The Pearls (6 page)

“Shall we race away and see how far we can get before they catch up?”

Thirbe didn't bother to answer her nonsense. Sighing, Lea abandoned her impulse to play games and kept Ysandre at a steady walk instead of letting him gallop. He tossed his head and pranced a little, but she didn't relent.

Moments later, the sound of galloping hooves made Ysandre pretend to shy, and they were joined by Captain Hervan and perhaps ten or so cavalrymen.

“Well, Lady Lea!” he called out in his aristocratic baritone. “It seems you have taken command of our party. Are you abandoning us, or leading us onward?”

Lea swallowed a sigh and bestowed a fleeting smile on him. “I am abandoning the litter and continuing our journey on horseback, as is only sensible.”

Concern knotted his brow. From the flowing plume of his helmet to the tips of his silver spurs, he was a dazzling creation of all that good looks, fine breeding, wealth, and uniform could provide. No mud splattered the shining perfection of his boots, for he'd been riding at the head of their column all day.

“It's one thing to ride for exercise, Lady Lea, but to travel so for the rest of the day will only fatigue and chill you unnecessarily.”

“Why have you created this myth that I am fragile?” Lea asked.

“All the finest ladies are agreeably fragile.”

“I will not break, Captain, and I can withstand the cold as well as anyone.”

He smiled at her, displaying excellent white teeth beneath a thin, fashionable mustache. “Yes, of course. But why not rest while the servants prepare a fire for you? Getting all the wagons through this mud will take time. You would perhaps enjoy a meal, and the poet will oblige you, I'm sure, with his newest song.”

Lea had heard the poet-singer rehearsing since morning, between complaints that the cold air was bad for his voice and requests to please ride in an enclosed litter with the ladies. Lea was not disposed to listen to any of it again.

She gathered her reins, making Ysandre shift and toss his head impatiently. “No, thank you.”

“Some other diversion? Your priest, perhaps?”

“No.” It was useless, Lea knew, to remind him that Poulso was
not
her priest. Captain Olivel Hervan, despite his excessive charm served on a platter of flattery, never listened to anything she said. “I'm going on, Captain,” she said now, firmly. “When the wagons are past this point, they can catch up. Please inform my ladies that they are free to ride after me, or remain with the wagons.”

“Lady Lea—”

She held up her hand to silence him. “I suggest that in addition to a pry pole, your men try laying bundles of sticks across the bog, so that once my litter is free the other wagons don't stick in the same spot.”

“Lady Lea—”

“Come, Thirbe,” she said, kicking Ysandre forward.

But the captain's horse moved to block her path, and he leaned over to grab her reins. “Wait, please.”

She jerked her horse to one side, spurring him out of Hervan's reach. “Never try that again,” she said fiercely, and sent Ysandre cantering up the road.

S
he
might have won the skirmish, Lea thought some time later, but she wasn't sure it constituted a victory. The initial exhilaration of being outside in the fresh, cold air, riding through this lovely valley had given way to increasing uneasiness as the afternoon wore on.

She could not say exactly what troubled her about the place. The old imperial road wound along the natural contours of land instead of running arrow straight. It followed a stream that flowed shallow and quick between low, flat banks and outcroppings of water-worn limestone. To her right stretched fallow fields, dotted with self-sown saplings and choked with long coarse grass browned and knocked flat by a killing frost.

Strange, Lea thought, that there were no birds here. No flocks of slim, gray-backed chikbeaks flying up in alarm from the undergrowth with that distinct buzzing whir of wings. No marshbirds with gaudy red markings flitting here and there among the weeds, foraging before winter closed in. Plenty of tall, gone-to-seed plumes of fluffy thistle grew along the road's edge, yet where were the tiny yellow fincos she'd seen elsewhere hanging upside down and feeding so greedily they barely flew away at the horses' approach?

The ten cavalrymen riding with her initially had swelled in number to almost the full squadron of a hundred. Her ladies had caught up, looking rather flushed and wind-blown on the placid mares assigned to their use. The musicians were along as well, and one had begun plucking a lute although he'd yet to find a tune, in Lea's opinion. A flash of white, crimson, black, and silver went galloping by, catching her attention. It was Captain Hervan, riding his large bay horse effortlessly, his short cloak and helmet plume streaming out behind him. Barsin rode in his wake, getting splattered for his devotion. Lea saw the pair slow down at the front of the column and take their usual positions there. Of the wagons there was no sign. According to Sergeant Kress, who came up to her shortly thereafter at a sedate and respectful trot, the litter was now safely out of the mud, but the food wagon proved to be too heavy for the sticks laid out for it. It had sunk down to the axles and looked like it might stay there.

