Silver Eve (21 page)

There were no soldiers. I bundled my cloak more tightly in the crook of my elbow and followed Lill. She walked quickly, eyes darting back and forth, not trusting I was vigilant enough. I watched her, curious at her fear, wondering about the memories she had of Tyre, of losing her sister, her parents….How skittish she was. How scarred.

We crossed the last bridge to the quarry. I thought of Arro and asked Lill if the horse was housed somewhere near here, and she shrugged. “ 'Tis well hidden, the caretaker's post. You would not find it.”

“Do you not want to visit the horse?” I stopped. “You've never seen one, have you?”

She shook her head vehemently. “This is not an outing!”

I started to snap, “Neither is it a death march,” but bit my tongue. Sweat trickled down my neck and I paused to wipe it.

She whirled back. “Don't tarry, Healer, it's not safe!”

“Which way then?” I looked around. We stood hip-deep in a swath of dead grass. Ahead was a stand of birch and ash.

“Through there,” she said, and started quickly for the trees. I followed, looking behind as I entered the grove—the last bridge was completely obscured by the grass. Gren Fort and its outposts were all well hidden. Unless it was known what to look for the approach would be completely missed.

Lill was standing in the shade of the last trees staring out over a huge plain of scrub and weed, keenly looking, listening. Her face was white.

“Now where?”

She pointed off to the right. “Over there.”

I looked, then turned back to her. “That cannot be right. Vervain does not grow near ash and it does not grow near ansel thistle.”

“That isn't ansel,” she retorted.

“Lill—”

She snapped, anxious. “To be sure, I saw it. I'll
show
you.”

She made two tentative steps onto the plain as if she were testing the first ice on a pond. I sighed. It was not hard to recognize ansel thistle, it grew almost like a shrub. Still, it wasn't worth picking another fight with Lill. “Stay here,” I said, and strode out those hundred paces to where the ansel grew thick and the vervain did not. “There's none,” I called back, cross now that she'd led us on a goose chase under so harsh a sun. There weren't even any purple stalks to mistake. I could not hear her answer, just the steady rasp of burr beetles cutting through the silence, the heat.

But then I did see something. A few steps beyond was a heavy trampling of the scrub. I frowned, went closer. Trampled, matted, as if several had stood—nay, camped there. Animal carcasses were torn apart, gnawed and scattered; the ground was scored where sharp-edged metal might have dug in. There was a pit as well—I dropped down into it to look. 'Twas for a campfire, so sparks would not spit, nor flames show. I kneeled to touch a piece of charred wood. It was faintly warm.

“Lill!” I shouted then, at half voice. “Lill! The soldiers!” I scrambled out of the pit, my palm crushing brittle bone and fur. Violent deaths. I wiped my hand on my frock, repulsed.

“Lill…?”
I said it more to myself, for my eyes played tricks in the blaze of sunlight. Lill was not there. My heart quickened, but it was impossible to think she'd been captured. There would have been noise—screams, or the heavy tread of those armored soldiers, at least. I squinted, marking each trunk along the grove's edge. There was no one. I shook my head to clear it, to prove my instincts were not wrong, that I had not been fooled. “Lill?”

Only the burr beetles hissed back.

I ran then. Back to the grove, back to the bridge. I fisted my cloak in my hands to keep it close, tore into the shadows of the trees, under branches and over roots 'til I burst out into the sunlight again, panting, “Lill!” Scared or not, she couldn't have left me like this. “Lill!”

The bridge—where was the bridge? Hidden blind of course in the tall grass. But there—there was the faintest parting between the dry stalks—Lill's tracks. She would know I'd study the plants, could figure this out for myself. Surely she'd wait for me at the bridge. I could probably find the way back, but surely she'd wait….

And she was waiting. There on the other side of the bridge, facing me, hands behind her back like a guilty child.

“Lill!” I stopped short, gasping. “You didn't have to run!”

And then I realized I was wrong. Her hands were clenched but there was no guilt in it. “You saw it,” she said. “The soldiers' camp.”

“They aren't here.” I walked toward her, annoyed. “You should have waited for me!”

“Why?”

