The tent was very small, but big enough for all three of them to lie down together, with a little room to spare for luggage. As Tarma had known she would, Kethry had set up a spell to keep it warm all night long, without a fire. She'd also done something to make the tent poles glow faintly (a glow that couldn't be seen from outside through the canvas) so that they could see to keep feet out of faces. Their blankets were to pad the tent floor beneath them, and to keep the cold from seeping into their bodies from below, not for warmth. It was possible that a mage could sense all this, but these were very minor magics, and well within the scope of just about any earth-witch or hedge-wizard.
Without being asked, Jadrie brought in a leather pail full of snow, and rucked it into the comer to thaw, then took one of the outside positions. Tarma took the other, putting Kethry into the "protected" position between them -- but then Warrl wriggled into the tent, somehow getting into the available space (what there was of it) and put himself between Jadrie and the tent wall. Kethry gave each of them a strip of dried meat and a piece of hard journey bread; they ate in silence and warmth and passed the water-skin back and forth until the thirst roused by salt-dried meat and bricklike bread was gone. Kethry extinguished the glow of the tent poles, and the silence seemed even deeper.
Then Kethry took a deep breath, and Tarma knew she was going to say something.
"You've been quiet, you've kept up, you've obeyed orders, and when you've said something, it's been sensible," the mage said softly into the darkness, and all of them knew which "you" was meant. "You've been a help instead of a hindrance."
"Thank you," Jadrie said in a small voice.
"I'm not glad you're here, kitten -- and all you have to do is think back on the ambush to know why." Her voice broke a little. "The idea that something like that could happen to you has me in knots. You're only a child. You aren't supposed to be seeing things like that."
Tarma heard jadrie swallow, then she said, "But -- I already have. How can we be sheltered when we're your children?"
"She's got you there, Greeneyes," Tarma said dryly.
"I promise, I promise, that unless you tell me to do otherwise, when we find these people, I'm going to stay far enough behind that I can run if I have to." Jadrie paused and then said, in a new and tearful voice, "But you have to promise that you won't let anything like that happen to you!"
It was almost a wail, and Kethry caught her daughter up in her arms, as Tarma grabbed a free hand and squeezed it.
"I can promise we'll try, kitten," Kethry said, in a voice nearly as hoarse as Tarma's.
And with that, they all sought uneasy sleep, and were exhausted enough to find it.
* * *
When you're sick, riding in a wagon is really a bad idea. By the time darkness fell, the seeds they'd eaten had taken full effect, and Kira really did feel sick; her stomach churned, there was a fat lump in her throat that kept making her gag, and her mouth felt sour and dry. In fact, she wasn't sure now that she could manage to keep her nausea under control much longer, which could make things really nasty in there. When the wagon stopped, she pounded on the door, and put desperation into her voice.
"Please!" she wailed, and fought back the nausea. "Let us out! We're sick!"
Footsteps creaked on snow just outside the door. "What do you mean, sick?" asked a suspicious voice from the other side.
"Please! I'm going to throw up!" she gulped, beginning to retch a little in spite of herself, and the door opened immediately.
"If you're faking--" the man began, but had no further chance to say anything, for Kira couldn't control her heaving stomach anymore, and threw up at his feet. He jumped back just in time to avoid being splattered, cursing.
"I'm-sorry-" She clapped her hand over her mouth, as tears rolled down her face from the pain of her bruised stomach muscles. He kicked snow over the mess and lifted her and Meri out with surprising care, seeing as she'd almost thrown up on him. Maybe he just didn't want to have to dodge the mess again.
I don't think he's angry, though.... "Please-" Meri gasped. "-where?" He pointed, and they ran for the bushes at the side of the camp, where they rid themselves of the dreadful little seeds, and everything else that was in their stomachs. Both of them were chilled, shaking and weak when they finished. Kira filled her mouth over and over with snow, spitting it out again to rid herself of that awful taste, and Meri did the same. Her hands shook, her head ached, and her stomach muscles were so sore she wanted to just lie down in the snow and never get up again. But she did, even though her knees threatened to collapse as she helped her twin to her feet. No one asked if they were all right, or came to help them.
But no one kept them from going to the fire instead of the wagon either, and they huddled together as close to the warmth as they could, eyes half-closed, holding hands. Surely the way they looked now would keep anyone from thinking they had it in them to try and escape. But now that the seeds were gone, every passing moment brought a little more relief and strength.
In spite of the -- now ebbing -- nausea, Kira saw quite a bit behind her eyelashes. They were on a road, or rather, in a camp just off of a road, so it was a good thing that she'd been dropping silk and beads were about twenty men in this group, which seemed like an awful lot to kidnap two little girls.
The man who'd let them out came over and poked Kira with his toe. "Hey, why're you sick?" he asked gruffly. He didn't seem unkind; in fact, there was some concern on his unshaven face. Although he wasn't anyone she would have picked for a friend, she sensed they might have a reluctant ally.
It was Meri who answered. "A lot of the students were sick before we left," she replied in a thin and weak-sounding voice. "I didn't think we'd get it, but I guess we did." She shivered and said in a half-moan, "I feel awful. I want to go home!"
"I told you there was nothing to worry about. It's just some childish ailment, and it will pass off in a day or so." The irritated voice out of the dark beyond the fire was a new one, and had an odd accent. Kira didn't place it, but Meri did.
She put her head down on Kira's shoulder, and pressed her mouth up near Kira's ear, as if she couldn't hold her head up any longer, "Jkathan," she whispered, a mere thread of sound.
The man who'd helped them seemed to feel a little sorry for them now; he hovered over them both for a moment, then went a few paces off and returned with a huge fur rug -- a bit motheaten and bare in patches, but warm. He wrapped it around both of them, and actually tucked it in awkwardly.