Midnight Quest (2 page)

Ramath clansmen were known for being independent, Elahandra reminded herself patiently. Her sister had made them that way on purpose. Give her a moment and she might remember
why
Juven had done such a thing. "You are the strongest in your clan, Rialt. She needs the best and you're it." Elahandra's voice hardened in warning. "Now get moving."

Ramathans were stubborn and independent, but even they didn't cross certain lines. Rialt grumpily backed down. "Fine. Where she be?"

“Belthain Castle. You are to meet Sarvell Sorpan on the way there. The two of you will break her out and guard her. You have two days, remember.”

He nodded impatiently, already throwing back the covers and reaching for the clothes that had been flung over a chair mere hours before.

Satisfied, Elahandra turned and left. There were other matters she had to attend to now that this stubborn child was in motion. As she went to the next task, she finally remembered why Juven had made the Ramath so independent. She'd wanted at least one race that would not serve her blindly.

Did gods have moments of temporary insanity?

~*~*~*~

Sarvell spent most of the next two hours thinking.

He didn’t find navigating the back roads mentally tasking in any way. His horse had the harder part of the job, trying to canter along whatever half-formed deer trail that the farmers used in these parts. If not for the very bright moon overhead, Sarvell wouldn’t have dared anything more than a nice plodding walk. Even as he focused on the road in front of him, a part of his mind couldn’t resist trying to come up with some sort of plan.

Plans were difficult to form when you didn’t have any real information.

It wasn’t until he was out there, in the cool night air, away from an upset goddess, that he realized he really didn’t know much. In fact, he only knew three things: a Ramathan would be joining this rescue operation, the high priestess was a political prisoner, and she was in Belthain Castle. What Sarvell
didn’t
know could fill up a thick book, starting with where on earth he and the Ramathan were supposed to meet (or even if a meeting place had been set up for them?) and going downhill from there.

Well, a Ramathan shouldn’t be too hard for him to find in Thornock. The typical Ramath clansman stood a good head taller than a Thornock citizen, and dressed quite differently. Thornock prided itself on dressing in very fine material and looking very civilized at every moment. A Ramathan didn’t care what his clothes looked like as long as they could blend in with his environment, were durable, and fit well. Sarvell had heard people dismiss Ramathans as barbarians, but he thought of them as a practical, rugged people. Considering who their neighbors were to the north, he certainly didn’t blame them for being a little rough around the edges.

It probably fell to him to spot his new ally. Considering that Sarvell was Brynian, he would blend in fairly well in Thornock. Well, doubtless the Thornocks wouldn’t think so, as they leaned more toward politics and scholarly pursuits than business, but Sarvell came from merchant stock and he always dressed well. A well-dressed employee, his father always claimed, was the best advertisement that a merchant could have.

Alright
, he mused to himself,
if I were a Ramathan jerked awake in the middle of the night by an angry goddess, which route would I take?
Alas, not the one that he was on. The Ramath Clan sat to the north of his people’s territory. There was one of two major highways that the Ramathan might choose, one coming from the north that went directly to Thornock, the other came from a more easterly approach and led more toward Bryn.

She told me to avoid the major roads. Did she tell him the same?
Argh! The more he thought on this, the more confusing it became. He just didn’t
know
enough to make any educated guesses.

Should he even be depending on the Ramathan to show up tonight? Elahandra might spend the whole night arguing him into moving. Sarvell blew out an irritable breath. The road split in two very different directions soon, so he had to make a choice. East or west? West would take him the more direct route to Belthain. East would take him more toward Ramath.

West
, he finally decided, just in time to turn onto the left branch.
I’ll act as if I’m the only chance this poor woman has for rescue, and hope the Ramathan joins me at some point. Surely the goddess will guide one or the other of us so that we’ll meet.

Odd, why did that sound like wishful thinking?

~*~*~*~

What a mammering, hasty-witted, wanton fit of folly this night was turning out to be!

