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Chapter Forty-Six



It took them almost an hour to discover the attackers’ camp. It would have taken longer if one of the Caottalurans’ restless mounts had not whinnied.

Their attackers had bivouacked in the lee of an unusual terrain feature: a low notch between stone outcroppings that were hidden in the midst of a small but thick copse of sartszan firs. But because those trees could thrive in the same soil as the sourgrass that surrounded them, it was not likely that shepherds or riders would ever venture beneath them and thus stumble across the notch’s small oasis of sweetgrass and potable water.

Ahearn grunted when he saw the six tethered horses. “Billon to buttons it was the Kar Krathauans who knew of this place.”

“Well,” S’ythreni agreed in a tone that made it obvious she did not consider that news a revelation, “it is within their territory.”

“Aye, but that’s not the importance of it.” When the aeosti just stared at Ahearn, he added, “It means that whatever orders that haideq’s sorcerous master received, he didn’t plot our demise on his own. Someone from this side of the border was in on plotting the ambush. Possibly from the very start.”

Elweyr nodded. “This notch was the perfect spot from which to stage it. It’s near the furthest eastward curve in the river, concealed their mounts and cook fire, and is only a two-mile march from where the captain usually stopped before finishing his upriver run to Last Ford.” He looked around the campsite. “And since there don’t seem to be any settlements on this shore, only Kar Krathaun patrols would know about it. So it seems some of them wanted us dead, also.”

“Or possibly just the sacrista,” Druadaen added. “The enmity between her nation and theirs runs long and deep.”

“Either way,” S’ythreni objected, “how did they know we were coming? Gods, they even knew there was an aeosti with you.”

“They knew more than that,” Elweyr muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“He means that they knew about me, as well,” Umkhira muttered from where she was resting against a fallen tree trunk. Druadaen was impressed that she could already stand, let alone walk. “It was not chance that they began their ambush during my watch.”

Ahearn nodded. “Eh-yeh, because if they attacked when no moon was up, and they could get you first, they knew we’d be night-blind.”

She scoffed, but not at him. “They need not have bothered. I was yawning like a pampered stripling when they shot me.” She shook her head. “Six human bodies and I didn’t see one of them.”

Druadaen smiled. “I doubt you’re to blame for that, Umkhira.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they knew a Lightstrider was going to be on one of the watches. So they took measures.”

When her frown deepened, Elweyr clarified. “Mantic measures. Tell me, when did the weariness and yawning start?”

She sighed. “Right before they…” Her voice tapered off. “Mancery, you think?”

“Mancery, I know,” Elweyr emphasized. “You never lose focus on watch. Hells, I don’t know how you do it. But I do know what they did.”

“Made me weary when they started to approach?”

“At least that. Possibly affected your vision, too. They may also have a way of concealing their body heat.”

“Mud works,” Ahearn offered.

“So does mancery,” his friend retorted archly, “which seems more likely, since there was no mud on them. Besides,” he added, gesturing toward the killing ground almost two miles north of them, “this all reeks of Caottaluran mancery. They prefer manas constructs that confuse others and conceal themselves.”

“So you believe they waited for my watch, to make me weary and inattentive so that I would—?”

“—would be an easy target for their archer,” Druadaen added. They had found a horse bow near the haideq that the velene had kept alive. “And we can be fairly sure of what was in the empty vials we found near them.”

S’ythreni nodded. “A philter that made their eyes the equal of Umkhira’s. Or mine. At least for a while.”

“That’s how they were able to aim their arrows and coordinate their attack,” Druadaen added with a nod. “Their archers might have picked us off one by one if you hadn’t shot back and killed the close one outright.” He smiled at the aeosti. “You certainly ruined their plans.”

“I excel at that,” she agreed sweetly, then turned toward Elweyr. “You seemed to know what that haideq meant by ‘dreamspeaking.’ I’ve never heard of that.”

Elweyr nodded slowly, began to sort through the kit he found near the only fur-lined sleeping roll in the camp. “The first night we met Padrajisse, she mentioned how Sanslovans are known for being able to share information over great distances.”

“I recall,” S’ythreni nodded. “And they do this when they’re sleeping?”

“No, they’re not actually sleeping,” he answered as he checked a small chest not unlike the one in which he kept his own alchemy equipment. “They are in a mutual trance.” Finding the chest untrapped, he opened it. “They enter those trances by drinking ‘teas.’” He reached into the small coffer and produced a narrow silver tube that was fitted with a plunger. “The process is an offshoot of alchemy called intinctamancy.”

“Called…what?” Druadaen realized he was squinting at the strange word, as if that might help him understand it better. The rest of the group seemed to be having similar reactions.

