Lynan started shaking uncontrollably. He tried standing, but his legs would not support him. He ended up sitting on the grass, and then he remembered Gudon. He could see the barge, rocking from side to side as the horses, which had now torn loose from their tethers, skittered and slid across the deck. They seemed to be covered in hundred of black streaks. Blood streamed down their flanks and heads. One went down, and then a second. He heard the pitiful whinnying of the dying beasts. He saw no sign of Gudon, or Prado and his men. After a while the barge settled and a dreadful silence settled over the river.
Two horses? he thought suddenly. But there were three…
He managed to get to his feet. He wiped his face with a hand and noticed it was bleeding. A savage, serrated cut jig-sawed across his palm. He felt no pain, only a strange numbness. He checked his feet and legs, and saw that he was bleeding in at least four other places.
He walked to the bank, making sure to stay out of range of the flying eels, although the water was perfectly still now. He called out Gudon’s name, but there was no answer. He edged toward the clump of spear trees, crouching down to peer among the branches that hung above the river. There was no sign of his savior. He called out his name again, and this time heard a weak reply. He glanced around but saw no one.
“Gudon?” he cried out, louder this time.
Once more, a weak reply. He was sure it had come from his left. He hurriedly made his way along the bank. There was a small copse of thorn trees in the way, and as he circled around it, he heard a man’s voice coming from amid the thickets.
“Gudon?”
“Truth, little master, that was worse than I thought it would be.”
Lynan pulled away some of the branches, ignoring the cuts they made on his skin. The pilot was lying, bleeding from several bites. His eyes were fluttering. In one hand he held a leather bag which he was trying to draw to himself.
“I had no idea the spear tree held so many nests.”
Lynan knelt down beside him. Many of Gudon’s wounds were as slight as his own, but the damage around his right knee was horrific; he could see the white of bone.
Gudon tapped the bag. “Inside. My potion.”
Lynan lifted the bag and opened it. Inside was a small wooden bottle with a cork stop wired into place.
“My haethu,” Gudon said weakly. “Pour a little on my knee.”
Lynan untwisted the wire, pulled out the cork with his teeth, and carefully spilled a few drops on the wound.
Gudon flinched and shouted between clenched teeth. “All the gods! I have never felt so much pain!”
Lynan replaced the cork and resecured the wire. “What are you doing in here?”
“It was the only place I could drag myself to that would protect me from the eels.” He pointed and Lynan saw several of the fish impaled on the branches.
“Things have quieted down,” Lynan said. “I will pull you out of here.”
Gudon laid a hand on his arm. “Not yet. Let the haethu do its work. You must find the horse.”
“Horse? You managed to get one off the barge?”
“Oh, yes. I mounted one and it was in such a panic it was easy to make it jump over the side. I had to keep tight control of it or it would have bit and kicked furiously at the jaizru and drowned. Unfortunately, it meant I could not move my legs from around its girth. I am paying for that now.”
“Where is it?”
“As soon as we reached the bank, it threw me and ran off. You must find it, otherwise we will have to walk, and truth, little master, all the haethu I own will not help me do that for a long, long while.”
“I will build us a shelter and you can rest—”
“No, no. We must leave here as quickly as possible. When the villains do not arrive in Daavis, someone may come looking for them.”
Lynan had not thought of that. “Wait, then. Which way did the horse run?”
Gudon smiled thinly. “I was in no condition to see. Away from the river.”
Lynan nodded, gingerly withdrew from the thicket, and searched the ground near the bank. He found the horse’s hoofprints easily and started to follow them. Ahead the land began to rise, gradually at first, but more steeply in the distance until it reached a crest covered in thick woods about five league away. He was praying that the horse had not run that far when he heard a soft whinny. He stopped, looked around, and saw the horse to his right, no more than a league from him. As he got closer, it looked up at him nervously but stayed where it was, occasionally lowering its head to crop at the grass. Lynan took his time and made his final approach a step at a time, making soft, reassuring sounds, his hands held out palm upward. The horse must have decided it wanted human company again, for it closed the last twenty paces between them and snuffled his hands for a reward.
“Nothing this time, I’m afraid, but if you carry me and my friend to safety, I promise you all the sweet hay I can buy.”
The animal was covered in dozens of small bites, but a cursory inspection showed nothing too serious. He wondered if Gudon’s haethu worked on horses. He took the reins and started to lead it back toward the river. At first the horse walked behind him without trouble, but as it smelled the river getting closer, it started pulling back and eventually refused to go any further. Lynan tugged experimentally, but only succeeded in losing the reins. The horse retreated a few steps and stopped.
Lynan glanced toward the rising sun. He would have to carry Gudon here to the horse. He cursed softly under his breath.
Orkid found it both amusing and satisfying to see Areava and Sendarus together in public. Amusing because no matter how hard they tried to keep their attention on whatever matter was at hand, in this case a public reception for the capital’s leading commercial lights, they could not keep their eyes off each other for longer than a minute, and satisfying because their love for each other represented the culmination of all his work since arriving in Kendra as a young man. The lovebirds’ plan to announce their intention to marry at Areava’s coronation was the worst kept secret in the kingdom, and while the reaction from most of the members of the Twenty Houses could best be described as thinly veiled hostility toward Sendarus, the rest of the court seemed pleased by it, and as far as the rest of the citizenry was concerned, it was the only bright news after the black weeks just passed.
Sendarus’ own generous nature and good looks helped the cause a great deal, of course. It was hard not to like him, and those who might otherwise have been opposed to their queen marrying outside of the Twenty Houses found themselves won over to the extent they became enthusiastic supporters of the union. People such as Shant Tenor, for example, whose prejudice was renowned, could not help clinging to the Amanite prince like a limpet to a rock. Tenor kept on talking about the commercial advantages of closer ties between Kendra and the provinces, something that would have been anathema to him only weeks before.
Others, such as Xella Povis, were more circumspect about the idea of the marriage, but were canny enough to keep their opinions to themselves and make the best of it.
Then there were those like Primate Giros Northam, even now talking with the queen and Sendarus, who would support Areava in all things. That Northam was a good man, Orkid did not doubt, but he was also wise enough to see that the queen was his church’s most valuable supporter. Although the poor would always pray, in a kingdom where simple faith struggled against the more obvious and demonstrative powers of magic, royal approval gave it greater currency and respect among the nobility, especially among those eager to display their loyalty to the throne by paying some kind of obeisance to Northam’s god. Orkid was less sure of Father Powl, Northam’s right hand man. He was a small, thin man with a ready smile but eyes as hard and gray as steel. As Areava’s confessor, his standing had improved recently, but Orkid had been told by Usharna that Northam had not nominated Powl as his successor. Orkid suspected this was because of Ushama’s express wish, and Northam had complied. According to the church’s dictates, only Northam and his nominated successor could know the true name of their god; did Father Powl expect to hear it still, or did he know he was not destined for the primacy? There might be another lever there for Orkid to pull.