The Wizard Hunters (20 page)

“He is?” To her annoyance, Tremaine realized she was tucking back her hair. It had never looked that good even under the best of conditions and after the past day it had to be hopeless.

“He’s not looking anymore.” Florian absently dug in her coat pockets, pulling out one of the waxpaper-wrapped ration packages hastily collected from the mess the Gardier had made of their supplies. “I’m not really hungry, but I feel like we should eat.”

Tremaine pulled the satchel around to root through it. She felt a little sick, but maybe that was hunger. She pulled out a water flask and a couple of ration packages.
I hope Gerard has something with him
. Suddenly the idea of being solely responsible for their remaining supplies was too much for her. “We should divide this up in case we get separated.” She pulled out some waterproof packets of matches to give to Florian. “Here, put these in your pockets.”

Florian obediently accepted the matches, but said, “Don’t even say that. We’re not getting separated.” She scooted closer and tore open the ration package, shaking out some dried fruit.

Tremaine glanced up from sorting out items to stuff into Florian’s pockets and found herself looking at Ilias. He was staring at the food like he was having a religious experience. He saw she had noticed and looked away abruptly, taking a sharp breath.

Tremaine and Florian exchanged a horrified look. Florian handed her the open package of fruit and turned back to the satchel, digging through it for more. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this earlier,” she said, contrite.

“I know. I feel like an idiot.” Tremaine scooted over to Ilias. “Hey, look, we’ll share.” She pressed the open package into his hands. He looked uncertain and she nodded rapidly. “No, really, we’ve got plenty. Well, sort of plenty. Enough. Go on.”

With another quick glance at her to make sure she was serious, he tore into it like a starving wolf.

Tremaine sat back. “I wonder how long he’s been here, avoiding the Gardier.”

Florian watched him sympathetically. “I wonder if he knows what happened on their base, what that explosion was that poor woman mentioned. If we could just ask him— Oh, get the wrapper!”

“No,” Tremaine told him firmly, rescuing the wax paper. “That’s for later, when we get desperate.” If they were here long enough, eating the paper wrappers might become a last resort.

She turned back to the satchel, studying the ration packets without enthusiasm. There were crackers, chocolate bars, dried fruit and some unappealing tinned meats, plus two water flasks. It didn’t look like it would last them very long; they had to find a way home or reach some more hospitable place, safe from the Gardier. If there was anyplace that was safe from the Gardier. She looked at Ilias, watching Florian show him how to open a tin that the label claimed was beef. Noticing his intrigued expression, Tremaine said, “I don’t think he’s ever seen one of those before.”

Florian frowned. “You mean one of these where you roll back the lid with the key or seen a can ever?”

“A can ever.” She noticed there was leather lacing down the sides of his pants and the stitching she could see looked rough and uneven, not machine-made. That didn’t necessarily mean anything; there were plenty of places where people still wore homespun clothes in Ile-Rien. But he had never seen matches or cans. It was more evidence that his people hadn’t had much contact with the Gardier, anyway.

Florian was looking thoughtful. “You know, we’ve made contact with a new civilization.”

“A whole new world.” Like the explorers who had been the first to cross the continent of Capidara and meet the native peoples there, or voyage to the Maiutan islands. It was a little hard to realize.
They’re not like fay either, they’re real people
. It was still possible in some remote parts of Ile-Rien to encounter fayre creatures or hidden entrances to fayre realms. But then poor Tiamarc had proved pretty conclusively, at least to himself, that this wasn’t a fayre world. And now she and Florian seemed to have confirmed that theory. A creature of fayre wouldn’t have helped them. And when fay took human form they looked eerily perfect. They wouldn’t have scars or torn clothes.
Or
, she thought, watching Ilias vigorously scratch his head,
do that
. Not to mention using a knife with a cold iron blade and needing human food. It still didn’t tell them what the Gardier’s place in this world was.

After two tins of meat, crackers and another package of dried fruit, Ilias was licking his fingers and looking a lot less desperate. Bits of mud had flaked off his hair, revealing straw-colored strands. Tremaine was getting an image of a seagoing people, short and compactly built, with bright blond hair.

