The thing below him, in spite of everything Tris had ever heard, had once been human. The healer in him stirred. If this were some kind of disease, he might be able to reverse it.
A single Uriah he might have held still with his magic so he could examine it, but there were too many for him to risk coming any closer. The one below him was touching the root of the oak Tris perched in. It would not be as efficient as touch, but the tree could serve as a conduit for his magic.
Tris braced himself more securely on his branch, then searched for the thread of magic all living things have. He followed the flow of the tree’s magic to its roots and reached out for the creature that he knew was there, and touched…
Back in the sheltering thornberry, Rialla rose to her hands and knees at Tris’s agony. Taken unprepared, she cried out. She sought him, dropping her barriers recklessly in her worry.
Rialla? It was faint, but it was clearly his voice that answered her frightened call.
Are you all right? she asked urgently, though she could tell that he wasn’t hurting now. The revulsion and shock that he felt were still strong, and made it difficult for her to read his thoughts over the din of emotion.
Yes… talk later, when I get back, he said.
She sent her agreement and withdrew from him, waiting alone for his return.
The Uriah had woken at Tris’s involuntary cry. Realizing that food perched just overhead, the one below him began to climb the tree, making an odd mewling sound as it did so.
Tris pressed his face to the rough bark of the oak. It was almost more than he could do to reach for another tree near enough for his purposes. He found another oak on the far side of the clearing and used his magic to pull him there. It took four such jumps before he quit smelling the Uriah.
Tree bark slid past his hands as Tris fell to his knees with bruising force, retching helplessly.
The Uriah that he’d touched was dead, but held to mock life by human magic so twisted that when he touched it and tried to coax it to his use it felt as if he’d touched molten rock with his hand.
Tris took in a shuddering breath and rose to his feet. Seeking out the stream, he threw cold water on his face. The shock of the temperature did much to alleviate his queasiness. Traveling through the trees was hard and draining work; it took him two tries before he was able to form the tunnel that would take him back to where Rialla waited.
Rialla was pacing outside the cave of Thornberry when Tris came back with his backpack. On a forked stick near her were two good-sized trout.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, taking a step toward him.
“No, but I’m hungry.”
She eyed him narrowly, but the link between them informed her that he was not lying. After catching the fish, she’d gathered enough wood for a small fire, and she nodded at it. “Is it safe to light the fire? I don’t know about you, but I prefer my food cooked.”
“The Uriah are too far from here to smell the fish cooking. Our other pursuers are doubtless asleep by now.” He lit the fire with a bit of magic and sat down near it.
“Other pursuers?” Rialla questioned, filching the knife he carried in his boot.
“Winterseine and son are camped an easy morning’s walk from here. Apparently Terran doesn’t have any trouble tracking our movements from a distance.” He described briefly what he’d overheard.
“Is that where you got hurt?” Rialla questioned with a touch of concern, cleaning the fish. She discarded the entrails behind a nearby bush.
Tris shook his head. “No, that was the Uriah and my own stupidity. After I saw Winterseine and Terran, I hunted for the Uriah—there’s a pack of six—so we wouldn’t run into them trying to escape Winterseine. When I found them, I thought that I could help them with a touch of healing. That’s where I got hurt.”
“Stupidity is right,” said Rialla with a dawning grin. “You lectured me all day about Uriah. Do I get to return the favor?”
“No,” he answered. “I think I learned my lesson the hard way.”
She laughed and handed him a fish and a handful of willow branches. Taking her own fish, she hooked it on a larger forked willow branch and began to weave a crude basket around it. “Tell me how you traveled ‘an easy morning’s walk’ and back in such a short time.”
“Magic,” he replied easily as he worked on his fish.
They roasted their fish in silence broken only by the spit and hiss of the fire. Watching flames dance, Rialla examined all the possibilities that she could think of, until only one remained.
“How long would it take you to travel to Sianim by yourself?” she asked.
Tris looked up from his fish. After a moment he shrugged. “I can only use the faster ways until I reach the road, so it should take two days, maybe three, assuming the cook was right when she told me how far it was from the crossroads to Sianim.”
He turned his gaze back to the fire. “I’ll not leave you behind. Getting the dagger and the books to Sianim is not worth your life.”
“Nor is it worth yours,” she answered. “I agree, but I don’t think they’ll kill me—I’m a valuable slave, remember? I believe Terran is the Voice of Altis, and it is important that Sianim be made aware of it. You said Terran can track me; then let him. It will give you time to get the journal away. If we wait for him to catch up with us, they may win it all. It would be idiotic to assume your magic could overcome both a magician and a prophet of Altis. In fact, your being with me could put me in worse danger. They still think I am a slave. They want the items we stole, and they’ll keep me alive at least until they find out where those things are.”
Tris said nothing, so Rialla spoke again. “I might be able to evade them while you take the books to Sianim and return here to help me. Without the necessity of reaching Sianim, I can choose a path that gives me an advantage over a mounted pursuit.” She knew that if Terran had some god-given means of tracing her, she would be caught. If she were careful, though, she might be able to stall them until Tris could return and help her escape.
“Your fish is burning” was all the reply Tris made. He pulled his own dinner out of the fire.
Rialla didn’t push him. She picked up her fish and began to eat.
Finally Tris threw his fish bones into the fire with a harsh sigh. “I’ll be back in four or five days. Don’t worry, I can find you. Now, tell me how to locate your Ren.”
Rialla hesitated, trying to decide how to describe the ancient maze in which Ren kept his office. At last she said, “I think that it would be easier to tell you how to find Laeth. He should be back by now. Ren is more likely to listen to him then he is to a stranger.” She explained where Laeth’s apartment was. “If you can’t find the apartments, then just ask anyone in the street how to find the Inn of the Lost Pig; the innkeeper is a friend—he’ll know where Laeth is.”
“I’ll find him,” he said shortly.
Tris slid under the thornberry branches and returned with the spellbook and its loose pages in one arm and the journal tucked under his belt. Regaining his feet, he walked to the satchel and brought out the dagger. As he bent over, the pages won their freedom at last, sliding out of Winterseine’s book to flutter to the ground.
“I don’t think that I want to leave those for Winterseine to find,” said Tris, giving them a grim look. “Nor am I overanxious to pick them up.”
“What about the fire?” asked Rialla.
“It’s worth trying,” answered Tris.
With the aid of the cooking sticks, Tris lifted the pages and set them into the small camp fire.