“I didn’t do this for you. The Chemist doesn’t walk around with a flap of skin hanging from his forehead. At least now you might pass for him if you wear a hat or wig.” She screwed the lid back on the jar and dropped it into her satchel. Soris walked through the grass toward Annin, and Benedict limped away from the pair like they had the plague.

Curious what Annin had seen, Nat joined Andris at the crest of the hill. A wagon sat idle on a rutted road. One wheel balanced against a rock near a set of draft horses busily munching on grass. A tall figure bent over the wheel, pounding at the rim with a hammer.

“You’re riding in style to Rustbrook, Sister.” Andris gestured to the wagon and handed her a bag of rudit. The cheesy stench filled her nose.

“Who is that?” She dropped the bag quickly to her side and watched the man strike his hammer against the wheel. A tiny echo sounded from the road as his hammer struck the metal rim.

“An old friend who’s willing to transport a load of rudit and misfits to Rustbrook.”

“Is that . . . ?” Benedict stepped between them. He shaded his eyes from the morning light.

“Indeed it is, Hermit.” A look of delight spread across Andris’ face.

“Are you happy?” Nat asked, incredulous.

His smile grew wider. “I believe I am, Sister. Things are looking up.” Andris rubbed his hands together and gave her a slap on the shoulder. “Now unless you want me to toss you down the hill, collect your things. It’s time to head for Rustbrook.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sweat trickled past Mervin’s long black bangs and down his cheek. His shadow loomed over Nat and the bulky bag of rudit at her feet.

“Mervin!” she greeted the bookshop owner.

He placed the hammer on the rim of the wheel and stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his wool vest. “Don’t think we’ve met, Sister,” he said, his eyes locked on her markings and her orb hovering near her ear.

“Do you remember a pair of bastle herders, one with a nasty pory bite?” She tightened her hood across her forehead like her disguise months before. Mervin crossed his long arms and leaned back.

The grass parted behind Nat, and Soris and Annin stepped onto the overgrown road. The draft horses stomped and shook their long manes as Annin approached. The blinders covering their eyes flapped with each violent shake of their heads.

“Whoa.” Mervin eased his hand over one horse’s neck. The horse snorted but settled under his reassuring strokes. Wiping his forehead and holding up the tip of his worn gray cap, Mervin stepped away from the animals. He paused a moment and regarded Soris. Nat tensed, waiting for some harsh remark about Soris’ eye. Instead, Mervin slapped his large hand on his shoulder.

“Looking a bit better than last time I saw you, Soris,” he said gruffly. “Not so pale and feverish this time round. Is your hand healed up from that pory bite?” His eyes glittered and his lips curved into a wry smile. He reached for Soris’ hand and examined the calloused skin where Benedict had stuck porc-tree needles.

“It’s healed up fine, Mervin. We never got to thank you and Matilda for helping us in Rustbrook.” Soris turned his hand to grasp Mervin’s. “We couldn’t have made it into the castle without you.”

“Anything to help Gennes’ brother and cause Mudug and that Chemist a bit of trouble.” He let go of Soris’ hand. “And I hope you put an end to the Nala that did that to you?”

“We did.” Soris glanced at Nat. “But there are always more out there . . .” He looked straight into her eyes.

“Well.” Mervin coughed. “That is an unfortunate given. And you, Annin Afferfly, it’s been a long time,” he said with delight. Nat stared in amazement as the lanky man enveloped Annin. When he pulled away, a smile stretched across Annin’s face. He stared down at her. “You’ve grown mightily, and your hair.” He tucked a wild curly lock behind her ear. “Matilda will want to do something about it.”

“I never let her before, and I don’t intend to now.” Annin laughed.

“I’ve wondered about you and the others,” he said. “Every day since you left Rustbrook, I’ve wondered.” His voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly.

“All of us made it, even Estos.” Annin touched the sleeve of his thick cotton shirt. Her face lit up as Mervin looked at her in wonder.

“Estos is alive?”

“Good day, Mervin.” Andris emerged from the tall grass with Benedict trailing behind him.

“Another surprise. Are there any more of you tucked away in that field? It is a good day, Andris, a good day indeed.”

“I was worried Gennes’ message might not reach you.” He clasped Mervin’s hand.

