They reached the town square without being seen. When Tomas took two steps toward the inn then turned and looked back over his shoulder, Mirian raised the canteen and pointed at the well. He nodded and disappeared into the shadows.
There was moonlight and starlight enough she could maneuver past the three trees that made up a kind of cut-rate Lady’s Grove. The grass around them felt colder than the pounded dirt of the road, and she hissed in disgust as a slightly warmer lump squished under the ball of her foot and up between her toes.
Something hissed back.
She froze.
The windows surrounding the square were dark, no lights showing through any of the tiny squares of thick glass.
After a moment, or two, or ten, she took a tentative step forward. Then another. Alone in a silent night when she reached the well, she let out a breath she hadn’t remembered holding and stepped onto the worn path around the stone curb, frantically scrubbing the bottom of her foot in the dirt, gagging a little at the smell.
She’d never actually worked a pump before, but how hard could it be? Cook had one in the kitchen. Sticking her foot under the metal nose, she slowly raised the handle, wincing as steel hissed against steel…
And something hissed back.
Something very close.
Heart pounding, Mirian leaned around the pump and came face to face with a scrawny orange cat. Relief was short-lived as she realized the cat was sitting on the legs of a man so ragged his edges feathered off into the night. The smell wasn’t coming from the mess on her foot, but from him. She had to hold her own breath before she could hear him breathing, but that was infinitely better than touching him. He wasn’t dead. She could wash her foot and fill her canteen and…
His eyes snapped open.
Given the way her last two days had gone, Mirian had to admit she wasn’t surprised.
“They know!” The words bounced off the surrounding buildings. “They know!” he repeated, arms flailing. The cat gave a disgusted noise and jumped up by the pump. Mirian shrank down into the minimal shadow thrown by the curb, but no windows opened, no one appeared to find out what was going on. When he looked directly at her without seeing her, Mirian understood why.
The townspeople had to be used to the Soothsayer’s random yelling. He’d be one of the familiar noises in the night. A noise that would excuse any noise she might make.
She turned back to the pump and nearly screamed as a clammy hand wrapped around her ankle.
“White light!”
Pulling free, she turned. They said touch compounded a Soothsayer’s madness. If he was speaking to, or about her…
He was mumbling into the fur of the cat who’d returned to knead against his belly.
If she wanted more details, wanted a clarifying vision, he’d have to touch her again. Or she’d have to touch him.
She reached out a hand. Puffed up twice its size, the cat spun around toward her then raced away into the darkness leaving the Soothsayer clutching his belly and moaning.
“He’ll wake the town,” Tomas muttered.
“They’re used to him.” He wasn’t in vision anymore. He was just a crazy old man. “What did you find?”
“They changed horses here. Switched local horses for twelve post horses bred for speed, and they’ll be changing every twelve to sixteen miles all the way to the capital.”
“You could smell all that?”
“No, there were a couple of boys up in the mow over the stable talking about the horses.”
“What were they doing awake?” When he snickered, she raised a hand and went back to the pump. “Never mind. So they’re moving the Mage-pack faster than we thought.” She’d half hoped the soldiers had decided to lock the Mage-pack in Herdon for the night. Close to the border. Easy to rescue.
“You stepped in…”
“I know.”
With the aid of Tomas’ night sight, they cleaned her foot off with one slow push of the pump handle—the back of her heel had scabbed over, but she still had to bite back a shriek as the cold water rushed over the broken blisters—and filled the canteen with the second. As they crossed to the north side of the square, they heard a cackle and a soft, “Nice doggie.”
“And the emperor uses men like that to plan his campaigns,” Tomas snorted and changed.
Mirian glanced back toward the silhouette of the Soothsayer by the well. “It seems to be working for him so far.”
Chapter Seven
DANIKA STARED OUT the tiny window at the sun rising over the Kresentian Empire and remembered how Ryder used to come back into the house after his morning run, how she’d hear his toenails against the oak floor in the hall and then the pad of his bare feet as he crossed the bedroom. It always woke her although she often pretended it didn’t just so she could shriek in indignation as he dove into the bed and wrapped his body around hers, his skin damp and cool. Every morning since she’d told him about the baby, he’d paused by the bed to stand and stare and she’d stopped pretending sleep so she could open her eyes and see his expression. See how much he loved her and his child to be.
If he was alive, he’d be going crazy, unable to leave Aydori and come after them.
If he was dead…
She pressed her bound wrists against the slight curve of her belly. If he was dead, she’d mourn him once she got their child safely home.
Once in the empire, the smoothness of the roads had finally allowed the sleep insisted on by exhaustion, both friend and foe closing their eyes and surrendering. Danika had forced herself to stay awake until she could whisper the suggestion that they were better men than this into Tagget and Carlsan’s dreams. She sent what comfort she could to Kirstin although the other woman gave no indication she’d heard, even though she was nearly as strong in air as Danika herself, the bright blue mage flecks brilliantly obvious against her dark brown eyes.
They changed the horses just after dawn at an actual posting inn designed for moving Imperial mail coaches in and out again as quickly as possible. Danika had the sudden image of an anthill stirred with a stick as the horn sounded. There were no soldiers standing around the yard, watching and guarding, just terribly efficient grooms hustling the spent horses away and slipping fresh horses between the shafts. Yawning kitchen staff handed out bowls of porridge as though they started every morning serving Imperial prisoners. For all Danika knew, they did.
Their soldiers relaxed again now they were not only out of Aydori but out of the duchies. Everyone from Lieutenant Geurin down to Private Kretien—young enough his five days of beard made a barely visible shadow edging plump cheeks—was less tense on this side of the Imperial border.
The old Imperial border, Danika corrected herself. The border was now at the edge of Aydori and trying to extend further.
Only Sergeant Black continued to split his attention a dozen different ways, but, as Danika understood it, that was part of being a sergeant. Even he had relaxed, however, no longer keeping his prisoners from talking in the line for the privy.
“The emperor’s spending a fortune on this,” Stina muttered, scraping the bottom of her porridge bowl. “Three sets of posting horses at each stage, arming his soldiers with silver shot…Do you think his Soothsayers came from conquered nations and they’re trying to bankrupt the empire?”
Annalyse giggled and, although there were dried tear tracks on her cheeks, the sound contained more amusement than hysteria, Danika noted gratefully. She caught Jesine’s eye over Kirstin’s shoulder as the two of them came out of the privy. The Healer shook her head and, as Stina pulled Kirstin into the circle of her warmth and began gently chivying her to eat, Danika moved to join Jesine at the water barrel.
“As long as I have this net on, I’m limited to a visual diagnosis,” Jesine growled. “I can’t tell if attempting to remove the net injured her, or if she’s suffering emotionally more than the rest of us.”