Alliances

So disturbed was he by his concerns, when he spoke at last his words were far sharper than he’d intended. “I see our masked leader is nowhere to be found. I imagine he chose a more salubrious route for himself.”

Immediately, he regretted his harsh words, but Alhana reined up and turned on him before he could temper them.

“You know nothing about him! How dare you presume to judge?”

In the stillness, her voice was very loud. Samar bowed his head. Flushed with anger, Alhana touched heels to her horse’s sides and cantered past Kerian and Chathendor, who were riding ahead.

“My lady,” the old chamberlain called. “This place is not safe! Stay with us, please!” He urged his balky mount after her.

Kerian glanced back at Samar. For a moment, the Silvanesti’s perpetually hard face showed one overriding emotion: fear. She realized it was not personal fear of the dangerous journey, but concern for Alhana.

It was then Kerian realized something else: Porthios and Alhana had come to some sort of an understanding. Whatever it was, it had eased the anxiety that shadowed Alhana’s face. Good for her, Kerian thought; no one should be that lonely and alone.

As for Porthios, wherever he was Kerian wished him bathed in twice the stink that was clogging her nose.

* * * * *

Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky when the wagon carrying the feverish Hytanthas passed under a low-hanging tree limb. A figure dropped from the branch and landed silently in the open cargo box. Hytanthas stirred.

“Who’s there?” he murmured.

“A friend.”

Bare fingers touched Hytanthas’s forehead then withdrew. A twig was placed against his lips.

“Chew this, but don’t swallow.”

“Are you a healer?”

“Don’t ask questions. Chew.”

Hytanthas chewed until the voice told him to spit out the bitter-tasting twig. In minutes, he rested easier, the ache in his limbs subsiding for the first time in days. With a sigh, he relaxed, his head lolling against the lambswool blanket that softened his bed atop bundles of Qualinesti weapons.

“What news have you of Gilthas?”

Halfway lost to slumber, Hytanthas mumbled an answer. Under the stranger’s gentle but insistent questioning, Hytanthas told of the elves’ predicament in Khur and of the Lioness’s reluctance to return. He withheld nothing, not of what he knew or his opinions. The questions finally ceased, and the medicine bark that soothed his fever and loosened his tongue lowered Hytanthas into a deep sleep.

Porthios sat back against the wagon’s side. For a long time, he stayed there, staring at nothing, lost in thought.

Chapter 11

Breetan Everride had been in conquered Qualinesti less than two months, but the changes wrought in that time were profound. When she traveled to Alderhelm to investigate the disappearance of Nerakan mercenaries, she rode through a land at peace—the peace of those broken in spirit. However, riding from Frenost to Samustal, she passed through a countryside tingling with alarm, the roads choked with people fleeing north or west. Most were buntings heading to the coast, to take ship back to wherever they’d come from. Mixed in with them were the camp followers and sutlers who always trailed mercenary armies.

A few questions, accompanied by a few coins, posed to refugees elicited surprising news. All over northern Qualinesti, natives were rising up against their oppressors. With Beryl gone, and the Knights of Neraka quiescent in the south, the local folk had only Samuval’s bandit army to contend with. The success of the masked rebel in Samustal had shown them victory was possible. In a hundred locations, bandit detachments had been ambushed. Some of these were carefully planned traps; others, spontaneous uprisings. The bandits seemed incapable of regaining control. Whenever they moved to crush one outbreak, two more would erupt behind them. Slowly but surely, Samuval’s men and their allies were abandoning the open countryside and holing up in fortified towns.

Although she wore the full panoply of her Order and carried her new crossbow openly, no one molested Breetan. Rebels kept well clear of the Dark Knight. Bandit officers, conscious of their failings, remained aloof lest their weakness inspire her to intervene against them. Only refugees approached, begging for help and steel. Breetan paid for useful information, but refused otherwise to aid the greedy, defeated leeches.

She reached Samustal as dusk was falling. Her target, the rebel leader known as the Scarecrow, was unlikely to be so near the scene of his first victory, but she might glean valuable information there. Besides, she wanted dinner, drink, and a place to rest for the night.