“It’s her can’t keep her tongue behind her teeth,” I objected. “What about—”
“We are leaving,” said Usara, cutting me short just as ruthlessly as the woman.
“As long as Cullam is on their side, those other Sheltya can’t make too much trouble for the soke.” Sorgrad laid a hand on my arm, expression somber. “If we do anything to turn the old man against us, these people could find themselves without the help of any Sheltya when they really need it.”
I studied him for a moment. “All right.” I moved to let Usara lead the way down the curving stair, Sorgrad at his heel. As I walked down, I rubbed at my elbow as if I had inadvertently knocked it on the wall. I could feel ’Gren’s eyes on the back of my neck but forced myself not to look at him.
Conversation more normal in pitch and tone was filling the downstairs room now, but everyone still fell silent when the four of us entered. A pathway cleared to the far door in an instant. Usara walked slowly, smiling to either side, for all the world like Messire D’Olbriot gracious to his tenants at a festival supper. Sorgrad followed him, expressionless but uncowed. I did the same, but as we drew level with the Sheltya woman, ’Gren halted.
“Mer dalta enres?” he inquired genially. “Dalrist maires reman ilkreal girast nor surel.”
The woman blinked with startled outrage. The older women looked bemused, some of the girls giggled, and ’Gren took a pace closer to the Sheltya female, mischief in his smile. She stepped back as I moved forward, ostensibly reaching out for ’Gren’s arm. We collided, I apologized profusely and hustled ’Gren past her, hurrying for the door where Usara was waiting, irritation in his eyes, faint suspicion in Sorgrad’s. I kept my head down, hands thrust deep into my breeches pockets, not daring to look at the hooded figures standing to one side.
“Let’s go,” Usara said grimly as we walked through the compound beneath the unseen eyes of sentries. The kenneled dogs had been roused by the disturbance and barked inquisitively, a lantern bobbing through the gloom as someone went to them. We were passed out through the main gate without a word and took the track leading down to the river in continued silence. It was a pale blemish in the dark of the grass, everything colorless in the deep twilight, but with care there was enough light to be sure of our footing, with the brilliant stars and the lesser moon waning to its half in a clear sky. The air was cool but not unpleasantly so, fragrant with the moistness of dew refreshing the sun-parched grasses. We trudged on, the glen featureless in the darkness until the chatter of water over stones told us we were nearing the river. I looked in vain for any paling of the sky but Halcarion’s Crown was still bright on the western horizon.
“Can we cross this without light?” Usara peered forward. “I don’t think this is quite the time for me to raise magefire to show us the way.”
I laughed dutifully at the feeble attempt at a pleasantry but the others stayed silent as we slowly picked our way across the stepping stones, luckily without mishap. I paused to fill my waterskin and the river was as cold as a mother’s curse as I hurriedly rinsed the handkerchief I’d been clutching.
“We’ll keep moving until daybreak,” said Sorgrad suddenly. “We want to get clear of the soke and down to the villages as soon as we can.”
“Then we can plan our next move,” I agreed. I sucked at the shallow cut on the ball of my thumb, tasting the bitterness of the dried blood. Full-time cutpurses carry a sliver of horn to protect themselves from their own blades.
“Then we head down into Solura,” Usara corrected me.
“I think you can lose the lordly tone now that you’ve finished impressing the girls back there.” I was going to have my say now. “What’s the point of going back to Solura? We know they’ve got the knowledge we want up here now. What we need is to set about planning a way to get it!”
The wizard halted, faint light reflecting off his balding head, his face in shadow. “Knowledge isn’t some silver cup you can go about stealing, Livak!”
“Where’s that written, O wise one?” I retorted.
“You can’t say something’s impossible until you’ve tried it, wizard.” ’Gren’s smile was a gleam of white in the darkness.
“Do you have a better plan?” inquired Sorgrad, a creak of leather suggesting he was putting his hands through his belt.
“Curse it, Usara; you were the one complaining about wasting time in the Forest. Now that we know where to look, why delay?”
The wizard ignored me, much to my irritation. “What exactly did that woman say? Did she give any reason for her hatred of our magic?”
Sorgrad’s tone was both light and bitter at the same time. “We are apparently abominations in Misaen’s eyes, a foul betrayal of Maewelin’s goodness, polluting whatever we touch.”
“Oh,” said Usara blankly. He sighed. “If she had a rational argument, no matter how flawed, we might have some chance of pointing out the error in her logic. If it’s a matter of entrenched belief, no amount of reason will prevail.”
“So why bother arguing with her?” I demanded.
Usara peered upward to check the sky. “We should see the first arc of the greater moon tomorrow, shouldn’t we? If we can make it back to Pastamar by the end of For-Summer and as long as certain people have remembered the Soluran calendar doesn’t march quite in step with the Tormalin one, there’s someone I need to meet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Spit it out, Sandy!”
“What’s in Pastamar?”
Usara shook his head at all our questions. “Given we know Artificers can eavesdrop on conversations from quite some distance, I would prefer to get away from that unpleasant female before I discuss it further.”
That silenced us all. We began the long and weary trudge up the side of the main valley and I struggled to contain my irritation. As soon as Usara was prepared to talk again, my first question would be what did he have planned to make up for having to spend the Summer Solstice in some benighted Soluran backwater. The next was how were we going about getting our hands on the undoubted knowledge of the Sheltya. Usara could give up if he liked, but I wasn’t about to. I owed the bitch that much.
Seven
When our children were young, we moved to the milder lands of Dalasor. Their nurse would sing them to sleep with this song and its words of caution proved most effective in curbing their irresistible urge to wander the boundless plains that surrounded our steading.
Pastamar Town, Solura,
41st of For-Summer (Tormalin Calendar),
27th of Lytelar (Soluran Calendar)
These people really know how to enjoy themselves.” I didn’t bother muting my sarcasm.