Dangerous Talents (6 page)

“No, no. You keep it. It’s good energy on the trail.”

“Thank you,” she said, lightly touching the back of his hand. “That’s very generous.”

“Would you like my nuts?” Lindimer asked, reaching behind for his pack.

Falsom snickered and Sorn cuffed him.

Ghav and Fender started reaching for their packs as well.
What’s the matter with all of them
? They’d only been away from home and women for two weeks. Maybe that was Lady Celia’s Talent: turning men into fools. In its place, that could be a pleasant game to play, but he had a mission to complete and men to lead safely home. It was time to put a stop to this.

Dahleven stood up. All eyes turned to him, including Lady Celia’s big green ones, framed with long lashes. She’d washed her face and neck, combed her hair, and braided it neatly. Curling wisps escaped the butter-yellow braids that reached just to her shoulders. She looked more like the lady he’d first thought her.

“We’ll move soon. Be ready.”

The men immediately began to disperse, gathering their equipment.
Good. She hasn’t robbed them of all sense
.

“I’m ready now. I can finish this on the trail if you want to get going.” Lady Celia gestured with the fruit in her hand and stood. “I won’t hold you up.”

A night’s rest has improved her temper, at least
. Dahleven inclined his head.

“Where are we going, anyway?” she asked.

“Quartzholm,” Sorn answered.

The information only made her frown. “Will someone there be able to help me go home?”

Maybe Father Wirmund would have some good news for her, though Dahleven didn’t have much hope of it. “Perhaps.” He changed the subject. “Have you filled your water containers?”

“First thing.” She paused, and blushed. “Well, second, anyway.”

“Good.” He started to turn but was stopped by the touch of her fingers resting lightly on his arm.

“I, uh, want to thank you.” Lady Celia spoke in a low voice only he and Sorn could hear. She blushed again and stammered on. “Actual privacy would have been better, of course, but lacking that, well, I appreciate your, uh…Oh hell! Thanks for telling your men to give me some space this morning.”

Give her space
? She used words strangely at times, but her meaning in this case was clear. “No thanks are necessary.” He turned again to go.
Does she believe we would do otherwise
?
Probably. Last night she thought I’d proposed to rape her
.

“Just the same, I don’t see why I couldn’t have gone around a hill or something.”

Does she argue about everything
? Reluctantly, Dahleven turned back to her. She looked like a lady, but no lady he knew would discuss this. Then again, no lady he knew would have survived two days in the drylands so well. “I’m sure Sorn explained to you.”

“Yes, but—”

He refused to talk about the subject anymore. “This conversation is pointless. Get ready to move. We cannot slow our pace to accommodate you. You must keep up.”

Lady Celia’s green eyes widened. Then they narrowed as though she’d reached a decision.

Dahleven turned away before she could vent her annoyance.
She’s probably decided I’m an ass
. That shouldn’t bother him, but it did.

Something about the woman threw him off balance. It wasn’t just that she’d popped into Alfheim as his ancestors had. She distracted him from his duty. He must get his men and the information for which they’d risked their lives safely home. Instead of thinking of that, he’d lingered this morning, enjoying the feel of her against him, and now he was rattled by her thanks for an ordinary courtesy. What was the matter with him? He was as taken with her as his men, admiring her stubborn courage and her long, lovely legs. He couldn’t afford that kind of distraction. None of them could. Not in hostile territory. He didn’t expect trouble from the Tewakwe, but the Outcasts and Renegades were still a threat. A very serious threat to a party as small as theirs.

He signaled their departure to the others and tried not to think about how Lady Celia’s green eyes slanted over her high cheekbones. Instead, he forced himself to focus on Pathfinding the quickest way home to Nuvinland.

The general direction was clear, even without the use of his Talent. But he could find the quickest or easiest route without the use of a map simply by concentrating on where he wanted to go. He needn’t have been there before, which made his Talent especially valuable for reconnaissance.

Now that they were climbing into the hills, they walked single file, traveling in two groups of four while he took the lead. Sorn walked behind Lady Celia where he could keep an eye on her; Fendrikanin was in front to help her over the rough spots. Falsom ranged above them on the ridges, using his Talent of Heimdal’s Sight to scout their surroundings. The other team followed several minutes behind to lessen the risk of drawing the attention that a combined group might attract.

