Patricia Briggs Page 5

  I bowed my head and bit my lip, wondering what Daryn would think if he could see me huddled in the corner of the basement. And I could almost see Gram, shaking her finger at me.

  “You just get up now, Missy, and clean yourself. Then you start planning what you can do to help these people. For the fear and ignorance of a few, you will not let the rest suffer. They will need you soon, and you will be there for them, as I was and my father before me.”

  I couldn’t be certain if it was my imagination or the sight, but Gram’s words hit home. Cantier had carried me to rest in his house though he had no love of the bloodmages. Kith had been there for me when I needed him…as had the priest, for that matter, and I barely knew him—he’d been in the village less than a season.

  “With this gift,” I said, quoting Gram’s favorite lecture out loud in a voice harsh with disuse, “comes great responsibility. We are caretakers. The bloodmages have forgotten that in their search for greater power. They don’t care that they are destroying themselves and those around them by what they do. Death magic is evil, and no good can come of it.”

  “Responsibility,” I grumped, but I got to my feet just the same. Without the incapacitating visions I lacked an excuse to cower in the darkness any longer.

  I found a change of clothes (more of Caulem’s), an old blanket partially torn up for rags and a bar of sweet-smelling soap before leaving the house.

  Daylight almost blinded me; I had to stand on the porch a moment before I could see. There were still a few chickens scratching in the dirt in front of the barn. Seeing the barn reminded me of the dead cow that had been rotting in there for the better part of a week. Somehow I was going to have to get her out.

  Soul’s Creek was icy cold, and I removed only my boots before stepping in. I scrubbed my face and hands first, while I still had the nerve, then set about washing clothes as quickly as I could. My hair took longer, but at last the dark strands were shiny and free of dirt and oil.

  When I was clean and dry, I began tidying the cottage, setting right what I could and sorting through the rest. Some things were so damaged I broke them up for firewood. Others I set aside for repairs. When I finished, I got a bucket from the cellar and headed for the creek again to get water to wash the dirt off the floors.

  Whether it was some fading of the long bottled-up magic, or merely the effect of working instead of sitting in the dark trying not to think of anything, I hadn’t had a vision all day. It was enough to make me almost cheerful.

  The afternoon sun was warm and the air was heavy with the scent of growing things. In the few days I’d spent in self-imposed exile, the world had bloomed. Yellowbells nodded in the gentle breeze where Ma and I had planted them around the house. Wildflowers were scattered shyly along the path to the barn and in the grass of the field where—Daryn’s big sorrel gelding grazed.

  He must have gotten free and come home.

  I set down my bucket and walked past the barn to the field beyond. Daryn had left the gate open the morning he left. I closed it behind me as I stepped into the pasture, more out of habit than anything else. The sound of the hinges caught the horse’s attention and he faced me, pricking his ears for a moment before trotting briskly to me, whickering.

  He stopped a few feet away and snorted, tossing his head once before shoving it into my midsection and rubbing it against me. Since he was still wearing the remains of his working headstall, the rubbing hurt. I slapped him lightly on the neck.

  “See here, sir,” I said catching the shanks of the bit. “Stop that, Ducky.” Daryn had originally called the horse Fire Hawk, or some such romantic name, but Caulem called him Duck instead, and that was the name which stuck.

  I stripped the bridle off—from the looks of it, it hadn’t been off since the raiders had stolen him. Sweat darkened his coat under the leather and there were several places where the hair had rubbed away, leaving small bare patches of pink skin. The reins, once long enough to drive him with, were a little shorter than my arms.

  “Someone tied you by the reins, eh? Not too smart.”

  I continued to mutter soft nonsense to him as I opened his mouth to see if he’d hurt himself when he broke free. He put up with it for a moment, then stretched his nose in the air and forced me to release him. He forgave me for the indignity as soon as my hands were off his nose, and pushed his head forward to be scratched some more. Someone had pulled his shoes, perhaps to make it harder to track him.

  “Well,” I said, “I was wondering how I was going to get that cow out of the barn—now I just need something to use as a harness. Maybe Kith will loan me something.”

