“Why did you help Jax, then?”
Peripaso shrugged. “Right place at the right time. Was hunting me a reekat.”
“Are they terribly vicious?”
“They can be.”
Vrell strolled around the cavern and surveyed Peripaso’s belongings. A brown fur bedroll on a raised ledge of rock appeared to be made from reekat fur. Bits of hay and dried-out rushes of sweet flag grass lay strewn over the floor. There were no pellet-like droppings to be seen here, but Vrell did spy a few black beetles creeping about under the rushes. Water trickled down a crevice in the opposite wall, where Peripaso had organized a kitchen of sorts. A small hearth blackened the stone around it and the ceiling above.
Peripaso came to her side. “Can’t let a fire go long. Smokes me out.” He picked up a wooden mug and held it under the stream in the crevice. “Like a drink? Water’s cool.”
“Thank you.” Vrell took the mug and drank. The lukewarm liquid tasted thick with minerals. It was not until she finished that she realized how dry her throat was. She thrust the mug back under the flow for a refill as Peripaso went about his business. When Vrell finished drinking, she said, “You never finished your story about how you came to live here.”
“Well, the king and queen got killed by a stray up north, and ArmonguardCastle went into a fit. Kingsguard knights arrested every stray they could find. Tossed ’em in the dungeons. Friend of mine worked as a guard. Told me of a tunnel that went out from there. He wasn’t certain, but rumor said it went all the way to Tsaftown. For me, it was tunnel or prison. So I packed up and went for it. And no. They don’t go to Tsaftown. Tunnels only go as far north as ArokLake.”
Vrell smiled at the image of a man crawling the entire length of Er’Rets. “You have truly lived in this cave for thirteen years?”
“This cave? Only nine. Took a few years to learn the tunnels. Go as far as I could, start to run out of food, and have to go back. When I found this place,” he said, gesturing around the glittering cavern, with its safe location and running water, “I knew I’d found home.”
“It is very unique.”
Peripaso held up a burlap sack with a long strap. “Mind carrying this? I’ll take the others.”
Vrell draped the sack over her shoulder.
“Best be heading back. Like another drink first?”
Vrell helped herself to one more mug of water before following Peripaso up the rope ladder and back into the tunnel. As with most journeys, the trip back went much faster.
Jax and Khai were waiting with the torn boat when Peripaso and Vrell arrived back in the sweltering cavern. Vrell watched as Peripaso and Jax mended the boat with a sheet of reekat skin, twine, and some very smelly, clear gel.
“What is that?” Vrell asked.
“Reekat fat,” Peripaso said. “Seals up the seams. Waterproofs it.” He turned to Jax. “You should sleep here and wait for it to dry. Moist as this cave is, though, won’t ever dry completely. Should be strong enough in a few hours to get you to Mahanaim. Jest don’t run into no more reekats.”
Vrell was sick of reekats. When Peripaso passed around dried reekat meat for dinner, she wanted to throw it in the river. What she really wanted was a large bowl of grenache grapes and a wedge of goat cheese. Instead she bit off a chunk of the greasy meat and chewed it into leathery mush.
As they sat around waiting for the fat to dry, Peripaso told more stories of his exploits in the Nahar underground rivers and tunnels. Vrell loved his twangy voice. If she hadn’t been so ill from the smells, the mosquito bites, and the reekat meat, she would have liked a long visit with him. When he announced their boat would be fine to set off, Vrell sighed with relief.
She hugged the wrinkled man, which hopefully was not too strange for a boy, and climbed into the bow of the boat. The lantern had been destroyed, but Peripaso gave them a small torch and two spares. He said they would stay lit as long as they were kept low, out of the wind. Peripaso pushed the boat off, and Vrell waved good-bye to her strange, half-naked friend.
She settled down in the bow to sleep, annoyed to find the stench of reekat fat by her head.
Part 4. New Masters
11
Achan awoke under the allown tree.
It was past dawn. His hair and clothing were damp with dew. His legs itched under the wool stockings.
He jumped up and wandered back to the kitchens to change, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Poril. He’d talked with nobles, snuck off with a pie, slept outside, and had yet to milk the goats. He could already feel Poril’s belt on his back.
Would Sir Gavin be upset as well? The knight had told him to stay put, and he hadn’t.
The tournament was still in full swing. Nobles, servants, and peasants crowded the manor inside and out. It was another clear day and already much later than Achan first thought. He walked quicker. Dilly and Peg would be about to burst.
Achan entered the kitchens. The old cook glared from the fireplace, then pointed to the mug on the table. The tonic. Achan slunk toward it and chugged it down. Back to life as usual.
“Yer teh see Lord Nathak.”
Achan cringed. That was worse than a beating. Poril must have been plenty angry to report his behavior. Perhaps he shouldn’t have returned at all. He could have hiked up the SiderosRiver and—
“Get goin’!”
“What about the goats?”
“Mox has seen to it.”
Mox? Achan grabbed a few mentha leaves and trudged across the inner bailey toward the keep. Truly, he should flee and take his chances in the SiderosForest. It would be a lonely life. Maybe he could talk Gren into coming along. He stopped and considered it. Would she go with him?
Go to the keep, Achan. I shall direct your path.
Achan glanced around. This voice was so odd, so different from the way Sir Gavin and the others had spoken to his mind the night he’d killed the doe. This voice brought intense warmth to his veins. It did not press as if invading. His eyes locked on the roof of Cetheria’s temple poking out of the lush gardens. Could the goddess protector be speaking to him?
Achan swallowed and hastened to the keep, now afraid not to — Cetheria might strike him down if he disobeyed her. He climbed the narrow stairs to the sixth floor and entered a drafty corridor. Achan wasn’t positive where he was going. He only knew Lord Nathak’s chambers were on the sixth floor. Chora, Prince Gidon’s valet, stood at a carved door. His long brown robes blended in with wood so well that Achan almost didn’t see him.
Achan was about to inquire where he might find Lord Nathak, but Chora opened the door, blinked over his bulbous nose, and in a disdainful voice announced to those inside, “The stray, Lord Nathak.”
“Send him in.”
Achan entered a sweltering solar that was partitioned off by vibrant tapestries that told the story of how Lord Nathak found the infant prince wandering in the fields. The room was likely much larger, but Achan knew that the tapestries were used to keep the heat in. At night they would be moved around the bed.
Hay and rushes crunched under Achan’s boots. He stopped on the center of a garish red and gold rug edged in black fringe. This was a corner room. Two large windows took up half of the outer walls.
Lord Nathak sat at a window in a high-back wooden chair, overlooking the delta where the SiderosRiver poured into the sea, his back to Achan. The ties of his black leather mask were cinched over his two-tone hair. Achan inched closer, hoping to see something more of Lord Nathak’s disfigurement. Maybe he could gather some feeling from the man that could—