“Intinctamancy is not really a mantic discipline,” Elweyr explained, “just a different way of creating their effects. The infusions or ‘teas’ induce trances which reportedly increase the mantic’s focus and the clarity and depth of manas they can build into a construct.”

“Well,” Ahearn exclaimed, “that has to be a great, steaming melder of a lie, now doesn’t it? For surely, if their dainty brews were full of such power, they’d rule the world…er, wouldn’t they?”

“They might,” Elweyr answered seriously, “except that a mantic in a trance state is a helpless mantic. They may be seeing and exerting influence upon distant persons and events, but they have no awareness of their immediate surroundings.”

Druadaen glanced at the two haideqs’ bedrolls, one on either side of the Sanslovan’s. “So they have personally death-sworn warriors who watch them around the clock.”

Elweyr nodded. “Regardless of their different disciplines, it’s said that almost all Sanslova are proficient enough at somnomancy to be able to suspend themselves on the edge of a dream state and touch other minds, share experiences, or even witness events across great distances.”

Umkhira’s eyes widened. “So you believe the Caottaluran cur who insulted us in Treve contacted the one here?”

“Well, if it wasn’t him, then who else have we met who would not only wish us dead, but knows our numbers, our skills, and that we might show up in the general vicinity of Corrovane? And how did they know what the assassins did not: that there was an aeosti with us?”

“By the Great Bole,” S’ythreni swore, “it must be! Whoever dreamspoke to the ambushers knew I was with you, even when the worm-whelped mantic and his assassins were certain it was a mistake. No,” she finished with a sharp shake of her fine head, “that cannot be coincidence.”

“Still,” Ahearn mused, “while I will certainly nurse a grudge as readily as the next oaf, that little dance in Treve was quite some time ago.”

“Caottalurans have long memories,” Elweyr said with a shake of his head, “particularly when it comes to slights and exacting revenge for them. And the deeper we look, the more connections we find. Unless they are all coincidences.”

“Connections such as…?” Ahearn asked, crossing his arms.

“Well, tonight we were attacked by Caottalurans and Kar Krathauans, just as we were in Treve. And the Caottalurans had more of the toxin that almost killed Umkhira on Aswyth Plain. And lastly, we have to consider that they might have been behind what happened to the food and the water on the Swiftsure, particularly since that suggests they could have known not only when, but on what ship, we would be arriving back in this part of the world.”

Ahearn was still frowning dubiously. “Just so we don’t go racing away on the backs of presumptions, we don’t actually know that the feller in Treve was a Sanslovan, now, do we? As I recall, poor Padrajisse merely pointed out that some Caottaluran mantics were part of that scurvy sect, yeh?”

Druadaen nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t sure myself until I searched the mantic’s body and found this.” Druadaen produced the dagger that he’d taken from the man’s belt, drew it slowly from its scabbard. Not only was the thin, curved blade identical to the one that had been waved at him in Shan’s Shanty their first night in Crimatha, but its ornamentation explained why it had gleamed like a moving snake: it was marked with the intaglio imprint of a viper. The serpentine shape emerged from the grip, twisted between the quillons and finally stretched a wedge-shaped head out onto the tang, eyes staring toward the point.

Ahearn stared at it, then shrugged. “Aye, one and the same. I suppose they have a secret handshake, too. Now, let’s see about making their ill-gotten gains our ill-gotten gains.”

* * *

Of the six horses, two of the Kar Krathaun mounts were part percheron and trained for war. The other horses were lighter of frame but in equally good condition. The Caottaluran tack was lighter and flexible, whereas the Kar Krathauans’ was as sturdy as that used by the Ord Ridire, if less handy. However, both mounts and tack bore distinctive brands and marks; anyone with knowledge of them would immediately know how they’d been obtained.

The purses on the slain proved light, but each of the six had considerably more secreted near or in their kits at the camp. In addition, the mantic had two cunningly hidden gems, probably intended to facilitate rapid escape or a fast and impressive bribe. The two Kar Krathauans not only had stamped coins of the realm, but two small gold ingots, again stamped.

“Dare we take them?” Umkhira wondered.

Ahearn forced a characteristic grin to his face. “They are thin and gold is soft metal. There’s nothing on those little beauties that a stout hammer won’t fix.”

As Ahearn was putting that assertion to the test, Elweyr found two books in the Sanslovan’s gear. One was focused on their somnomantic practices. The other was a strange combination of training manual and history that afforded him a more detailed overview of the organization and methods of the notorious Caottaluran mantics. He also discovered various vials and ampules in a pouch not unlike his own and a ciphered codex that indicated what each was. He took one look at the cipher and put it aside; it would require detailed study.

