Unguilded (9 page)

“Gilson,” the man called when they rounded a bend in the road. “The unguilded was telling the truth. A burro, a wagon, and a girl.”

The camp was small and looked like it had been there forever. A wooden cabin, weathered to a silvery grey, stood in a clearing. Mika was tied to a tree close to the cabin, near an old fire pit. He looked up, and when she met his eyes, she saw regret. Kara nodded. She was glad to see he was safe, at least.

“Gilson,” her captor called out. “Where are you? Did you hear what I said? Come look at our prize. She’s a pretty one.”

A second man—Gilson—came out of the cabin. He was small, one of the smallest men she’d ever seen, not much higher than her shoulder. His skin was as dark as tanned leather, and his bushy black beard and hair were matted and tangled.

“I heard you,” he said. He glanced over at her and then ducked inside the cabin.

“Damn crazy
ruffiano
,” her captor swore. “Can’t he see that I could use some help? It’s not like we usually have prisoners to tend to.” He steered the burro across the clearing and tied Zayeera to a small tree opposite the cabin.

“Gilson.” Her captor headed towards the cabin. “We need to talk about this, about what we’re going to do with these two.”

Gilson leaned out the cabin door.

“What’s to talk about,” he said. “We’re taking them over to Villa Grana and the Mason Guild.”

“I know, but she’s mighty pretty. It’d be a shame to hand her over without us having some fun.”

“What did you say?” Gilson stepped closer to the other man and glared up at him. “Ranit, if you touch her then you better watch yourself from here on in. Might be that one day you’ll stumble and just fall off the edge. And no one here but me to tell the tale.”

“You’re crazy,” Ranit said, but he backed up a couple of steps. “You’re siding with her? I’m a full Guildsman. She’s nothing—a runaway. No guild, no family, no use. Who would care what happened to her?”

“Me,” Gilson said. “’Cause what you’re talkin’ about isn’t right. We’re taking them to Grana. Unharmed and untouched. Let the guild sort out if she’s a runaway and if the other one helped her. Now make sure they get some water. The burro too.” Gilson went back inside.

“He’ll toss me over the edge?” Ranit grumbled. “I’ll toss him. Just wait. Just wait.”

Ranit continued to mutter even as he followed Gilson’s instructions. He held a waterskin and let Kara take a few sips before taking it to Mika. He poured what was left into a bowl for the burro.

Kara, her hands still tied to the wagon, slumped to the ground. She tried to shelter in the shadow of the wagon but was only able to get one shoulder out of the sun. Zayeera brayed, and then the wagon was tugged forward, and she was dragged onto her knees.

“Stop moving,” Kara said.

“She’s just trying to reach some grass,” Mika said from across the clearing. “She’ll move again once she’s eaten what she can reach.”

The wagon lurched again, and her arms were pulled tight. “At least someone gets to eat.”

“Zayeera will always look out for herself.” Mika’s voice held a hint of humour, and she wondered at his acceptance of the situation.

“Be quiet,” Ranit barked. He was scraping ashes out of the fire pit. The wind caught some, and they flew up into his face. He coughed and rubbed his eyes.

“Gyda curse this stinking camp.” He stomped on the ashes, flattening them down. “And why do I always have to get the wood?” he muttered. “Just ’cause I’m a Journeyman and Gilson’s a full Mason don’t mean he shouldn’t have to do his share.”

He kicked at a clump of dirt as he headed into the trees but came into view a few minutes later with some cut logs stacked in his arms. He dropped them to the ground beside the fire pit.

“Let’s go.”

Kara turned to see Gilson stooped over Mika. He untied him from the tree and herded him towards the cart.

“Ranit, you lead with the burro. I got the unguilded,” Gilson said.

Ranit dusted his hands on his pants and glared at Gilson. “What’s the hurry all of a sudden?”

“We need to be over the bridge before sundown.” Gilson looked up at the clear blue sky. “A wind is coming in tonight, a strong one. Can’t be on the bridge when it hits.”

