“Not one of my better ideas, eh? When was that?”
“Just yesterday. How do you feel?”
“Ay! Who’s ’e talkin’ to?” the tall brigand called before Grinsa could answer.
The nearest of the twins strode toward them. “Th’ whitehair’s awake!”
“You’re Fotir!” Tavis whispered quickly.
“What?”
The lord had no time to explain. The twin grabbed Grinsa by the collar and hoisted him into a sitting position. The gleaner let out a groan, making Tavis wonder if he was trying to fool the brigands into thinking that he was worse off than he really was. A moment later, though, Grinsa vomited down the front of his cloak. The twin took a step back.
The leader approached slowly, his blade drawn, and his eyes fixed on the gleaner.
“Ye don’ look well, Minister,” the man said. “Th’ lad will tell ye tha’ if ye stay still, an’ don’ do nothin’ foolish, ye won’ get hurt. Otherwise, I’ll kill ye. Understan’?”
Grinsa gave a small nod, then gingerly leaned his head back against the stone.
“With any luck, yer lord will pay a ransom fer both o’ ye, and we’ll be done. If no’. .” He shrugged.
“Water?” the gleaner asked weakly.
The brigand eyed him, frowning slightly. At last he nodded and walked away. “Give ’im some water,” he said over his shoulder. “An’ watch ’im.”
The same twin who had given Tavis the food carried over one of the water skins. He looked like he might just throw it down as he had the meat, but he appeared to realize that wouldn’t work in this case. He glanced at the leader, opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut again. In the end, he squatted down in front of the gleaner, a sour look on his face, and held the skin as Grinsa drank.
After he had moved off a short distance, Tavis asked again, “How do you feel?”
“Terrible.”
“Can you heal yourself?”
“I don’t dare try.”
“Why not?”
“Qirsi magic is controlled with the mind. My head’s been injured. Trying to heal myself would be like a surgeon operating on himself with a dulled blade. Given time, I should recover. But I’d prefer to find a healer, one of my own kind.”
“So what are we supposed to do?”
“You’ve kept us alive so far. I trust you’ll think of something.”
“Grinsa-”
“I may be able to shatter a blade or two, Tavis, but beyond that I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
The young lord glanced at the brigands, who were largely ignoring them. “You shouldn’t apologize. I’ve just. . I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. .” He shook his head. “Never mind. When the time comes, shatter their limbs, not their blades. They’re carrying our weapons.”
Grinsa smiled weakly, his eyes closed again.
“Can you do anything to the ropes?”
“No. Shaping magic works best on something harder-stone, steel, rock. I can burn the ropes, but they’ll notice that.”
Tavis simply nodded, and the two of them fell into a lengthy silence. After a time, the gleaner’s breathing slowed, and Tavis guessed that he had fallen asleep. With nothing better to do, he closed his eyes as well.
He awoke with a start when someone kicked his foot. His arms and back were aching and his stomach felt sour and hollow.
“Wake up, noble.” The leader’s voice.
“I’m awake,” he said blinking his eyes against the light. The sun was just overhead, warming the boulders and grasses within the shelter.
The brigand nodded toward Grinsa. “Is ’e well ’nough t’ move?”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“I’m askin’ th’ questions, noble. Can ’e move?”
Tavis faltered, addled with sleep, and unsure of whether he and Grinsa would have a better chance of escaping if they remained where they were.
“I can move,” Grinsa said, his voice sounding stronger than it had earlier.
Tavis glanced at him, their eyes meeting. “Are you certain?”
A smile flitted across his face. “No. But I’ll try.”
Clearly the gleaner thought they’d have a better chance in open country. Tavis was in no position to argue.
“I should check his bandage before we go anywhere,” the young lord said. Perhaps if they untied him now. .
“No.” The brigand was eyeing them both with obvious distrust. “ ’Is bandage is fine. We’ll b’ goin’ soon.” He glanced at the strips of dried meat still lying on the ground in front of Tavis. “Ye better eat now. There’ll be nothin’ else ’til nightfall.” With that he walked away.
“Where do you think we’re going?” Tavis asked in a whisper, as the leader began to speak with the others in his band.
“They’re brigands. They probably have hiding places like this one all over the highlands, and I doubt they remain at any one of them for more than a night or two.”
“But they just arrived here this morning.”
“Yes, and they found us. They probably expect the Glyndwr army to turn up any time now.”
Tavis shrugged, conceding the point. “You’re better?”
“A bit, yes. Though I still don’t know how much magic I can chance.”
“Quiet! Both o’ ye!”
“Shaping will be still be hard,” Grinsa said, his voice dropping even further. “But maybe-”
“I told ye t’ be quiet!” the leader said, drawing Tavis’s sword and striding toward them. “I wan’ ye both alive, but tha’ don’ mean I can’ add t’ yer scars, noble, or take out th’ minister’s eyes. Now shut yer mouths!” He turned to look at the others. “I wan’ ’em kept apart, an’ I don’ wan’ ’em untied. We’ll put ’em across th’ horses’ backs.”
Tavis hadn’t taken his eyes off the gleaner. At the mention of the mounts, Grinsa’s eyebrows went up and he gave a slight nod. The brigands didn’t appear to notice.
A few turns ago, the young lord wouldn’t have understood, having known so little about Qirsi magic. Now, though,
Grinsa’s meaning was as clear to him as the brilliant azure sky above the highlands. Language of beasts.
Within moments, Tavis had been lifted roughly, slung over the shoulder of the tall brigand, and carried out of the circle of stones. The twins followed, bearing Grinsa together. The tall man untied the young lord’s hands, then retied them so that they were in front of Tavis rather than behind him. Then he lifted the boy to lay him over the back of one of the mounts-Tavis’s own, as it turned out-loosely securing the young lord’s hands to one stirrup and his feet to the other.
It wasn’t as uncomfortable as Tavis had thought it would be. Or so he thought. As soon as they started moving, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to bear much of this at all. Every step of the mount bounced him, making his head spin and his stomach heave. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t help. He could only imagine how Grinsa was suffering.
The brigands had horses of their own, and they set what seemed to Tavis a punishing pace.
“Gleaner!” he called.
“I know,” came Grinsa’s reply.
“Keep quiet!” the brigand growled.
“Ready?”
“Yes! Just get on with it!”
“Damn ye both! I said-”
Before the leader could finish, one of the horses neighed loudly and someone shouted a curse. An instant later, Tavis’s horse bolted, jostling him mercilessly. He gritted his teeth, his eyes shut once more. He could hear another mount running beside him and he hoped with all his heart that it was Grinsa’s. They seemed to gallop over the grasses for an eternity, until at last his horse slowed, then halted altogether.
“Gods,” Tavis managed to say. “That was-”
“No time, Tavis. They’re coming. Hold out your hands and pull them as far apart as the ropes will allow.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Tavis did as he was told. An instant later, the small expanse of rope between his wrists burst into flames, singeing his skin. “Demons and fire!” He jerked his hands apart and the rope snapped. Immediately he began beating on first one wrist, then the other, trying to put out the flames. “You could have warned me!”
“Never mind that! I’ll do the same for your feet. When they’re free, ride northward, as fast as you can!”