CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE chunk of dark hard bread Derkh was given for breakfast brought back a world of memories. “Soldier’s bane,” they called it, and Derkh had eaten it on journeys and in training camps for as long as he could remember. The taste was bitter to him now, the taste of a life lost. He ate it anyway, tasting blood with the bread as his split lip reopened.

And though he kept his eyes down, he listened while he ate. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he had not yet lost interest in his own fate.

“So what’s next, Cap’n?” asked one of the men. “Do we take this’n”—thrusting his chin toward Derkh—”and head back?”

“You wish,” grunted the captain—Tarkhet, Derkh had overheard the men call him. “Our job’s to bring back one o’ their soldiers, not our own! This lad’s just gravy.”

So that’s what they’re doing here, thought Derkh. But why? He tried to think like his father. To what end would an enemy soldier be useful? Information, obviously. That suggested a second invasion was in the wind. But something didn’t add up. The information an invading force would need—numbers, deployment, defense plans—you couldn’t just snatch some outpost soldier on lookout duty and expect him to know these things. And no one from Greffier, where only the highest rungs of the military were privy to big-picture plans, would assume otherwise. So then what...

His speculation was cut off by the next remark. “He’ll be a right burr in the butt, that one, though, won’t he? I mean, how quiet’s he gonna keep while we go sneakin’ up on his new friends?”

“The thought had occurred to me.” Tarkhet’s voice, dry, speculative. Derkh glanced through the dark tangle of his hair, to find Tarkhet’s cold gaze leveled at him. He means to kill me, Derkh realized. He dropped his head, as though he could escape Tarkhet’s notice by ducking under his sightline. The blood boomed in his ears and behind his eyes; he fought to keep his breathing normal and listen.

“Interrogation’s not really my line,” Tarkhet continued in the same flat tone. “But on a special mission you sometimes have to go a little beyond yer usual line.” Tarkhet hauled himself to his feet and walked heavily over to where Derkh sat, his legs and hands still bound. The heavy boots came to a halt before him; Derkh looked up the broad trunk to meet pale eyes that betrayed no flicker of emotion.

“We’ll question him here. If he convinces me he’s loyal to the Empire, and is still fit to travel, we’ll gag him and bring him along. If not,” he shrugged, “you know what they say about dead men.”

In the silence that followed, one of the men scratched his head and ventured a question. “Uh, what do they say about dead men, Cap’n?”

Tarkhet’s humorless smile was a brief baring of teeth, nothing more. “They don’t itch yer butt.”

FÉOLAN PUSHED BACK the hood of his cloak and stretched out his legs. How long would Gabrielle continue? The sky had brightened with dawn some time ago, though only now were the sun’s fingers of light able to penetrate their shadowed nook from above. Both the seskeesh appeared to be asleep, the female snoring in Gabrielle’s ear. How it had alarmed him when she first lumbered over there. Not that he thought she intended harm, not by then—rather he had feared some blundering, unintended injury. But no, the female had seated herself on the ground and arranged her huge limbs around Gabrielle with a surprising gentleness. And Gabrielle had hardly roused, just accepted the great beast’s protection.

The experience had filled Féolan with awe, and he would have been in no rush to cut it short if not for Derkh. Two hours of daylight wasted already, and the trail gone cold to begin with. In any case, Gabrielle would be exhausted from her night’s work. She would have to rest, and then they would have to make straight for the pass and hope to get there first. For the first time since they set out, it seemed a slim hope.

The seskeesh’s rumbling sighs cut off as she started awake. Gabrielle stirred as well. She stretched, wincing as she straightened her head, and raising a hand up to rub her neck before her eyes opened. She gazed at Féolan with that slightly blurry look he had come to recognize as the lingering remains of her trance—as though the world was not quite in focus. He couldn’t resist waving a hand.

“Over here, Sharp Eyes,” he teased in Elvish.

“I see you. You had better have some food at hand, or I’ll eat you alive.”

The green eyes were clear now, the smile tired but untroubled. She was satisfied, then, with her night’s labor.

Gabrielle squirmed around, laid a hand on the female seskeesh’s chest and murmured a few words. A thank-you, Féolan guessed, or perhaps detailed patient care instructions. He wouldn’t put it past her—her powers of communication, untrained as she was, were stunning. Untaught rather: she had trained herself to heal and evidently acquired other skills in the process. For a moment he was overcome by his feelings for her: his admiration, his desire. His father’s words came back to him and he sighed. When they got back to Stonewater, he would have to talk to her. He would rather be flayed alive than postpone their wedding, but he would urge her to do just that nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” Gabrielle’s quizzical eyes upon him.

“Nothing. Just lost in the stream...”

“You were glowering as though you were lost in a pit of vipers.”

Féolan shook his head and offered what he hoped was a distracting smile. Not now. “How’s your patient?”

Now it was Gabrielle’s smile that was distracting. She was beaming. “I’m sure he’s out of danger. Once the repairs got started, and he got some strength back, it went amazingly fast. These creatures, Féolan, they are so...,” she groped for a word,”vital. I’ve never encountered anyone with such a strong life-force...”

Her words faded as she came back to reality. “Derkh’s even farther away now, isn’t he?”

Féolan gave a reluctant nod. “Only a few hours, I guess, and we had lost the trail anyway. If we make good time to the pass and hit it far enough to the north, we still have a chance of intercepting him.”

“Then let’s go.” Gabrielle got stiffly to her feet, making a visible effort to thrust away fatigue.

“Nay, Gabrielle. You will eat first and rest.” Féolan held up a hand to forestall her objection and spoke with quiet conviction. “We cannot overtake Derkh if I have to carry you over the mountains. Come and take some food.”