The Pearls (19 page)

Rinthella had shed her black robes, reappearing as tattered as Fyngie. “No, no, no!” she screamed. “Put it back! Its curse will strike you down. Put it back!”

And then both were gone, along with the wind that had buffeted him so violently. Dazed, he sank to his knees, his grip tight around the opal. He was panting for air, his senses swimming, his mind still filled with the sight and sound of them.

He realized that Rozer was holding him, clamping a hand across his mouth. Hervan tugged at it weakly, and Rozer took his hand away.

The men lifted Hervan back on his feet. He swayed and might have fallen if Rozer hadn't steadied him.

“Captain,” Sergeant Taime was saying urgently. “Captain, are you all right? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

Rozer patted Hervan's face. “Snap out of it. And for Gault's sake, don't scream like that again. You'll rouse the whole camp.”

Hervan stared at them blankly, struggling to regain his wits. “I—I—”

“Give him this.”

A flask, warm from someone's pocket, was shoved at him. He could not hold on to it with his numbed fingers.

Impatiently, Taime pressed it to his lips.

Smoky mead. Hervan drank, choked, sputtered, and drew in the first truly deep lungful of air he'd inhaled since the ghosts of Fyngie and Rinthella appeared.

“What did they say to you?” Rozer demanded. “Did they tell you where to look? Will they take us through the Hidden Ways?”

Hervan wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then unclenched his fingers and stared down at the opal. It had stopped shining brightly, but when he stared hard at it he thought he saw a tiny spark of light in its center.
Thank you, Fyngie,
he thought.

“Can't you hear what I'm saying?” Rozer said. “Captain, do you still have your wits? Did they tell you where to look?”

“Yes,” Hervan replied, and cleared his throat. “Yes. They—they did. Northeast.” He pointed. “Those hills.”

Triumphant looks of relief flashed around him.

“As we thought,” Rozer said. “As I said before.”

Hervan ignored him. “Does anyone have a map?” he asked. “I don't want to rouse Barsin for the map case. Rozer, what about yours?”

“Pawned.”

Hervan gestured awkwardly. “Then try to get mine. Inside my—”

Rozer reached beneath his trussed arm, digging around to the pocket inside Hervan's tunic. He drew out a supple doeskin map, Mahiran made and frightfully expensive. In the moonlight the beautiful coloration of its drawings and illustrations were muted to inky shadows.

Hervan gestured for him to unroll it atop a stone. The men gathered around close as Hervan held the opal over the map approximately where the valley was located. “Lea,” he said. “Lady Lea E'non.”

At first nothing happened, and he felt Rozer fidget impatiently at his shoulder. Hervan moved the opal diagonally across the map, northeast from the valley, and the stone began to glow as though lit from within.

Taime stepped back with a muttered oath, and even Rozer seemed startled.

“As close as that?” he asked. “But why? If they can use the Hidden Ways, why not go straight to their destination? What are they waiting for?”

“Us,” Hervan said. “Clearly it's a trap.”

“Shall I rouse the camp?” Taime asked.

“No,” Hervan said, trying to make his voice sound brisk and assured. “We've no fight left in us tonight.”

“They might not either,” Rozer said.

“True. But I'm not going into their ambush. We'll break camp at dawn. Leaving behind the wounded and all nonessentials, including servants. Barsin can be left in charge, told to bury the dead and prepare reports. That will get him out of the way.”

“What about the protector and priest?” Rozer asked.

Hervan frowned. “We may need them. Taime, I want the archers assigned to remain as guards.”

“Sir!”

His confidence growing quickly, Hervan glanced around. “We'll come at them in a way they don't expect. With this guide, we can't lose them now.”

“Unless they use the Hidden Ways again,” Rozer said.

“That's a risk we'll have to take. But I think Poulso may be right about their magic being weak.”

“Didn't look so weak this afternoon,” Taime said sourly. “Not when the jaws of hell opened right before you. My heart fair stopped, Captain, when I thought you might ride straight inside after them.”

So that's what had happened, Hervan thought. He nodded as though he faced such dangers every day. “We've sworn to use the Hidden Ways, should it become necessary. At the moment it isn't, and that's what the ghosts you raised were trying to tell us. If Gault is with us, this”—he held up the stone—“should be sufficient.”

The men nodded approvingly, looking rather relieved.

Grateful to Fyngie for turning the opal into a talisman for finding Lea, Hervan pocketed it and lifted his fist in salute. “Trust in Gault and do our damnedest.”

They laughed, returning the salute. “Our damnedest!”

But there was no laughter the next day when, just after noontide, they found the corpses of three men, stripped naked and stacked like firewood. All three showed battle wounds, dark gaps in gray, half-frozen flesh. All three had more recent stab wounds to the heart.

“Killing their own wounded,” Thirbe muttered, stumping away from the bodies to rejoin Hervan. “Looting their own dead.”

The captain sat atop his horse, watching while his men searched for tracks. If the renegades had waited for them, they'd long since given up and moved on. Cold, tired, and aching despite the haze of smoky mead in his head, Hervan squinted grimly, longing for some confirmation that he was right and Thirbe wrong.

“These bodies are proof that we're on the right trail,” he said now.

“Who's to say they were among those lawless bastards we fought yesterday?” Thirbe muttered, climbing onto his horse with a grunt of effort. “Could be anyone.”

Hervan shot him a look of exasperation. “Must you always see the wrong side? Of course they're who we're looking for. They have army tattoos. And I know battle wounds when I see them.”

“Not good enough,” Thirbe said. “What sign of
her
?”

“Sir.” It was Taime, saluting at Hervan's stirrup.

“Well?”

