Inheritance (44 page)

“Into the Oceans of Grass,” Kumul said, not sounding too happy about their prospects. “If we have figured all of this out, then so have the mercenaries.”

They had noticed the scouts moving up and down the line and had dismounted before being seen, taking cover behind a large wagon carrying sheep hides built up into fleecy hills.

“We might have seemed nothing more than guards for some of the merchants,” Ager suggested weakly.

“We have no reason to expect fortune to favor us so suddenly,” Jenrosa said.

“She is right,” Kumul said. “They will recognize us if they see us.”

“Then, when the caravan halts for the night, we must find our way to its center,” Ager said. “There is some obscurity in numbers.”

Kumul agreed. “If Lynan is among this lot, then we may find him there, too.”

“We might do better to search for his wounded companion,” Jenrosa suggested.

“Good idea,” Ager said. “But our main objective at this point should be to remain unnoticed until we reach the sooq.”

They trudged on, keeping an eye out for any sign of more mercenaries. Jenrosa tried to take in what was going on around her, the merchants and their colorful clothes, the different goods being carried by the wagons, but she had to concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other. She was more tired than she could have imagined possible back in her slow and comfortable life as a student magicker. She wondered if she would ever have that again, that feeling of not being hunted, of not desperately seeking some kind of sanctuary. That, in turn, made her think of the Oceans of Grass; the very name suggested vast distances where an army could lose itself, and a germ of hope kindled in her heart. Perhaps there, an insignificant speck, she would find peace again. Even as she had the thought, something inside of her rebelled against it. Life in Kendra may have been comfortable, but it had also been numbingly boring. Would the Cherts allow her to practice her magic? What magic did they use? Could they teach her?

These were questions she would have to find answers to. She found her steps becoming lighter.

Eder gave Rendle the latest report from the scouts as they rode along Algonka Pass, the company following behind four abreast. They were still three hours’ ride behind the caravan and would not reach it before nightfall. His captain heard him out without speaking a word. “At least there are no signs of Chetts in any number,” Eder offered halfheartedly when he had finished.

“There will be at the sooq,” Rendle spat. “And if we don’t find the prince soon, that’s where we’ll end up.”

“Do you want to wait in the pass, then?”

Rendle shook his head. “Even if we don’t find him, I still intend to head north to Haxus. This new queen in Kendra is sitting loose on her throne. Why else hire mercenary companies and send them north? Destiny blows behind Salokan now. He will need trained bands like ours. Prince Lynan was just an extra bargaining chip. Even if we turn up without him, we can let Salokan know he is still alive and still an outlaw.”

Eder nodded at Prado, riding a few paces behind and hanging half off his horse. “He will not last to Haxus.”

“He only has to last to Strangers’ Sooq. He can identify the prince and the pilot for sure.” He slapped his thigh with frustration. “Are you sure the scouts saw no pair fitting Prado’s descriptions?”

“They saw several traveling in pairs, some with one horse, some with two, some just walking. All different sizes. Some were Chetts. Unless they actually stop and interrogate them all, how can they be sure? And that will only antagonize the merchants and their guards.”

“Send out more scouts,” Rendle ordered. “Even if we just identify them, we can wait until we reach the sooq to take the prince.”

“The Chetts and merchants won’t like that,” Eder complained. “The drawing of weapons is forbidden there.”

“What can they do about it? We have over two hundred armed riders. No one can stop us, and before the Chetts can organize a war party, we’ll be long gone, riding hard for Haxus.”

Eder left to give the order. Alone, Rendle felt his anger and frustration rising. He wanted to lash out at someone. Anyone. He slowed until Prado had caught up and punched the man in the back. Prado shot up like a branded colt.

“Keep in your saddle, Prado,” Rendle said fiercely. “You haven’t finished yet.”

Prado glared at him. “You would not treat me like this if my veterans were here. I always led a better company than your ragtag collection.”