  The practical words didn’t hide the tears, but I wiped them away briskly. Stupid to cry over a horse’s return, but for some reason I didn’t feel nearly as alone as I had this morning.

  I left him in the pasture, set the bridle aside for mending, and continued with my chores. The cow could wait until tomorrow. I whistled a little tune as I scrubbed the cottage, but it echoed and made the house more empty, so I stopped. I’d done my weeping in the darkness of the cellar, and in Duck’s mane; time to be done with it.

  When the house was clean, I caught the five remaining chickens and put them in the coop, where they would be protected from predators. While I was measuring grain for the fowl, I heard the sound of hooves on hard-packed earth.

  My heart leaped to my throat, but it was only one horse. It wasn’t likely that a raider would ride out alone, at least I hoped not. Still, I stayed in the slight protection of the barn until Kith’s red hair came into sight around the bend in the road.

  He rode at a brisk trot, his back straight from years of military experience and Albrin’s teaching—I rode that way myself. Torch, his yellow dun, was hammerheaded and thin-necked, but his strong legs were straight and heavy-boned. There was a spring to his step that would never let him be ugly while he was moving. He was big for a riding horse, though still a couple of handspans shorter than Duck.

  There was no hesitation in Kith’s movement as he swung off Torch and turned to face me, but I thought I glimpsed uncertainty in his eyes before he hid it behind the wall that kept him separate from others.

  For an instant I saw a much younger Kith running at top speed with Quilliar tearing after him, wild glee lighting both of their faces. It hurt me afresh that the free-spirited boy I’d grown up with had turned into this reserved, dour stranger.

  I smiled politely at him, glad he hadn’t come the day before and caught me wallowing in self-pity or writhing madly under the effects of the sight. With the first humor I’d felt for a long time, I gave him the formality his demeanor asked for. “Greetings and well-seeming, Kith.”

  He gave me a suspicious glance, and I remembered his support when I stood before the elders. Softening my teasing with more warmth, I said, “What brings you here?”

  His jaw clenched, causing his pale skin to flush under his cheekbones. “Beresford valley is flooded.”

  All humor left me, and I stepped forward to grip his arm—I had friends and kin there, too. “I know, I saw.”

  Kith nodded, as though it was something he expected, but then Moresh’s bloodmage traveled with the army, so perhaps he was used to magic. “The harper rode up Wedding Pass yesterday; he says the whole valley is underwater. Nobody from Beresford has come this way, so we think they must have left for Auberg when they realized that the water was going to cover the village.” He looked at me, and I shook my head. I hadn’t seen the Beresforders, hadn’t tried to see them.

  He continued after a brief hesitation. “Wandel and I are going on the old trail over Hob’s Mountain to see if any villagers made it out.”

  I kept my hand on his arm, knowing there must have been a reason he’d come to see me before they went.

  “Aren?” He looked away from my gaze. “Would you see if you can tell what happened to Danci? If she’s all right?”

  “Danci?” I repeated. She was a widow living in Beresford who had begun a campaign of courting K
ith that must have been rather more successful than anyone had suspected, if it had caused Kith to come to me.

  “Do you know what happened to her?” he asked. “If she’s not in Auberg, I’d like to have some idea of where she’s gone.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “I can try, but you saw what happened when I tried to see Cantier’s scar—all I got was faces of dead men, most of whom I didn’t even know. I’ve been having visions like mad ever since Silvertooth fell, but I don’t have any control over them.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember? You grabbed Cantier and told him his dog had done it when it was hurt and afraid.” He gave me a small smile. “Then you patted him on the cheek and said something to the effect that people and dogs had a lot in common. You were pretty frightening, Pest. If it hadn’t been for the priest…It was a good day for you when Old Gifford died and Tolleck came to the village.”

  I nodded. “I remember the priest. Well enough. If I can find her for you, I will. Come into the house so I can sit down.”

  I did not want to do this. No visions all day—well, only that little one about Kith and Quilliar. But Danci had been—was—my friend, too.