Rialt had spent three months on the northern border ambushing Daath patrols, tangling their supply lines, and generally making any Daath soldier within firing range sorry to see him. Generally, making those varlets miserable was a pleasant way to spend a bit of his life away. Rialt’s clan had been attacked by the Daath off and on for roughly three hundred years and the hatred between the Ramath and the Daath was as well-nurtured as it was legendary. Anything that Rialt could do to make their lives frustrating and miserable was time well spent for him.

If he had no been slogging through four feet of snow the entire time, he would have enjoyed it far more.

So there he sat, a man that had been deployed for three long, very cold months. A man that had tasted the home comforts of a warm bed he had sorely missed. He deserved at least a full night’s rest, did he no? He deserved a little time to thaw out, perhaps gorge himself on a well baked meat pie, dance a bit with the women. That was no so much to ask, was it?

How he got volunteered to be out on the road at this ridiculous hour, on a mission to save some giglet priestess, he could no ken. He had prayed to his own goddess, of course, asking if he should go, but had no gotten an answer. Herself being a passionate sort, and a bit flighty at times, a day or more could pass afore he got an answer. Thing was, he had only been given two days to get to Belthain and break the giglet out, so he could no bide for an answer.

Just in case, he reckoned it best that he go. If herself did tell him no, well, a little traveling never hurt a man. And if he saved the priestess afore he got an answer, it would just be a good opportunity to give the woman an earful for leaving his people out of the barrier six months ago.

He had no bothered to unpack his gear, so it was an easy matter of switching out a few things that he wouldna need, and putting in a few things he thought he might. Then he went and saddled up his second favorite stallion, seeing as his favorite was worn out from three months of campaigning, and turned for the road.

~*~*~*~

Sarvell reached the outskirts of Belthain roughly an hour and a half before dawn. He’d been slowed a bit due to the poor condition of the road. Probably just as well. He couldn’t do much in the wee hours of the morning anyway.

There remained a lot of preparation that he needed to do this new day, not the least of which was to prepare for a quick escape. If he managed to get her out of that castle as smoothly as he hoped, they’d still need a quick get away. Two fast horses and good travel food that wouldn’t need cooking should do the trick. Sarvell, as a merchant’s son, knew exactly how long it would take to do all of the shopping necessary to prepare for a trip. For travel like this, where he had no fixed destination, it would take more than the usual preparations. He had to balance fast and light travel with preparing for possible situations they might encounter further down the road.

The logistics of the problem set his temples to throbbing.

Not willing to try and talk his way past the city guard at this ridiculous hour of the morning—guards were known to be cantankerous in predawn hours on just general principle—he decided to stop and catch a few hours of sleep. From his mounted vantage point, he could see a small clearing off to the side of the road. He aimed for it, weaving his way in and out of the tall shrubs that passed for trees in this part of the country.

The clearing was apparently often used by travelers, as it had the remains of a fire pit and the scuffed marks left by bedrolls. Sarvell dismounted, loosened the girth of the saddle, and hobbled the stallion’s legs. Dan blew out a weary breath, no doubt glad that his insane rider had finally stopped for the night. Sarvell gave him a pat on the neck, wishing he had some grain on him. Well, the grass here looked edible enough and Dan had never been shy about eating things.

He made do with just his cloak and curled up on the ground, not particularly worried about being attacked. Dan, as a former warhorse, didn’t like most people and wasn’t shy about letting them know it. He’d keep watch while Sarvell stole a few hours of sleep.

The ground was pitted with small rocks, wayward twigs, and random dips so it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Despite the minor discomforts, Sarvell quickly fell to sleep. He’d worked a full day and had only gotten two or three hours of sleep before being dragged out of bed. He was more than tired, his body willing to take any chance of reprieve offered.

It seemed he’d barely closed his eyes before he heard Dan letting out a warning neigh. On sheer instinct he snatched the sword lying beside him and rolled up to his feet, eyes snapping open to find the source of the threat.

Not ten feet away another man sat calmly on horseback. His stallion pranced in place, wanting to answer the challenge Dan gave, but stayed back because of the silent command on his reins. It took Sarvell two blinks before his eyes could focus well enough to properly look at the rider. He was tall—tall enough to make Sarvell appear a bit short, which was difficult to do. His dark clothes were roughly made with leather and coarse linen and did nothing to hide the obvious strength in his shoulders and legs. There wasn’t enough light to see his face, only the impression of a beard and sharp eyes.

