He turned to Tor first. “Crew on board?”
The first mate nodded.
“Supplies?”
“Believe so. Enough for a month at least, what with no passengers on board. I’ll check.”
“Do that.” He turned to Rasya. “You find out the range?”
“Mercia claims ten miles,” she responded. “After that it’s free water.”
“Then I want us eleven miles out, as fast as we can get there. Faster than that man can dig up a writ and get back to us. You understand?” She nodded. “You know what’s riding on it.” Again she nodded.
“All right, then. We’ll sail the kind of route we would if we had two people on board who needed to go south, very quickly and very quietly. Understood?” Rasya nodded. The first mate muttered, “Aye, sir.”
He gestured a dismissal and the two went off to work. The thought of setting out to sea again was not unwelcome to any of them; he only wished the decision had been made under better circumstances.
With a sigh he turned back toward the shore and leaned against the ship’s rail. “All right, Vryce,” he muttered. “There it is. What you wanted.” He sighed again, deeply. “I just hope you know what the vulk you’re doing.”
Mels Lester wasn’t a particularly brave man. If asked to describe himself, he probably would have come up with a list of adjectives that included nervous, hesitant, and even downright cowardly. But when a friend asked you to do something and said that it was a matter of life or death—and when your sister said she’d lock up the liquor cabinet and smash any bottle you brought into the house if you didn’t help him out—well, then, you just did it. And tried really hard not to think about the consequences.
Thus it was that he found himself at the city gate along with Tyria and eight horses, showing his papers to the guard there and praying that no one would look too closely at what they were carrying or how they were carrying it. Not that a local would know the difference. Mercia’s pack animals were too small for riding, so how would they know that the heavy leather saddles strapped to one of the horses didn’t have to be resting on four woolen blankets? And maybe they wouldn’t notice that the windbreaker Mels was wearing was over a considerably heavier jacket, and that over a thick woolen sweater. (All assuming the sweat rolling down his face didn’t give him away). As for Tyria, she had a pack slung across her back that was big enough to be carrying not only the gear they needed, but a month’s worth of camping supplies as well. Add to that a staff here, a hunting knife there, and it was nothing short of a miracle that the guards didn’t stop them. But Father Vryce had said they wouldn’t, and after all he was a priest . . . so maybe it was a miracle after all.
“You see?” Tyria whispered as they led the horses through the gate. “That was all right.”
So far, he thought unhappily. At least the Regent hadn’t come. He had sent Toshida a note to come join them, inviting him to see the horses put through their paces. He had been sure the Regent would be here, despite Damien’s assurance that the man would have “other things to do.” And while Damien could possibly have kept up a pretense in the face of such a man, Mels would surely have folded. So thank God the Regent had been busy.
They set up a temporary camp just out of sight of the city gate, far enough from the main road that few travelers would notice them. There he was able to disrobe at last, piling his excess garments alongside Tyria’s collection of smuggled bits and their own equestrian equipment. They took turns then, one of them walking several horses while the other stood guard over the supplies. The animals were still stiff from their travels, and it took a long while for the natural grace of their gait to return to them; Mels judged it would be some time before they were ready for a more demanding workout. Still, it was good to see them out here, and he took comfort in the healthy sheen of their coats, their obvious pleasure in being outdoors at last. Soon enough their strength would come back to them, and the thought of what a man like the Regent would pay once he saw the animals galloping full out was enough to make his head spin.
He had taken his second turn out in the fields when Tyria said to him, “Come on. It’s time.” And she nodded toward the west, where the sun was rapidly setting.
They bundled the clothing and extra provisions on three of the horses: a sleek black creature with crescent-shaped hooves whom Mels coveted desperately (but Gerald Tarrant had refused to sell), a dun-colored mare whose mane extended down exotically about her shoulders, and a powerful dappled gelding with massive triple hooves and a thick, coarse coat.
Between the city and the terraced farms there was a narrow road, and they followed this southward until they came to a place where trees obscured their view of the city. There they rested, and permitted the horses to take water from the narrow stream paralleling their path.
“Maybe they won’t come,” Mels worried.
“Shhh.”
The light surrounding them began to fade, shadows lengthening about the trees. Soon the creatures of the night would come out. Soon the gates of the city would be locked. Hell, where were they?
And then there was a rustling behind them and Hesseth stepped out. Not Hesseth as they had seen her in Mercia, all hidden behind long robes and mock-human mannerisms, but Hesseth as she had traveled in the west: tightly clad in layers that fit her like a second skin, colored like the earth that surrounded her. Her eyes were black, wide open to the coming night; her ears, tip-tufted, pricked forward as she saw the horses.
“I’ll take them,” she said, and she gathered up the reins of the three laden mounts.
“We brought what we could,” Tyria told her. “Damien said not to go near your own stuff, or ask anyone else about supplies, so we had to guess a lot . . .”
“You brought the horses, which was the most important thing. We couldn’t have gotten near them without being seen.”
“Why’d you have to sneak out?” Mels demanded. “What happened?”
The rakh-woman looked at him, then shook her head. “The less you know, the better off you’ll be.”
“Damien said that,” Tyria agreed.
“Where is he?” Mels asked.
“Checking out the currents,” she said smoothly. “He’ll be here soon.” A merciful lie. She didn’t want to tell them how badly shaken Damien was by the events of that day. Oh, he had held himself together long enough to Locate Hesseth, and had mastered enough fae to keep the two of them Obscured while they climbed the city’s circumference wall. But afterward? It was like a dark cloud had descended on him. Mourning for the corruption of his faith, perhaps. Or guilt over having waited so long to prepare for flight. Maybe both at once, she thought; humans were like that.
She glanced back over her shoulder, toward the distant city gate. “They’ll have changed the guard by now. No one should notice that you’re coming back with fewer horses than you left with, or minus some supplies.” She paused. “We can’t thank you enough.”
“We stand to make a fortune here,” Tyria said frankly. “That’s Damien’s doing. Tell him thanks from us.”
“And good luck,” Mels added. “Wherever you’re going.”
If that was a hint for more information, it went unnoticed. “Thanks,” Hesseth said simply. Offering nothing more. It was safer for all of them that way.
As Mels and Tyria led their horses back toward the city gate, Hesseth went over the situation in her own mind. The city’s research facilities were lost to them now. Any day the Matria might see through their little deceit and launch a pursuit in earnest, which could involve other cities and even the southern Protectorates. They had some supplies—thanks to Mels and Tyria—but most of the bits and pieces that Damien had packed for traveling were somewhere between the Manor and the Golden Glory. The priest was in a dour mood. Tarrant was clearly on edge about something. And it was a good bet that their enemy knew they were here.