“Her being with us does it, maybe,” said Meena. “It mightn’t work supposing you were alone, though, Til. . . . You may as well be a bit careful about that.”
She was right, as they found out a few days later. By now they had seen definite signs of the system’s breaking down. At one way station the women who were doling out the free meals for those going the Common Way insisted on being paid. They said they needed the money, because their official allowance hadn’t come through. At another somebody caught one of the guards stealing from his baggage, and when he complained to the warden he was laughed at. And next day, where the road crossed a tributary of the Great River, there had been armed men on the bridge demanding a toll from all travelers, but by the time Tilja and the others reached the place enough furious people had gathered to overpower them and throw them into the river.
It was almost dark by the time they reached their way station that evening. As usual Tilja went and bought fodder for Calico while the other three fetched supper from the food stalls. She was on her way back when she sensed that someone was following her and looked round.
“Hold it right there,” said a man’s voice.
She dropped the bag of fodder and started to run but he grabbed her by the shoulder. Her shout was stifled by a gritty hand.
“You got some money,” he growled. “Don’t try and pretend not. Just seen you buying stuff. Get it out and drop it on the ground and you’ll not get hurt.”
She tried to jerk herself free. His other hand grabbed her wrist and wrenched it up behind her back, twisting to cause more pain, and again as she bit at his palm.
“Let go,” said Alnor’s voice.
“You keep out of this, sonny.”
“Let go.”
“If that’s how you want it . . .”
She was flung violently aside, and fell. As she picked herself up she saw the man, with Alnor facing him and Tahl and Meena a little behind, all silhouetted against the line of lights on the far side of the courtyard. The man was squat, with a bulging belly. He didn’t look like a fighter, but he had a knife in his hand. Alnor walked toward him, slightly up on his toes, like a dancer.
The man gestured with the knife to stop him. Alnor moved as if meaning to dodge the thrust but instantly twisted the other way, swinging his body to the left while his right leg slashed up and caught the man cleanly on the wrist.
The man shouted with pain and let go of the knife. It looped upward and fell. Almost before it hit the ground Alnor had twisted again, on his right foot this time, with his left foot scything round to strike the man in the back of the knee, toppling him to the ground, where he lay groaning. Alnor turned away.
“Are you all right?” he asked Tilja. “Did he hurt you?”
“My shoulder’s sore,” she said shakily. “I . . . I think I’m all right. Thank you. . . . I had some fodder.”
“I’ve got it,” said Tahl. He sounded much more excited than Alnor, who had now turned back to the man.
“Keep away,” he said, prodding him in the neck with his toe. “That’s what I’ll break next time.”
“Meena noticed him following you,” explained Tahl as they went back together.
“Can you do that?”
“Kick-fight? My da died before he could teach me. And by then Alnor . . .”
“Oh yes. You told me at the Gathering.”
“Well, now’s your chance,” said Meena. “Alnor, why don’t you teach him kick-fighting? He ought to know how. And seeing how things are going, it might come in handy if he could do it too.”
Alnor frowned. His face went blank for a moment, just as Meena’s did whenever she went into her other memory-room, something he did very seldom, as if hating to be reminded of the helplessness his blindness had cursed him with. He nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ll do that from now on. And from now on, Tilja, you’d better keep close to us all the time.”
Soon they were moving through an Empire in turmoil. Half the way stations were deserted, and those that functioned demanded triple or quadruple fees. Robbers and looters were everywhere.
Nor were those the only dangers. Now that the Watchers were gone, magicians who had been practicing in secret began to do so openly, and not all of these were benign. At one way station the story came of a well-armed convoy that had been traveling without a hired magician to protect it. Two great scaly creatures had attacked it and had wantonly slaughtered, but not eaten, man, woman and child, gurgling with pleasure as they did so.
For a while the four from the Valley joined one of the armed convoys that were now operating on the Grand Trunk Road. It moved more slowly than they had been doing on their own, but the road had become a dangerous place, despite Tilja’s powers and the near invisibility that Faheel had given them. They saw one or two weird beasts in the distance; and at two rest camps they found, hanging from improvised gallows near the entrance, the bodies of thieves who had been caught sneaking around in the dark; and the hired magician traveling with the convoy claimed to have earned his wage twice over, warding off unseen enemies.
The convoy tended to stop for the night at least one way station sooner than the four might have done on their own, giving the boys a chance to get on with the kick-fighting lessons before they were tired with travel. It was typical of Tahl that he didn’t mind being watched making a fool of himself, as a beginner; but, surprisingly, Alnor didn’t try to make him look one. Perhaps, Tilja thought, kick-fighting was too serious for that. Anyway, the lessons went far more easily than she’d hoped.
“Notice how much better they’re getting on together now?” said Meena one evening while she and Tilja were sitting watching a practice bout. “Funny how they weren’t making out as just friends, the way you and I are. And it wasn’t all Alnor’s fault, either. But teacher and pupil, that’s something they’re comfortable with.
“And pretty to look at, isn’t it, now Tahl’s getting the hang of it? Alnor, specially, of course. I daresay that’s what won him his championships, it wasn’t just winning the fights, it was how he did it. Look at him now, just standing ready for Tahl to have a go at him, graceful as a cat.”
“No wonder you’re keen on him,” said Tilja.
It was the first time she’d brought the subject up, but Meena laughed, without even a trace of a blush. Then she sighed.
“It’s not going to last, you know, Til,” she said. “D’you blame us for making the most of it while we’ve got it?”
“Of course not. I think it’s lovely for you.”
“We’ve got to get home, mind. In time for the winter, latest. But I shan’t say no to taking a few days longer over it than we’d’ve done traveling on our own.”
Meena’s wish was not to be granted. Only a few nights later the convoy was given horrible reason to doubt the boasted powers of its hired magician. They had halted at a way station where the warden was a jolly little man who, most unusually, came fussing around in the dusk chatting to his customers and asking whether they had all they wanted. Like everyone else he might have passed the four from the Valley unnoticed, if Tahl hadn’t spoken to him. Then he picked up that Meena and Alnor had something going on between them, and teased them about it. Meena gave as good as she got, but Alnor was still simmering with rage when they lay down to sleep.
Tilja woke in the middle of the night, already knowing what had woken her, the same quiet tension that she had felt when Silena had brought her beast to that other way station on the journey south, looking for Axtrig. Again she didn’t at once sit up, but lay where she was, listening to the unnatural silence, not a snore, not a stir, not even a breath from any of the hundred or so sleepers. She knew that something powerful had come into the courtyard, since neither the wards around the way station nor the convoy’s magician had been effective against it.