“If you mean the message about being on this nowhere road pretending to fix a wagon wheel, yes, I received that message. The one about the dead returning to life must have missed me, though. If you weren’t here in person, I wouldn’t believe any of it.” Mervin scratched his head. “Maybe you can explain a few things while you help me get this wheel back on. Annin, roll out the tarp that’s in the box.”

Soris and Andris grasped the wooden wheel, lifting it easily. A splintered wooden box stuck out from the back of the wagon. Annin flipped the brass clasp up and opened the lid.

“Good friends?” Nat asked, pulling out the thick tarp. Moths flew into the air, freed from the folds of the fabric.

“My guardians,” Annin responded curtly. “Mervin and Matilda knew me and my parents, before I was bitten. What?” She dropped her edge of the tarp. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” Nat responded quickly, ducking under her side of the tarp. She’d never seen Annin respond with such warmth to anyone or anything. She bit her lip to keep herself from prying. Annin would go ballistic if she asked more questions.

Keeping her eyes on the tarp and away from Annin, she unrolled the cloth over the wagon bed. The smell of mildew grew stronger with each inch of exposed material. Nat cleared her throat and turned her head to the side, away from the dank odor. “Smells better than that bag of rudit, but not much.” She wrinkled her nose and hopped off the rim of the wagon. She landed right at Mervin’s feet.

“I do remember you, Sister. I never would’ve guessed you were a Sister when you walked into our bookshop with Soris draped over your shoulder. You did a fine job playing the bastle herder. I’m happy to see you both made it out of Rustbrook. Matilda and I assumed the worst when you didn’t return for your horses.”

“After Sister Camden escaped from Mudug’s guards, the crowd went crazy. We took advantage of the confusion and slipped out of the city,” she said, replaying the chaotic scene of the execution day in her mind. “We didn’t have a chance to make it back to your shop.”

“We left Rustbrook by boat. Too much happened afterward for us to send word.” Soris gestured to his face by way of apology. “But the Sister accomplished what we set out to accomplish.”

Soris’ compliment didn’t sit well with Nat. She’d destroyed the Chemist’s tracking device through plain luck.

“And now you want to go back? I’m wondering if all of you are right in the head. Hermit, you really plan on returning to Rustbrook?” Mervin raised his eyebrow as he addressed Benedict for the first time.

“The risk will be worth it.” Benedict lifted his chin in a haughty manner.

“I hope so.” Mervin’s eyes narrowed. “Catching any of you would send Mudug into a fit of ecstasy,” he said as he tightened the fasteners around the hub. “You know what he’d do to each of you?”

“The same thing he’d do to you if he learned you were aiding Gennes and the rebellion. Benedict is right on this one, Mervin: the reward is worth the risk,” Andris said.

“And you’re not going to tell me what that reward might be, are you?” Mervin slipped heavy clips sewn into the side of the tarp under the lip of the wagon’s rim. He pulled the tarp taut across the top of the wagon as each clip slid into place.

“You’ll know if we’re successful,” Andris responded.

“I figured you’d say something like that. I’ll plan for the worst, then, since you’re involved.” Mervin slapped Andris on the shoulder.

“Everyone in the wagon under the tarp. I want your weapons out and ready,” Andris ordered, his manner morphing into that of a soldier. “And tuck the bags of rudit near the front.”

Soris vaulted over the side of the wagon. Mervin pulled his cap off and spoke in a low voice to Andris as the others climbed aboard.

Annin peered under the tarp. “You get to snuggle with the Hermit. He likes throwing up on you,” she said to Nat.

“Thanks.” She grasped Benedict’s thin hand and helped him up the narrow step. She lifted the edge of the heavy tarp out of his way. He stooped low, took a deep breath, then disappeared under the cloth behind Soris.

“Annin?” Nat kicked a bag of rudit closer to the edge of the tarp.

“Hmm?” Annin gazed down the overgrown road.

“I had this dream, and Soris . . .”

“He told me.”

“What do you think it means?” she asked, rankled that Soris had already confided in her. He must think the dream meant more than he’d let on.

“The dream, or the fact that Soris saw it so clearly?” Her blue eye held a hint of impatience. “If you’re asking about the dream, I don’t know.” She continued, not giving Nat a chance to respond, “As for Soris seeing your dream . . . Well, the remnant’s severed, so it’s something else.” Her answer sounded purposely vague.

“It’s not just a weird dream, or a weird coincidence?” Nat tugged on the tarp.

“Is that what your gut’s telling you?” Annin slipped another clip into place.

