The Way Into Magic: Book Two of The Great Way (33 page)

The cart picked up its pace again, moving through town—if muddy paths and log cabins could be called a “town,” no matter how much it sprawled—then into the forest. Cazia, Ivy, and Kinz were given clean white clothes like the others wore. They changed under the tarp on the jolting cart, and Kinz helped Cazia without being asked. They really had put their conflicts behind them.
The Little Spinner never slows.

The clothes were surprisingly comfortable, and Cazia was happy to receive a wide-brimmed hat that allowed her to tuck up her hair. Great Way, it wasn’t even particularly short.
 

The road started due west at first, and they came within sight of the Straim for the first time.
 

“This is not the riverhead,” Ivy explained, pointing out at the churning lake that filled the space beside the Toal fort, the town, and the mountain range. “The Straim actually begins somewhere in the Sweeps, running beneath the land. Here is where it emerges into the sunlight on its path to the sea.”

“The river is underground?” Kinz said, astonished at the idea.

Cazia had never even heard of such a thing. She thought about powerful currents pulling her down into darkness and she shuddered.

“It is!” Ivy seemed proud, as though it was her personal accomplishment.
She loves her home.
 

The lake was not large, but the southern end had collapsed into a long, rocky slope. The slope ran for nearly a thousand feet, then widened into the broad, deep river itself. The girls leaned against the rail, watching the water crash and flow. The cart turned away from the sight too soon, moving deeper into the deep green forest.

Belterzhimi and Goherzma joined them in the cart shortly after, and they pulled the tarp overhead to block out the rain. Cazia told him the story of their escape from Peradain. She even talked about the Festival, the portal, and the fact that it was long shut and wouldn’t open again for a generation. She talked about saving the prince, saving Ivy, about Pagesh being left behind, and about the time they spent regrouping in Samsit. She told him about the death of her brother, about the quest the prince undertook for a spell powerful enough to defeat the grunts, about the way they changed, and about rescuing Ivy from the fort.
 

She told it all, except that she made herself seem like little more than baggage. It was the other scholars who fought from the flying cart over Peradain. It was an archer who shot and killed her own brother, transformed into The Blessing.
 

When she reached the point where they met the Ozzhuacks, Ivy interrupted. “The rest is for Mother and Father. I hope you understand.”
 

“Unfair!” he cried in a playful way. “It is not fair to tell a man half an adventure.”
 

“Think how fun it will be to pause at this exciting moment.”

“I hate waiting.” He gave Cazia a measuring look.
 

“Cousin,” Ivy said carefully, “since you have not returned the iron artifacts that were taken from Kinz…”

“Ah yes,” he said, and it was clear from his expression that they were gone. “Already melted down and traded away. The metal was astonishingly pure and strong, even higher in quality than the metals we take from the Peradaini.” He bowed his head to Kinz. “The Toal owe you a debt.”
 

“I will collect it,” she said.
 

“We had a boy come through here a few months ago,” Belterzhimi continued. “He said he had left the princess with two companions, and that one of them was a Peradaini scholar.”
 

Of course he did.
“That’s not us,” Cazia said with a shrug. “The Toal commander tested us several times.”
 

“Did he?”

Kinz lay back and stared at the sky. “I wish I was the scholar. I would make cook fires with the wave of my hand, cover the muddy road ahead of me with smooth stone, and trick every chieftain I met into giving me their okshim.”

“You would also live as an honored guest of the people of Goldgrass Hill, sharing a home almost as luxurious as the princess’s. You would not even have to wave a hand to light a fire; you would simply command your woman to do it.”

Cazia stared at the turning wheel, but she watched Belterzhimi out of the corner of her eye. He had been looking at her when he’d last spoke. Not intently, as he had before, but looking just the same. She pretended not to notice.
 

“I do not think I would make to enjoy that,” Kinz said vaguely. “It might be nice for the short while, but I would miss the outdoors, traveling on the backs of the herd, chasing the children.”

“That does you credit, I think. May I make a confession? I have a fascination with the flying carts. How are they flown?”

Kinz shrugged. “Magic,” Ivy said.

“How else could people fly but by magic?” Belterzhimi asked reasonably. “But how do they work? Must the occupants will themselves off the ground? Is a blood sacrifice required?”

“Their scholars did it merely by thought,” Ivy said. “Did you know that many scholars learn only a few spells?”

Her cousin nodded. “The Toal learned this just recently.”
 

“When we escaped Peradain, the cart was flown by a scholar who seemed to have been specially trained. The other scholars with us didn’t know the trick.”
 

The color orange--a bright orange. The feeling of stepping into a deep puddle unexpectedly with your left foot. A square where the right side breaks midline and collapses into an isosceles triangle.
Cazia had heard the “trick” once and she would never forget it. Not that there was any reason to admit that now. “The scholars were very secretive,” she said, “even among their own people.”
 

“I see. Miss Cazia Freewell, have you been looking after your hand?”
 

Cazia was startled by the change of topic. “I-- Yes. I keep the bandages clean.”

“That is good but it is not enough. You should also be moving your fingers as much as possible. It is necessary for you to regain the full use of your hand.”
 

Was this some sort of trick? “Is that possible? I didn’t think it was.”

“Perhaps not the
full
use of your hand, I must admit, but if the wound stays clean and does not turn into an unmoving claw, you will only have some weakness there. Maybe stiffness, too. When you are old, it may ache with bad weather. But you must remind your hand that it is meant for work. Only then will you be tying knots and carrying staves at the end of summer.”
 

I could cast spells again.
The idea that Cazia hadn’t lost her magic flooded her with joy and relief. Suddenly, the pain didn’t seem so terrible.