Sarvell felt his heart lift a bit at the sight in front of him. This man looked unmistakably Ramathan to him. He stepped forward and put a calming hand on Dan’s neck. “Easy, old Dan, easy.”

The stallion snorted and tossed his head, no doubt irritated that he couldn’t attack the strangers like he wanted to.

“You’re out at an odd time of the morning,” Sarvell stated. He was fairly sure this was the man he needed to meet, but it never hurt to be cautious.

“Eh, well, I had a late night visitor that would no leave a man be,” he responded in a voice deep enough to vibrate mountains. “So afore she skelped me, I took to the road. Are you Sarvell Sorpan?”

“I am,” Sarvell answered with a sigh of relief. “Elahandra did not tell me your full name. In fact, she didn’t give any idea of where to meet up with you.”

“Rialt Axheimer,” he responded. “Fortunately for us both, I had a notion or two of which route you would take.” With a tired grunt, he dropped out of the saddle. “Well, Sarvell Sorpan, be you biding here until the gates are properly open?”

“That is my plan, yes. Gate guards at this hour are notoriously difficult to get past.”

“Eh, there be truth. We have a lot of work to do, if we be to rescue the priestess tonight, and I think we be short on time. How about you start a fire, so I can make us a cup, and we can make some plans?”

Sarvell looked at the bag of tea that Rialt pulled out of his saddlebag and in the back of his mind, a heavenly choir broke out into song. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Chapter Two

This wasn’t Sarvell’s first visit to Belthain, so the swarm of guards on practically every city street wasn’t a surprise.

“The city be crawlin’ with the varlets,” Rialt observed in a distinctly disgruntled tone.

But apparently it was Rialt’s.

“The ministers’ policies upset more than just your clan,” Sarvell murmured to him. “It makes the politicians a little nervous if they’re not surrounded by guards.” His focus wasn’t really on his response, but on the city streets. From this rooftop vantage, he could clearly see the route of several patrols. In the nicer sections of town, the guards did not go around in pairs, but singly.

Rialt was not studying the streets. His eyes were focused on Belthain Castle, narrowed slightly against the setting sun’s rays. “That be a well-fortified castle.”

Sarvell nodded in grim agreement. “I wish we’d had more time to plan this. Going in with just the two of us and no backup plan sits ill with me.”

“Eh.” Rialt relaxed back onto his haunches, thoughtfully scratching at his beard. “It be going to be a mite difficult to sneak in.”

“It will be much easier to just walk in.” Sarvell grinned at his companion when Rialt gave him a dubious look. “No, I’m not talking crazy. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your clan is always on the outs with the ministers for one reason or another.”

Rialt nodded, a little sourly.

“So no one would think twice about it if a city guardsman had a chained Ramathan in tow, taking him to the dungeon, right?”

“We would no catch a second glance,” Rialt said slowly. “You will need a uniform.”

“I’ll need more than that. I’ve never been inside that castle before. I have no idea where the dungeons are. I need to know the names of the gate guards, their superior, and who’s on shift in the dungeon as well.” Sarvell leaned forward slightly, studying a guardsman as he walked by. He looked about the right size…

“For such an honest man, you be a bit too handy about the finer details of breaking into a place.”

Sarvell shot him a look of mock-innocence. “Hey, every boy gets into scrapes growing up.”

Rialt snorted. “Scrapes, be it?”

Sarvell decided, for the sake of his dignity, that it was safer not to defend himself. He pointed to the tall guard walking alone. “Him.”

“Off we be, then.” Rialt rose and started running along the rooftops, crouched low to avoid drawing attention to himself. Sarvell ran at his heels, keeping an eye on their quarry as they moved.

This late in the evening, most people were home, ignoring anything going on outside their walls. The few pedestrians still on the street were so focused on getting their business done so they could go home, they were oblivious to the two men running along overhead. Their boots against the ceramic tiles sounded very loud in Sarvell’s ears, but it apparently didn’t carry to the street as no one glanced up.