“No.”

“I’m happy to hear your internal senses are still sharp.” Annin unhooked her cloak and stuffed it under the worn fabric covering. Nat knew Annin was holding something back.

“Natalie, you and Soris get up here near the front by the rudit bags.” Andris stepped on the rusted metal step by the wagon bench. Mervin placed his boot on the step, and the wagon tilted slightly under his weight. “Two taps at a sign of trouble, Mervin,” Andris said over his shoulder.

Mervin held the worn crop and rapped it lightly against the wagon board. The bags of rudit landed with a thud in front of the tarp. Andris dipped under the fabric and flattened his body near the back. Annin followed.

“Sister.” Mervin pointed to the opening. Nat took a deep breath, then crawled under the tarp next to Soris, thankful she was next to him and not the Hermit. He gave her a wink and pulled her closer to him, away from the opening. She suddenly didn’t care that they were packed in like sardines.

“No talking, and keep your movements to a minimum. We’ve got a long ride to Rustbrook, but guards could stop us at any time.” The daylight disappeared as Mervin slipped the last clip into place. A bulky object pressed against Nat from the other side of the tarp. The sharp, tangy smell of rudit filled the small compartment. She swallowed and rolled against Soris as the wagon lurched forward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“What I’m telling you is I don’t need to join your convoy. I’ve got a wagon full of rudit. The fool that attacks me will get what he deserves. I could buy a new set of horses with what you’re asking me to pay.”

Mervin’s voice vibrated through the thick tarp. The wagon stood motionless. Every muscle in Nat’s body tensed as she listened to Mervin argue with the soldier. Soris tilted his hip upward, freeing his crossbow. A dull gleam shone from the back of the wagon, where Andris lay pressed against Benedict.

“Doesn’t matter what you want. Every wagon coming into Rustbrook is accompanied by a guard and pays the tax. They’re Mudug’s orders,” the gravelly voice responded. “It’s not thieves he’s protecting you from, it’s the Nala. They’re climbing out of every nook, invading terrain they’ve never been in before. Something’s got them riled, and Mudug’s not willing to risk injury to his people.”

“Bah! He just wants his tax. There are no Nala around here.”

“I’d watch what you say about the acting regent,” the voice warned.

“Acting regent is right,” Mervin grumbled.

“What do you mean by that?”

The wagon creaked. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I’m this close to taking you in,” the gravelly voice threatened.

Nat’s eyes grew wide in panic. She turned slowly toward Soris, a look of worry spreading across her face. She had no idea what Mervin was doing. He was going to expose all of them, arguing with a transport guard. Soris’ eyes met hers and he brought a finger to his lips.

“Be my guest, you’d be doing me a favor.” The wagon creaked again. “You can drive this stinking load of rudit to the castle kitchens. Take a good whiff, it’s spoiling fast in this heat.” Mervin’s voice sounded from the side of the wagon now.

“Soldier!” the guard barked. Nat drew her dagger close to her chest. Bodies shifted in miniscule movements under the tarp as hands tightened around weapons.

“Take this man and his wagon to the road where Nala were spotted yesterday. Make sure you see him off. I want no guard or convoy to accompany him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Change of plans, merchant. You may proceed on your own without a guard. If luck is with you, you may make it to Rustbrook without encountering Nala. If luck’s with me, you’ll keep the Nala occupied while I bring our transport through. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and leave you trussed up on the road.”

The sound of heavy footsteps followed by more creaking cut through the thick barrier of the tarp. Nat relaxed her muscles.

“Heyah!”
A short whip cracked and the wagon lurched forward. Soris held on to Nat’s shoulder and glanced at her, looking as relieved as she felt.

The wagon lumbered on. Inaudible voices, clanking, and the sounds of animals surrounded the wagon as they passed through what Nat thought must be the convoy.
How many of Mudug’s men are out there?
she wondered. The wheels creaked to a halt.

“That way,” a soldier said.

“I know which way, I’m not a fool,” Mervin shot back as he cracked the short whip again. Minutes passed. The only sounds were those of the wheels rolling against the packed dirt road and the occasional grunt of encouragement Mervin sent toward the draft horses.

“We’re clear,” Mervin finally said.

Andris shifted from the back toward the front like a snake slithering over rocks. His body pressed against Nat as his hands worked a clip free. Light and fresh air poured through the small slit. He pushed a bag of rudit carefully to the side, creating a little opening.

