“God’s sake,” Kumul said gruffly. “I only want to ask you a question. Is there a place we can get horses around here?”
“We have two stable yards. I know Gereson has horses for sale at the present.”
“What do we pay him with?” Jenrosa asked.
“Can you deputize us?” Kumul asked Ethin.
“Deputize you? Why would I want to do that?”
“To catch the bastards who took our friend and killed Yran,” Kumul replied sharply.
Ethin was taken aback by the suggestion. “I’ve never deputized strangers before…”
“Who else in this town will pursue the murderers as ardently as we?” Ager asked.
“Well, no one, to be straight,” the Grieve admitted. “Pursuit of dangerous criminals is not the main objective in life for farmers and shopkeepers.”
“Then deputize us,” Kumul insisted.
“What for, sir? You intend to go after your friend at any rate. What difference would it make to you?”
Kumul licked his lips. “Because then you can advance us the scrip for our services.”
“Advance you a scrip?” Ethin looked shocked. “I have no resources for hiring deputies!”
Ager shook Yran’s money box. “You have this. Advance us enough coin against Yran’s estate to purchase horses for ourselves. We have none ourselves, and without them, we will never catch Yran’s killers.”
Ethin frowned in thought.
“Yran’s death cries out for revenge,” Ager added.
Ethin breathed through his nose and took the money box from Ager. He selected a handful of quarters and half-royals and gave them to Kumul.
“With that, you can buy four good horses, three for yourselves and another for your friend should you save him, but bugger the scrip. Yran had no family I know of, and I don’t think he would begrudge the amount if you revenge his death. You’ll find Gereson at the other end of town. While you arrange for your horses, I’ll question Lewith and company and see if I can get you more information.”
“I’ll stay with Goodman Ethin,” Ager told the others. “I’ll meet you at Gereson’s when I finish here.”
Kumul nodded and left with Jenrosa. They found the stable yard and presented their coins to Gereson, who, for that amount, said they could choose any four horses they liked and he would throw in saddles, bridles, and packs as well. By the time they had selected four mounts, fit mares with even temperaments, Ager had joined them.
“The only visitors at the inn who were still drinking last night after Yran let his workers go included Lynan, a pair of travelers, and three farmers. The grieve found the travelers still in their rooms, and they told him that when they went to their beds, only the farmers and Lynan were left in the main room and Yran was in the kitchen. Then one of the cooks said she knew the names of one of the farmers, and that he owns land in the east of the valley, on the slopes.”
“So we go there first?” Jenrosa asked.
“We follow the tracks you and Kumul found. I don’t think they’re heading back to the farm.”
“Why not?” Kumul asked.
“Because he must have known he was recognized last night, and that the grieve would come and at least ask questions, if not actually make an arrest. Besides, the farmer’s name was Jes Prado. Sound familiar?”
Kumul thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Never met the man, but he was a mercenary captain who fought for the Slavers during the war. Most captains on the other side took the queen’s amnesty and disbanded their companies after the war and settled down somewhere. I assume Prado chose this valley.”
“Well, I’ll wager he’s leaving the valley now. Most importantly, he’s not heading south.”
“So?” Jenrosa asked.
“Prado would not have taken Lynan unless he knew who he was and that he was outlaw, but he’s not heading straight for Kendra to deliver his prize to Areava. That means there’s more to it than we presently understand.”
“Maybe Areava doesn’t want Lynan to be seen in the capital,” Kumul suggested. “She may think he has support there, among the commoners at least.”
“Then why not kill him outright?” Ager countered. “I think there others involved, and Prado is on his way to meet them. More than that, Prado knows we’ll follow him, so he won’t stay on the road for long.”
“Then we’re running out of time,” Kumul said brusquely, and mounted the horse he had chosen for himself, a large roan with a black streak on her forehead.
Before the other two had mounted, the grieve appeared. “I don’t know what it is about you, Crookback, but I trust your face.”
“Thanks for that,” Ager said dryly.
“I won’t come with you. I’m no horseman and could never hope to keep up. Find Yran’s killers and, if you’re able to, bring them back here for justice.”
Kumul looked darkly at the grieve. “We make no promise on that, but we will do what we can.”
Ager and Jenrosa mounted, and Kumul took the reins of the fourth horse. They rode north out of town, each desperately hoping that Lynan was still alive to be rescued.
Lynan slipped sideways off Prado’s horse and fell to the ground. He was barely conscious, and the shock of hitting the hard earth barely registered in his fogged brain. He heard curses and then commands. Rough hands half-carried him to softer ground. He was dimly aware of an argument going on in the background. Something grabbed his jaw and pain lanced through him. His vision cleared and he found himself looking into the face of Jes Prado, his head haloed by the soft light of a damp, cloudy dawn. He moaned. He had hoped in his delirium that all that had happened to him was nothing more than a nightmare.
“I’m going to stitch you up, boy,” Prado breathed into his face. “But first we have to clean your wound.”
Lynan started slipping back into the fog when a thick unguent was rubbed into his cut. Again, terrible pain tore through him. There was a brief moment when he thought it was over and he could retreat back into his troubled sleep, nightmare and all, but it was only the lull before the storm. His whole body spasmed when Prado used a heavy needle and sinew to close his wound. Prado was sitting on his chest to stop him moving, and his thugs held onto his head and legs. Lynan screamed, then slipped back into unconsciousness.
He did not know how long he remained unconscious, but when he came to, he found his hands were tied to a pommel and Prado’s arms were coiled around his waist. Ahead, he saw Bazik, and he could hear Aesor clopping along behind. His jaw throbbed with a terrible ache, and it felt as if it was twice its normal size. His tongue filled his mouth, and he tried to ask for water but could only manage a wheeze.
“Our friend is awake,” Bazik said, looking over his shoulder. Prado only grunted.
Lynan tried turning his head to look around, but the pain in his jaw only got worse, so he twisted from the waist instead. They were following a narrow but well-worn trail that wound its way up a gentle tree-covered slope. Leaves dripped water on him. A weak sun shone from a pale blue sky through the canopy, but the light made him feel colder. He again tried asking for a drink, but was ignored.
After a while the trail leveled off and the trees started thinning out. Lynan glanced quickly at the sun and saw they were heading north. He could see the Arran Valley to his right, its broad descent ending in a patchwork of fields and orchards. To his left, the ground was largely flat and covered in long grass with occasional clumps of wideoaks and heart-seed breaking the skyline. Farther east, the horizon was lost in a green haze which he thought might be a river valley.
The Barda River, he told himself hazily. Why are they taking me this way? We are heading toward Hume and not Kendra.
As the day drew on, it got warmer, and Lynan’s drying clothes started to tighten around him. They left the shelter of the woods and headed into the plain, making their way from copse to copse, Prado obviously seeking cover wherever he could. As the sun neared its zenith, they stopped under the shade of a group of wideoaks. Lynan’s bindings were cut and he was pushed from the saddle to the ground. Prado knelt next to him and inspected his handiwork.