“But they weren’t killed?” Aric asked when she was done.
“Some were injured,” Sellis said. “Possibly others died.” He touched the hilt of the sword sticking up over his left shoulder. “I don’t mind killing when it’s warranted, as you know.”
“So they’re mostly alive, hurt, and furious,” Aric said. “We need to leave, now.”
“There aren’t enough kanks for everyone,” Rieve’s mother pointed out.
“We’ll have to share. I don’t need to ride,” Aric said. He found himself wishing there were fewer humans and more elves in the party. He was faster than a kank carrying a double load, and full elves could run faster, and over longer distances, than he. There had been several among the raiders. They had killed many raiders, but there were certainly plenty more who would already be gearing up to give chase.
They piled onto kanks, Mazzax riding behind Ruhm, Corlan and Myrana together, Rieve and Pietrus on one. Rieve’s grandparents rode together, with her parents on another, and Amoni and Sellis rode on the kank laden with supplies, taking turns getting off frequently to give the beast a break. Aric, as promised, ran alongside.
They didn’t see pursuers until the next afternoon.
The whole way, they had watched over their shoulders, figuring the raiders would be right behind them. Nothing.
By late the second day, they had decided that the raiders had chosen to bury their dead and not worry about them anymore. Then they reached the top of a tall hill and looked back and saw a dust cloud in the distance, following their trail.
They pressed on, urging the kanks to greater speed. When night fell, they had to stop, build fires and rest. Aric didn’t sleep well; even though he knew it was unlikely the raiders pressed on through the cold black Athasian night, he couldn’t shake the sensation that they were closing in. Out in open desert, with vastly greater numbers, they would be almost impossible to defeat.
As the sun rose, they gathered in a fur-clad, chattering group to discuss their options. “Doubled-up on kanks,” Aric said, “we won’t be able to outrun those raiders for long.”
“We’re slowing you down,” Rieve’s mother said. Aric could only distinguish the members of the Thrace family by their relative heights, as they all wore thickly furred, hooded cloaks, and their faces were lost in shadow. “You didn’t intend to overburden your mounts so much. Perhaps you should give up on us.”
“You’re the reason we went to that fort!” Myrana said. “And we need you.” The night before, they had told Rieve and her family about Kadya and Tallik and the fact that they would need magical assistance to defeat the demon. The family discussed it, finally agreeing to return to Nibenay, just for long enough to help deal with the threat. Aric vowed to make every effort to keep them outside the city’s walls and beyond the reach of the authorities.
“Myrana’s right,” Amoni said. “Without you, we might have already been back in Nibenay by now. Much closer, certainly. It’s you, Sheridia, who we’ve the greatest need of. Among those Veiled Alliance members I know, your reputation is without peer.”
“Perhaps you should just take Sheridia, then,” Corlan suggested. “I can protect the others.”
“You’re very bold,” Rieve said. “And you fought well yesterday at the fort. But the six of us alone wouldn’t have a chance.”
“We stay together,” Aric said. “We should mount up and go, though. Already the sky lightens before the rising sun. We need every minute’s advantage we can gain.”
They doused their fires with sand, packed, and set off as soon as the sun cleared the horizon. After a few hours, they again caught a glimpse of their pursuers, closer than they’d been the day before. Myrana suggested that since they were already so far off their route, they make another detour.
They changed course abruptly, heading away from Nibenay instead of toward it. Myrana was correct, though—the trip to the raider’s fort had taken them far afield, and although time was certainly growing short, dying before they reached Nibenay would help no one. Myrana hadn’t explained exactly what she had in mind, but Sellis agreed with her plan, and that was good enough for Aric.
Around midday, they reached a broad, barren valley ringed by low mountains. Instead of cutting across the valley floor, Myrana and Sellis led them by what seemed a much slower route, circling it. When they reached the far side, they stopped to rest and to drink from a spring high up on the wall.
From there, looking across the valley, they could see the raiders on the valley’s far rim. The raiders spied them as well, but chose to cross the valley.
“They’ll catch us in no time, now!” Rieve’s grandfather said. “We lost hours by going around.”
“Just wait,” Myrana said.
“Wait?” Corlan asked. “The sooner we go, the better!”
“Wait,” Sellis echoed. “Watch. I think you’ll enjoy this.”
They waited and watched. When the party of raiders was halfway across the valley, someone emerged from an unseen shelter hidden among large rocks. From the valley’s rim, he looked tiny. But even at that distance they could tell he was angry. Miniature arms flailed with rage, miniature feet stamped.
And then he began blasting away at the raiders.
“Who is that?” Mazzax asked finally.
“That’s the hermit Kalipher,” Sellis said.
“He hates intruders,” Myrana added. “Last time we saw him, he swore he would kill any who entered his valley.”
“So you don’t mind using magic to kill,” Aric said. “As long as it’s not your magic.”
“He would have killed anyway,” Myrana said. “Or so he claimed, and I’d no reason to doubt him. I just thought it would be helpful if he killed the right people.”
“Some may yet escape,” Amoni said. “And we should take advantage of the opportunity to make some progress.”
Aric loaded some freshly filled water bladders on the pack kank. “Nibenay awaits!”
“So it does,” Tunsall said. “Or so we hope.”
They pushed on as hard as they could during the day, but stopped before sunset in order to make camp and start fires before the cold set in. Everybody was more relaxed than the night before, when they had made camp after dark and they’d scrambled to get things ready. At any rate, everyone was exhausted from fighting and running, none more so than Aric, who had not been riding like the others.
Once camp was ready, he sat on the ground chewing on dried meat Mazzax had brought, watching the others settle in. There seemed an odd distance between Rieve and Corlan, a coolness that had not existed before. At the same time, Corlan and Myrana spoke together several times, sometimes laughing. Aric wondered what had transpired, on the backs of those kanks for so long.
He’d never had a chance to really look at Rieve’s father, who he hadn’t met at the Thrace estate. The man had only spoken a dozen words since they had met; none of them, now that he thought of it, directed to Aric. They had been running so much, and the man had been so bundled up during the night and morning, that he hadn’t even had a good view of him. Myklan of Thrace was a handsome enough fellow, he decided. His hair was black and thick, with a few strands of gray near the temples. His features were even and pleasant, as befitted the father of someone as lovely as Rieve. He was fit, a little thick around the middle, but not nearly so much as many nobles. The only thing remarkable about him was a bright red mark on his left cheek, like a sunburst. A birthmark, Aric guessed.
As he watched Myklan, he found himself staring at that birthmark. It reminded him of something. He sat with his back against a rough-edged rock, racking through his memory.