The night passed undisturbed for the most part. In the middling hours of the night, I woke from dreams of suffocation to an unsettling scent of cold ash. But after an hour of anxious watching, I was convinced that it was only the result of our own fire being doused by the onset of the rain. We were well away from Dunfarrie and safe under the trees.
Over the next few days we traveled into the cooler hill country that bordered Valleor. As we rode through thick forests of dripping pines and birches, and between rocks covered with thick green moss, a constant drizzle seeped through the collars of our cloaks and the seams of our boots, leaving us as wet and miserable as if we’d been caught in a deluge. Baglos pestered me with questions: about the Four Realms, about the forest, about politics and trade, clothing and geography, weather and cooking and growing vegetables. Everything was which and where and how and why, why, why. Half a day of this and I was ready to scream. When I asked, “Could we not speak of something less trivial?” he began asking me about Karon and the life of the J’Ettanne. For example, was not it a sore trial for a Dar’Nethi to be wed to a mundane?
“My husband and my life are my private business, Baglos. Do you understand the word private?” I had given Baglos and D’Natheil my sustenance, my peace, such as it was, and my safety. They would get no more from me.
In deference to my ill humor, Baglos shifted his attention to D’Natheil and spent the afternoon speaking exclusively in his own language. I rode behind them, pronouncing my relief at being left alone. But two hours of unintelligible monologue did nothing to improve my irritation. When I asked the Dulcé what he was telling D’Natheil, he said that he was describing royal Avonar, its people, and things he knew of D’Natheil’s childhood, hoping to prod his young master’s memory. I hinted that I could use such information as well. But the Dulcé found the constant translation too awkward to keep up, so I was abandoned once again to my own thoughts. Annoying. As seemed to be my experience of late, what I asked for was not necessarily what I wanted.
On the next day, when the whole sequence repeated itself, I asked Baglos if he would teach me something of the Dar’Nethi tongue. To my satisfaction I picked up a few words quite readily. As I demonstrated the first results of my lessons, D’Natheil seemed pleased and motioned insistently to Baglos to teach me more.
When we camped that night, D’Natheil went through his martial exercises again, but this time with his sword. I had grown up surrounded by soldiers, but never had I seen anyone move with such grace or such ferocious intensity. He would make even Tomas look like a newly vested squire.
Near midday on the fifth day of our journey we came to a good-sized town called Glyenna. It was market day, a drab, colorless affair, where the animals were sickly and the wares of the poorest and most utilitarian kind. The sour-faced crowds milled about the poor display as if they had been sentenced to attend as punishment for the sin of cheerfulness. We planned to stay only long enough to fill waterskins and buy food, though Baglos had shown himself an incessant conversationalist at every stop and seemed to enjoy nothing more than coaxing information about anything and everything from anyone he could get to speak to him. But as I paid a peasant woman for our supplies, I caught a glimpse of a sandy-haired horseman in vehement discourse with a man wearing the colorful badge of a local constable. Rowan! The still, heavy morning suddenly closed in. I backed away, turned, and ran.
D’Natheil had stopped to gawk at a cockfight, and when I touched his sleeve, he growled and slapped my hand away, craning his neck to see better. As always, Baglos was gabbling with the raucous onlookers about why and how they watched such things and what kinds of fowl were best to use and all manner of useless information. Despite my whispered warning, I had to drag the reluctant pair away from the bloody, vulgar spectacle, watching for the sheriff as I led them through the crowd.
We were almost to the edge of the marketplace when a disturbance broke out just behind me. I looked over my shoulder, and, to my dismay, D’Natheil was sitting atop a filthy, ragged man. He had the man’s head dragged backward into an impossible angle and his dagger poised at the man’s bared throat. Two burly townsmen hung on to D’Natheil’s arm, a temporary reprieve for the squirming, whimpering victim. Baglos was babbling at the Prince and trying to pull him away.
“It’s just Hekko, the beggar,” shouted an old woman. “Meant no harm. Didn’t take nothing.”
A tradesman in a leather apron bawled for someone to bring the constable, as Hekko had been trying to steal the stranger’s silver dagger. More townspeople were gathering by the moment.
With a ferocious bellow, a powerful wrench of his shoulders, and a backhand sweep, D’Natheil dislodged his restraints, sending the two men and Baglos sprawling. His knife flashed toward the beggar’s throat.
“No!” I yelled, lunging toward him and grabbing his knife arm with both of my hands. “By the stars, you must not.” Though I had not the least faith that he could hear my angry remonstrance over the uproar, and my physical strength was surely no more threat than that of a child, the mad fire in D’Natheil’s eyes faded instantly into bewilderment. He loosened his grip on the moaning beggar and allowed Baglos and me to drag him away.
“He’s been to the war,” I said to the grumbling men pressing close as I shoved the Prince toward our horses. “It’s left him high-strung… touchy… you understand.” I jerked my head at Baglos, who pulled out a copper and tossed it to the bruised and shaken beggar. While the old woman continued her screeching, and two ragged boys inexpertly tried to pick my pockets, the rest of the onlookers nodded and shrugged and murmured about the war. By the time we were mounted, the crowd had begun to disperse. “Wait! Stop those three!” Over my shoulder I glimpsed Graeme Rowan struggling to get to us through the milling throng.
“Go!” I screamed, and we kicked our horses to life, leaving the bewildered citizens gaping.
We raced westward along the heavily wooded road, not slowing until the night was so dark we dared not risk the horses. We had left Glyenna a considerable distance behind, but I insisted that we walk another half a league into the thick trees before stopping. What a spectacle we had made of ourselves! My fury at D’Natheil’s folly had not cooled by the time we made camp.
“You will tell him exactly what I say,” I commanded Baglos as we unsaddled our horses in a high, rocky grotto. “Some things other than sorcery are frowned upon in Leire, at least among people of rational mind. To attack a beggar is the act of a coward, and to call attention to yourself in such a way is utterly stupid. Our lives are at risk because of your childishness. You will control yourself if you want any more help from me. Do you understand?” D’Natheil, his face blazing, turned his back on me. Baglos tried to smooth it over. “Madam, you must understand that D’Natheil has been trained as a warrior since he could walk. He is considered to be one of the finest—”
“That’s no excuse.” Annoying little twit. I wanted to strangle him and his master both. “It’s quite possible to control one’s reactions, no matter how finely honed. Warriors should be somewhat larger of mind than animals. Tell him that, too. Exactly as I said it.”
Baglos paled, but did as I asked, speaking softly to his master’s rigid back. The silence was long and awkward as we made our camp. D’Natheil threw his pack to the ground and kicked away the rocks that lay where he planned to make his bed. He kept to himself for the rest of the night.
With Rowan so close on our trail, I made sure we were on the road early and took extra care that we were not observed by any other travelers. Whenever I sought information about roads, I asked about Vanesta or Prydina, relying on my own geography skills to set us right and hoping that the sheriff would follow the wrong path. I considered taking the wrong direction for a while, and then looping around in hopes of throwing off pursuit, but I dared not delay. If Rowan was in company with the sorcerer Zhid, they might be able to follow us anywhere.