The Great West Road,

2nd of Alt-Summer

“Slow down!” I was so out of breath my desperate appeal was barely a hoarse gasp. Stopping dead, I bent to ease the catch in my side, drawing warm, sweet air deep into my lungs. Blood pounded in my head. Sorgrad realized I was no longer at his shoulder inside a few paces and halted, ’Gren doing the same. Darni slowed, red-faced and sweating like a pig. He let Usara slide from his shoulder, the wizard leaning heavily on his arm. “Saedrin’s stones but you’re heavier than you look, ’Sar!”

Usara looked pale and queasy and my stomach was still revolting from being moved about like a bird on a Raven board by Gilmarten’s magic. Never mind, we could empty our guts when we had leisure to spare. Were we pursued?

Sorgrad must have heard my thoughts; he peered back down the road. “No sign. I think we can take it a little slower.”

“Bless you,” Gilmarten struggled, chest heaving, “for that.”

I wasn’t so sure. “What about their enchanter? He could be here inside a heartbeat—they come out of the shadows like Eldritch-men!”

“He can do that wherever we are,” pointed out Sorgrad with irritating logic. “Let’s clean our blades and get our breath before the next bout.” As he spoke, he led us to a hollow where we could see the road before being seen ourselves. Sorgrad stationed himself at the edge and indicated a faint trail heading into the deeper woods. “We run that way if need be and then swing back to the road.” He began wiping the streaks of blood from his blade, emerald flies soon gathering around the enticing scent.

“I only run away from men with swords who are bigger and nastier than me,” grunted ’Gren, looking at his gory gloves with distaste.

“And only if there are more than we can comfortably kill,” grinned Darni. His look of complicity with both brothers gave me a serious qualm. Two of them was bad enough, Drianon save me from a trio of eager brawlers.

“Won’t your poisons have done for the enchanter?” Usara was limping heavily, a slow ooze of blood trickling from the ragged tear in his breeches. He dabbed distastefully at it with the hem of his gown, brushing inquisitive flies away.

“Unlikely.” I pulled my sweat-soaked shirt away from my neck. “It was tahn ointment.”

“Not bluesalt?” ’Gren looked profoundly disappointed.

“There was no time,” I apologized. “Poldrion willing, the tahn will keep him out long enough to bleed to death.”

Gilmarten’s eyes were bulging so wide he risked them falling clean out of his head and dropping into the dirt. I gave him a bright smile. “You’re not wounded?”

“Thank you, no, my lady.” He swept me a ragged bow. “A little shaken, I’ll confess, but otherwise unharmed.”

“They started it.” ’Gren looked crossly at a shallow slice in his forearm. “Those shitty-tailed horses must be halfway back to Pastamar by now. What can I clean this with?”

“Here.” Darni poured spirits on a rag ripped from his shirt and passed over the bottle. He dabbed at grazes on his own knuckles, hissing absently through his teeth. “You’d better be next,” he nodded to me.

I looked at the gouges the Elietimm bastard had left in my hands but I had more to worry about than cuts and scrapes. “That enchanter, I knew him.”

“I suspected as much,” commented Usara, “when you started cursing his sexual practices.”

“Firsthand knowledge?” joked ’Gren.

“No jokes, not now.” I shot him a hard look. “Firsthand knowledge of his people, of the way they go ripping into your mind to pull out whatever they want.” My voice shook and I held onto my hot anger, warmth against the chill of recollection. “That man—me and Shiv and Ryshad, we captured him when we were trying to get away from those accursed Ice Islands. He had some measure of authority and we aimed to trade his life for ours, if we were taken.” I shook my head. “But he used his pox-ridden, whore-sucking magic to get away, vanished clean out of the boat.” I took the cloth and scrubbed at my hands, welcoming the sharp sting ridding me of the foulness of his touch.

Usara looked up. “That he escaped, even under attack—”

“—and with my dagger in his guts,” I interjected.

“—suggests he is powerful, which would argue we don’t assume he’s dead until we’ve seen the body,” concluded the mage thoughtfully.

“Until we’ve seen the body, cut off his head, stuck it on a stick for the ravens to play with and burned the rest to ashes,” corrected ’Gren. “You can do that last bit, wizard,” he said to Gilmarten generously.

The Soluran mage mumbled something noncommittal.

“An Elietimm enchanter backing an attack by Mountain Men?” Darni looked sharply at me. “You’re certain it was the same man?”

“We all look alike?” Sorgrad smiled at him without humor. “If our girl here says it was the same man, it was the same man, friend.”

I nearly told Sorgrad I could fight my own battles against Darni but decided I was content to have the arrogant bully outnumbered for the moment. Darni reached for his bottle of cleansing spirits. “Drop your breeches, ’Sar. That needs cleaning and stitching or you’ll have maggots in it before the day’s out.”

Usara unlaced himself without protest and we all winced at the ragged gash ripped through a massive purpled bruise on his thigh. I was amazed he had managed to walk at all. Darni sloshed spirits into the cut and Usara went as pale as old bone, mouth gaping on a silent scream.

“Just try to keep still,” murmured Darni as he sacrificed the rest of his shirt for dressings. ’Gren caught my eye and mouthed something at me. I shook my head, mystified, but got it on the second attempt. Dancing bear.

I could see what he meant; Darni stripped to the waist showed impressive muscles beneath a pelt of black curly hair that would probably fetch him an arrow from a careless hunter. I wondered if his wife took a hearthrug to bed when he was away making mischief for the Archmage.

Usara sat down heavily, gray around the mouth and eyes. “Let me find the tahn ointment,” I rummaged through my own scrip. “Dab it on, to numb the skin.”

“And my wits along with it?” Usara managed a thin smile. “I don’t think we’d better risk it.”

“Your choice,” Darni grunted, threading a curved needle.

“A moment.” Gilmarten leaned forward to proffer a small flame dancing on his bare palm. “Heat the metal in this, to prevent corruption getting into the wound.”

Usara went paler still as he watched the needle tip glow red and then white. I cast about for something to distract him. “So, Usara, we have an Elietimm enchanter hereabouts that we last saw working for that Ice Islander bastard who was so keen to kill us all the year before last. What do you make of it?”

“We also know that Ice Islander was hoping to claim Kellarin for his own.” Usara spoke through gritted teeth as Darni set to work. “Toremal and Hadrumal between them put paid to that ambition.”

I held the wizard’s gaze with my own. “So what’s this enchanter doing here?”

“The people of the mountains do have justified grievances. If they were to be roused—” Usara broke off with a stifled curse, beads of sweat trickling into his eyes that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Sorry,” muttered Darni in a perfunctory tone. “It’s a diversion, has to be. Stir up trouble on a different flank and your opponent has to spread his forces.”

“The lords of northern Solura would be most perturbed at unrest hereabouts,” chipped in Gilmarten, looking worried. “We rely on the Men of the Mountains to secure our border with Mandarkin. If the passes are not guarded, Mandarkin will take advantage soon enough.”

“Even more chaos in the west,” I nodded. “Wouldn’t that be nice for the Elietimm?”

“Everyone looking the wrong way when Ice Islander ships land in Tormalin on the spring tides?” Darni glanced up from his work.