“I’ll stay up here with the horses,” he said, nodding toward the camping supplies in his saddlebag. “They should be able to graze, which’ll help stretch our supplies. I’ll keep them close to home.”
And then came the question he didn’t want to ask. The answer he didn’t want to know. He drew in a deep breath and forced the words out one by one, trying to make them sound casual. “I guess you’ll need to ... tonight or in the morning....”
“Feed myself?”
He muttered something unintelligible.
In answer Tarrant unbuckled one of his saddlebags and drew out a large canteen. “As you see, I came prepared.” He uncapped the container and took a long drink from it; something about the weight or the way he handled it made Damien certain it wasn’t water. “No more nightmares, Vryce. Not this time. You need your strength as much as I need mine, and in the face of Calesta’s power ... there should be enough nightmares to go around soon enough, for both of us.” He took another short swallow, then capped the canteen once again. “I can make it on this until we reach the coast. After that ...” He shrugged.
Don’t think about it, Damien warned himself, as the Hunter shouldered his supplies and slipped down into the darkness of his subterranean shelter. The misery that this world will suffer if Calesta succeeds in his plans is a thousand times worse than anything the Hunter could devise.
He wished he could be sure of that. He wished he were sure of anything. Twenty-eight days left.
What will happen to the Church’s troops if they do make it through? Damien had asked Tarrant. If your creations let them pass and they reach the keep. What then?
Then their fate will be in Amoril’s hands, he responded. And as for what Amoril is capable of... He shook his head grimly. The Forest is still mine, and will be until my death. He may tap into its power, but he can never fully control it.
So they could win out, then.
For a long time the Hunter didn’t answer. It was a long enough delay that Damien began to wonder if he had heard him at all, and was about to repeat the question when the Hunter said, very quietly, The price for that kind of success would be high. I wonder if your Patriarch is willing to pay it.
It took them three days to reach the northern coast. Each night as Tarrant arose, Damien could see him stop and gaze northward toward their distant goal, and he could almost hear him counting down the days that were left to him. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six. Twenty-five. It was enough time to do what they had to, Damien told himself. It had to be. Shaitan wasn’t all that far away, so if the journey didn’t kill them outright, they should make it with at least a week to spare. Right?
Calesta had still made no move against them. Rather than reassuring Damien, that fact made him doubly nervous. Despite Tarrant’s insistence that the Iezu would make no direct attempt to kill them, Damien wasn’t so sure. Tarrant had said that the laws of the Iezu forbid them from interfering in human development, and Calesta was doing that already, wasn’t he? God only knew what the demon was planning for them, but it was damned likely not to be pleasant. Maybe he would wait until they got to Shaitan, Damien thought. Maybe this first part of the journey would be relatively easy, as they all prepared for a confrontation on the Iezu’s home turf. Maybe—
He sighed, and shifted his position in the saddle so that his legs ached a little less.
Yeah. Right. Dream on, Vryce.
They came within sight of Seth shortly after midnight on the fourth night of travel. It was a small town by Jaggonath’s standards but adequate for their purposes, with the kind of harbor that should host at least one vessel willing to carry them. Damien saw Tarrant fingering the neck of his tunic as they approached the southern gate, and wondered if he had replaced the Forest medallion Ciani had torn from his neck so very, very long ago. It had made negotiations easier once before, but he wondered if wielding it now would be such a good idea.
As if in answer to his thoughts, Tarrant dismounted and motioned for him to do the same. “Try not to Work here,” he warned, as he wrapped the horses’ reins about a nearby tree limb for security. “The currents this close to the Forest may well overwhelm you.” Damien nodded that yes, he understood. Senzei Reese had almost been swallowed up by the fierce currents in Kale, and that city was just across the river from them. He wasn’t anxious to test himself against a similar power.
For a moment Tarrant stood still, gathering himself for a Working. It must be of considerable complexity, Damien noted; the Hunter rarely required such mental preparation. Then Tarrant reached out toward him; Damien could almost feel a gust of power whip about him like a whirlwind. For a moment he couldn’t see, and then vision returned to him, and the wind died down. His flesh tingled as if it had just been scraped with a rasp.
“What the hell—”
“An Obscuring,” the Hunter said evenly. “Not for the flesh, but for identity.”
“You think that’s necessary?”
“I think it’s wise. Calesta’s known our path for several days now. Why make ourselves more vulnerable than we have to be?” He took up his horse’s reins again and remounted. “The fact that our enemy can be subtle makes him doubly dangerous,” he warned, and he urged his horse into motion once more.
“I know-I agree-it’s just-damn!” He mounted his own horse and urged it to a trot, to catch up with Tarrant’s own. “You could have warned me.”
He couldn’t see Tarrant’s face, but he suspected he was smiling.
Another half mile brought them to the edge of town. There was a guard stationed on the road there, which was something of a surprise; Damien wouldn’t have thought that this small town, off the beaten track from anywhere, would require such security. Two men in armor hailed them as they approached, and gestured for them to dismount. Who were they? the guards asked. Why were they here, and why were they entering the town so late? Damien let Tarrant speak for them both, improvising false names and enough details of their supposed travels that the guards would be satisfied. He was right, the ex-priest thought, as he listened to the exchange. Calesta could well have arranged for a welcoming committee, and we would never have seen it coming. If so, that would certainly explain why the demon hadn’t made a move against them before. It explained it so well, in fact, that as Damien remounted to follow Tarrant into the town itself he felt a knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach.
Calesta wouldn’t kill them himself, Tarrant had said. Those were the rules that his kind lived by.
Yeah, but he can manipulate others into doing it for him.
Tarrant led the way to the harbor, following directions that the guards had supplied. The narrow streets were all but silent and the hoofbeats of their horses echoed back at them emptily, as if they were—riding in a cavern. It had rained recently, and a thin film of water over the cobblestones made them glimmer like glass in the moonlight. Black glass. Polished obsidian. Bricks like those of the Hunter’s keep, toward which even now the Patriarch and his chosen few were riding. He tried not to think about where the Church’s army was now, or whether or not he hoped they would succeed. Right now they had enough troubles of their own.
They turned down a side street, narrower than before, which curved to the north. They were close enough to the water now that they could smell the rank perfume of the Serpent, salt and seaweed and decay all blended together into a dank miasma. The harbor must be close by.