In moments like that, she could empathise with the Prince Bishop’s desire to know it all, and know it now. The uncertainty of not knowing was the most frustrating thing she had ever encountered. To think that answers to all her questions might exist, might be waiting to be found, was tantalising.
She felt nothing out of the ordinary, but in reality, she didn’t know what she was looking for. She glanced over at Olivier, who smiled earnestly, but maintained an obedient silence. She wondered if he had figured out that she had no idea where they were going.
“How long have you been in the Order?” she said.
“Only a few days,” Olivier said. “A number of us were recruited out of the Academy. It’s an exciting proposition that was hard to say no to.”
She could agree with that, at least. “What attracted you?”
“It seems like the place to be. The new Chevaliers of the Silver Circle. With a man like the Prince Bishop backing it, the invitation to join seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“The magic doesn’t bother you?”
“It did a little, at first. But I heard they’ve already been using it over in Ostia. We can bury our heads and ignore it, or we can get on with it, no matter how distasteful we find it. I don’t fancy the idea of being ruled by an emperor in Ostenheim. Do you?”
Solène shook her head.
He seemed earnest enough. She didn’t know how much the Prince Bishop trusted her, but she had no reason to suspect Olivier wasn’t there purely to keep an eye on her. The Academy created hard men to do the dangerous jobs the king needed done—she had seen that at first hand with Nicholas dal Sason. Olivier might wear a veneer of chivalry, but that didn’t mean he was naive or full of youthful enthusiasm. If he was, all the better for her, but she would keep an eye on him and ditch him at the first opportunity.
They travelled along a major road for much of the morning; to Solène’s surprise, there was no traffic on it for as far as the eye could see, and she and Olivier hadn’t passed anyone since leaving the Order’s camp, either. Solène assumed that word of the new dragons had spread and that people were finally seeking safety indoors. It made her wonder what had become of Gill—if he had finally run out of luck, either at the claws of a dragon or at the hands of whoever the Prince Bishop had sent to take the Cup from him. It seemed unlikely he had survived if the Prince Bishop had the Cup. Good men and women didn’t seem to last long these days. Leverre, dal Drezony, and now, it seemed, Gill also.
She allowed her mind to drift, hoping she would detect something unusual in the pattern of the Fount that would lead her to what they sought. She tried to imagine where the Fount would gather out in the countryside. Her only experience of it was in towns and cities; their dense concentration of people and animals generated an enormous amount of energy. In the past, when there were far fewer people, that wouldn’t have been the case. Accumulations that occurred at that time had to be entirely natural. What might have caused them?
Solène began to concentrate on identifying anything unusual. It felt like casting a fishing line out into a great, never-ending lake, without knowing if there were actually any fish in it. She found it difficult to maintain the focus needed to hold on to that single thought as she tried to keep control of her horse and remain in the saddle. The beginning of a plan to rid herself of Banneret Olivier was also lurking in the back of her mind and intruding on her thoughts.
When her brain felt as though it was straining against the confines of her skull and needed a rest, she got the first sense of something odd. There was only one way to investigate the sensation, and she didn’t want the Prince Bishop’s spy there when she did. It was time for her and Banneret Olivier to part ways.
“I’m starving,” she said. “Why don’t we set down by that stand of trees and have something to eat?”
“Sounds good to me. Any luck on working out where we’re headed?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I’m getting a bit of a sense for it. Some food and rest will help with that.”
At the copse of trees, they dismounted. “No point unsaddling,” she said. “We won’t stay long. Why don’t you make a fire? I could do with some hot coffee. I’ll take care of the horses and get the provisions.”
Olivier nodded, and set about gathering wood. She led the horses to a tree and tethered them on a long rein so they could get at the grass. When Olivier had his back to her, Solène undid the buckles on his saddle. He had a small fire going by the time she returned with bread, cheese, some cold meat, and the all-important coffee paraphernalia.
They set about making filled rolls, then started to eat. After a few bites, Solène began to focus on what she wanted to achieve, doing her best to exclude all other thoughts.
“You’re not eating,” Olivier said a moment later.
“Small appetite,” she said, doing her best not to be distracted. In another moment, his face twisted in discomfort and he placed a hand on his stomach.
“I think that meat may have been off,” he said, grimacing. “Better you don’t eat any more.”
Solène released her focus. “It certainly didn’t taste quite right.”
“Beginning to regret not having a small appetite myself,” Olivier said in a strained voice.
His stomach gurgled loudly enough for Solène to hear it.
“Pardon me,” he said.
She couldn’t tell if his cheeks were flushed from embarrassment or from the chaos that was beginning to unfold in his guts.
“If you wouldn’t mind excusing me a moment?” Olivier asked urgently.
“Of course not,” she said.
He stood and hurried into the trees in a fashion that could only be called comical. Solène did her best not to laugh, knowing it was she who was responsible, not the food. Considering the colour of the Order’s robes, she wondered if perhaps a bash on the head would have been kinder, but the die was cast now. Hopefully he would be fine in an hour or two; not having used that magic before, she couldn’t be sure how long the discomfort would last, but she figured she hadn’t invested enough energy in it to discommode him for more than the remainder of the evening. More than long enough for her to have put a decent distance between them.
Solène gathered up her provisions, pulled Olivier’s saddle to the ground, untethered his horse and gave it enough of a slap on the rump to send it cantering off, then mounted her own, and galloped away in the intentionally wrong direction.
Solène rode hard until darkness made it dangerous to continue. She had turned onto her proper course after a couple of hours, but the sensation she was tracking remained vague and indistinct. She was no longer confident it was guiding her to what she sought, or even guiding her anywhere at all. It was time to stop and rest; she chose a camping spot far from the road.
She had seen no sign of Olivier following her, not that she expected it. He would be pretty exhausted after his stomach trouble and it would take time before he was ready to jump in the saddle again. Even so, she didn’t feel she could risk lighting a fire. She settled in for what she knew would be a cold night under a cloudless sky.
Exhausted, she lay back and felt her mind start to drift into the half place between being awake and asleep. Random thoughts flitted about, covered in the Fount’s blue glow. She was too tired to force sense or order upon the jumble. Just as she made the final slide into sleep, the swirling objects, ideas, and scenes coalesced into a solid stream flowing clearly in the direction of the vague sensation, and ending in a tight ball of intense blue light that pulsed like a beating heart. Waves of energy washed over her. Her final thought before sleep took her was that she knew the location of a node.