The clouds disappeared during the afternoon and the heat became another burden for Lynan to bear. Although the slope became less treacherous, the ground was now made up of large rocks rounded by weathering. The horse became increasingly skittish and difficult to handle. Gudon sang to it, which calmed it for a while but also brought a warm wind blowing up and over the mountains from the Lesser Desert.
“One must be careful with the songs,” Gudon said. “There is always a price to pay for using any magic.”
“Apparently,” Lynan said wryly, blinking furiously to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He could feel the skin on his ears and nose starting to burn. “So why did your princess send you to the Barda?”
Gudon did not seem surprised by the question, and he answered without hesitation. “Because it was the mercenaries working out of Hume and Haxus who were the center of the cursed slave trade, and my people were its main victims. They used the Barda River to take us down to Daavis for selling.”
“But that was many years ago.”
“We have a long memory. We keep watch, we listen, we smell the air. We will not let the Slavers arise again and take us as they did before.”
“But the Chetts are famous warriors. Why didn’t you stop them back then?”
“For many centuries the Chetts lived in small tribes of a hundred or so. It doesn’t matter how brave you are if your enemy is three or four times your strength and you have children and cattle to protect. We finally started coming together to make larger tribes, but there were many arguments among the chiefs about who should be in charge. We fought each other as much as we fought the Slavers. In the end the father of my princess won a great battle against other Chetts near a waterhole called the High Sooq, and we started planning to hit back against the enemy.”
“Your army was big enough to take them on?”
“Not in one battle, little master. The Oceans of Grass are very wide and hold more people than any in the east suspect, but not so many to take on the rich lands of Hume or Haxus. But we could raid and harry. In the end, it never came to be.”
“Why?”
Gudon leaned over and tapped Lynan on the shoulder. “Because of your mother and because of your father. She ordered the destruction of the Slavers, and he carried out her command in a great war.”
Lynan blushed. For as long as he could remember, he had been proud of his father’s record as a general, but it had always been a private thing, without real understanding of what Elynd Chisal’s efforts had meant for other people. Lynan blinked with a sudden thought.
“Prado was one of the mercenary captains who worked for the Slavers?”
“Oh, yes. I have never seen him before, but all Chetts know what he looks like, and know his name. I hope the jaizru fed off him.”
“So do I,” Lynan said, touching the wound on his jaw. “So do I.”
“Here!” Ager cried. “Over here!”
Kumul and Jenrosa stopped their search of the ground and joined Ager at the edge of a gully. Ager held up a white misshapen lump.
“Congratulations,” Kumul said. “What is it and what are you going to do with it?”
Ager threw it to Kumul, who caught it and looked at it. “See the tooth marks?”
“They could be from anything—”
“And how the root is cut neatly at one end?”
Kumul looked more closely. “Yes, you’re right.”
“And here,” Ager said pointing to the ground. “They’re hard to see because the ground is so hard, but hoofprints, for sure.”
Jenrosa breathed a sigh of relief. “So Lynan did come this way.”
“Afraid your magic had failed you?” Kumul teased.
“I told you which direction they were traveling,” she said reproachfully.
“Well, now we can be sure where they’re heading,” Ager said quickly, throwing warning glances at them both. The two of them had become short-tempered since losing the tracks they had been following the previous night.
Kumul nodded. “The Algonka Pass.”
“It makes sense. We had always planned to make for the Oceans of Grass, and from here that’s the only route.”
“At least he’s not trying to cross the Lesser Desert.”
“He might have if the pilot he rescued did not know the way,” Ager said.
“Common sense would tell him not to go through the desert,” Kumul scoffed.
“But not how to move along the Ufero Mountains, and not which direction to travel.”
“How long ago were they here?” Jenrosa asked.
“Five hours ago, maybe more.”
“They are pulling ahead of us, despite the injured pilot.”
“That’s because we had to rediscover their trail. Now we know for sure that they are heading for the Algonka Pass, we can make for it directly. We should get there soon after they do.”
“Why not try and get there before them?” Kumul asked. “We could walk through the night.”
“Along this route? I don’t think so, at least not if you want to keep the horses. It’s bad enough in daylight.”
Kumul did not argue the point. “All right, but let’s get moving. The more ground we make up before the sun goes down, the less anxious I’ll be.”
Prado was beginning to wish the jaizru had eaten him. It took the last vestiges of his strength to remain seated on the horse Rendle had given him. The company rode for four hours until the first signs of dawn lit the sky, then rested for half an hour. Rendle sent a surgeon to look at Prado’s wounds and the man applied some foul-smelling ointment that took away some of the pain but none of his exhaustion. They rode all that morning, always keeping the Barda in sight, heading northwest toward the Ufero Mountains and the Algonka Pass. Farmers threatened them when they rode over their fields, and Eder would disdainfully throw each of them a handful of coins. Merchants leading long lines of pack horses and mules would swear at them as the passing column upset their animals and sent huge clouds of dust sweeping into their faces; these Eder ignored.
Rendle ordered a halt again before midday. They ate cold rations of dried-beef-and-yogurt strips. Rendle sent his fastest outriders ahead with orders to locate Lynan and if possible detain him until the main force caught up, or, if they encountered Chetts in any numbers, to ride back with a warning.
The company rode during the worst heat of the day. Eder asked him to ease up, but Rendle ignored him. When horses fell away—blown, lame, dropping from thirst—their riders were left behind to fend as best they could. When the road bent west and came right alongside the Barda, Rendle let the company rest for another half hour while the horses were watered. And then they were off again, the mountains slowly growing in size, their shadows stretching far across the land.
Prado twisted the reins around his hands and somehow hung on. There seemed to be dust everywhere and he wished he could breathe clear air. The reins started to cut into the skin around his fingers, but the pain was nothing to that he was already suffering.
Rendle kept them going until it was too dark to ride. When he called a halt, men fell off their saddles and horses stood shaking and sweating. Rendle went around, not resting himself until he had spoken at least a single word to all his men, encouraging them, bribing them, warning them. When he had finished, campfires were already alight and the horses watered and brushed down. He then stood alone at the end of the camp, staring out toward the mountains as if by sheer will he could make them come to him. Eder joined him after a while with a mug of hot stew. Rendle gulped it down and handed back the mug.
“One more day,” he told Eder.
“They cannot ride like that again. The horses will drop dead.”
“We’ll take it easier tomorrow.” He turned when Eder sighed in relief. “But not too much easier. We must get there in time to find Prince Lynan.”
“Prado may be wrong. Lynan may be heading somewhere else.”