Dahleven looked back at Lady Celia as she walked between Sorn and Fendrikanin. She looked down, concentrating on her footing. Then she glanced up and met his gaze. She frowned and her eyes narrowed again. Pointedly, she looked away from him.

He continued to watch her over the course of the morning. Though he set a brisk pace, she didn’t lag.

He regretted his brusqueness. It wasn’t his habit to be rude to women. She probably wasn’t responsible for the inconvenience she presented. She probably shouldn’t be blamed for the effect she had on the men, either. Nevertheless, her presence was a distraction. A woman, especially a beautiful woman, didn’t belong on a drylands mission. He and his men needed to stay focused and move quickly.

Good advice. Now, all he had to do was follow it.

CHAPTER FOUR

What a jerk
!

Cele refused to meet Dahleven’s eyes when he looked back at her, checking on her again. Well, she’d said she could keep up, and by God she would. Her legs ached and she felt a blister rising on her left heel, but she kept to the brisk pace he set.

They traveled single file. Fendrikanin walked ahead of her, Sorn behind. Most of the sparse vegetation was comprised of thorn bushes, with the occasional Spanish Dagger-like plant thrown in. The group’s path twisted through the spiny growth. A careless hiker could easily find her leg impaled if she didn’t watch her step.

Dahleven led the way with an unconscious grace. She’d seen that same smooth gait in some of the firemen she’d met and in her self-defense instructor. They walked with confidence, trusting their bodies to do whatever was needed. Dahleven moved the same way. He never hesitated or looked at a map, just forged ahead, never pausing, never slacking his pace. Just looking over his shoulder now and then to see if she was falling behind.
Jerk
.

They walked in relative silence, the crunching of their footsteps on the sand the only noise. They didn’t talk, and Cele didn’t miss the conversation. She needed all her breath to keep up.

The sun moved higher in the sky. Cele felt like they’d been walking for hours, but the eastern range looked no closer than it had when they’d set out this morning. In fact, as the sun rose, the mountains seemed to recede. She pulled one of her water bottles from its holder and took a long draw, then put it back without taking a second drink. No one had warned her to conserve. Sorn could see every time she drank and said nothing to caution her, so water must not be a problem. Just the same, maybe she’d hold off a little. After enduring nearly two days of thirst, feeling the weight of the remaining water on her hips gave her comfort.

As she thought about water, Cele experienced the peculiar certainty again. Yes, there was water ahead, and Dahleven’s course led them toward it. She gave herself a mental shake. There was no way she could know that.
Don’t flake out
. She was in enough trouble without imagining things.

The morning wore on and her blisters grew more painful. Cele started to think about raising the white flag and asking to rest, but she hated the thought of giving Dahleven the satisfaction. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but he clearly expected a
lady
to slow them down. She wouldn’t care so much if he hadn’t been such an ass about accepting her gratitude. Thanking him had been embarrassing enough without being called pointless. Cele gritted her teeth. She hated being dismissed.

Dahleven raised his left arm over his head, then signaled in that direction. Cele noticed Falsom’s attention immediately rivet on him.

“What’s happening?” Cele asked.

Dahleven veered toward a spur of rock thrust outward from the hills.

“He’s calling a break,” Fendrikanin answered, following Dahleven around a tumble of boulders that had long ago broken from the cliff. Sharp spikes of the Spanish dagger-like plant grew in every crack and joint between the stones.

On the far side, Dahleven waited by a cleft at the base of a sheer rock face that rose thirty feet before breaking back to the ridge above. The two sides of a long crack had shifted, creating a cave that ran deep into cool darkness. As soon as she came close, Cele knew:
There’s water here
.

Sorn stepped into the shade near the entrance and peered into the cave. “Nice and cool. This will be a good resting place.”

Dahleven snorted a laugh. “I’m glad you approve.”

Cele tried not to show her surprise at his unstuffy response. Instead, she sat and began removing her hiking boots and socks. The air on her hot, tired feet felt wonderful, and she wiggled and stretched her toes.