Lea exchanged a look with Thirbe. “We'd better hope we reach an inn by nightfall if we're to have supper,” she said.

He frowned, still looking restless. “Aye, there goes your gear and grub. Did he leave all the servants behind as well?”

“They'll catch up,” a cavalryman volunteered cheerfully.

Around her, everyone was conversing, completely at their ease. Lady Fyngie's giggling told Lea that her youngest attendant was flirting with the lute player again. Laughter and chatter filled the air, sometimes ringing through the valley, and all the while Lea's sense of oppression grew.

She understood now why Thirbe felt as though he was being watched. She felt it, too, and knew it to be the bad
jaiethquai
hanging over this desolate little valley.

No birds. No villages. No barking dogs or running children peeping in shy curiosity from the road hedges. No curls of smoke from chimneys. Only the sigh of a cold north wind through the trees and frost-burned leaves fluttering to the ground. Aside from the noise of her party, there was no other sign or sound of life here.

The
jaiethquai
seemed so dense and sad that Lea felt as though she'd intruded into someone's grave site. What a sad place, a terrible place, she thought, if not even the wild birds would come to it. She wished she had not come this way either and regretted not turning back when she had the chance.

“Look,” Thirbe said, pointing across the stream. “Ruins.”

Lea stared hard in that direction. Although it was but midafternoon, the day was growing progressively gloomier, with long, inky shadows already darkening beneath the trees. She saw a few small mounds choked by grass and vines, but no real evidence that any dwellings had once stood. Disappointed, she fingered her necklace of
gli
-emeralds for reassurance, taking care to maintain her inner balance against whatever oppressive forces lingered in this place.

“I don't see them,” she said.

“Bound to be more ahead.”

She was on the point of asking Thirbe how he knew that if he'd never been here before, but she was interrupted.

“Er, Lady Lea,” said a deferential voice. “May I join you for a short while?”

She saw that the priest had ridden up to her. Mounted on a slope-shouldered, nondescript horse, the Reformant was a heavyset man with multiple chins, thick brows, thicker lips, and a large, unfortunate wart on one cheek. He was an extremely ugly man, and although that hardly mattered to Lea, his personality was too colorless to compensate for his looks. Her attendants despised him, making fun of him at every opportunity despite Lea's reproaches. As a result, she felt obliged to compensate for their cruelty by giving him more of her attention than she really wanted to. It was most vexing.

“Poulso,” she said now in polite acknowledgment. “Of course you may.”

As he rode up beside her left stirrup, Lea shot a look of mute dismay at Thirbe on her right. Her protector waggled his brows without sympathy, as if to say she could have avoided this by remaining inside her litter.

“I thought,” Lea said, turning back to the priest, “that you'd elected to stay with the wagons.”

Poulso bowed, or attempted to, making an awkward sort of slouch in the saddle. “You have been most kind, most gracious, dear Lady Lea, in granting me the use of the enclosed wagon. Of course, it was a trifle crowded in there among all the chests, and the musicians have been rude about my sitting on one of the panpipperies and breaking it, but I assure you it was a most inadvertent accident and I meant no deliberate harm of their possessions.”

“No,” she murmured.

“Otherwise, the wagon has been most comfortable, much to my liking. I have stayed quite warm, and my chilblains are better.”

“I'm glad.”

“My one regret is that you did not see fit to join me in prayer meditations. You would have found it most edifying, Lady Lea. Of course, I am available to assist you in prayer now, if that is convenient.”

“No, not now,” she said.

She did not subscribe to the Reformant religion, a sort of revised version of the Vindicant doctrine mixed with whatever pre-Vindicant texts scholars had found. Chanting did not edify her or provide spiritual comfort. Nor was she about to seclude herself with Poulso for any reason.

His brown eyes, large and slightly protuberant, rather dewy at the moment with admiration, were staring at her right now, staring and fixed with a rudeness she found disconcerting. Almost all men stared at her, of course, but this was different. She was well aware that her pale golden ringlets and the whiteness of her complexion were considered unusual, even a little exotic, by Itierian standards, and in New Imperia she'd been acclaimed a beauty. Although she wasn't conceited about it, she liked being pretty and enjoyed the admiration, within reason. But carrying on a conversation with someone who stared like a half-wit while breathing heavily through his mouth was less than enjoyable.

“No,” she repeated gently now, as he showed no signs of going away. “I have no need of joining your prayers. Is there anything else you wished to say or ask? Because—”

“Oh, er, yes, my lady,” he said, blinking and coming out of his daze. “How kind of you to remind me.” As he spoke, he fumbled in his purse and handed over a cabochon ruby. “Thank you for letting me examine this jewel that you found yesterday. It is quite fascinating how frequently you discover these, er, treasures. Quite fascinating. What a very sharp eye you must have. I do not know how you do it.”