Frowning at Ilias, Florian said, “We should do something about that cut. It’s still bleeding.” She shifted forward to point.

Tremaine leaned closer to study the matted hair above his temple. The mud and the flicker of candlelight made it hard to tell. She touched it tentatively and he pulled away, giving her an indignant look.

Tremaine wiped at the blood on her fingers and reached back for the satchel, taking out the small medical kit. Ilias eyed the white enamel box warily. She opened it and he shifted away from them, grimacing at the smell of the alcohol. The look he gave her suggested that the food had been a nice gesture and all that but there was no way she was getting near him with whatever that was.

Tremaine sat back, thinking. She didn’t want him leaving their shelter to get away from her. She asked Florian, “Can you break off a little piece of one of those chocolate bars?”

Florian found a bar among the litter of ration packages and tore open the wrapping, capturing Ilias’s attention instantly. He might never have seen a can before, but he had learned immediately what waxpaper meant. Florian broke off a little piece and offered it to him. He edged closer to take it, sniffing it dubiously.

Florian took another piece and nibbled it in demonstration. He tasted it and Tremaine saw his mud-coated brows lift. She said, “And there’s more where that came from if you let me look at your head.”

He hesitated, though she could tell he knew what she meant. After a moment he grudgingly gave in, moving forward so Tremaine could reach him. She put the medical kit in her lap and scooted closer, motioning for him to lean down a little so she could reach better. She used the wet handkerchief Florian handed her to clean away the worst of the mud and dried blood around the cut on his temple, while Ilias shifted impatiently.

Her hand brushed against his cheek, gritty from mud and beard stubble, and she felt him flinch slightly. Her hands were still cold and his skin felt hot and flushed. She hoped he didn’t have a fever. She didn’t want to risk giving him any of the sulfa drugs in the kit and she didn’t know what else to do about it. “All done,” Tremaine told him finally, giving him an awkward pat on the arm as she shifted back.

He sat up, probing cautiously at the wound. He must have been satisfied with the result, because he twisted around and pulled the braided leather jerkin and the tattered rag under it off his shoulder. There was a nasty discolored gash on his back, just to the inside of his shoulder blade, sluggishly leaking blood. It was about three inches long and looked infected.

“Ouch,” Tremaine murmured, leaning closer to examine it. She could see the spot where something had cut and charred the leather cords, the blood matted in them. There was mud all down his back under it and in the wound. Feeling in over her head, Tremaine turned worriedly to Florian. “Can you do anything about this?”

Biting her lip, Florian picked up the medical kit and sorted through the packets of dried herbs. “A healing stone is really what we need, but I’ve never done one. Here’s mandrake.” She opened the paper packet, frowning furiously in thought. “I can do a general healing charm while you clean it.”

Tremaine started to nod, then hesitated as a thought struck. “You don’t think the Gardier will hear it?”

Florian thought about it, stirring the dried herbs with a finger. “It’s a charm, not a spell. It ... should be all right.” She nodded, and said more firmly, “I think we should do it.”

“All right.” Tremaine looked up to see Ilias watching them both alertly. He couldn’t see the wound but it must hurt like hell, and he would be able to feel the swelling and the heat of the infection. She found some gauze in the kit and used alcohol on it, ruthlessly ignoring the strangled gasp Ilias made when she cleaned away the dried blood and dirt. He had other scars on his back, two nearly identical broad stripes that ran from the insides of his shoulder blades to down further than she felt she could go on such short acquaintance. Someone had inflicted that damage deliberately; they were far too straight, too uniform to be the product of accident.
Earlier encounter with the Gardier, maybe
, she thought, distracted.

Trying to get all the mud out she found a small fragment of sharp metal and gently began to prize it free. He didn’t make a sound, though he twitched with relief when she removed it. Muttering, “That wasn’t comfortable,” she leaned over to the candle to study it.

She rubbed the blood off on her fingers. “That’s odd.” It looked like aluminum shrapnel.
Or duralumin
. She had seen enough of it in the bombed areas.
He must have been involved in that explosion in the Gardier base
. “There was a big fire, an explosion? A big boom?” she asked, showing the fragment to Ilias. He poked it with a finger and grimaced. Tremaine glanced at Florian to see what she thought. The other woman held the crushed mandrake between her cupped hands, her eyes closed in concentration as she mouthed the words of the charm. Tremaine wiped her fingers off on her coat sleeve and went back to work.

