The oil coating on the boots worked better in snow than in rivers. The water had run in from the top and been prevented from leaving by the oil on the outside so that they were marshy inside. Aralorn dried them out as best she could and pulled them on over her newly acquired socks. She had hoped for better results.
She surveyed herself wryly when she was done. Myr was not tall—for a man—which left him only a head or so taller than she. He was, however, built like a stone wall.
Well, she thought, tugging at the front of the tunic, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about its being too tight.
The camp was starting to look organized again. Aralorn went back to check and found Sheen had been dried. He stood quietly with head lowered and one hind foot cocked up—a sure sign that he was as tired as she was.
Stanis found her there, her head resting against the horse’s neck, more asleep than awake.
“Aralorn, I think Astrid went back to camp.”
It was enough to wake her up. “What?”
“I can’t find her anywhere, an’ neither can Tobin, we searched an’ searched. She was crying all of the way up here because she left the doll her mother made her at camp. We tried to tell her that it would be all right, everyone knows that Uriah don’t eat dolls, just people. But I haven’t seen her since you came in, and neither has anyone else.”
“How many people have you told this to?” She fitted her bridle to the fastest of the camp horses. Sheen was too tired to run.
“Lots of people know I’m looking for her, but you’re the only one I told what I thought happened to her. I tried to tell Myr, but Haris was talking to him and lots of other people.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to sneak out of here and go look for her. I don’t want you to tell anyone that I’ve gone.” There was no use sending out more than one person. She was more than enough to bring back one little girl if the Uriah hadn’t found her yet. If they had made it to camp, then there was no sense in sending more people to die. “Keep looking for her here. She was pretty excited about the man who helped her find her way out of the caves. She may have just wandered deeper into the cave to see if she could find him. Wait until Myr isn’t busy, then tell him where I’ve gone. That should take long enough that I’ll either be back or I’m not coming back. Tell him that I said not to send anyone else after me. There aren’t enough people to spare. I’m just going to sneak down to our camp and see if I can spot her. If I don’t see her, I’ll ride right back up.”
She paused only long enough to get her sword. As she belted it on, the thought occurred to her that if she were going to have to keep using it against Uriah, it would behoove her to get more proficient at using the plaguing thing.
It wasn’t easy, with her limited magical powers, to sneak through a cave filled with magic-users, albeit weak ones. The gelding, sulky at leaving the other horses munching dinner, didn’t make matters any easier. She almost left him behind, but although he made it a little bit more difficult to escape undetected, he also gave her an edge if the Uriah were there.
Once out of the occupied caves, she gave up trying to remain unseen. The guards didn’t challenge her as she took the horse past them. They were looking for Uriah coming in, not people going out.
The camp gelding was a lot skinnier than Sheen and not so well trained. She stayed off the trails and followed a creek bed to the far side of the valley near Wolf’s camp, so the Uriah couldn’t easily follow her back trail to the caves. It wasn’t until she got to the valley that she realized that Astrid would have followed the main trail down and back.
Tired and cold and stupid.
It was quiet and peaceful, so she turned the horse directly toward camp. He took three strides forward, stiffened, and spooked wildly. She clung to his back, cursing silently, as the animal’s distressed cry and crashing branches gave whatever had scared him no doubt that there was someone riding on the mountainside above them.
Apparently the ae’Magi’s pets were capable of stealth.
She’d just gotten the horse under control when she heard a whistle from down below.
She would have known it anywhere. Talor had always been tone deaf—giving his signals a peculiar flat sound all their own, as well as making it unclear exactly what he was signaling. In this case it could have been either “all clear” or “help.” Given the circumstance, Aralorn picked the latter.
Without hesitation, she urged the horse down the slope. The only excuse that she had for her action was that she was exhausted and reacting from instinct. Gods bless them, was all she could think, somehow Ren had known. Somehow he’d sent them help from Sianim.
Her borrowed horse was not as sure-footed as Sheen and fought her all the way down. The horse made a lot of noise and ended up sliding most of the way on a small avalanche of his own making.
The gelding was still sliding uncontrollably when she ran into a small group of Uriah. As they easily pulled down her mount, Aralorn jumped clear, hoping that the horse, poor thing, would distract most of them and give her a chance to find either Talor or Astrid.
Her jump took her clear of the feeding frenzy and earned her only a scraped shin and modest bruises. By the time she regained her feet, there were two Uriah nearly upon her. She used the split second before they attacked to search for a possible escape, but everywhere she looked there were more of them converging.
Bleakly, she thought of another of Ren’s homilies—rashness eventually exacts a full, fell price. She used her sword in a useless attempt to defend herself and waited to die.
It seemed like it took forever. She swung, and limbs fell, still writhing as if unwilling to accede to death with somber dignity. She swung until her arms were heavy and her tendons burned like slow acid in her shoulders. Her body was covered with myriad scrapes.
Surprisingly, none of her wounds was in itself serious; but collectively, they sapped her strength and dulled her reflexes. The Uriah just kept coming. The horse’s screams had stopped, for which she was profoundly thankful. It had been stupid of her to come running; any human who had been here was beyond anyone’s ability to help. The gelding had died for her foolishness, and she would soon follow.
She had little talent as a mindspeaker, but she sent a distress cry on a thread of magic to Wolf or any gods who happened to be listening anyway. Then she bit her lip and grimly hacked away.
Her arms were numb by the time that it dawned on her what was going on. She timed her strokes to the refrain in her head: stupid, stupid, silly bitch.
They could have killed her anytime they wanted to, but they didn’t want to. They were trying to capture her to take back to the ae’Magi for questioning. The thought of that redoubled her efforts. If she could win herself enough space, she could draw her knife and eliminate the chance of being questioned by the ae’Magi again. Her sword, although shorter than normal, was still too awkward to kill herself with before they stopped her.
She spun around, slicing a creature open across the belly when she heard some disturbance behind her, more a lack of attackers than a noise. She caught a quick glimpse of Talor’s face before she struck. Frantically, she avoided hitting him by a narrow margin, leaving her sword in an awkward place for defense. But that was all right, because it was Talor.
She blinked sweat out of her eyes. Something was wrong with him. Bile rose in her throat as she brought the sword back up again, but before she could strike she was caught from behind and held helpless.
What happened next was enough to top her worst nightmares. Talor smiled—and it was Talor despite the rotting flesh—and it said in Talor’s teasing voice, “I told you to always follow through on your strokes, or you would never make a swordmaster.”
She thought that she screamed then, but it might have been just the sound of a Uriah lucky enough to feast on the horse.