Ranit eyed the sky, his face worried now. “A quick pace then,” he said. “To get us there in time.”

Kara was on her feet by the time he’d untied the burro. He set off down the road, Zayeera, the cart, and Kara trailing behind him.

RANIT WALKED AS
quickly as Zayeera would allow, tugging at the burro’s halter. He swore at it when it kept to its steady walk.

Kara tripped over a rock and fell to her knees—her arms stretched out, and the ropes dug painfully into her wrists. Ranit turned and screamed at her, his face contorted with fury.

Once she regained her feet, she tried even harder to stay upright. Gilson would be angry if Ranit hurt her, but he was a few steps behind them, with Mika. An enraged Ranit could push her off the road and into the gorge before the other Mason had time to react.

In some places the road cut right through the mountain, while in others it seemed to lead straight over the edge before turning sharply to hug the mountain.

And always the road led them down.

They’d been walking for close to an hour. Kara kept her eyes straight ahead, focused on the steady up and down of the burro’s rump as it calmly pulled the wagon, rather than on the sheer drop that was always just a few feet away from her.

In Grana, Mason Guild would send her back to Mage Guild. If she told them she was Maker or Merchant, would they send her to another guild? She’d read their histories—she might know enough about them to fool Mason Guild. It might give her a chance to escape before they realized their mistake.

The wagon lurched. Pain shot up her arms, and she was pulled forward. Kara pulled against the rope, concentrating on her feet. She blinked, trying to keep the sweat from running into her eyes.

Suddenly there was a loud crack, and Zayeera brayed and bucked. Mika shouted, and the cart surged forward. Kara’s arms stretched out, and she stumbled and broke into a run—desperately trying to stay on her feet as she was pulled, faster and faster, down the mountain road.

The burro’s ears flattened against its head. Then the cart butted up against its rump. With a squeal, Zayeera stretched her neck and ran, staying in front of it.

Frantic, Kara pulled on the rope, trying to slow the careening cart and keep it from overrunning Zayeera. The burro bumped into Ranit. He teetered on the edge, before slowly, horrifyingly slowly, tumbling into the gorge, his scream fading as he dropped from her view. Then she was past him, and Kara couldn’t spare another thought for the Mason.

Zayeera turned sharply, and Kara pulled with all her strength. For one terrible moment the left wheel of the wagon hung over air, then it jerked back and landed on solid ground.

Looking past the burro’s head, Kara saw another sharp curve in the road. Anticipating it, she pulled hard to the right, keeping the wagon on the road. Down and down they went, turn after turn, until she thought her arms would be pulled from her shoulders. Her wrists ached and were slick around the ropes. Blood or sweat, she didn’t care,
couldn’t
care, as long as they stayed on the road, as long as they didn’t tumble over the edge like Ranit. She ignored the pain in her shoulders, in her wrists, in her chest as she tried to gasp in enough air to keep running, always running, burro and woman, running to stay alive. Barely, they stayed on the road—stayed in control just enough to navigate the next sharp turn, the next narrowing of the path.

Kara was so intent on remaining on her feet that it took a few moments for her to realize that the sound of her footfalls had changed and that they were, thankfully, finally, slowing.

The cart stopped.

Heaving, Kara leaned against the wagon and stared at her hands. Her wrists were raw where the rope had cut into them, and her legs felt limp and heavy. Thank Gyda she’d been wearing her father’s old trousers—she never would have managed the turns in a skirt. Hands shaking, she looked up from the cart.

They were on an impossibly narrow bridge. The wooden planks underfoot felt solid enough, until she realized that they were held up by ropes that stretched off into the distance. Zayeera snorted and tossed her head, then rubbed one cheek against the rope handrail.

“No,” she called softly to the burro, her voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. Could the burro’s movements tip them? Could they have survived the race down the mountain only to plunge into the gorge anyway? She studied Zayeera, who stood calmly between the traces of the cart.

