Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (4 page)

           
Cennaire nodded, aware without any
use of her preternatural senses that her proximity aroused him. Best, she
decided, to play the part of demure maiden. Did he come to love her, better it
be naturally, in his own time, and without overmuch encouragement from her. She
had no doubt she could ensnare him with her wiles, with artful guile—she had
employed such artifice enough before—nor any that he would succumb unwitting,
but with the others present such tactics would be dangerous. Bracht, she
sensed, was not yet entirely convinced of her honesty, and Katya ... of Katya,
she was uncertain. The Vanu woman had barely spoken with her, and while no
disapproval had been expressed, she felt that Katya, for all she had voted in
favor of augmenting the party, as yet reserved a measure of her judgment. So
she smiled and took the meat and walked away.

           
Calandryll watched her, admiring the
undulation of her hips, the way the rising moon struck silver sparks from her
raven hair, thinking that she bore the hardships of the trail without
complaint. Nadama, he thought, would never accept this journey with such
equanimity. He shook his head, admonishing himself: this was no place to
contemplate a woman's charms, no place to think of amorous dalliance.

           
But
later!
said an eager voice, deep inside his mind.
Clear of the Kess Imbrun
,
what
then1

           
He did not know. He was not sure how
Cennaire felt. Perhaps she saw him only as a rough warrior, a frees word
welcomed for the aid he gave her, but no more than that. He had little
experience of women and the courtly manner he could affect was, were he honest
with himself, a defensive camouflage. In truth, he felt like a fumbling boy.
Regretting his inexperience, he carried journey bread and cheese to where the
others waited.

           
Bracht and Katya sat side by side on
the blankets, Cennaire to the warrior woman's left. He took a place beside her,
using his dirk to carve slabs of the hard bread and wedges of the scarcely
softer cheese. Bracht cut the cured meat, passing them each a slice, and they
began to eat.

           
Hunger satisfied, they agreed the
order of their watch, Bracht taking the first spell. The three quest- ers were
tired, less from the physical effort of the descent than the degree of
concentration required, and when the cold food was consumed Calandryll and
Katya settled down to sleep, huddling close against the falling temperature.
Cennaire felt the cold only as an objective sensation, neither was she tired,
but she feigned a shiver and a yawn, wrapping herself in Calandryll's borrowed
blanket.

           
“Shall you be warm?" she asked
him shyly, amused by his response, her innate vanity flattered by his gallant
reply.

           
"I've my cloak," he
declared stoically, "and that's warm enough for me."

           
"You're kind," she
murmured, stretching out, deliberately arranging herself so that she lay close
beside him. "My thanks for all your kindness."

           
"What else should I do?"
Calandryll responded, aware that his heart beat faster as he felt her rump
press against his thigh. It seemed to him that even through the thickness of
the blanket and the cloak he felt her warmth.

           
He lay down, thinking for a moment
to settle an arm about her and draw her closer; thinking then that she might
not welcome such a gesture. He wondered what Bracht would do—the Kern had
seemed, at least before he met Katya, to hold few reservations where women were
concerned. But this was no serving wench, he told himself, no maid to he casually
brought to bed. Nor would he, with his comrades so close, even though he
breathed the scent of her hair, could feel her body against him: he did his
best to dismiss the lascivious images that filled his mind, willing himself to
sleep.

           
Beside him, Cennaire pretended
slumber, shifting a little, increasing their contact. For her part it was as
much habit as design. She was not yet ready to seduce this handsome young man:
she was not yet certain what path she would take, did they succeed in seizing the
Arcanum from Rhythamun, and so was not yet ready to risk the enmity of his
companions. There was, she decided, time aplenty for such decisions. It
appeared impossible they should overtake the sorcerer in this godforsaken
place: she would bide her time.

           
With that thought in mind, she
allowed herself to relax into an approximation of sleep, lulled by the pleasant
warmth of Calandryll's body and the gradual descent of his breathing from a
nervous panting to a steady rhythm.

           
KATYA
woke him with the sky black above and he rose carefully, not wishing to
wake Cennaire, unaware that she was instantly alert to his movements,
contemplating joining him, but deciding it was too obvious a ploy. Instead, she
stirred sleepily and drew the blanket closer about her shoulders as Calandryll
paced across the shelf to the egress of the trail, leaning against the spine
that jutted there, listening to the silence. The Kess Imbrun was quiet, the
night disturbed only by the occasional snorting of the horses and the song of
the wind. It blew cold against his face and he wrapped his cloak across his
chest, a hand resting light on the straightsword's hilt, struggling to resist
the memories of Cennaire's body pressed against his.

           
He was grateful for dawn's arrival,
and he went to wake his companions. The sky shone blue as they set to preparing
a meager breakfast, and when they were done eating, and the horses fed what
little oats remained, they loosed the hobbles and started down once more.

           
The
Blood Road
remained vertiginous, the going no easier.
Then it seemed they came to the detritus of the chasm, as if whatever force had
carved the great rift had left the riven stone piled about the foot. Gullies
and canyons spread randomly: Bracht's promised maze. Great slabs of rock
tumbled like discarded building blocks, the way winding intricate among
shadowed avenues of red stone until, past a boulder large as a house, it ran
out onto a stony beach lapped by the river. From the rim of the Kess Imbrun it
had seemed no more than a thread, a ribbon of distant blue: no great obstacle.
Now Calandryll saw it ran half a league wide, a band of furious energy
channeled by the confining rock, murmuring angrily, as though daring them to
attempt its crossing. He rode out onto the beach and reined in, sheathing his
sword, staring at the water in the dying light.