Thirbe choked back a laugh and coughed. Lea resisted glancing at him, knowing she couldn't keep her composure if their eyes met.

“Perhaps you should keep it for further study, Poulso.”

Greed flickered in his eyes. He licked his fleshy lips, and his blunt fingers twitched a little. “Oh no, dear Lady Lea. My dear, generous Lady Lea. How kind you are. How ready to bestow favor upon your subjects—”

“I have no subjects,” she corrected him sharply. “I do not rule.”

One of the cavalrymen riding in front of them glanced back at Poulso with a warning scowl.

Looking alarmed, the priest slouched in another of his awkward bows. “Forgive me. I am clumsy in my mode of expression. I do not wish to offend you, or to speak improperly against His Imperial Majesty, His Supreme Excellency, the emperor who is my most esteemed benefactor. I meant to say, dear lady, that you rule our hearts, and your admirers are your subjects in—in the sense of—”

“I see,” she said, cutting off this nonsense. “You should keep the ruby. Make sure it's acceptable and contains no magic.”

“My dear Lady Lea, I could not possibly accept such a magnificent gift,” he protested.

But when she held out the jewel his fat fingers closed over it so avidly his knuckles whitened, and he took great care in securing it away.

“My lady,” he said, bowing low. “You would make me a wealthy man, me, a humble servant of Gault—a man sworn to vows of humility and poverty. What am I to say?”

“Sell the stone and use the money to buy more ancient texts for your order's library,” she said impatiently, eager to be rid of him. “Repair your temple. Whatever you see fit to do with it. You need not gain personally from this gift.”

“I—I see, my dear lady. I shall do as you say. Thank you. And now may I—”

“That is all for now, Poulso. You may leave me.”

With a look of disappointment, he obediently reined up his horse and dropped back. Lea could not suppress a sigh of relief. She'd thought he would never go.

“Them little bribes of yours ain't such a good idea,” Thirbe said quietly.

She glanced over her shoulder to make certain Poulso was out of earshot. “It got rid of him.”

“Aye, but they're getting jealous of each other, wondering when you're going to give out another big jewel and who'll get it.”

“Why should it matter?” Lea asked. “When I find the stones, why shouldn't I share?”

“There's a time to be kind, m'lady,” Thirbe said gruffly, “and a time to keep things close. Let's get you safely delivered to Trau, and then if you want to bestow gifts, do so at the end of your journey. Eh?” He peered at her from beneath the edge of his helmet. “You understand?”

“Yes. I'll try to remember.”

But she frowned as she promised, unhappy about hoarding stones that were simply jewels without any inner
gli
. Without magical properties, they held little interest for her, and she did not like to be burdened with too many possessions. That was not the way of balance. Besides, it seemed wrong to withhold the gifts, no matter what Thirbe said.

“Look, m'lady!” Thirbe said, pointing again. “More ruins! Just like I said there'd be.”

This time she had no difficulty seeing them. Lea stared at foundation stones and fallen walls shrouded in frost-withered vines. Rubble was strewn in all directions, half-seen in the dead grass. She saw a large structure standing at the end of an overgrown field. A barn, she supposed. Its roof was half-fallen in, its walls skewed. The whole thing looked as though a puff of wind would send it crashing down, yet she supposed it had been standing like that for years. Beyond it, a large town—all in ruins—stretched to the east.

“What happened here?” she asked in wonder. “This is no small village.”

“Aye, a big town in its day. And this road provided a pass through the hills to the north. Plenty of traffic and custom through here in the past. If we come to an imperial arch over the road in a while, we'll know.”

“We'll know what?” she asked.

“The name of the place. It'll be chiseled on the base of the arch, along with the date of construction and Kostimon's Imperial Seal. By rights, that should be struck off and the Light Bringer's seal chiseled in, but abandoned roads like this ain't likely to see that kind of attention.”

“Imperial towns of this size don't usually lie abandoned,” Lea said, still curious. “Was it invaded, torn down? Swept by fire or plague?”

Thirbe shrugged. “Gone is gone, m'lady. The why don't matter.”

When a sudden clammy feeling rolled over her, she reined her horse to a sudden halt. The men around her stopped as well.

“M'lady?” Thirbe asked in concern. “Are you faint?”

She blinked rapidly, forcing back the bad
quai
that had momentarily overtaken her. “No, I'm…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the ruins. Her gaze was caught by a roofless stone building standing with vacant holes where windows had once been, one rotted shutter still dangling by a bolt. “There's no harmony here. The
jaiethquai
is so very bad. Whatever befell the town—”

“Be at ease there, m'lady,” Thirbe broke in, his voice gentler than usual. “A long time back it was. A long time back.”