"Any sign of tracking?" Tarma asked her partner, reining Ironheart in beside her as they slowed to a brisk walk.
Kethry closed her eyes in concentration, extended a little tendril of energy along the road behind them, then shook her head. "My guess would be that they haven't missed the spy yet. But my guess would also be, that with all the mages I sensed in Raschar's court, they'll be sending at least one with each pursuit party."
"Anything you can do about that?"
"Some." She reformed that tendril of energy into a deception-web that might confuse their backtrail. "Listen, we need supplies; how about if I lay an illusion on you and 'Heart and you go buy us some at the next village we hit?"
"How about if you spell all three of us right now? Say -- old woman and her daughter and son? Nobody knows Shin'a'in battlemares out here, and 'Heart and 'Bane are ugly enough to belong to peasants: you needn't spell them."
"Huh; not a bad thought. What about Warrl?"
:I can seem much smaller if I need to.:
Kethry started. "Furface, I wish you wouldn't just speak into my mind like that -- you never used to!"
:My pardon. I grow forgetful of courtesy. How does the Wise One?:
Jadrek was three-quarters asleep, slumped forward in Kethry's hold, his head nodding to the rhythm of Hellsbane's hooves. Kethry touched his neck below his ear lightly enough not to disturb him. "All right; his pulse is strong."
:If you would have my advice?:
When the kyree tendered his opinion, it was worth having. "Go ahead."
:Rouse him up and make him speak with you. He will do his body more harm by riding unconscious.:
"On that subject," Tarma interrupted, "how long can you keep our illusions going? What kind of shape are you in?"
Kethry shrugged. "I've been mostly resting my powers so far. I can keep the spell up indefinitely. Why?"
"Because I want to stay under roofs at night for as long as we can. Rough camping is going to be hard on our friend at best -- be a helluva note to save him from assassins and lose him to pneumonia."
Kethry nodded, thinking of how much pain the Archivist was already in. "What kind of roofs?"
"In order of preference -- out-of-the-way barns, the occasional friendly farmer, and the cheapest inns in town."
"Sound, I think. Pull up here, I might as well cast this thing now, and I can't do it on a moving horse."
"Here" was a grove of trees beside the road; they got the horses off and allowed them to browse while Kethry concentrated.
Warrl flung himself down into the dry grass, and lay there, panting. He was not built for the long chase. Before too very long, Tarma would have to bring him up to ride pillion behind her for a rest.
Kethry got Jadrek leaning back against her, then spread her hands wide, palms facing out. A shell of faint, roseate light expanded from her hands outward, to contain them and their horses. Tarma could see her lips moving silently in the words of the spell. There was a tiny "pop" like a cork being pulled from a bottle; then Tarma felt an all-too-familiar itching at the back of her eyes, and when she looked down, she saw that she was wearing a man's garb of rough, brown homespun instead of her Kal'enedral-styled black silks. So Keth was going to disguise her as a young man; good, that should help to throw off nonmage spies.
Jadrek was now an old, gray-haired woman with a face like a wrinkled apple, and a body stooped from years of hard work. Behind him, Kethry was a chunky, fresh-faced peasant wench; brown-cheeked, brown-haired and quite unremarkable.
"Huh," Tarma said. "This's a new one for you. You look like you'd make some dirt-grubber a great wife."
Kethry giggled. "Good hips. Breed like cow, strong like bull, dumb like ox. Hitch to plow when horse dies." As Tarma stifled a chuckle, she turned her attention to her passenger. "Jadrek, wake up, there's a good fellow." She shook his shoulder gently. "Open your eyes slowly. I've put an illusion on us all and it may make you dizzy at first."
"Huhnn. I... thought I heard you saying that...." The Archivist raised his head with care, and opened eyes that looked a bit dazed. "Gods. What am I?"
"A crippled-up old peasant woman. Warrl says you'll do yourself more harm than good by riding asleep; he wants you to talk to me."
"How ... odd. I thought I heard him speaking in my head again. I seem to remember him saying just that...."
The partners exchanged a startled look. Evidently Jadrek had a mage-Gift no one had ever suspected, for normally the only folk who heard Warrl's mind-voice were those he intended to speak to. That Talent might be useful -- if they all lived to reach the Border.
"Let's get on with it," Tarma broke the silence before it went on too long, and glanced at the rising sun to her right. "We need to get as far as we can before they figure out we've bolted back there."
They stopped at a good-sized village; there was a market going on, and Tarma rode in alone and bought the supplies they were going to need. By mercenary's custom, they'd kept all their cash with them in moneybelts that they never let out of their sight, so they weren't short of funds, at least. Tarma did well in her bargaining; better than she'd expected. Even more encouraging, no one gave her a second glance.
Poor Jadrek had not exaggerated the amount of pain he was going to be in. By nightfall his eyes were sunken deeply into their sockets and he looked more than half dead; but they found a barn, full of new-cut hay, dry and warm and softer than many beds Tarma had slept in. The dry warmth seemed to do Jadrek a lot of good; he was moving better the next morning, and didn't take nearly as much of his drugs as he had the day before.
And oddly enough, he seemed to get better as the trip progressed. Kethry was wearing Need at her side again, after having left the ensorcelled blade with her traveling gear in the stables. Tarma was just thanking her Goddess that they hadn't ever brought the blade into their quarters -- no telling what would have happened had it met with the counterspell on their rooms. Of a certainty Raschar would have known from that moment that they were not what they seemed.
Fall weather struck with a vengeance on the sixth morning. They ended up riding all day through rain; Rethwellan's fall and early winter rains were notorious far and wide. Jadrek was alert and conversing quietly and animatedly with Kethry; he seemed in better shape, despite the cold rain, than he'd been back at the palace. Now Tarma wondered -- remembering the enigmatic words of Moonsong k'Vala, the Tale'edras Adept -- if Need was working some of her magic on Jadrek because Kethry was concerned for him. It would be the first time in Tarma's knowledge that a male for whom Kethry cared had spent any length of time in physical contact with the mage while she was wearing the blade.
As for Kethry caring for him -- they were certainly hitting it off fairly well. Tarma was growing used to the soft murmur of voices behind her as they talked for the endless hours of the day's ride. So maybe -- just maybe -- the sword was responding to that liking.
As the days passed: "Keth," she asked, when they'd halted for the night in the seventh of a succession of haybams. "Do you remember what the Hawkbrother told you when we first met him -- about Need?"