“There's been a camp, over there.” The sergeant pointed at the nearby trees. “They've brushed out their tracks, but the scouts are searching now to pick up their trail.” He paused, his gaze steady on Hervan's. “And we found a sheltered spot, where a fire was built and pine boughs cut fresh, to make a bed.”

Thirbe leaned forward. “For m'lady?”

“Anything else?” Hervan asked.

“Only this.” The sergeant handed up a small pebble.

Turning it over in his fingers, Hervan rubbed some of the soil away and saw the gleam of an emerald. Very poor quality, pale in color and flawed, but it told him that Lea had been there. When he held it next to the opal, both stones sparked light.

Startled, Hervan nearly dropped them both. But already they'd stopped glowing and looked like inert jewels once more.

“What in the name of—what
was
that?” Thirbe asked.

Hervan carefully stowed away the opal before he handed over the emerald.

Thirbe peered at it, turning it over and over in eager fingers. “Not one of hers. Not off her necklace.”

“But there
because
of her. Great Gault, man, can't you be grateful for this evidence?”

“Slim evidence.” Thirbe kept the emerald. “I won't be grateful till I see her safe and sound.”

Hervan frowned, and Rozer caught his eye with a meaningful little tilt of his head in Thirbe's direction. Hervan swiftly shook his head, dropping his gaze from Rozer's.

“To think she was here, this close to us all night, and we've come too late,” Thirbe muttered.

Hervan flinched, but held his tongue. His own frustration was enormous, and he didn't need the steady reproach in Rozer's and Taime's eyes to remind him that he'd made a mistake in not moving out last night as they'd suggested.

As predicted by Fyngie's ghost, Lady Vineena had died at dawn, delaying their departure and putting all the men into an ugly mood. Now there would be no battle to avenge her and the others.

Caught between the excitement of the ghosts, the pain of his aching shoulder, and worry about Lea, Hervan had slept very little. His eyes were sore and gritty from lack of sleep, and his head felt stuffed with wool. The smoky mead was slowing his wits more than it numbed his shoulder.

He needed to devise another plan and quickly, but he couldn't think of anything except to follow his quarry's tracks, if there were any to be found.

“Come on,” he muttered beneath his breath. Last night, caught up in the excitement, his senses stirred by the blood potion he'd drunk, he'd been willing enough to enter the Hidden Ways. In the bleak light of day, half-frozen and hurting, he found himself hoping for tracks. He did not feel up to the task of coercing Poulso to open the Hidden Ways, if the priest could even do it, much less going inside.

“Captain!” Sergeant Taime returned. His cheeks were flushed red with cold and excitement, and his eyes were snapping. “Compliments of the scouts, sir. They've found tracks.”

“Excellent!”

Relieved, Hervan kicked his horse forward too eagerly. It bounced into a trot that jolted his shoulder and sent pain lancing through him. Reining up with an oath, he gritted his teeth hard until the agony subsided.

“Young fool,” Thirbe said gruffly beside him. “You've no business out here. Ought to be back in camp, bedded, and mending that shoulder.”

Hervan's eyes were watering. As soon as he could find his voice, he sniffed and lifted his head. “I have vowed to save her.”

“Oh, aye. Of course you have. But you're no war hawk, boy. Just a chicken with one wing.”

If that was his notion of sympathy, Hervan thought furiously, he could damned well keep it to himself.

“I was right about pursuing her!” he said through his teeth. “And now we've found the trail and—”

“The one they've left for us,” Thirbe said, and spat. “Might not be the one we ought to take.”

Hervan glared at him, tired of his constant pessimism. “I'll find her.”

“Unless they vanish back into the Hidden Ways, damned shadow spawn that they are. They can play cat and mouse with us all they like.”

“If you want, turn back now. You can send for your reinforcements and toast by the fire until they arrive, for all the good it will do you, or Lady Lea, or anyone. I intend to take action!”

“So I see,” Thirbe said in a dry, unimpressed voice. His gaze raked Hervan up and down. “Still playing the hero, with no notion of what you're doing.”

“Enough.” Hervan tightened his reins. “You are dismissed!”

Thirbe's gray eyes narrowed. “Try to force me back, and it's the last thing you'll do. My duty's here, same as yours. You've got no authority over me.”

They glared at each other, while Hervan longed to be fit and well, able to run his sword through the old man's gullet.
No duel,
he thought resentfully, still smarting from Thirbe's contemptuous refusal of his challenge.
When the time comes I'll cut you down like a sick Madrun and leave you in the road.

In the silence, a scornful little smile quirked the corners of Thirbe's mouth. Seeing that, Hervan felt his resentment blaze hotter than ever.

But he was the first to drop his gaze. “If you're to stay with us, then stop complaining.”

It sounded weak and churlish the moment he said it, but it was too late to retract his sullen remark.

Thirbe leaned back in his saddle and grinned. “I'll say what needs saying as long as you keep making mistakes.”

“I—”

“And I got no intention of leaving you to go after her on your own. You're likely to get her killed with your bumbling.”

“Insult me no further, old man. I warn you now to take care.”

Thirbe nodded, cocking one gray brow. “Oh? Going to have someone knife me in the back and leave me for the crows, like these?” He gestured at the bodies, his expression harsh. “Don't try it, son.”

Hervan stared at him coldly, haughtily, refusing to answer although he hated the old protector's wily knack of seeming to know just what he was thinking.

“That's enough, now,” Thirbe said, his voice unexpectedly kinder. “You're trying, I suppose, but you ain't up to this job with your shoulder—”

“Spare me your sympathy. I'm in command, and we'll catch them soon. Then I'll fight that bastard in black armor until he—”