“We leave at dawn,” she said.
“We will be ready.” The T’golmade a sharp gesture with his hand, then he and the others melted away into the shadows.
18.
Grace, Master Larad, and the three T’golleft the circle of the Mournish caravan before dawn. Only Sareth and Lirith rose in the gray light to see them off; the other wagons were dark, their doors and windows shut.
The Mournish man was clearly torn. Last night, he had started to speak as if he was going to accompany Grace on the journey. However, a stern look from Lirith had silenced those words.
“You have already done the work of the T’golonce, when you sought out the dervish,” Lirith murmured, bending over Taneth’s head. “This time the T’golhave come to do what is their rightful task. It is their duty to seek out Morindu the Dark.”
“And what of my duty?” Sareth had said in a low voice, his face bathed in the glow of the fire’s last coals. “I am descended of the royal line of Morindu. Should I not be there when the city comes to light once more?”
Her voice was hard. “If the royal line is truly so precious as you say it is, then it is your duty to protect it and stay with your son.”
Sareth had pressed his lips into a tight line, holding back any other words he might have said. And though his eyes were troubled, they were full of love as well. The Mournish man had won this argument once; now it was Lirith’s turn.
Sareth was not the only one who was upset at not continuing south with Grace. Earlier that morning, after they rose in the dark before first light, she had commanded Brael to ride back to Gravenfist Keep with the other knights. The gray‑bearded man was clearly upset.
“The southern continent is a queer and dangerous place, Your Majesty,” he had said, sputtering. “You cannot possibly think to go there alone. We are coming with you.”
“I won’t be alone. And you’re not coming with us. That’s an order, Sir Knight. I need you to tell Melia and Falken that we made it this far safely. And tell them we’ve learned Vani has already gone to find what we seek, to bring it back to us. They’ll know what the message means.”
The anger faded from Brael’s eyes, replaced by anguish. However, a knight could not disobey a direct order from his queen, and he gave a stiff nod. “May Vathris walk with you, Your Majesty.”
Grace hoped he did; she was going to need all the help she could get.
“It is nearly dawn,” spoke one of the T’gol–the tall man who moved like a dancer. His name was Avhir, Grace had learned. “We must leave now, Sai’ana Grace, if we are to reach the city of Kalos before nightfall.”
Already the eastern horizon was brightening, and below the cliffs the Summer Sea shone like a mirror of beaten copper.
Sareth touched Grace’s cheek with a warm, rough hand. “May Fasus, God of Winds, speed you on your journey, and back to us.”
Lirith handed Taneth to him, then moved forward to throw her arms around Grace. I cannot see the future, sister, she said, her voice humming along the threads of the Weirding. I cannot see if you will return to us.
Grace embraced the witch, concentrating on this moment so she would never forget it. Good‑bye, sister.
Lirith turned away, brushing her cheeks with her fingers, and took Taneth back, holding the baby tight against her.
Grace mounted Shandis, and as the knights were to take all of the horses with them back to Gravenfist, Larad awkwardly climbed into Glumly’s saddle. The T’golwould go on foot; they did not need mounts to move swiftly.
“Do not trust the dervish,” Sareth said. “You believe you know him, but you do not. The desert changes a man, as do the secrets one might discover there. He has called the morndarito him, he has worked blood sorcery, and he cannot possibly be the same as you knew him.”
Avhir gave Shandis a slap on the rump, and the mare started into a trot down the path that led from the Mournish circle, Larad’s mule following. Grace gazed back over her shoulder, and she thought she saw two dim figures beneath the ithayatrees waving farewell. Then the path began to descend the side of the bluff, and the figures were lost to sight.
“I want to thank you,” she said to Avhir, who walked beside Shandis. “For coming with me.”
He did not look at her. “There is no point in thanking me, Sai’ana Grace. We come because it is our fate.”
Grace smiled. “That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it all the same.”
Either these words annoyed Avhir, or he did not know what to make of them, for he stalked away without replying and approached the other two T’gol. With some effort Grace had been able to learn their names. Kylees was a fine‑boned woman whose lovely face was marred by a persistent scowl, while Rafid was a compact man, as short and muscular as Avhir was tall and lithe.
Avhir spoke something in a low voice to the other T’gol. All three wore grim expressions. Grace sighed. Something told her she was going to have to rely on Master Larad for lively conversation on this trip.
All that day they traveled along the road that followed the sinuous line of the cliffs above the sea. Once the sun rose into the sky, the outlines of the T’golblurred, and they seemed to vanish. However, Grace knew they were still there. From time to time she could see a shimmering on the air, like that of a heat mirage, and if she looked at the ground, she would detect a faint shadow.
Despite her hope for a little conversation to pass the time, she spoke little to Master Larad as they rode. The Runelord seemed intent on studying the landscape, the trees, and the plants. All would be exotic to a man born and raised in the far north, and were no doubt intriguing to his inquisitive mind. Grace decided not to lament the silence. After all, she had other matters to mull over.
Do not trust the dervish . . . the desert changes a man . . .
What had Sareth meant by those words? Did he believe Hadrian Farr to be dangerous in some way?
All dervishes are dangerous, Grace. By definition. They’re people who’ve shunned the laws and ethics of their society in order to learn ancient secrets of sorcery. There’s no way you can trust someone like that. They’ve already shown they’re not beholden to anything. Anything except the quest for knowledge, for power.
Only Farr hadn’t given up the laws of his society. He wasn’t one of the Mournish; he was from Earth. And while she supposed it was possible Farr did crave power, she thought it more likely his thirst for knowledge had compelled him to become a dervish. Farr was a Seeker through and through; more than anything he wanted to learn, to comprehend mysteries no other person before him had. That wouldn’t change just because he somehow found a way to Eldh.
Or would it? He has worked blood sorcery, and he cannot possibly be the same as you knew him. . . .
Perhaps. But had she ever really known Hadrian Farr anyway? He had helped her, yes. First on that October night when all of this began, when he aided her escape from the ironheart detective at the police department, and again when she and Travis returned to Denver in a desperate attempt to save Beltan’s life. But while he had had files and photos and documents about her, she had nothing to tell her about Farr. Other than his eyes, she still could not picture him in her mind. He was like a vague silhouette, wreathed in cigarette smoke and lit from behind. What would she say to him when she saw him? She didn’t know. All the same, a thrill ran through her when she thought of seeing him again, of being close to him. Unconsciously, she urged Shandis into a swifter pace.