“This might be a good time to go to the Pig, sir,” I said to Thadro as one shopper dropped a package he’d been carrying and, in picking it up, managed to edge closer to where we stood. At the same time, a burly teamster put his hand on the whip hanging from his belt, his mates around him scowling and muttering about magicals.
“Yes,” Jeff seconded, watching the teamster. “A very good time.”
“I don’t know about King Iver and the battle at Sorota, Lord Wyln,” Chadde said as we walked quickly out of the square, “but I do recall my grandfather telling tales his father told him of a wizard called Firewalker who fought in the last war between the Borderlands and Iversterre.”
“Enchanter, Peacekeeper Chadde,” Wyln corrected. “Wizard is a Turalian term.”
“I see,” Chadde murmured. “And you, Lord Rabbit? What are you?”
“What I’ve always been, Peacekeeper Chadde,” I said. “A farm boy turned horse soldier.”
“Not a mage?” Chadde asked.
“No,” I said. “Not for several years yet.”
As we were riding to the Copper Pig, we went to the royal stables. And there, in the middle of the groomers and horses, we found Arlis waiting. “His Majesty sent me to get the horses ready for you, sir,” he said to Thadro, giving the Lord Commander a crisp salute.
It was more likely that Jusson realized that Arlis was with him and sent my personal guard back to where he should’ve been—guarding me. I said nothing, thinking to have a long talk with him when we were alone. However, Jeff had no inhibitions.
“Toe licker,” he muttered.
Arlis pretended he didn’t hear.
Mounted, we exited Freston by the Kingsgate, working our way through the heavy traffic of folks afoot and a-horse, in carriages and carts. Their reactions to us were the same as in the square: some muttering and making warding gestures, others bright with curiosity as they watched us go by. One man caught Wyln’s eye and offered a smile and a nod.
“Interesting,” Wyln murmured, nodding back.
“We’re not all ravening Border-haters,” Chadde said. “Though we do have our share—which all seem to congregate at the Copper Pig. Please do not take offense at what may be said there, Lord Wyln, Master Laurel.”
“Do not worry, honored Chadde,” Laurel said as he paced before my horse. “We will consider the source of any insult.”
Leaving the crowded gate behind, we rode out onto the King’s Road. It was close to midday, with the sun casting foreshortened shadows on the packed dirt of the road, but that changed as the cleared space around the town walls gave way to stands of wood that grew denser as we went on. The light turned dappled, the leaves on the branches the same brilliant colors as those on the mountains. Behind the screen of trunks, I could see the beginnings of the farmland and orchards that took up the greater part of the valley. Workers moved through fields and fruit trees as they hurried to gather the harvest before Harvestide and the coming fall rains—and my back twinged in sympathy as I remembered my own days of reaping and picking. The wind swooped down around me, bobbing my earth and fire spheres, telling me of discovered lairs and winter burrows. I held out my hand and it swirled into a sphere, laughing as it joined the others.
“This is good,” Jeff said from where he rode beside me. “I always think that I miss the town, until I actually get into town. Then I can’t wait to leave.”
I too could only tolerate a short time in Freston before the walls started to close in. But then I was a farm boy from the back provinces, and to me the small town was full of rumpus and riotous living. Jeff, though, had a more metropolitan upbringing. “I thought you grew up in Gresh,” I said.
“A town to the northwest,” Jeff said. “But close enough to go to Gresh every year at Festival. My family’s still there. They’d laugh themselves silly if they could see me, pining for the mountains.”
I started to grin but was distracted by my stomach once more growling. Laurel, still at the head of my horse, flicked an ear back towards me. “Didn’t you eat this morning, Rabbit?”
“At dawn,” I said. “And it’s now pushing noon, so its natural that I’m hungry.”
“I ate at the same time, Rabbit,” Jeff said, “and I’m still full. And you ate three times more than me.”
“He did?” Wyln asked. Riding on the other side of me, the dark elf reached over and grabbed my chin, turning my face to him. “Even so, you’ve lost weight, Two Trees’son.”
“He has food on him, Lord Wyln,” Jeff said, worried.
“Thanks, Ma,” I said, even as my hand went towards the fruit and rolls I’d snagged from Jusson’s table.
“Eat,” Wyln said. “If necessary, I will speak to the eorl commander.”
With that threat dangling over me, I dug out the fruit and rolls, a little the worse for being in my pocket. I inhaled them.
“It’s good to take a breath now and again, Two Trees’son,” Wyln remarked.
I ignored him, busy polishing off the fruit. The echoing emptiness in my belly dissipated somewhat—as did the headache I hadn’t been aware of until it eased. Frowning, I tossed away the remains of an apple. “This is not normal, is it?” I asked. “This gnawing hunger all the time.”
“When was the last time you felt like this, Rabbit?” Laurel asked back.
Bards prophesied through song, dragons sought the Pearl of Wisdom, elves held their lineages and swords sacred. And Faena practiced enlightenment through illumined questioning that drove the one questioned to find the answers in frantic self-defense. I heard a snicker from Jeff as I sighed, my head dropping down.
“I don’t know—” I stopped as the air sphere unraveled to once again whirl about me, reminding me of another time when I’d been encircled by the wind. And why. I sighed again, enlightened despite myself. “When I fought the djinn storm,” I said. “But I haven’t done anything like that here. Have I?”
“No,” Laurel said. “Even your battle yesterday against the invisible hand shouldn’t have made this kind of demand on your body. Something is engaging your talent.”
“He has his aspects present,” Wyln said to Laurel. “Except water.”
“The spheres are not all mine, honored Cyhn” I said. I indicated the earth sphere. “That one’s Laurel’s.”
“Yet it is here with you and not with the Faena,” Wyln said. “As are fire and wind. But no water. Why not?”
Apparently Faena weren’t the only ones who used questions as a blunt instrument. “Happenstance, honored Cyhn,” I said. Pulling off my glove, I started to hold out my hand to summon water, but felt the same tightening that I had felt at the warehouse gripping my chest and throat again, hard. “Blast,” I said, letting my hand fall.
Wyln’s brow rose. ” ‘Happenstance’ ? When water is used not only in the service of the dark, but also to desecrate the dead?”
I remembered the ice throughout the charnel house and Menck’s frozen stare, and was enlightened some more.
“Jusson Iver’son is right, Rabbit,” Laurel said. “Someone is trying to involve you in their sorceries, either as a means or as an end. As Wyln said, you’re full of talent and inexperience. A very attractive combination.”
“Like Kareste?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice and down my spine. “But you said he’s still bound. Isn’t he?”
“There are others,” Wyln said before Laurel could. “There always are.”
“Then why aren’t we out looking for them instead of playing adjutant peacekeepers?” I asked, my worry turning to anger.