She was about to lunge forward and hug the man when Belterzhimi sighed. “Girls, I must ask for your forbearance. I was up all night finishing my business at the fort, and I must get a little sleep before we make camp tonight.”

“Of course!” Ivy hopped out of the cart; Kinz and Cazia followed. Belterzhimi bowed his head to them, then laid a blanket over his eyes. His man did the same. Within moments, they were very still and breathing deeply.
 

The three girls walked behind the cart through the afternoon, Cazia flexing and unflexing her fingers as best she could. It hurt. It hurt quite a bit, actually, but she didn’t stop. She could get her magic back, and all it would cost her was pain.
 

Still, she was vaguely embarrassed by her urge to throw her arms around Ivy’s cousin. First of all, she barely knew him. Second, they were both reclining in the cart in full view of everyone. Third... Honestly, she wasn’t sure what the third one was, but it probably involved the shock and revulsion he would certainly feel if she tried it, and the horrendously polite way he would be forced to push her away.
 

Why had he asked so many questions about the flying cart?

“Ivy”--Cazia kept her voice low so they wouldn’t disturb the sleeping men--“why does your cousin look so sad?”

Ivy’s eyes widened with surprise. “Ooooo! Cazia has a crush on Belterzhimi!”
 

She and Kinz teased Cazia for a little while but seemed to get the hint when it became too much. They walked the rest of the afternoon in silence, surrounded by stone-faced spearmen and women with unstrung bows who gave Cazia murderous looks. There were servants, too, and others whose roles were hard to define. No one spoke a language she could understand, so she spent the whole day trying to decide if she was making her hand better or worse by flexing it. It didn’t matter how it felt. She trusted Belterzhimi’s advice implicitly, and of course she did not have a crush on him. That was ridiculous.

Near the end of the day, a huge spatter of mud struck her back. No one knew who had thrown it, and while camp was being arranged, she had to scrub her jacket one-handed. She was determined to keep her clothes as neat and white as everyone else’s.
 

On the second day, the harassment became cruel.

Chapter 23

No matter how much Cazia scrubbed, she had not been able to remove the shadow of the mud stain on her jacket, and of course, the princess had noticed as soon as they started walking in the morning. The last thing Cazia wanted was for the insult to receive royal attention, but now it was too late.
 

“Stay close to me,” Ivy said. “I’ll see that they treat you with respect.”

“That’s all right,” Cazia said.
I am not helpless
. “I don’t need a babysitter, and I’ve faced scarier things than cowards who fling mud at people’s backs.”
 

She didn’t say it quietly, and as she hoped a pair of servants--or something, who could tell?--began whispering as if they understood.
 

Good. Cazia had lived among sneaks and backbiters her entire life. She knew how to deal with people like that.
 

Before the usual buns were distributed at midday--the Ergoll ate lunch on their feet while walking, which seemed sensible to Cazia, although the food was unbearably bland--a pair of girls approached Kinz and began speaking in Toal. Cazia had learned to tell the difference overnight; Toal sounded like a monotone while Ergoll had a lilt to it. Not that she could understand a word. But the girls encouraged Kinz to follow them to the front of the column.
 

Then, while they ate, Ivy’s cousin asked her to join him on the western side of the group to talk privately about family matters. The princess didn’t want to leave Cazia alone, but Cazia insisted it was fine.
 

And it was. It would have to be. Cazia slowed her pace, letting the cart—and the bulk of the crowd—pull ahead. Walking with the princess, she liked to stay close to the center of the retinue. Not directly behind the cart, of course, because of the little surprises the okshim dropped, but close. She honestly wasn’t sure how dangerous the forest was; Belterzhimi’s soldiers were obviously there to stand off a Peradaini incursion, which was clearly not going to happen. As for the grunts, the Straim was the widest, deepest river in Kal-Maddum; if armed, skilled boatmen had difficulty navigating those fast, treacherous currents, The Blessing ought to find it nearly impossible.

Maybe there were bandits or something, but Cazia figured it was safer not to ask about it. Someone would surely take it as an insult.
 

As Cazia fell behind, spearmen passed her. They moved in pairs with long, flexible weapons and round wooden shields covered in bronze on their backs. Instead of swords at their hips, they carried small knives. The looks they gave her made it clear what they thought of her, and they sometimes muttered nastily in Ergoll.
 

It wasn’t Enemies outside the camp that she had to fear. It was the ones within.

But if the men stared with stony contempt, the women looked at her with undisguised hatred. Narrowed eyes, curled lips... Cazia was sure they would put an arrow in her back if they thought they could get away with it.
 

Of course, they probably could. No matter how furious Ivy became, Cazia doubted that her killer would be actually hanged for the crime, considering the history between her people and theirs. Not that it would matter to Cazia once she had been Fire-taken.
 

It occurred to her that, for once, she was going too far and risking too much, but she dismissed it. No retreat. Not from this enemy.
 

An archer came from behind and bumped her, hard, knocking her toward the center of the road. She had to hop and dance to avoid the sticky piles of okshim flop, which made the archers laugh. She couldn’t understand what they said, but it didn’t matter. These weren’t the ones who had flung mud on her.
 

Eventually, she fell back far enough that she was alone on the road. The oak trees grew close to the path, and the morning drizzle dripped from the leaves in fat drops. Only her broad white Toal hat kept them off the back of her neck. It did not take long for them to come to her.
 

There were four, all women, all carrying unstrung bows and wearing the asymmetrical sleeves of Indregai archers. The one in the lead had shorn blond hair--she had a husband somewhere--and broad, muscular shoulders. She was as tall as Kinz and almost as muscled as Colchua had been. There was a bit of swagger in her step, which the others didn’t match.
The leader
.