“How many?” Andris asked.

“Fifteen soldiers. Ten or eleven wagons in the convoy,” Mervin replied.

Andris let out a low whistle.

“Someone would have noticed something if we’d traveled with them,” Mervin continued. “I’ve found you can push the regular guards into doing what you want them to do if you make a fuss. Easier for them to let a cranky old merchant through than to listen to him complain and stir up dissent among the other merchants. Mudug’s inner guard are a whole different kettle of fish. They’d have had me in chains as soon as I said ‘haruu.’ We lucked out back there.”

“That’s an understatement.” Annin’s voice rose from the darkness. “Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed taking out a few guards, but that was cutting it close, Mervin.”

Mervin chuckled. “My apologies, Annin. I’ll consider your nerves next time.”

“Let’s hope that’s the last of the guards until we reach Rustbrook. Make for the ruins of the Emissary House. We’ll need to rest there before moving on. It’s the safest place between here and Rustbrook, unless you have another idea.” Andris leaned his elbows against Nat’s ribs, crushing her. She let out a little gasp of pain, wishing he’d get off her.

“No, Emissary House is as good a place as any. No one goes near the ruins anymore. They’re all afraid Mudug’s guards will catch them, and the guards are afraid of the Nala, even this far north. I’ll give you the signal if I see more wagons. But best you all stay under wraps until we reach the House,” Mervin said.

“Agreed.” Andris took a deep breath, pulled the rudit bag back into place, and refastened the clip. Little stars floated across Nat’s vision when he finally slithered off her.

Fresh air flowed over Nat. The rank smell of five unwashed bodies combined with the odor of the rudit disappeared when she emerged from under the tarp.

Annin took a deep audible breath. “I’ve never been more thankful for fresh air,” she said, sitting up. Half of the tarp flapped freely against the wagon bed. “I don’t think I could’ve taken much more of being sandwiched between you two.” She poked a finger at Andris and Soris. “You both smell like rotting mushrooms and rudit.”

Soris stretched his arms above his head. Sweat stains marred his clothes. Nat peeled the drenched front of her tunic away from her chest. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose.

Andris slid out from under the secured portion of the tarp. “We’ll be under here tomorrow, so get used to it,” he said.

Benedict crawled out. “What are you complaining about?” His cheeks had a rosy hue. “That was an enjoyable ride. I slept most of the way.”

“We know.” Annin freed her face of her damp curls. “Your snoring was louder than a lumberman attacking a tree. It’s a good thing we didn’t encounter any more guards with all the noise you made.”

The wagon creaked and groaned. Nat’s feet landed on the soft grass. She looked around in wonder. Row after row of trellised arches created an overgrown, verdant covered walkway. Thin stalks formed columns that looked like four wooden ladders secured together. Tiny leaves sprouted from the stalks, forming a lacy pattern high above the walkway. Light shone through the holes in the leafy sky, making a pattern that moved on the ground.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Soris placed his hands on Nat’s shoulders and turned her gently. Long thin poles carved with every imaginable songbird were tucked between the columns. She took hesitant steps toward one pole and ran her fingers over the lifelike birds. “This is where our mother apprenticed,” he said.

They walked past the green trellises. She paused each time she spotted a pole. The carvings of the birds were all unique. Some had wings extended, others had beaks thrust open in song or tiny feet clinging to delicate branches. Her father would love these carvings.

Mervin appeared at the end of the walkway, striding toward them on his long legs. “The ruins appear empty,” he addressed Andris. “But it wouldn’t hurt to do a proper search while I pull the wagon in.”

“My thoughts exactly. Sister, go with Mervin and help him with the horses. Since you’re so well rested, Benedict, help them set up camp.” He fastened his sword to his wide belt.

“There’s a well near the old stables. He can test the water.” Mervin nodded in Benedict’s direction. The Hermit bobbed his balding head in assent.

“Soris, Annin, come with me,” Andris said. His eyes narrowed. “I believe the Sister can stand on her own, Soris.”

Soris’ hands dropped from Nat’s shoulders. The three of them disappeared beyond the last leafy stretch of canopy.
Why is Andris always bent on sending Soris on some task without me?
she wondered. She climbed aboard the wagon and took a seat behind Mervin and Benedict. She understood that having Soris around the horses wasn’t the wisest idea, but she could help Andris search the surroundings as well as Annin and Soris could.