Rudely flung, dismissive, even, as if she hadn't been frightened! I scowled. It was too hot for this. “You make no sense.”

“Don't I? They can have you.”

That stopped me. A harder, ugly edge to her voice now—neither guilt nor child. If she'd lured me out hoping the soldiers would frighten me…I bit my tongue, grabbed for the bridge—

“I wouldn't!” she said sharply.

I felt the ropes give and jerked back, tumbling into the grass. The slingbridge broke free at my feet and dropped away to dangle limply from its stakes on the opposite side.

She said, “I warned you.”

I scrambled up. There was no way I could cross; no way she could throw any part of the bridge back to me to catch. But she wouldn't have. I stared at Lill in disbelief. Her eyes were bright, her smile fiercely frozen.

“What have you done?” I cried.

“I've made the fort safe. You can't hurt anyone here anymore.”

Lill pulled her hands away from her back and dropped to her knees. One hand gripped something I'd totally forgotten: the little knife the Bog Hag had given me. The gift from Lark, the knife I gave to her so she could cut Laurent from the waterfall. “Safe?” I echoed, stunned. I looked down—at the posts where the ropes for the bridge had been tied. The knots were still there, but the little bits beyond weren't frayed, they'd been sliced just enough to carry the weight of one small person across before they tore free. She was doing the same to the other side, now, sawing the ropes.

“Lill!” I shouted, heart racing. “Lill, stop! Listen to me! The shell. 'Tis a precious amulet. You witnessed its power but don't understand what it's for.” I was babbling, dumbfounded she'd cut me off from the fort, from Laurent. “Remember what you said about the Guardians being wakened? Lill,
I
am one of those Guardians! I have to get the shell to Castle Tarnec, but I need help—I'm not supposed to do this alone!”

She didn't stop. I don't know what my expression was—blank with shock or frantic—I'd never been lied to before. But Lill was terrifying. Letting out snorts of breath as she worked, her jaw hard; I could see her hands trembling, even, as if scared by her own intensity. As the ropes gave and the intricately knotted slingbridge disappeared into the crevasse, she choked in some sort of horrified triumph. And then, that the deed was done with such finality seemed to calm her.

Not me. “Lill!” I screamed. “I am a Guardian, Laurent is my Complement! Remember the bond? He
has
to come with me!”

She stood up slowly, facing me. “I know who you are. Do you think Laurent does not speak as I sit by his side? You—he talks of you.
You,
who said bonds were not made out of love! Yet now you tell me he is necessary!”

I couldn't answer; the breath went out of me, but Lill seemed to grow stronger, filled with enough hatred that its bile spilled out to fill the silence I'd left. She shouted across, victorious, “Eudin will know I saved Gren Fort! The soldiers are too close! He will understand I had to cut the bridge even with you on the other side! But I cut
you
off, Guardian of Death! You've brought us ill luck—your dark ends, your conceits, your pretense at magic. Take it to Tyre. The soldiers will be glad to escort you!”

“It's not magic! 'Twas never magic!” Something rustled in the grass behind me and I flinched, thinking the Tyre soldiers had already found us. “Please, Lill, for the amulet! It has to go back to Tarnec—I don't know the way! Please! It's too special—”

“Why should I care for your shell?” She sneered. “It can't free my sister. It can't make
him
look at me.”

Laurent. He was somewhere far below our feet, sleeping maybe. I shook my head, for Lill was right. She could not have what she wanted.

A pair of ravens flew raucously out of the trees, disturbed by something. My breath caught and Lill smothered a scream. I looked up at the sudden chaos of wings, then back at Lill.

Rightfully frightened this time, she turned and ran.

“Lill, please—!” I watched her disappear, the grass swallowing skirt, shoulders, and braids.

And then I turned and ran too. Back to the trees.

For once that morning my cloak was necessary. I slung it over the lowest branch of an ash, grabbed the ends to help me climb, tucked into a crook of limb and held still. There was the faint rustling of leaves. And then there was a heavier rustling, the tread of boot.

And voices. Soldiers filed into the grove. Three of them.

I wasn't scared—at least not like Lill—of the soldiers. But her betrayal shook me to the core. I was cold for it, my joints brittle. Nothing from home prepared me for this.