It took half that time for Druadaen and the others to determine that almost every item of their attackers’ gear was superior to theirs. Some of it was quite excellent, and the Kar Krathaun items were once again distinguished by their sturdiness and efficiency. In the end, the only things they did not load on the horses were several bottles of liquor that they dared not trust.

But for Druadaen, the most valuable find was a hide tube, coated with gutta-percha and filled with maps. Almost two dozen of them.

Half had apparently been prizes, judging from the stains and rips. One was particularly grim; a map issued to Outriders several decades ago. The others had been drafted by Kar Krathauans, and if their precision was slightly less than that of Dunarran charts, the local knowledge reflected in the renderings and notes was invaluable. This was especially true of an older and smaller map which showed the immediate region in great detail. It even featured a mountain labeled with a name that Heela had mentioned: the Last Scarp. A footnote indicated that its original moniker had been the Final Talon. It even included a sketch of the peak.

Druadaen studied the drawing intently. If the image was accurate, the Final Talon was the strangest mountain he had ever seen. At some point, one entire side of its peak had apparently been sheared away. What remained was black, jagged stone that prevailing winds and weather had eroded so strongly that it had become concave. As a result, the top now overhung the missing part, curving over in a distinctive claw shape that had made its name a near-inevitability. However, a small footnote to that footnote claimed that during the ages before humans rose to preeminence, it had been referred to as the Dragon’s Talon, ostensibly because it had marked the beginning of the great wyrms’ domain.

As they led the horses away from the camp, Druadaen showed the map to the group. Although suitably impressed, they were more focused on deciding which, if any, of their attackers’ weapons or armor was safe to keep. The final decision was that the Caottalurans’ equipment could be retained, but the Kar Krathauans’ could not.

Sorting out the aftermath near the boat took much longer because, after searching the bodies, there remained the thornier issue of what to do with them. The debate was spirited. Some wanted to honor the dictates of Padrajisse’s deity by reducing her corpse to ashes and so, proposed that as a universal solution. Others cautioned against the risks of attracting attention with a pyre, suggesting burial instead. But the advocates for cremation pointed out that graves were easily found and opened, if not by searchers then by natural scavengers.

Druadaen seated himself and let the debate go on until it was clear that it was no longer an attempt to find the best answer, but simply an argument and test of wills. He stood up and said very loudly, “We do not have the time for this. Not the debate, not the building of bonfires, not the digging of graves.” They fell silent, staring at him in an unpromising mix of surprise and disapproval. “You will not like what I am about to say, but let me finish before you state your objections.

Elweyr was the first to sit. The others followed a moment later.

Druadaen pointed calmly to the west. “The maps we just found show a Kar Krathaun outpost five leagues in that direction. It is probably home to their local patrols. Some of those patrols come to this side of the river, judging from their camp.

He pointed to the three Kar Krathauans’ corpses. “Unless they were here strictly as hired swords paid by the Caottaluran, we must expect that within a day, maybe two, their outpost will send out riders to determine their whereabouts and condition.

He waved his hand at the rest of the dead. “So the real question is, what do we do with all the bodies? If we leave them here, it makes no difference whether we bury them or not: they’ll be found and we’ll be pursued—swiftly and with determination. A fire might destroy some of the remains but will surely attract Kar Krathauan attention that much sooner.

“So we have one—just one—hope of escape. We must take the bodies with us upstream, capsize the boat so it appears to have been wrecked, and affix weights to the bodies in the hope they will stay submerged, at least for a few days.”

Druadaen saw questions arising, held up his hand. “The maps show a sizable tributary running down into the Serpent River two miles south of Last Ford. It comes out of the high ground as rapids but then spreads out to form a large, deep pond. That’s where we sink the bodies. Then we go up the tributary until we reach rapids fierce enough to wreck the boat. Once we are sure that it has been destroyed, we strike east at best speed.”

Druadaen sat down. “If we are fortunate, the local patrols will not come across any of the remains, or at least not suspect what they truly signify. If they do, then every day we have traveled reduces the chance that they can find our trail and pursue us.” The anger in the group’s eyes had transformed into something more like bitter resignation.

Elweyr frowned. “What about the three boatmen? There’s no sign of them. We can’t know when or what they might tell others.”

Druadaen nodded. “That’s just one more reason why we cannot afford to waste a moment. They probably fled to the opposite shore. They might not have reached it. If any of them did, they were probably exhausted, and are now hoping they won’t be found. If they are, they could be held and questioned for weeks.

“However, we have to assume the worst: that they have already been found or will actually head for the outpost to report what happened.” He looked around the group. “That means we don’t have time to get any sleep. We must finish here and head upriver. Let us be swift.”


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