“Heyah!”
Mervin cracked his whip. The draft horses’ massive hooves pressed against the ground, slowly easing the wagon around until it entered the walkway. Nat stretched her hand out as the wagon passed through the tight space. Her fingers brushed the leaves and the wooden poles.

“I see you’re not taking my warning seriously, Sister.” Benedict twisted around until he faced her. He bounced up and down as they passed over the overgrown path. Shadows and light scrolled across his face.

“What warning?” She loosened the clasp holding back her hair. She raked her fingers through her damp scalp.

“You’re growing too attached to that duozi. Nothing good will come of it.” He wagged his finger at her.

Nat twisted her lips to the side. She pulled her hair back into a tight bun and secured it with a metal clasp. “Soris. His name is Soris,” she said, glaring at him.

The wagon passed under the last verdant curve. Mervin shifted his arms to the left, and the horses lumbered to the side. A single intact stone tower crowned the hill above them. Vines choked the scattered stone ruins of the Emissary House. They rode past an outdoor amphitheater with terraced rows of stone benches in the side of the hill. Chunks of rock and cracked slabs of granite covered the ground.

“He’s no more Soris than I am,” Benedict muttered.

Mervin turned the horses again, and the amphitheater disappeared behind them. The wheels caught in a rut in the overgrown road. Mervin’s voice bellowed over the horses. The wagon lurched free, sending Benedict tumbling backward onto Nat. She pushed him off, and he rolled to the side behind Mervin.

“Sorry about that,” Mervin said, but his lips curled into a little smile.
He did that on purpose,
she thought, wondering if he found the Hermit as grating as she did.

Charred logs lay in heaps by the road. She leaned over the side of the wagon and examined the burnt remains of a long rectangular building. Carvings of vines and birds curled around the blackened wood. A narrow door with a lock the size of her fist remained upright, bound to its burnt frame by wrought-iron hinges.

“What was that building?” Nat asked. Even in its current decayed state, she could tell it’d had no windows.

“Hmm? You mean the Discourse House? Nala stayed there on the rare occasions when the Emissary Sisters had to negotiate with the creatures outside the Rim or the forest. Each Emissary House had one, surely you’ve seen one before.”

“She’s a fringer,” Benedict said with contempt.

“She’s a Sister and deserves more respect than you’ve offered,” Mervin corrected.

Nat gave Benedict a sidelong glance. Heat was rising to his face. She smiled. “I’ve never seen a Discourse House before,” she admitted. Curiosity made her ignore Benedict’s jibe. “Nala actually stayed in there?”

“Yes, with a contingent of your House on guard,” Mervin said.

The wagon rumbled past the remains. The road sloped downward and the wagon picked up speed. A series of intact outbuildings dotted the side of the hill. Nat wondered if Mudug had left these alone because they were far away from the main buildings composing the Emissary House. Mervin pulled the wagon through the gate of an old corral. Grass covered the thick wooden poles of the decaying enclosure. She looked behind her. The hill obscured the Discourse House and the Emissary House, but the tower atop the hill was still visible. They had reached the other side.

Mervin pulled the reins taut. The horses slowed behind a narrow row of stables. They clopped a few more paces, then buried their heads into clumps of thick grass. Nat hopped down. The burnt remains of two barns flanked the stables. She ran her hand over the rounded river-rock walls of the stables. Benedict climbed down the wagon step. He limped around the horses and headed uphill toward the crumbling remains of a well.

Nat busied herself with buckles and harnesses, helping Mervin unhitch the horses. Their wide heads nudged her feet out of the way when she stepped on their next morsel of grass. She lifted a saddle off one horse and heard the sound of running water.

Water splashed down a wooden chute that led from the well to the stable. Thick wooden supports held the chute a few feet above ground before it entered a hole cut into the stone stable wall. Water coursed through the hole into a low trough near the corrals.

Benedict dipped a vial into the surging water and settled onto a stone slab at the base of the well. A dark shadow marred the vertical rise of the hill above him. Steps led from the shadow and disappeared in the grass.

“Is that a door in the hill behind Benedict?” she asked, following Mervin into the stable under the weight of one of the saddles. She dropped hers on top of a dusty sawhorse.

“You’re full of questions.” He removed a dirty cloth from his pocket and wiped his brow. He dipped the cloth into the trough and wiped his neck. Nat plunged her hands into the cool water and splashed her face.