Finally Tremaine blinked sweat out of her eyes and said, “I think that’s it.” Ilias straightened up, craning his neck to try to see the results. The wound was mostly clean and the sluggish blood flow had no dark fragments in it. She wasn’t sure how good a job she had done but hopefully the charm would take care of anything she had missed. Just then Florian whispered a last phrase under her breath, then made a ritual gesture of casting the mandrake away.

Ilias turned sharply toward her, then he blinked and started to slump forward. Tremaine caught him and eased him down into her lap, supporting his head on her arm. “Is he all right?” she asked Florian anxiously. “You didn’t do something wrong?”

“No, no,” Florian assured her, leaning over to smooth his hair back from his forehead. “If you hurt someone with magic, you know.” She brushed a few more flakes of mud away and carefully lifted his eyelids to check his pupils. “I think he was so exhausted the charm just put him under.”

“Oh.” Relieved, Tremaine leaned back against the wall. It was darker in the crevice despite the candle and she realized the light wasn’t coming from the far end anymore.
Clouds must have covered the moon
. The passages around the cave harbor and the wrecked ships would be locked in utter darkness. She thought about what Florian had said about being trapped down here alone.
Gerard. God, we’ve got to find him before the Gardier do
. She hoped Ilias wouldn’t be out too long.

He was a warm heavy weight in her lap. Even unconscious, his presence was comforting. The mud had worn off in enough patches to show that his skin was a warm bronze color from long exposure to the sun and there were more streaks of blond visible in the mud-coated hair. She realized there was an odd mark on his cheek just below the bone, visible now that the mud was flaking away. It was a small silver half-moon that had somehow been impressed into his skin.
That’s different
. He was also wearing copper-colored rings in both ears.

Florian picked up the knife that had been stored in the cranny with the candle and the other supplies, examining it curiously. The long blade was leaf-shaped, the handle a flat hourglass of bone or horn. She set it aside and said suddenly, “With the Gardier, you weren’t afraid.”

“No.” Tremaine took a deep breath. “I was terrified. I thought I was going to wet myself.”

“But you acted like we were spies, like we were supposed to get captured all along.” Florian prompted hopefully, “I was actually hoping that was part of a plan I just didn’t know about.”

“If there was a plan like that, they wouldn’t have picked me to pull it off.” Tremaine shook her head, absently drawing her fingers through Ilias’s hair. Without waking, he snuggled a little. “My family ... I had a lot of training in the theater. Sort of.”

Florian nodded. “Was that where you learned to pick locks?”

“Yes . . . No.”
What the hell
, Tremaine thought. She might as well tell Florian the whole truth. It was doubtful they would make it out of here alive anyway, so it seemed foolish to prevaricate. “My father taught me how to pick locks. Before he started the Viller Institute, he used to do things that weren’t quite legal.”

“Oh.” Florian was struggling not to look shocked and almost managing it. “Really? Like ... what?”

Tremaine hesitated.
You are going to wish you hadn’t done this
. Maybe Florian’s life had been too normal to give her any basis for understanding. Maybe Tremaine didn’t care. Maybe it was time for her to talk. “Steal things, kill people. It’s a long story.”

I
lias drifted in and out, too wrapped in heavy sleep to make a serious effort toward consciousness. He wasn’t comfortable; there was a sharp rock grinding against his hip and the warm surface his head rested on kept moving. Two feminine voices in anxious conversation right above him was reassuring if confusing. He kept trying to hear them as Amari and Irisa.
No, that can’t be right
. Amari and Irisa were dead.

Finally, the odor of decay penetrated the haze around his thoughts and everything abruptly connected. The caves, the wizards, the flying whale on fire.
Giliead
. He awkwardly pushed himself up and rubbed his stiff neck, grimacing at the feel of the gritty dried mud. He blinked wearily at the two women who were watching him. They looked worried. “Right, I remember. Hello,” he said, trying to sound reassuring.