“But you don’t have your veterans with you, and you never will again if we don’t recover the prince and turn him over to Salokan. No money, no company. Right now you’re nothing more than a poor old soldier who’s fallen on evil times.” Prado turned his face away from him. Rendle angrily grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back. Their horses skittered to a stop and Rendle’s men rode around them like water flowing around a rock. “How sure are you the prince escaped the river? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

Prado pulled his head away, leaving a handful of hair in Rendle’s fist, and gave the captain a jagged grin. “If I am, you won’t know until it’s too late. What do you think the Chett will do when they see Captain Rendle appear at the Strangers’ Sooq with his company of hated riders? They haven’t forgotten you, old slaver, mark my words.”

“Then they won’t have forgotten you either,” Rendle returned and spurred on his horse, Prado sneering after him.

Lynan could not sleep. Gatheras had overwhelmed them with his benevolent, munificent and plenteous generosity. He could not remember ever having eaten so much. The merchant must have had a whole wagon devoted to supplies, most of it food and wine. There had been roast pig and fowl, potato and pea soup, hard wheat bread with dried fish and spiced yogurt spread, sesame balls made with honey, and white wine and red wine, and a sickly mead at the end of the meal that made him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous. All of it now roiled in his stomach, unused to such splendor.

If I sleep, I will have nightmares
, he told himself.
From now on I eat nothing but berries and nuts
.

He groaned and tried turning in the bedding Gatheras had loaned him. He wanted to see the stars, but he and Gudon were now sharing ground with Gatheras and seven of his eight servants under a huge tent. Snores and snuffles mumbled in the background, and the smell of silent burps and not-so-silent farts filled the air. Giving in to his insomnia, he got up and carefully made his way to the flap. Outside stood the eighth servant, standing guard with a huge club. Lynan rubbed his belly and made a sour face. The guard smiled knowingly, patted his own belly and belched loudly.

Although he could now see the sky, it was made faint by the forty or more campfires that burned brightly in the caravan camp. He was still surrounded by sleeping bodies. Hundreds of them. Dozens of tents, some of them even bigger than Gatheras‘, swelled in the darkness like beached whales, and circling the camp were the wagons forming a wooden wall. He made his way to the piss trench, gingerly stepping over heads and arms. He could hear the Algonka River gurgling nearby, and something else. He quickly relieved himself and listened more carefully. Sounds of horses, many of them. The occasional clink of steel slapping on steel or leather. He edged around the side of one of the wagons and peered into the darkness. The ground sloped gently down to the river and a small glen, and between the trees of the glen he could make out the dark shapes of horses. Now and then he saw men dressed in leather gear, just like the mercenaries he and Gudon had observed riding up and down the caravan during the day.

God’s death
! he thought.
It’s Prado and his men
!

His first reaction was to ran back to Gatheras’ tent and raise the alarm, but he stopped himself. What good would raising the alarm do? Why would anyone care? It was no concern of Gatheras or his fellow merchants. Lynan forced himself to think calmly. If the mercenaries
were
after him, either they did not know he was in the camp or had decided they could not move against him yet; otherwise he would already be their prisoner. He had to warn Gudon, but knew that until they reached Strangers’ Sooq there was nothing either of them could do.

His stomach forgotten, he returned to Gatheras’ tent and gently shook Gudon awake.

Gudon listened wearily and said, “Since there is nothing to be done, I suggest you try and sleep.” He closed his eyes again.

“Sleep? How can I sleep now?”

Gudon sighed, sat up and gently pushed Lynan down. He started to sing. Lynan blushed. “I’m no babe to be sung a lulla… lull…”

His eye lids fluttered and closed, and he sensed a dark sheet falling over his mind.

Someone was kissing his cheek. He tried to open his eyes, but it was much harder than it should have been. The kissing was getting harder. Odd, he thought, dimly remembering where he was. A horrific image of Gatheras taking advantage of him gave Lynan the extra encouragement he needed to prize open his eyelids. He looked up into the face not of Gatheras but of Gudon, and Gudon was not kissing him, he was slapping him.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled.

“Waking you up, little master.”

“It’s dawn already?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go.”

Lynan shook his head to clear it. “What did you say?”

“I have to go. I must leave before it is light.”

Lynan sat up straight. “What are you talking about?” He could not hide the catch in his voice. He was being set adrift again.