  Kith led his horse to a patch of grass and ground-tied him before following me into the cottage. I waited for him to shut the door, then took a seat on a stool set against a wall. As it was the only seat of any kind left in the house, Kith was forced to stand. Leaning back, I closed my eyes and let Danci’s face form in my mind. If it had worked with Cantier, it might work for Danci.

  Honey-brown hair, I thought, with a touch of curl. Gray eyes that glittered with fun and a stubborn jaw. Clear skin and a nose slightly too long for her face. Even as I cataloged Danci’s features, her image faded into another face.

  Predatory eyes, cinnamon-colored and slitted like a cat’s, were startling, but his features were human. Merriment and laughter touched his face, which was a gray darker than night’s shadow. His eyes met mine, and his brow lifted in mild inquiry. I was uneasily certain that he saw me, that perhaps the vision was as much his as it was mine. For an instant I glimpsed loneliness that matched mine, and I wondered what he had lost.

  “Hob?” said Kith’s voice in my ear. “You mean Hob’s Mountain?”

  I blinked stupidly at him for a moment, oddly startled by the color of his skin. “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “All you said was ‘Hob.’”

  Still half-caught in my vision, I shook my head, unable to answer him because I didn’t remember saying anything. “You said you’re going to Auberg by the old trail over the Hob?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind if I went with you? Duck’s back, so I wouldn’t need to borrow a horse.” I started to get up, but a wave of dizziness caught me halfway up.

  “Did you see something?” He pulled me to my feet and steadied me a moment.

  I nodded. “Nothing to do with Danci. I have no idea what it means, but I think that I might find out on the trip over.” It was something to do besides sit here and contend with memories and visions. Maybe, if I kept busy, the visions would go away. Even this one I’d had about the wildling with red-brown eyes wasn’t as consuming as the ones I’d had earlier.

  Kith nodded once, and stepped outside. “Fine, then. I’m meeting the harper at the inn just before dawn. Pack food to last at least four days.”

  I followed him to his horse. It took him a few moments to gather his reins, and I thought about how frustrating he must find it to have only one arm.

  “If you take the ends of the reins in your teeth you could collect them faster and more evenly,” I observed.

  He smiled at me, surprising me with a glimpse of his old self. “I do, if no one is watching.” Reins properly tightened, he stepped into the saddle.

  “Kith?” I asked abruptly.

  “Hmm?” His horse shifted its weight impatiently.

  “Would you teach me how to use a knife? I can use a bow—Father taught me. But that wouldn’t do me any good in close quarters. I’ve got one of Daryn’s knives in the house.” It was in the cellar, waiting for sharpening. I could do that tonight.

  “Fighting?” He looked thoughtful. “I suppose I ought to, with you living out here alone.” He wasn’t stupid enough to tell me that I ought to move into town—the villagers might be more dangerous to me than the raiders. “Fine. Bring your knife with you when you come, and we’ll start tomorrow.”

  “Right.”

  “Aren?” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you sure you want to bring Duck? No offense, but he’s not really a riding horse. That trail is really rough, even dangerous in some places. I could borrow one of Father’s mounts for you.”

  “Could you?” I said doubtfully, remembering Albrin’s reaction on the long ride to the village. My memories must have been accurate, because Kith flushed.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Give him some time. Duck and I will do just fine. Remember, I’ve been over the trail before—with you, as I recall.”

  He looked blank for a moment, then grinned. “And wasn’t your father fit to be tied about it, too? I’d forgotten that. Quill and I hiked up the Hob to spend our first night alone, feeling all grown-up and daring. Got to the place we were going to camp, and there was his skinny baby sister. Never did tell us how you got there ahead of us.”

  I laughed. “I was afraid to. I knew Quill would tell Father, and I’d never step out of the house again. I climbed the cliffs straight up rather than taking the route you did. It cut miles from the trip, but about halfway up, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”

  He shook his head, and shifted his weight so Torch started back up the trail. “Always did have a fool’s courage, I’ll say that for you. See you in the morning.”

  “See you,” I said, watching him ride away. With the suddenness of spring, the wind chose that moment to turn cool, sending a chill down my spine—a chill that somehow reminded me of dark skin and cinnamon eyes.

