She reached into a pocket of her robe and came out with three small bottles. “I have become rather good at brewing such helpful magics, if I say so myself. Of course, I have the benefit of being able to roam about Jenna’s laboratory while she is in Wayreth. I think you might find these useful.”
Coryn extended her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Dram opened his own burly paw and let her drop the bottles onto his calloused palm. He looked at the potions reluctantly. “Magic makes my skin break out, you know,” he said.
She smiled sympathetically. “You might have to put up with some blemishes, then, if you’re going to help your friend. I suggest you leave the gnomes here-have them camp out of sight somewhere and wait for you. They’ll only slow you down.”
“Aye, I’m sorry to say, but I’d been thinking along the same lines myself,” Dram admitted. He scowled at the small bottles, each of which seemed to hold only a shot or two of clear liquid.
“This blue bottle is a potion of haste,” the enchantress explained. “Use just enough so that you feel a little tingle. You’ll be able to cover twice as much distance today as the knights can ride.”
“Haste, huh?” Dram held up that bottle, which was the largest of the three, and inspected the liquid sloshing inside. “All right,” he said. “So I might catch up to them. What then?”
She explained about the other two potions.
CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO
Jaymes shifted uncomfortably for seemingly the hundredth time of the night. Sleeping with his hands manacled at his waist allowed him precious little room to maneuver. His wrists were raw.
He stared up at the sky, the white moon near zenith. Since that moon had risen at sunset, he knew it was not much later than midnight.
At least the evenings gave some respite to the pain of riding a horse all day. His legs cramped so much he was unable to stand when they finally allowed him to dismount at the end of the day. Though the other knights took breaks, including a midday meal, climbing down from their saddles to stretch, they didn’t go to the trouble-or risk-of letting their prisoner do the same.
Wriggling around, he tried to ease a kink that had formed in the muscles of his back. He couldn’t do much about it. Cursing softly, the prisoner was on the verge on closing his eyes when he spotted a cloaked figure moving stealthily through the darkness.
This figure, though bent low, moved more like a human than a dwarf. Immediately the warrior thought of the lone knight, Sir Dupuy, who had arrived bearing a message from Lord Regent du Chagne. The man had been watching Jaymes surreptitiously all evening. Sitting around a fire with several fellows, the stranger’s cold, hard eyes had frequently shifted over to the chained man.
Now the prisoner stared at the cloaked figure as it scuttled towards him, evidently on his hands and knees. Jaymes closed his eyes to narrow slits so the other man wouldn’t guess he was awake and pondered what to do. The menacing knight was perhaps ten paces away, his eyes fixed upon the prisoner. Jaymes felt helpless. The chains binding his hands were so tight, he would have little ability to defend himself.
“Say there, friend,” Jaymes suddenly called out, opening his eyes and sitting up straight. He made a great show of trying to stretch. His voice rang out in the slumbering camp, and several knights grunted in their sleep or shifted and opened their eyes. “How about helping a thirsty man with a drink of water?”
He was not surprised when the cloaked man-indeed Sir Dupuy-rose smoothly, letting his cape fall to the ground. The man looked around, saw that a sleepy sentry was staring at them and other knights were stirring. Several watched as Sir Dupuy came up to Jaymes, extending his canteen.
“Just a quick sip,” the man said gruffly. “And then be still!”
The prisoner took the proffered vessel, drank, then handed it back. He replied loudly. “Thank you kindly, good sir knight.”
The hilt of a dagger protruded from the man’s belt. Without another word Sir Dupuy turned to walk away, stopping to pick up his cloak as if he had just happened to spot it lying on the ground. He went over to his bedroll and lay down, but his eyes, glittering with fury and frustration, remained fixed upon Jaymes.
Wrestling himself around to a sitting position, the warrior met the stranger’s glare. Cramps froze his muscles, pain rippled through his legs, hips, and back, but he had to remain awake, and he watched the knight, watched and waited patiently as the moon, with excruciating slowness, crept through the western sky.
He maintained his vigil until dawn brightened the sky and the camp began to wake up around him. Only when there were a dozen knights up, kindling fires, putting kettles on to warm, did he allow himself to close his eyes for a few precious minutes. He woke when they came with the crowbar to pull his stake out of the ground and prod him into the saddle of a horse.
One of the knights watching the operation, already seated on his horse, was Sir Dupuy.
Throughout the morning the file of mounted knights climbed into the Vingaard Range, along the winding road leading up to the High Clerist’s Pass. Jaymes had traveled this road often in the past, and he saw that the rainy summer had taken a grievous toll on the ancient highway. In places half the surface had eroded away, much of the gravel tumbling down into the precipitous gorge. Here and there erosion left only a narrow trail for the riders to negotiate, and in single file their horses skittered past drops of several hundred feet. Far below, Jaymes could see the whitewater rapids, a headwater of the West Vingaard River, flowing over and around jagged rocks and fallen timbers.
Jaymes rode along in silence. The nearby knights made no attempt to converse with him, and he avoided attracting attention as much as possible. Sir Dupuy had taken up a position near the head of the column-while the prisoner was in the middle. As the morning progressed, however, Dupuy fell farther and farther back in the line. Finally, as the noon hour approached, the rider from Palanthas was just ahead of the brace of guards near Jaymes, one of whom was always holding the ancient mare’s reins.
Once again the column reached a washout, where the heavy rains had eroded a great section of the roadway. The remaining path barely qualified as a thin ledge above the cliff below. The first knights dismounted and one by one led their horses across, as the rest of the column came to a halt, each man waiting his turn. Dupuy, standing at the edge, extended his hand as Jayme’s escort slipped out of his saddle to get ready to make the narrow crossing.
“I’ll lead this one,” Dupuy said, reaching for the reins of the prisoner’s mount.
“Wait-you’re going to let me dismount, aren’t you?” Jaymes spoke to his main escort, a knight who had treated him humanely through most of the journey. “That looks a little too slippery there-you might lose a good horse, if I overbalance him.”
“Sure. Makes sense to me.” The knight addressed one of his comrades. “Darron, keep a hand on your sword and an eye on the prisoner, while I let him down.” He released the shackles around Jaymes’s ankles as Dupuy watched impassively. When the manacles were loose, the warrior slowly, carefully lowered himself from the saddle. The resulting cramps paralyzed his legs, and he held on to the reins for a few seconds, trying to regain some strength, eyeing the dangerous passage before him.
“Come on-let’s get moving,” urged one of the knights.
“I’ll take the horse-you can make your own way,” Sir Dupuy said pleasantly, but his eyes were cold. He stepped back from the narrow, mud-streaked ledge, pulling Jaymes’s horse to the side.
Moving awkwardly on the narrow muddy path, with his hands tightly manacled, Jaymes had no choice but to step past Sir Dupuy, with the sheer drop directly beneath him to his left. The prisoner tried to brush by quickly. Sir Dupuy bumped him slightly, a movement no doubt invisible to the other knights behind them. Jaymes slipped and lost his balance-but not before grabbing the other man’s belt with his fingers.