If it had been a final effort to carry on the Grayslip family line, maybe there was an heir to the Eldarni throne somewhere in Rona. Garec was still confounded by the fact that Lessek had shared such a vision with him. Was he destined to seek out and serve Eldarn’s next king or queen, to remain in Rona while his friends continued north? It might take hundreds of Twinmoons to locate the great-great-great grandchild of an unknown woman who had been impregnated by a dying prince so long ago.
And if it were true that Prince Draven of Malakasia was not Prince Marek’s father, then the Malakasian line was ruling Eldarn illegally. Perhaps that was his mission: to restore to Eldarn its true king.
Garec realised suddenly that he, like Gilmour, had fallen into deep thought. Looking around at his companions, he guessed they were all sorting out difficult questions for themselves as they slogged dejectedly north.
The canyon ended in a slight draw running between two imposing peaks, the beginning of a pass over which the travellers would climb the following day. It was nearly dark now and Sallax suggested they make camp and eat the meagre supplies they had been able to salvage. Garec immediately backtracked down the canyon to a rock outcropping that provided an aerial view of the narrows in both directions. Maybe there was light enough for him spot and shoot any unwary animal in search of a safe place to bed down for the night.
A half-aven later he could no longer see far enough for an accurate shot. He returned to camp empty-handed, tired and hungry.
*
Versen stretched his stiffening muscles in an attempt to alleviate cramp: they had been riding without a break all day and he was feeling the strain. Their Seron escort had paid them scant attention, other than to ensure they kept moving. Karn led the way southwest along a narrow path through the foothills which would eventually reach the Ravenian Sea. Renna was between Karn and Rala and the scarred Seron, Haden, brought up the rear. Although Karn and Rala conversed in grunts and odd phrases, Haden did not communicate with anyone.
The company ate an unappetising midday meal on horseback: day-old fish, stale bread, and a few pieces of welcome tempine fruit. Later, Versen tried to recall its sweet orange flavour. Behind him, Brexan appeared unaffected by the long ride and poor food. The Malakasian soldier was obviously very fit, for she rode all day without complaint. Versen marvelled at her stamina.
‘Aren’t you tired?’ he asked, shaking his hands to get some feeling back in them.
Brexan smiled. ‘Thirty-five Twinmoons of dance lessons, Ox. I have better posture than you.’
‘So you’re aching a bit too?’
‘I think my bottom fell off an aven ago,’ she responded, grinning wryly.
Versen laughed aloud for a moment, quieting quickly when Karn glared at him. Leaning back, he whispered, ‘I’m sure you have some part of it left down there.’
Brexan whispered back, ‘Thank you for not peeking, Ox. I meant it about the posture, though.’
The Ronan woodsman sat upright in the saddle, straightening his back and holding his head high. ‘There, how’s that?’
‘You’ll make a fine dancer.’
Versen scoffed. ‘Dance lessons? Only in Malakasia. Ronan kids have to learn those things in secret, dancing in basements or barn lofts, thanks to your occupation.’
‘Oh lay off, Ox. I never had dance lessons.’ Brexan scowled. ‘I’m a better rider than you, that’s all.’ The scowl vanished as she added, ‘And I didn’t grow up planning to occupy Rona; I just wanted to be a soldier. My division was sent to Rona. I wasn’t happy about it and I left without permission because I realised how unfair our occupation had become. I’m a criminal in my own country now. I’ll be executed the moment they find me. So you should be more pleasant to me.’
Versen slouched forward and muttered, ‘I’ll give you the better posture, but you are not a better rider than I am.’
Refusing to back down, Brexan retorted, ‘One day, we shall see.’
Smirking, the big Ronan teased her, ‘Well, I can certainly sing better than you.’
‘Love arias? Songs about the many intelligent and engaging women you meet in taverns?’
‘Maybe a little of both.’
‘Well, I can’t wait to hear your “Ode to Capella of Capehill”.’
Versen feigned surprise. ‘Do you know her?’
‘Stop it, Ox,’ she said as she poked him in the ribs.
‘ She never minded my peeking.’
At that Brexan laughed and rested her head between his shoulder blades. Her cheek still ached; she longed for the healing power of querlis leaf. Periodically Versen asked how she was and periodically she answered, ‘I’m fine.’
She had been too embarrassed at her obvious fear of the Seron to discuss the incident with Versen earlier, but now that he had seen her as low as she could possibly get, she brought it out in the open. Drawing away from the comfort of his broad back, Brexan said quietly, ‘I am sorry about this morning.’
‘Why?’ Versen said. ‘It wasn’t your fault. We were surrounded.’
‘No-’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more-’
‘Brave?’
‘Well… yes.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You were brave enough.’
‘I was terrified.’
‘So was I.’
‘I thought they were going to kill us.’
‘Had we been more brave, they probably would have.’
‘I wanted you to think I was a good soldier.’
‘I am quite certain you are a good soldier and I am also quite certain all good soldiers are afraid when under attack.’ He turned slightly to look into her swollen face. ‘You deserted your platoon to pursue a spy and murderer. You followed him halfway to Falkan, alone. You risked everything to bring justice to a dead lieutenant you didn’t particularly like.’
Versen reached down and squeezed her knee gently. ‘You’re one of the bravest people I have ever known.’
Brexan inhaled sharply and held her breath. She did not want him to see her cry. It was somehow important to keep her emotions under control.
Versen sensed her discomfort and changed the subject. ‘How’s your face now?’
Brexan’s voice caught in her throat. ‘It hurts. It really hurts.’ This time she couldn’t stop the tears.
‘Don’t worry,’ Versen said, trying – and failing – to think of anything comforting. ‘I’ll look at it when we stop.’
‘I don’t want them to hit me again,’ she said, crying openly now.
‘I won’t let them hit you. I promise. Why don’t you try to get some rest? I won’t let you fall.’
Brexan muttered a thank-you and rested her face against his shoulder again. Talking with him helped.
Versen, trying to take Brexan’s mind off the pain, said, ‘The first caravan we raided along the Merchants’ Highway, I was young, maybe one hundred and ten Twinmoons. It was heavily guarded, but we went in anyway.’
‘What happened?’
‘I never drew an arrow or lifted a sword. I just stood there until an escort soldier, a Ronan mercenary hired to protect the shipment, came at me with an axe. I pissed myself, right there in the road.’
‘How did you get away?’
‘My friend Garec killed him – a miracle shot, right through the neck, dropped him in mid-stride.’ Versen’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘Garec was even younger than me, maybe eighty-five Twin-moons. He was already the best shot I’d ever seen, and I’ve still not met a better. He killed six people that morning, saving my life and others… it was the day Sallax started calling him “Bringer of Death”.’