  THREE

  The streets were empty in the predawn hours. Duck’s unshod hooves hit the dirt road quietly. A few dogs barked as I rode past their houses, but I didn’t see any people until we neared the inn.

  Merewich stood with Albrin. Even from a distance I could tell they were arguing fiercely, though in tones so hushed I didn’t even catch the echoes of their voices. Beside them, isolated by the stone-grim expression on his face, Kith stood looking out at the darkened streets, absently rubbing his hand against the side of Torch’s face. The gelding was the first to notice our approach.

  Alerted by his horse’s fixed attention, Kith said something to the other two men. By the time I rode into the inn’s cobbled courtyard, both Merewich and Kith’s father had subsided into silence.

  Kith nodded in greeting. “Wandel is saddling his horse, then we’ll leave.”

  I gave him a half-smile, but my attention was on Albrin, who turned his head aside as if he could not see me. I swallowed uncomfortably. Albrin had taught me how to ride and where the best strawberries grew in the spring.

  Merewich patted my knee, talking as if Albrin couldn’t hear him. “Give him time. I’ve talked with the priest, and he believes—as do I—that we haven’t seen the worst of this. Brother Tolleck is something of a scriptural scholar. He says there’ll be dark days ahead, and I find myself agreeing with him. Something rather worse than a few raiders. Mind that you keep your eyes open.”

  I nodded my head, turning away from Albrin to meet the old man’s eyes. “I will.”

  Wandel came from the stable with his sweet-faced, creamy-white mare, and stepped into the saddle. He moved like a man several decades younger than he was—almost like Kith. I frowned, wondering why a harper moved like a soldier.

  “My dear,” he exclaimed, seeing Duck’s bridle for the first time, “what are you using for a bridle? It looks like it’s made of knotted rags.”

  I grinned at him, though the expression felt odd after so long. “It is—but it’s a hackamore, no bi
t. Raiders took every scrap of leather in the barn. This was the best I was able to come up with. It’s not as if Duck needs much more than a reminder now and again.”

  Duck stretched his nose toward the little mare. She let him in range, but then her small ears flattened and her eyes rolled wickedly as she snapped her teeth at him. Hurt and indignant, Duck pulled his muzzle out of harm’s reach.

  “The Lass doesn’t like other horses,” commented Wandel needlessly.

  “Or children,” said Merewich.

  “Or dogs,” added Kith with a faint smile.

  “Or women,” agreed the harper, who wasn’t above using his horse’s peculiarities as fodder for song—or, I could see, to defuse tension. “I had the prettiest little wife once….”

  “Come on,” said Kith. “If we don’t start now, he’ll be here telling stories until the sun goes down.”

  Wandel shook his head and handed his mare off to Albrin. “Aren can’t ride bareback the whole way. Let me find a saddle for her to use in the stable.”

  He came out with a saddle, blanket, and saddlebags. While I saddled Duck, he mounted his gray mare. I divided my bundle evenly between the two saddlebags he’d brought out. I walked Duck out before checking the cinch. It was a little loose, so I tightened it before mounting. I took my time, refusing to give in to the awkward silence that hung over the courtyard by hurrying.

  “Wandel, old friend,” said Merewich, finally breaking the silence.

  The harper smiled, and gripped the elder’s hand firmly. “Until next season, then.” He turned to Kith’s father. “Albrin.”

  Albrin shook his hand, but when he turned to his son, Kith rode out without speaking.

  WE USED THE TOWN BRIDGE TO CROSS ONTO THE LORD’S side of the river. The lord’s fields were already tipped with green as the earliest of the crops sprouted, having been planted several weeks before the village’s.

  It took several miles for the horses to find a comfortable pace for traveling together. Kith’s horse was used to traveling with large groups, but the harper’s mare liked to choose her own pace. Then there was Duck. He had a ground-eating, syncopated walk that was too fast for either of the smaller horses: his alternative was the gait he used when plowing, which was too slow. Only when the animals decided that they had to travel together did things calm down.