Tisala laughed at my face. "We had your stallion for almost a month," she said. "Do you really think I wouldn't take advantage of it? My father was appalled that I did it without asking."
"Be careful with the dark mare, my lord," advised the stableman as he reluctantly handed over her reins. "She loses her temper if she doesn't understand what you want of her."
"Her sire's the same way," I told him, knowing from the way his hands lingered on her neck that she was a favorite. "I'll take good care of her."
We left Callis without incident, moving at a steady trot. The mare I rode was sensible, for all that she was young, and it didn't take her long before she steadied under me and ignored the antics of her dark sister.
"I thought you said Pansy was a cow," I said.
Tisala snickered. "That was before I saw him in battle. It hurt, though, to write that name on her pedigree."
Tosten, riding beside us, grinned. "The name our father gave him is Stygian, if you'd prefer. That's the one we use on the breeding papers."
She shook her head. "My father's stable master doesn't speak Shavig, and I didn't tell him a pansy was a flower."
It was raining, which surprised no one. Winter in Oranstone was one long rainstorm. But as evening approached, the water poured out of the skies as if some giant were dumping out her mop bucket on our heads—or so Oreg claimed.
"At least we won't freeze to death," replied Garranon in exasperation at Oreg's complaints.
Behind Garranon, Oreg grinned, having worked at getting a rise out of Garranon for the last ten miles. "But the snow you can dress for," whined the dragon in human seeming. "The wet seeps into everything and you can't get warm. And everything is covered in mud."
"He's trying to cheer Garranon up," I told Tisala as the discussion descended into a series of childish comparisons of Oranstone to Shavig.
She laughed and pushed her gelding ahead until she rode shoulder to shoulder with Oreg. "How many Shavigmen does it take to saddle a horse?" she asked.
"At least in Shavig we ride horses instead of ponies," claimed Tosten, riding up to join them.
"I hope you know what you're doing," said Axiel to me under the cover of the resulting hilarity.
I shook my head. "But if I don't do something, Hurog will be next to fall to the Bane." I explained my reasoning and Axiel nodded agreement.
"The Bane is powered by Hurog blood, Axiel," I told him. "I don't know that anyone other than Oreg and I have a chance at it. I thought about asking Haverness's wizard for help—but he's the most powerful wizard who's not bound to the king. If we fail here, he'll be the best chance they have."
"If we fail," said Axiel soberly, "my father will join the fight. If we had the strength we had half a millennia ago that might be enough to turn the tides. But I'm afraid dwarvenkind will fall as easily as the Empire did."
"I hadn't thought of that," I said. "I only thought about having someone I trusted at my back." I thought a moment. "I wish I knew how many people he has with him. But I don't know Jakoven's private guard well enough to seek them, and I can't try to find his wizards without the risk of alerting them. If you think this is putting your people in danger, Axiel, you need to go back to Callis."
He shook his head. "No. If the Bane survives us, everyone must join in the fight. At least this way my father will be spared endless debate. If I die, he is within his rights to declare war without consulting anyone else."
I gave him a strained smile. "Let us hope it doesn't come to that, eh?"
He nodded his head.
We rode several hours in the dark, several hours past the time when Jakoven's party had stopped ahead of us. We only halted when Tisala determined that the swamp in front of us couldn't be crossed in the dark.
Axiel, Tosten, and Oreg set up camp—such as it was—while Garranon, Tisala, and I consulted her father's maps by my magelight. Tisala showed me where we were and lined the map up with the trail. Then she and Garranon made educated guesses as to where Jakoven was from the information I could give them.
There were only two passes through the mountains into Tallven that Jakoven could be headed for. The first was the pass I had taken into Oranstone four years ago, and the second was more difficult and less used.
If we followed Jakoven at our present pace, we'd catch up to him well into Tallven, but still a day's travel from Estian. If we chose correctly, we had a chance of catching up much sooner, because the direct route to either pass was chock-full of swamp and mire. Jakoven'd have to ride around, and Tisala knew a better route to either pass. If we chose the wrong one, there was a chance that Jakoven would get to Estian before we caught him.
I left Garranon and Tisala discussing the relative merits of both passes and approached Oreg, who was struggling with one of the oilskin tent coverings. My extra hand made short work of the problem.
"I need to talk to you," I said to him.
Oreg found a seat on the raised root of a walnut tree. I crouched in front of him.
"Jakoven probably has his wizards with him," I said. "He has Farsonsbane and he is something of a wizard himself. I don't know how good he is, but Jade Eyes and Arten are both very strong—if ignorant by your standards."
"You want me to take on the wizards while you attack the Bane," he said neutrally.
"There is some connection between the Bane and me," I said. And I worried that if it was I who confronted Jade Eyes, my fear of him would defeat my desire for his death.
He nodded his head. "Have you considered that the connection goes both ways? It might make you an easier victim."
"Yes," I said. "What do you think?"
"You said that you felt it recognized you?"
I nodded my head. "It felt a little like the magic of Hurog but more intelligent. I think it's like the memories of Menogue—still tied to the remembrance of being dragons. I made it curious."
Oreg rubbed his hands together as if they were cold. "Did it feel like one creature or three?"
I closed my eyes, trying to remember. "There was a … texture to it, yes. Not really separate, more like a rug where several strands of yarn are bound together."
"So after your blood touched it, it recognized you," he murmured.
"No," I shook my head. "Before. It's hard to explain. I don't think the Bane was ever completely dormant—just powerless. As soon as Jakoven took it out of the bag he'd enspelled to hide the Bane, I could see blackness flowing from it, though neither Jakoven nor Jade Eyes seemed to see it. When the black power touched me, it knew me—or maybe it knew Hurog's magic."
"Did it feel evil?"
I shook my head. "No more than Menogue or Hurog."
"And after he used your blood?"
I tried to remember how it had felt. "The stone turned blue, and I felt a wild surge of magic." I remembered something else. "I think it was connected somehow to Jakoven—the stone's blue magic. But the blackness was a separate thing."
"We'll play it the way you want to, if we can," said Oreg finally. "I'll try to stop Jakoven's wizards and leave the Bane to you."
I gave up crouching and sat on another root. It was wet, but not very muddy. "I wondered if the spell binding the dragon's magic to the stone might not be similar to the one your father used to bind you to the keep."
Oreg nodded. "Probably."
"When I broke the spell that held you to Hurog," I said, with a flash of visceral memory of my knife sinking into Oreg's side, "I felt the weave of the magic binding. I might be able to unbind it."