“North of here there is a pass through the mountains, called the Algonka,” continued Gudon. “It is part of a well-used caravan route, and will take us to the start of the Oceans of Grass. There is a water hole at the end of the caravan route called by us the Strangers’ Sooq.”
“We will find refuge at this sooq?”
Gudon shrugged.
“How far away is this pass?”
“Two days’ journey at least. We must stay this side of the mountains to find water, and the way is not always this easy.”
Lynan wiped the sweat from his brow. “Wonderful,” he muttered.
Gudon used his arms to mount by himself and grimaced when his injured knee bumped into the saddle. “Truth, it could be worse,” Gudon said between his teeth.
“How worse?”
The Chert grinned at Lynan. “It could be me walking instead of you.”
It was late at night, and Rendle, tired and fed up from hours arguing with Charion’s quartermaster about supplies for his company, was not in a good mood when Eder opened the flap to his tent and just walked in.
“This had better be good.”
“You have a visitor,” Eder said shortly and moved aside. At first Rendle did not recognize the lumpen shape that entered, even when Eder lit another candle.
“Who…” But then something about the mouth and crooked nose sparked a memory. “Prado?”
“The same,” Jes Prado answered, and without invitation sat himself down on Rendle’s bunk. He was cradling his arm, and his clothes were bloody and torn.
Rendle poured wine into a mug and passed it to Prado. “What happened to you? I wasn’t expecting you for another day, at least. Did you find the prize?”
Prado swallowed the wine in two gulps and held out the mug for more. Rendle obliged.
“We found the prince, all right,” Prado said, his voice rough with exhaustion, “and got him as far as the Barda River. Then we lost him.”
Rendle’s face went as hard as stone, but his voice remained level. “Lost him?”
Prado drunk some more wine, then started retching. Rendle took the mug away from him until he had finished, then handed it back. Prado met his gaze, but turned away when he saw the look in Rendle’s eyes.
“But I know where he’s going,” he said quickly. “We were chased by Kumul and two companions—”
“The crookback and the girl?”
“Aye. We made it to the river just in time and took a barge. The pilot played along for a while, then drove the barge into a clump of jaizru nests.”
Eder blanched; Rendle did not even blink. “And then?”
“The eels killed my two best men and two of my horses. I saw Lynan pushed over the side by the pilot, then the pilot mounted one of the horses and forced it into the river. I saw them being attacked as they made for the bank. More jaizru were flying at the barge. I jumped over the other side, thinking the eels would be too busy with the pilot and the horse. I was mostly right.” He held up his arm to show the wounds he had received. “I have more on my back and neck.”
“And then?” Rendle prodded without a trace of sympathy.
“I reached the bank and collapsed. I don’t know how long I was out for. When I came to, I saw Lynan carrying the pilot away from the river, heading west.”
“What about the horse?”
“I didn’t see its carcass in the river. I think it must have gotten away.”
“And where do you think Lynan is going?”
“The pilot was a Chett,” Prado said. “I think they’ll head for the Oceans of Grass. Where else can the prince go?”
“How did you reach Daavis?”
“I caught another barge upriver. I had to give the pilot the last of my coins.” He finished the wine, but did not dare hold out the mug again.
Rendle and Eder exchanged glances. Eder nodded and left the tent. “Do you think you can ride?” Rendle asked.
“Give me a night’s rest and I’ll—”
“Now,” Rendle said. “We must ride tonight if we’re to make the Algonka Pass in time to intercept the prince. If you are right about Lynan heading for the Oceans of Grass, that is the only way through.”
“How many men will you take?”
“I will take my company, Prado. I’m not going anywhere near the Chetts without plenty of swords to back me up.”
Eder returned. “I’ve sent out the marshals. The company will leave Daavis in small groups and meet four leagues north of the city.”
“Get our tents down,” Rendle ordered. “We won’t be coming back here.” He turned to Prado. “And you come with us. If we capture Lynan, I may forgive you for what you have done. If not…” He poured more wine into Prado’s mug. “… I may sell you to the Chetts.”
Chapter 24
The next morning Gudon’s knee seemed no better to Lynan, but the pilot insisted the pain was less. Lynan applied more haethu to both their wounds. They ate a handful of berries they had found nearby and then they set off once more, traversing steep slopes made slippery with loose stones. Lynan discovered the hardest part was not climbing but descending; he had to use all his strength to keep his footing and at the same time concentrate on leading the horse along the firmest ground. The muscles and joints in his legs felt as if they had been so overused he would never walk normally again; and as far as he could see, for all his efforts they were making barely any progress at all. The terrain seemed the same no matter which way he looked. But Gudon, with gentle humor and confidence, continued to give directions and encouragement.
The sky was covered in high clouds which made Lynan feel dreary, and though it made the air cooler, it also made it more humid. They stopped regularly to let both Lynan and the horse rest, and near midday they were lucky to find a gully with trees for extra shade and a brook with water so cold and fresh it helped invigorate them. Gudon actually tried standing without support and managed to walk three paces before Lynan had to help him sit down. “You see, little master, I told you it was healing.”
“I wish it had healed enough for you to lead the horse for a while. It does not like these slopes.”
“Any more than you,” Gudon pointed out.
“How far to the Algonka Pass?”
“We will reach it tomorrow, probably in the morning. The descent to the road will be hard, but once there it is easy going all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq.”
“And how far from the pass to the sooq?”
“Another day.”
Gudon started suddenly and began digging at the base of a tree Lynan had not seen before. “It is rare to find these on this side of the Ufero Mountains,” the Chett said excitedly. He dug until he had exposed enough of the tree’s roots to get a hand around one of them. He pulled twice and the root lifted into the air, then used a small knife he retrieved from a sheath at the back of his shirt to sever it from the main stock. The outer layer peeled off easily, revealing a milky-white core. Gudon cut it in two and passed one half to Lynan.
“We call these gods’ roots,” Gudon said, and bit off a mouthful. “We use it to spice our food.”
Lynan copied him. The flesh was softer than he thought it would be, but very fibrous. At first, he thought its taste seemed sweet, but then he felt the mild tingling along his tongue and down his throat that told him worse was to come. A moment later, he was spitting it out and gulping water from the brook.
“What do you use it to spice? Leather?” Lynan’s tongue and throat felt as if someone had stuck a burning branch down his gullet.
“The Chett use it widely in cooking. If you leave it in the sun for several days, then pound it into a dust and add water to it, you get haethu. If you add a handful of the dust to a pond or river, the fish come belly-up to the surface and are easy to catch. If you rub the juice into your skin, flies and mosquitoes stay away.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“It is the most wondrous of all plants.”
Lynan felt his stomach rumble. He hoped they would soon have more to eat than the occasional handful of nuts and berries.