Merith! I missed it suddenly, searingly. But then just as suddenly the voices and boot tread were closer, and nostalgia was a waste of attention. I hugged my cloak tight, holding still as they passed, so they would not look up and see me there as bright as an enormous robin's egg. Lark and I once laughed about hiding in such colors—my turquoise as opposed to her soft moss green.

The soldiers paused nearly beneath my tree. I held my breath against their foul sweat stench; celebrated each minute they'd not spied me. Yet it became obvious 'twas not fortune that kept me hidden. I could see them standing, speaking gibberish in guttural voices, staring out at the field where Lill and I parted—intent on something far more important.

“Pass” was a word I did understand. So was “quarry.”

They knew of Gren Fort, or had gotten word, somehow, or tracked the stranger or Eudin's posse. They were looking for signs. And even though nothing could be seen from here, nor a hundred paces closer; even if they could not cross to Gren Fort for lack of that bridge, they would find the severed knots and stakes, camp there and wait. People traversed this area, they'd know. And where there were people, there were slaves to be reaped. Or, if they discovered the outpost where Arro was attended…I felt my heart sink, then a challenge. None of this,
none
of this could happen.

I was glad, then, that I was not camouflaged in Lark's moss green; I wanted them to find me.

I counted how long it would take to cross through the grove of trees, to the scrub and silly ansel thistle. I was fast—I could outrun those armored men; I knew it. With axe and long sword as weapons they could do little harm unless they caught me. Still, I'd have to give them a worthy target; they'd have to want to give chase.

They faced the sea of grass. I climbed down the ash limb by limb and was on the ground running before I realized they'd not heard my escape beneath their thick helms. I ran back to a spindly birch, tied my cloak around my shoulders, and then jumped for as high on the trunk as I could reach. I was briefly suspended, with the cloak swirling wide and bright, before the tree bent over with my weight. I touched down and let go with a furious yell; the birch swung back, smacking another tree. I dropped to my knees, yelling my lungs raw.

Let them think I've fallen from my hiding place. Let them think I am scared.

And they did. They turned with shouts, came stumping forward. I waited until they were but twenty paces away before leaping up with great screams of terror, and then I took off, limping.
Let them think I've hurt my leg.
I came out of the trees into the scrub and checked that they had a good view of me, then hobbled to the first ansel thistle. I counted to three, and hobbled to the next. I was blatantly visible; nothing else moved save for the glossy blackbirds shooting between bushes, or a blundering insect.

And so it went, my taunting of the soldiers, leading them far from the fort. 'Twas a game of sorts, a sick kind of pleasure. I limped between bushes, snapping stems and leaving little ripped bits from the hem of my cloak to be found for a trail, and crumbs of Lill's horrid scones.
Let them think I am foolish. Let them think I am weak.
Even so, I grew the distance between us. They could not keep up, and after a while it seemed silly that they tried. And I wondered why they bothered for one limping girl. I wondered how they caught anyone at all—or if fear simply paralyzed escape.

Perhaps the soldiers did grow tired. Sometime late in the afternoon I heard a clarion call, startling the blackbirds altogether so they shrieked and swooped. I peeked around the bush I sat by. The soldiers were stopped. One of them had pulled out a horn—not of metal, but something thin and curved to such a degree it had to be from one of those fiercely ugly pin bulls. He blew into it again, sharp and loud in the dry air, summoning, and I snorted. What was the point of more soldiers when even a hundred of them under such armor would not catch me? I broke off a few of the soft-spined thistle heads, split them open to slurp the milky sap, and left the remnants in an obvious scatter before moving on. Above, the birds cried.

Gren Fort was far distant. It was late and I was restless, bored of this tease. I hunkered down for a time by a dead elderberry and drew a vague map in the dirt, estimating the distance between the last village the Rider and I came upon and the fort, and how far east I'd have to backtrack to find Castle Tarnec. If I could put Dark Wood on my right and then head north I'd be near enough, I thought. It was a semblance of Lark's travels, on the opposite edge of Dark Wood. I sat on my heels, arms hugging my legs to my chin while I studied my sketch—