Rialla turned to look around nervously, but there was still no one observing this corner of the keep. She dropped the protection from her empathy to catch any hint that someone saw them, and hoped fervently that Tamas was far enough away that she wouldn’t have any more contact with him.
Here now, said Tris, let me change your hair color to something less distinctive. The gatekeepers are going to be looking for a lone slave with red hair. With the number of slaves around here, they are not going to be suspicious of one walking out with a freeman.
Winterseine has been known to reward fine work with an older, less valuable slave, agreed Rialla. If you can add some gray to the brown it will look better.
He touched her hair for a moment then took his hands away. Done.
Without further ado, they strode casually around the keep and toward the gate in the surrounding wall. Tris stopped where he had been working on the door and picked up the heavy tool bag that rested nearby. No one challenged them until they reached the portcullis.
“Hold,” called the older of the two men on the wall. “What’s your purpose?”
“I’m Jord Woodcraftsman; the hold stores are low on cherry. This slave knows where there are some cherry trees big enough for making furniture after they are seasoned.”
The guard frowned down at Rialla. “I don’t recognize that one.”
Tris nodded. “She’s a kitchen slave. She’s been sent out after wood for the fires—so she should know the trees nearby. If she doesn’t, I daresay I can find them without her and she’ll still serve my purposes.” He said the last with a leer.
The other men laughed and pulled the portcullis up high enough that Tris and Rialla could duck under it. Rialla led the way down an obviously well-worn trail into the woods.
9
As soon as they entered the shelter of the woods, Tris dropped the heavy leather satchel to the ground and began to sort through its contents with brisk efficiency, setting most of the tools aside.
“Do you have the journal?” asked Rialla hopefully.
“In the bag,” he answered, loosening his belt and removing the book.
He took off the leather apron and set the dagger in the bag with the two books.
“Hold a moment.” Rialla tore a strip off the bottom of her tunic and retrieved the dagger. She wrapped the blade in the cloth, leaving no edge showing, and replaced it.
Tris quickly gathered the discarded tools together and wrapped the apron around them to protect them from the weather. Someone would find them and put them to good use.
Throwing the satchel’s strap around one shoulder, Tris diverged from the trail at a steady lope. Rialla followed, grateful for the long hours of work that would lend her stamina for the run ahead.
Tris ran effortlessly, obviously slowing his pace for her. The path he chose seemed random, but she was content to follow his lead. He gauged her endurance nicely; when her bad leg started to hurt, he slowed to a walk.
“Can you tell if there is anyone following us?”
“Let me stop a bit and I’ll see,” replied Rialla, coming to a halt.
Breathing deeply, she wiped a trail of sweat off her forehead. Starting with the area nearest to them, she felt carefully outward. It was difficult to tell animal emotions from human, so she looked for a group of creatures; but she couldn’t sense anything.
“Nothing,” she said, hoping that it were true.
Tris stretched out a hand and caressed the bark of a nearby tree before starting off again at a brisk walk in the direction he’d been taking. “It feels good to be out of that cursed place. It is irksome to be surrounded by nothing but dead stone.”
Rialla spoke hesitantly, casual conversation seeming odd after the past few days. “I know what you mean. I grew up traveling from place to place. We only slept in tents when it was raining. Sometimes being hemmed in by stone walls is enough to make me want to scream.”
“Why do you live in the city then?” he asked.
“Because Sianim was the first place I found where a woman can work training horses.”
“Why didn’t you go back to the Trader clans after you got away?”
Rialla shrugged. “There was no one left of my clan. One of the others would have adopted me, I suppose, but… I wouldn’t have fit in.” In truth, she thought, she felt closer to Tris after less than three se’ennights than she did to anyone, including Laeth. Perhaps it was the mental bond: her eyes trailed over to her companion’s broad shoulders and she smiled to herself—perhaps it was something else.
“Tris?” asked Rialla.
“Hmm?”
“Where are we going?”
Something caught his attention near a thick growth of cattails along the stream they had been following. He stopped and knelt to gently brush the soil away from the roots of a slender plant with a small white bloom.
“Whitecowl,” he explained absently, uprooting the plant and shaking loose the clinging dirt. “Makes a potent sleeping draft. A few of these leaves will make a man sleep for several hours.”
He pulled the satchel forward, tucking the plant carefully on top of the books.
He started on again and said, “Sianim.”
By that time Rialla had almost forgotten what she’d asked, and it took her a second to realize what he’d said. “How do you know where Sianim is? Have you been there before?”
He shook his head and said, “No, but I can tell where the forest is cut by a great road. According to the cook, the only major road nearby leads east to Sianim or south into the Alliance. The road is about two and a half days’ journey from here. I thought we could lose any pursuit in the woods before we get there.” He flashed his teeth at her. “There are a number of advantages that we sylvans have over you humans.”
Rialla bared her teeth in return. “Better to be human than to travel through the forest socializing with the local flora.”
He shook his head in mock dismay and said in sad tones, “Always, they disparage what they have never done. Cavorting in the bushes can be an interesting experience with the right person.” He leered suggestively at her, but ruined the effect when he caught sight of another plant. “Coralis!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of one growing this far north.”
Rialla had just started to feel uncomfortable with the gentle flirting they’d been doing when the plant distracted Tris from the conversation. She grinned as he bent to inspect the bark of a small tree with remarkably large blood-red flowers. It was not flattering to be ignored for a plant.
Sorry, he apologized, looking up.
Startled, Rialla met his gaze. “Can you read my mind all the time?” she asked. Abruptly she felt some sympathy with Laeth; it was an unsettling feeling to realize her thoughts weren’t private.
He shook his head as he straightened. “No. Only here and there, and then usually just superficial thoughts.”
She smiled at him as they took to the trail again. “I’m not used to having anyone read me the way I read everyone else.”
He returned her smile and started to say something, but then was distracted by another plant.
They traveled rapidly, in spite of frequent pauses while Tris examined the surrounding flora—which coincidentally allowed Rialla to rest. Mountains lay to the south and west of them, but their route wove through the foothills. After several miles passed without sign of pursuit, Rialla relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of being out of Winterseine’s keep. Tris managed to gather quite a few edible plants, and they nibbled as they walked.
Night fell, and they made camp in a small clearing. Rialla found a small area with relatively few rocks and cushioned her head on her arms, while Tris did the same nearby.