Kara took a deep breath.
This
was Broken Burro Bridge. She and Mika had
planned
to cross it. It was safe. Mika had been over this bridge many times.
Zayeera
had been over it many times.

Carefully she twisted to look behind her. They were more than a third of the way across, and there was no way to turn around. The only choice was to go forward.

“Zayeera,” she called. “Keep going.” Even if Mika and Gilson were able to catch up, they wouldn’t be able to help. No one could squeeze past the cart.

A strong gust of wind shook the bridge, and Kara shivered, remembering Gilson’s warning about not being on the bridge too late in the day. She had no idea how far behind Gilson and Mika were. Would they even be willing to brave the wind-blown bridge to save her?

“Come on, Zayeera,” she crooned. “Time to move.” She leaned over the cart.

She would
not
die here. Not after escaping Mage Guild, not after finally seeing a way to make a life of her own.

She shoved the cart forward. The burro brayed, but didn’t move.

“Come on, burro,” Kara yelled. “Move!” She shoved again, and this time the burro took a few steps forward. Kara lowered her shoulder to the wood of the cart, and braced her feet against the planks of the bridge, and pushed with all her might. The cart skidded forward, and she almost sprawled. The burro took a step, then another. Kara grabbed the wood of the cart and pulled herself to her feet, leaving smears of blood on the once-white tarp.

“Good Zayeera, good burro.”

Two long ears flicked towards her as the burro plodded slowly forward.

“We’re halfway across, good work,” she said.

They were going slightly uphill, heading to the far end of the bridge. A gust of wind buffeted her, and she felt the burro pause.

“Keep going. That’s a girl.”

The cart inched forward in the late afternoon sun, and the wind howled through the gorge below them. Kara kept her eyes forward, staring past the flattened ears of the burro to the solid ground she could see ahead. She didn’t want to see how far the drop was—didn’t want to think about falling or about Ranit slipping over the edge and being alive, broken and bleeding, somewhere below. She simply concentrated on that patch of solid ground ahead of them—taking one step after another toward it.

Then they were there. The wheels bumped when they left the bridge, and then Kara’s feet were on dirt and windswept rock.

Weak with relief, she collapsed against the back of the cart. She’d stay here until Gilson and Mika arrived. The other two couldn’t cross the bridge until the wind died down but she could wait—all night if she had to.

Unfortunately the burro had other plans—Zayeera started down the road.

“Stop!” Kara yelled and pulled on the ropes until her wrists flared with pain. The burro ignored her and continued to plod down the gently sloped road. All Kara could do was trudge along behind the wagon.

ARABELLA PACED HER
salon. It had been a few days since she and Valerio had returned to Mage Guild Island, and she had not seen him. She was worried that he had—not forgotten her, no—but had decided she was of no use to him. She’d sent a note this morning, inviting him to dine with her, and had spent the remainder of the day fruitlessly waiting to hear from him. She’d had her Server clear the ruined supper an hour ago.

She hated waiting for others, hated being dependent on someone else for her well-being. She settled into the plush chair she used for reading and took a deep, steadying breath. If her plan succeeded, then Valerio Valerian would be the last man she had to appease in this way.

For now, she had to wait, she had no choice. And she must appear calm and unconcerned when he did contact her. And he would, eventually.

“Annya,” she called to her Server. “Prepare my bath.” Yes, calm and unconcerned, that was how she had to play Valerio Valendi.

He’d agreed to align with her—mentor her, father her child, teach her the skills—both political and magical—she was lacking. In return she would be his—she would do as he asked, whatever he asked. He hadn’t said it—he hadn’t had to—but she knew she was agreeing to kill for him, if that’s what he required.

And she would do it. She would do anything to keep herself out of the workrooms. She’d been sent there when she first arrived on Mage Guild Island, before she’d managed to secure an Apprenticeship. The council had wondered if she was too old to learn, if she would ever be able to use her magic to cast spells.