‘You were so young.’ Brexan lifted her head. ‘You shouldn’t have been there.’
‘That may be true, but my point is that I learned early how to hide my fear.’
‘I’ll work on that for next time.’
‘Up to you, but not necessary.’ Versen took her hand. ‘I’ll never judge you – or anyone – for being afraid during a battle.’
‘What happened to your friend?’ Brexan asked.
‘He’s even more deadly these days, a real virtuoso with a longbow. It bothers him to do it, though.’
‘To kill?’
‘Right. He hates it. He may be better at it than anyone in Eldarn, but he hates it. Every arrow he fires saps the strength from his soul.’
‘Perhaps he should stop.’
‘Perhaps he should.’
With that, Brexan snaked her arms around the Ronan’s torso and once again buried her injured face in the folds of his cloak until she fell asleep. Something had changed between them in the last half-aven; each felt easy with the other’s touch.
Versen revelled in the knowledge that the young woman felt comfortable enough with him to sleep soundly against his back, but, no longer distracted by their conversation, he realised just how much he still ached.
‘Dance lessons,’ he laughed to himself, ‘well, it can’t hurt to try.’ Moving carefully so he didn’t awaken Brexan, he adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter and lifting his head. Rutters. She was right. It helped.
A half-aven later Karn motioned for them to rein in and dismount. Unsure what to do next, the captives remained standing next to Renna. Brexan, whispering meaningless phrases, ran her hands along the mare’s neck. She wished she had an apple or some oats to offer the tired beast.
Rala pushed them both out of the way and led the mare off the trail to a small clearing. She looped the reins over a low-hanging branch, leaving the horse free to graze.
Karn motioned for Versen and Brexan to join him. He tossed them each a blanket, then gestured for Versen to gather wood for a fire.
Versen, mindful of his promise and unwilling to leave Brexan alone with the Seron, demanded, ‘She comes with me.’
Karn lumbered over to him and the Ronan winced in anticipation of another painful blow. Instead, the Seron surprised him by smiling, flashing him a mouth filled with discoloured, crooked teeth.
‘Na, na,’ the foul soldier insisted and indicated that the young woman should retrieve his saddlebags.
‘It looks like they want you to cook,’ Versen said, relieved. ‘I think you’ll be all right.’
Brexan forced a lopsided smile, her cheek bulging. One eye had swelled nearly shut. ‘Well, when they discover I can’t even brew tecan without a recipe, they’ll put me on wood collection next time.’
Dinner consisted of pale mush, a mixture of crushed oats, wheat, nuts and some herbs, Brexan guessed. Her job had been to find and boil water, stir in a small bag of the grain concoction and stand by as it began to congeal. She watched as their Seron escort ate heartily; beside her, Versen did the same. He paused to look at her quizzically when he noticed her staring.
‘What?’ he asked between mouthfuls.
‘How can you eat that stuff?’
‘This?’ Versen gestured into his trencher. ‘This delicate souffle of finest quails’ eggs, over which you laboured for avens?’
‘Ox-’
‘I am famished,’ he told her, ‘and you must be. It may be bland, but it’s perfectly edible. At least it’s not some rotting animal. You should eat. You know better than to go hungry when you don’t have to.’
Brexan scooped up a finger full of the gloop, ate it and scowled. ‘It tastes like yesterday’s laundry.’
‘Eat it anyway.’
Pouting like a schoolgirl, Brexan finished her portion, but nearly retched when Versen reached into the pot and ladled another helping into her trencher. She soon recognised that he was as much interested in seeing the Seron’s response to him acting without permission as he was in feeding her up.
Surprisingly, Karn grunted his approval and motioned for Brexan to eat as much as she desired.
Opposite the prisoners, Rala and Karn began arguing. Versen couldn’t make out the topic of their disagreement, other than Rala was disagreeing with her leader about something. Though Karn was in charge, he didn’t appear to be as dangerous or violent as Lahp. At least Karn was willing to listen to Rala -Versen imagined Lahp would have run Rala through simply for daring to question his orders. Versen hoped their less rigid approach might provide him and Brexan an opportunity to escape… but Haden was always lurking on the periphery. He said nothing.
After an animated exchange, Rala cursed angrily and wandered off to unpack her bedroll. Karn looked upset as well. He moved the horses to another area of the clearing, where sedge and grass grew in abundance. Neither Seron spoke, and neither seemed concerned with their prisoners. Without looking at Brexan, Versen whispered, ‘If they continue like this, I’m sure we’ll be able to get away.’
‘They aren’t paying much attention to us at all,’ Brexan agreed.
‘No and I’m not sure why.’
‘Maybe they don’t care if we escape. We obviously don’t have that key you were talking about.’ She pulled her knees in tightly against her chest and rested her chin on them.
‘That’s why they have to keep us with them, though,’ Versen said. ‘If they capture Gilmour, they’ll find out that none of us have it.’
‘What will happen then?’
‘They will most likely kill Gilmour and torture the others.’
‘And us?’
Versen didn’t mince words. ‘This one with the scar… he will kill us.’
As night fell, Haden placed the last of their firewood on the dimly glowing coals and rolled into his blankets to sleep. Rala dozed against a nearby tree trunk; Brexan watched as her head slumped forward onto her chest. Karn remained awake for another aven, whittling at an oak branch with his dagger and humming an out-of-tune melody to himself. Finally he nodded towards his captives and shuffled off to his own bedroll.
Despite her fatigue, Brexan was completely awake, but she feigned sleep, breathing in a slow, measured rhythm, until she was confident all the Seron were asleep.
‘What are they doing?’ she asked quietly. ‘They must know we’ll run.’ The thought was so loud and vivid in her mind that she was sure the Seron could hear it.
‘I don’t know.’ Versen was sceptical as well. ‘But we have to risk it. You get Renna. I’ll get Karn’s saddlebags.’
‘No,’ Brexan said, too loudly. She lowered her voice and continued, ‘You’ll wake them. Let’s just go. We’ll find food tomorrow.’
Versen furrowed his brow, then agreed. They crept to where Renna was tethered and Brexan gingerly disentangled the mare’s leather reins from the oak tree while Versen saddled her, trying to avoid the stirrups clanging together.
Brexan stroked the horse’s neck and whispered, ‘We need you to be quiet, Rennie, very quiet. We’re going to find Garec.’
Versen reached down and helped the Malakasian up behind him. His hand lingered in hers a moment. ‘That’s what Garec calls her, too.’
‘Rennie?’
Kicking the horse softly in the ribs, the woodsman added, ‘It appears you’ve made another friend this trip, Brexan.’
The young woman responded by wrapping her arms more tightly around Versen’s waist.
As silently as they could, they rode towards the trail. Renna appeared to have understood their need for haste and stealth; she stepped lightly despite carrying two riders.
As they turned east along the forest path, Versen thought for a moment they had made it. His heart leaped as he peered back at camp. None of the Seron had moved. The remaining horses would be no match for Renna in a race. Still, running a full sprint carrying two riders was dangerous and would tire the mare more quickly, so Versen determined to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the Seron. With every step their chances improved.