"Do you suppose it's true, that the Dragon of our day is the child of the pair that Alemar killed?"
Ethmurl brushed away an insect. "It's possible. Dragons live thousands of years. Gloroc could have been an infant of several centuries at the time that Faroc and Triss were defeated. It would explain why he wants to conquer Elandris. He can't have revenge on Alemar himself, so the next best thing is to steal the empire away from his descendants."
"He seems to be succeeding."
Ethmurl made a wry face. "Not entirely. We royalists have kept nearly half the kingdom free for almost a hundred years. It's as if the Worm were waiting to make his move. In any case, he seems nowhere near as formidable as his parents."
"And where do you fit in, Ethmurl?"
He met her glance. "I serve my liege."
She didn't press the matter. Soon she flipped up the lid of their food basket. It settled back down with a hollowpud. "We have to leave tonight. You seemed to be all right in the water today. Do you think you can make the trip?"
"We might as well try."
"Good," she said. "Get some rest."
Night had closed in by the time she woke him up, darkness muted by Urthey, the smallest moon. Lerina felt odd to think of wearing clothes again, and it would be stranger still to see Ethmurl covered. It seemed a shame.
"We can leave almost everything," she said, taking only her garments and the water flasks. "I'll get it another time."
"My belt," Ethmurl said, and picked it up.
"Why not just wear it?" she asked.
"No," he said, sounding strangely determined.
The wistfulness of departure strengthened. The cave had always been a favorite place, but with Ethmurl present, it had become very special indeed. She felt safe here.
She led. The water put vigor back in her body. They dripped dry in the shadow of the bluff and put on their clothes, she the blouse and skirt she had come in, he his trousers and a quarn shirt she had taken from her father's wardrobe. Actually, he wore clothes well, she thought. She suggested that he proceed ahead of her up the bluff. She knew the terrain and could support him should he slip. He agreed.
The forest welcomed her as they merged into the underbrush. Its fecund odor had never seemed quite so precious. She had always had plenty of the forest and less than she wanted of the beach; now finally the situation was reversed. He rested. The bluff had been almost too much for his wounded thigh. Several times she had been forced to brace him to keep him from losing his balance. She found a broken branch and gave it to him to use as a walking stick. She walked on his other side, holding his hand.
The leafy canopy above reduced the night to velvet blackness. She guided them by instinct. "Watch out," she murmured as they found and stepped over a huge root.
His grip was strong and reassuring. He was not the invalid she had discovered many days before. In a way she was disappointed that he was no longer utterly dependent on her, but it also excited her. She squeezed tighter.
Progress was slow. Though Ethmurl didn't complain, she heard his sucked-in breath whenever he stumbled and periodically she felt twinges of pressure in her hand. She deliberately paced herself as slowly as she dared, and made him stop frequently. He would wait, sip some water, and stoically trudge on. He assured her his discomfort was only the stiffness of his muscles, but she worried nevertheless.
Hours of this finally brought them to the rear of Garthmorron Hold, well after midnight. They heard an owl chitter as it flew overhead and oeikani shuffle in the stables, but no human noise. All the lights were out in the buildings. They decided to walk openly through the vegetable gardens. Not only could they move more quickly, but if their silhouettes were seen, they would look like they had every reason to be there.
A dog barked.
Lerina stopped, heart thundering. Ethmurl was still.
The windows of the hold remained black. The barking came from the far side of the grounds, and soon tapered off. Eventually Lerina remembered to exhale.
She was so nervous that she nearly tripped on a squash. They continued on at a measured pace, and before long they had reached the copse in which her father's cottage nestled, tucked in a private spot not far from the central courtyard. She lifted the latch and pushed. The door creaked, as it always did, but an instant later they were both inside.
She felt little prickles of perspiration over her neck and throat. Making sure all the curtains were drawn, she lit a candle. The room opened out. The chamber they had entered was the only large room. It contained a cooking hearth, a dining table, stools, an armchair, and some crates and chests. To one side was a small bedroom, to the rear the door to the outhouse. A loft was above, the only access to it a steep ladder in a corner.
Home. Safe. Many times she had told herself otherwise, but now it was a palace – at least until the end of the month, when her father would return. She savored the sight of it, then, for one of the few times in her life, barred the doors.
"You did it!" she told Ethmurl.
He swayed, set his belt down on the table, and sagged onto one of the stools. "I wasn't sure I'd make it."
She giggled. "Now we won't have to worry about food or water or being discovered. They'll never look under their own noses."
"If it's all right, could I not worry about it tomorrow?" he asked wearily.
It was hard to suppress her enthusiasm, but she knew Ethmurl well enough by now to know that he wouldn't complain unless his need was genuine. "Here," she said, pushing the door of the ground-floor bedroom wider. "This is my father's room. The loft's mine."
He stood once more, with effort, and headed toward the door. Lerina helped him onto the tick and removed his boots for him. He didn't bother to undress or get under the blankets. Seeing his exhaustion, she left as soon as he was settled, bidding him a good night.
She practically shook with adrenaline, and used some of it checking the cottage. Nothing seemed disturbed, though it smelled of being closed up for a length of time. She hid Ethmurl's belt in a chest and paced. But there really was nothing to do, and she knew that the morning would bring an early confrontation with a disapproving great-uncle. She automatically started up the ladder to the loft.
And paused.
"No." She smiled, turned around, and headed back to the bedroom.
XIV
As they approached, parrots glided from tree to tree, their bright colors almost shocking to behold after the drab country the tribe had just covered. Jungle was more accurate a description than forest. Life abounded. The trees were high, broad hardwoods, their shade the parent of climbing vines, elephant grass, shrubs, giant ferns – all without exception vibrant with the green born of plentiful water. The racket of birds, insects, and small animals never ceased.
Most of all, it smelled like life, Alemar decided. Strange that his senses were so attuned to the scent after only a month in the desert.
The caravan did not enter the jungle. The road from the Pass of Hattyre to the Ahloorm had run almost due east across the valley, but now that the river had been reached, the long line of men and livestock turned north, travelling parallel to the heavy growth, along a deeply cut track that ran to either horizon. Occasional stone markers demarcated the road boundaries and measured the distance. Periodically trails merged with the main highway, but always from the west. The only ways heading into the jungle were no more than footpaths.
The shepherds let their flocks range freely in the wide grasslands extending toward the left, which they had first reached the previous day. However, the animals were prevented from feeding on the eastern side, beyond what they could nibble from the fringe of the road as they passed.