“I want to get to the Strangers’ Sooq before the caravan. I must find my friends to arrange things.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

“The mercenaries have set guards. They will not worry too much about a single Chett—many of us travel along the pass—but they will decidedly pay attention if they see you.”

“But what will I do?” He tried not to sound desperate. He searched for courage, but it seemed far, far away.

“I have asked Gatheras to let you stay with him. I told him I would make sure he gets favorable treatment from the Chetts. He agreed, and will take you with him to the sooq.”

“But what will I do when I get there?”

“If I am not there to greet you, you must find a Chett dealer named Kayakun. You can trust this man. He will know what to do. You must follow his instructions precisely. Do you understand?”

Lynan nodded, not really understanding but at least willing to trust Gudon. “What about your knee?”

“Gatheras will help me to the horse. I will have no trouble riding to the sooq. It is not that far for a single rider.” Gudon patted Lynan’s shoulder. “You will be all right. Keep your eyes open. Talk only to Gatheras. If I am not at the sooq, find Kayakun.”

“Are you ready?” Gatheras said behind Lynan, making him start in surprise.

Gudon nodded and Gatheras approached and offered the Chett a hand up. Gudon left the tent without another word. Lynan hugged his knees. He wanted to curl up into a ball and let the world pass him by. He did not want to stand, or leave the tent, or go to the Strangers’ Sooq, or find a man called Kayakun. He wanted the past weeks to evaporate into a nightmare and leave him warm and safe in his bed back in Kendra’s palace.

He stayed like that for several minutes. Gatheras returned and squatted down beside him. “It is the small things in life that make it worthwhile,” the merchant said in a businesslike tone. “Take, for example, the knot you tied on the rope around my wagon. It was a little thing, but it meant a great deal to me. I will take you to the Strangers’ Sooq. It is a little thing, but I think it will mean a great deal to you. Am I right?”

Lynan nodded.

“Good. Now you must do a little thing. You must stand.”

Lynan met Gatheras’s gaze. “I am—”

“Do not say afraid. No one is afraid to stand up.” Gatheras stood up, his arms out wide as if to embrace the idea. “A little thing.”

Lynan swallowed and stood up. “A little thing,” he said, his voice wavering.

Gatheras held out a tunic. “This carries the sign of my house. You will wear it until we reach the Sooq. This is a particular request from Gudon.”

Lynan took off his coat and exchanged it for the tunic.

“Now everyone will think you work for me and not spare you a second glance.”

Lynan frowned. “How much did Gudon tell you about me?”

Gatheras smiled mysteriously. “Are you hungry?”

Remembering the huge meal he had last night he started to say no, but when he thought about it he realized he was hungry. “Yes,” he said.

“Then the next little thing we will do is eat. I cannot have my servants passing out from lack of food. Come with me.”

Gudon kicked the horse into an easy trot. As he rode from the camp, the ground started sloping gently toward the west. It would level out a few leagues on, and an hour’s hard ride after that he would reach the first Chett outposts, single warriors hidden in grass hides who watched the comings and goings of everyone leaving the Algonka Pass.

A mercenary guard rode toward him, keeping parallel until Gudon waved at him and held up two string baskets, each holding one of Gatheras’ beautiful pots. The mercenary shook his head, Gudon shrugged and continued on. After a while, the mercenary dropped back to resume his station.

Gudon thought he had made it through when a second mercenary appeared suddenly from a copse near the river. Gudon did not want to appear like a fugitive, so he slowed and waited for the mercenary to catch up. The rider wheeled his horse in front of Gudon, barring his escape. He was a thickset bruiser with hairy arms and ragged black hair tied back in an ivory pinch. He smiled genially enough and rubbed his chin with a callused finger.

“Early start?” he asked.

“Indeed, master.” He held up his baskets. “I intend to be the first to tempt the markets with my employer’s wares.”

“Who is that?”

“His name is Gatheras; he comes from Sparro.”

The mercenary nodded, then pointed to Gudon’s leg. “Nasty wound. How did you get it?”

“I was bitten by a horse, master.”

The mercenary laughed. “This one?”