Not knowing what else to do, he squeezed her hand and said, “It’s over now, Nimessa.” She nodded but did not answer.
Geran found a spot that he remembered along the track and paused to look around. They still had the trail to themselves, as far as he could tell. He spurred his horse up and over the crest of the hill. An old footpath led into the low thickets and hedgerows of a small valley where a stream descended to the sea below. They headed inland into the empty hills. If the pirates were still in pursuit, Geran figured that they’d likely follow the coastal trail. They couldn’t know where Geran and Nimessa had left the trail unless they had a very good tracker with them.
A long-abandoned homestead stood at the head of the valley. It might have been wiser to keep on going, but he was exhausted, and the moon would be setting soon. There were dangers other than pirates abroad in the Highfells at night, and Geran didn’t care to meet them in the dark. He dismounted and led his horse inside the old house. There was a back door leading out to overgrown fields behind the house; if they had to, they could flee deeper into the hills.
He helped Nimessa down then busied himself with setting up a small camp. “I think it’s safe to rest a couple of hours,” he said. “We can’t ride all night, and I’m too tired to go much farther. My apologies for the accommodations.”
“For some reason a lonely old ruin in the middle of nowhere doesn’t seem so bad to me tonight,” Nimessa answered. She found a small, rueful smile. “Do you know where we are?”
“More or less. I used to hunt up here when I was younger.”
Geran found some dry brush and built a small fire inside the old hearth. He stepped around the corner to change into the last of his dry clothing and spread his wet clothes out in front of the fire. Then he shared his provisions with Nimessa, and they made a supper out of a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, dried sausage, and apples. She ate ravenously.
When Nimessa finished, she looked up at him and brushed a hand across her eyes. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening,” she explained.
“I understand.”
“And I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet for saving my life.” Nimessa dropped her gaze. “I don’t know what moved you to risk your own life to save a stranger, but I’m very glad that you came along when you did. The things they said they would do to me-I can’t even think of it.”
“Do you know who they were?” Geran asked gently.
“The ship’s name was Kraken Queen. I saw it painted on her stern. The captain was a fierce man, maybe fifty or so, and almost as tall as you. He wore braids in his hair and beard. I never heard any of the crewmen call him anything other than ‘Captain.’”
Geran remembered the figurehead of the tentacled mermaid. The name fit the ship. “How did they catch you?”
“They stole up on us before sunrise this morning. When the sun came up and we spotted them, they were only a couple of miles off. Master Parman tried to outrun the pirate ship, but the wind died down around noon, and after that Whitewing didn’t stand a chance.” Nimessa hesitated, and she huddled deeper in Geran’s cloak. “They killed everyone else, but the pirate captain ordered his men to spare me for-later.”
“You don’t have to say more.”
Nimessa fell silent, and Geran frowned, digesting the story. Whitewing made five ships he knew of that hadn’t reached Hulburg in the last few months. Piracy was choking the trade of the city little by little. Something would have to be done, and soon. “Well, it’s over now,” he told her. “You’re out of their reach. Try to sleep for a few hours.”
He let her have his bedroll and went to tend to his horse. He gave the animal an extra pat on the neck by way of apologizing for a hard run at the end of a long day. By the time he returned to the fireside, Nimessa was curled up on her side under his blankets and breathing deeply and slowly. He studied her face; she had wide eyes, a delicate point to her chin, and smooth skin that seemed a pale gold in the firelight, hinting at sun elf ancestry. In sleep she looked young and innocent. It was hard to say with someone of elf descent, but he would have guessed her to be twenty-five or so. Younger than Alliere, he decided. And she was fair-haired, while Alliere’s hair was dark as moonshadows. Of course he’d never watched Alliere sleep during the brief months that he’d loved her. Elves didn’t sleep as humans-or half-elves-did. Strange how two peoples could be so much alike and yet so different.
“She’s not Alliere,” Geran told himself softly. With a sigh, he turned away and looked to settle himself for a long night. Nimessa had his bedroll, so all he could do was wrap himself in his cloak. He resigned himself to a night with little rest and found a spot where he could sit with his back to a wall and have a good view of the overgrown fields outside. The night was still and quiet.
He dozed off a couple of times during the night, but no one came along to interrupt their rest. Finally, as the eastern sky began to gray, he roused himself. He didn’t think Kraken Queen’s men were anywhere nearby, but his trail would be easier to follow in daylight. He packed up the camp quietly, allowing Nimessa to sleep a little longer, then he woke her. “Morning is near. We should move on.”
Nimessa opened her eyes, looked at him, then sat up sharply with a gasp. She frowned in puzzlement, then she remembered where she was. “Sweet Selune,” she murmured. “For a moment I thought it was all a terrible dream.”
“I’m afraid not,” he told her. He gave her a crooked smile. “I’d offer you some breakfast, but we ate everything I had with me before we went to sleep. Lunch is in Hulburg.”
In a few minutes he packed up the last of his gear, and they set off again. A high overcast was stealing in from the west. Rather than heading back to the coastal trail, Geran decided to put the sunrise on his right and cut northeast through the hills. It would shave a couple of miles off their journey, even if it was more rugged country, and it was also much less likely to lead them into any pirates who might still be looking for them. These hills marked the rolling fall of the land from the high moors of Thar to the Moonsea. The folk of Hulburg called them the Highfells, and Geran knew them well. As a youth he’d explored every vale and hill for a day’s ride around his home. They rode at an easy pace for several miles, slowly climbing higher into the hills and leaving the coast behind them. The higher slopes were treeless and marked by wide slashes of bare, mossy rock.
“It’s so empty,” Nimessa said as they crested a ridge. “Nobody lives here?”
“Shepherds and goatherds sometimes bring their flocks into these hills in the summertime, but we’re past that now,” Geran answered. “A few people settled the coastal hills in the time of old Thentur, but that was two or three centuries ago. Now?” He shook his head. “No, no one lives up here.”
“Where are the mines? And the forests your people cut?”
Geran pointed past her at a faint, gray-green range that marched across their path many miles away. “The Galena Mountains. They lie about fifteen or twenty miles east of Hulburg. That’s where you’ll find the mining and timber camps. West of Hulburg there’s nothing but the Highfells and Thar.” He reined in and swung himself down from the saddle. “You keep riding. I’ll walk a bit.”