           
"Dera! How shall we cross
that?" He gestured at the torrent as Bracht and Katya brought their horses
alongside.

           
"There's a ford," the Kern
said confidently. "A league or two westward."

           
Calandryll heeled his mount around,
starting in that direction, halted by Bracht's cry: "The morrow's soon
enough to find it. We'll camp here this night."

           
"There's light yet."
Calandryll gestured impatiently at the sky, to where the sun painted the
rimrock with hues of red. "And every hour we delay grants Rhythamun more
time."

           
"And Rhythamun may well have
left some guardian at the ford," came Bracht's response. "And likely
dusk will be on us before we find the cross ing place. And this river's no
thing to attempt in darkness, even be it unguarded. Better we wait for full
daylight."

           
The Kern's tone was amiable but
firm, brooking no argument, and Calandryll felt a flash of resentment at that
casual assumption of authority. He glanced again skyward. The sun was close on
the western rim now, and already the light began to fade. It seemed they sat
within the very bowels of the world, and it came to him that (lawn must come
late to these depths, delaying them still further. For a moment he thought to
argue, but Bracht had already dismounted and was helping Cennaire to the
ground, and he realized the Kern was right. The river alone was obstacle
enough, and if Rhythamun
had
left
some guardian behind, it was better met by day's light. He grunted,
embarrassed, and swung clear of his saddle, angry with himself for such lack of
caution, for he felt it diminished him in Cennaire's eyes, and then angry again
that he should find that his first consideration.

           
He resolved to put all thoughts of
the woman from his mind, avoiding her eyes as he turned to Bracht and asked,
"Here?" his voice gruff.

           
"It seems as good a place as
any." The Kern nodded. "We've wood for a fire and fresh water
aplenty."

           
In his haste, Calandryll had seen
only the watery barrier. Now he looked around, and saw that stands of scrubby
bushes and tenuous pines grew among the jumbled stone; grass, too.
"Aye," he admitted, "you're right. Dawn is soon enough."

           
He busied himself unsaddling his
horse, and when all three were stripped and watered, he offered to take them
where they might graze. He led them to the lushest patch of greenery, though
that was poor enough, and tied the hobbles in place. That done, he set to
cutting wood, expending his self-directed anger on the timber.

           
Katya came to join him, her
expression unreadable in the rapidly descending twilight. For a moment she
studied his face, then said, "You've no need to try so hard,
Calandryll."

           
"What?" He lowered his
blade, turning to her.

           
"I suspect it's less the desire
to catch Rhythamun than another that drives you now," she murmured gently.
"Cennaire is very lovely."

           
He was thankful for the shadows:
they hid his blush. Still, he said, "I'd grant him no more time than we
must." ·

           
"I know." Katya ducked her
head. "Nor would Bracht, or I. But we know something of his wiles, and to
ride headlong into danger can only favor him."

           
"Aye." He felt his
embarrassment grow, for all Katya spoke gently, friend to friend. "I was
foolish."

           
"No more than Bracht, on board
the warboat." She laughed softly. "Did you not urge him to patience
then?"

           
He nodded, grateful for her
diplomacy, and she continued, "She'll be with us awhile, I think; and I
think she looks with favor on you. Do you take a woman's advice, I'd tell you
to be yourself. That alone is sufficient."

           
"Think you so?" he asked
eagerly.

           
"Most surely," Katya
replied, smiling now.

           
"And do you trust her?"

           
The warrior woman's smile faltered,
her lips pursing an instant. "She has given me no reason to doubt
her," she said softly.

           
"But?"

           
"I am not sure." Katya shrugged,
her mail shirt rustling. "I sense something about her. What, I cannot say;
and so will not judge her."

           
"Surely she is no more than she
claims." Calandryll frowned. "I perceive no guile in her."

           
"I suspect we see her through
different eyes." Katya smiled again. "I do not say she is
untrustworthy; neither more nor less than what she claims and seems. Only that
your vision is . . . enhanced . .. by her beauty."

           
He thought she might have said
entranced,
and shook his head, less in
negation than puzzlement.

           
"You've no need to impress
her," Katya went on, "only be yourself, and let matters take their
course."

           
"Aye." He gathered up the
splintered branches, smiling ruefully now. "I'll heed your advice—and
thank you for it."

           
Katya nodded companionably, taking
up her own burden, walking beside him as they returned to the beach, where
Bracht and Cennaire had spread the blankets and were preparing food.

           
Soon a cheerful fire drove back the
shadows and a stew bubbled over the flames. Calandryll, resolved to heed
Katya's words, curbed his desire to impress the raven-haired woman, behaving—as
best he could in her intoxicating presence— normally. It was not easy, for his
eyes were drawn constantly toward her, marveling at the play of light on her
skin and hair, her beauty a temptation to boast of exploits past, to impress
her with his feats and his learning. He had never, he knew, felt so drawn to a
woman. Nadama paled in comparison, a callow girl whose face he could now hardly
recall. He wondered if he was in love; if such emotion could strike so swift.
In Bracht's case, yes: the Kern's feelings for Katya had been immediate. He, on
the other hand,
was
of different
mettle, raised to a more courtly, a more sedate, approach, and such a
background made it all the harder for him to understand the fierce attraction
he experienced. Confusion once more gripped him, and he fell silent, joining in
the conversation in desultory manner.