The other men came around the spur of tumbled rock. Ghav came and knelt before her, shaking his head at her new collection of scrapes and bruises. “Those blisters must have pained you. You should have said something.” He rummaged through his pack. “I have a salve that will help.”

“Thanks. They feel better already.” She was surprised to realize her statement was true. Just as it had last night, Ghav’s mere presence made her aches and twinges fade away.

“Of course they do.” The Healer found what he was looking for. “Now, let’s tend to your hurts.”

Fendrikanin stooped twenty feet to Cele’s left, kneeling by a cleft eroded into the hillside. When he straightened, his hands and beard were wet. “The water’s sweet, and there’s plenty of it.”

Dahleven joined Fender, kneeling by the spring, and placing something Cele couldn’t see into the water. “Accept our gift in return for your bounty,” he murmured. He paused a moment, then rose and returned to the cave opening.

What was that all about
?

“Drink as much as you want, and refill your bags.” Dahleven directed his comment to the group in general and gestured toward the small rill. He turned to Fendrikanin. “Will we have water tonight?”

The other man closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s hard to tell this close to the spring, but I think we’ll have a dry camp tonight.

Dahleven nodded and leaned against the rock face to Cele’s right, arms crossed, watching her.

Trying to ignore his scrutiny, Cele watched Ghav clean her blisters, but the leader soon made that impossible by coming close and crouching nearby.

He picked up one of her boots and examined it closely. “These are very finely made.”

Cele looked at him cautiously. “Scrimping on footwear is a false economy, in my opinion.”

“Very wise.” Dahleven continued to examine the boot. “Of what materials are these?” His gaze lifted to hers and stayed there, intent and waiting.

His scrutiny was unsettling. The stormy grey of his eyes swirled around his pupils and Cele felt she was being swallowed by his steady, unwavering gaze.

“Lady Celia?”

She missed a beat while trying to remember his question. “Uh, leather, nylon, and the usual assortment of man-made products, I guess.” Then the oddness of his question struck her.
He was impressed with my belt pack, and the sandwich bag, too
.

Cele looked closely at him. She’d noted the presence of leather boots and waterskins, spears and swords. Now the absence of plastics and synthetics struck her forcefully. It was the final blow, and it hit her harder than the changed landscape and vegetation, or even the missing city. She was lost. Profoundly lost. Completely severed from everything she knew and loved.

Cele felt her eyes filling, and looked away so Dahleven wouldn’t see. She’d been around enough macho types to know he already resented having to haul a woman along with him. His attitude would only get worse if he caught her weeping.

Ghav startled her by smearing his brown ointment on her scraped knee and she jumped, shaking loose a tear. Ghav said, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Then he looked up at her face and paled. “Are you in pain?” he asked urgently. His concern seemed out of proportion to her injury.

“Not at all.”

Ghav still frowned doubtfully, and Cele tried to reassure him with a shaky smile. “I wish the doctors back home had your touch.”

Ghav looked relieved. He pointed at her face. “The tears alarmed me.”

Cele quickly wiped the dampness away, wishing Ghav hadn’t called attention to it. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” But the tears kept slipping down her cheeks.

Ghav drew a rolled bandage from his pack, but Cele stopped him.

“I’ve got just the thing for this.” Cele pulled out her first aid kit, complete with the pack of adhesive bandages. “Here’s one just the right size,” she said, applying it.

Ghav was delighted and inspected it closely. “How wonderful! It sticks to the uninjured skin on either side. Do you have larger bandages like this?”

“No, but I have gauze and tape.” Grateful for the distraction, Cele showed him the contents of her first aid kit, including the empty tube of antibacterial ointment. “I finished this off before you found me. It does what your brown stuff does: prevents infection.”

“You might not have needed so much bandaging if you’d been dressed properly,” Dahleven commented. “Do your people not have clothing to equal your footwear? I don’t understand how you kept the sun from burning you, but you obviously haven’t been as successful avoiding thorn-bushes and rocks. Heavier clothing,
any
clothing, would have given you greater protection.”