SHADOW LEADER, page 10
Dion stared at him for a long moment.
“She's perfectly capable of following you. She thinks she makes it easier on you, and now she wants you to make it easy on her.”
Dion stared back toward where the Gray One should be, then looked at Rhom measuringly. “You might be right,” she admitted slowly.
Listen, Gray One, she sent sternly. You've led me many places, but this time I must lead, and you must come after me. The wolf's answering whine was a thin gray line in her head— one that made her want to reach out and take the line, reeling Hishn in.
Your scent is like a wisp. There is no track to your thought, the wolf told her.
Dion closed her eyes, and the shape of wolf became solid. Feel this. Track me now.
The line of gray in her mind became suddenly thick and, like a cord stretched between towers, grew taut. Then, behind her, she heard the sound of four feet galloping through the mud. Dion opened her eyes.
Rhom grinned. “Didn't take her long.”
The wolfwalker leaned down to greet the wolf, who lunged across the mud and burst through the grass, her yellow eyes wild and her thick fur wet and slimy with spattered mud. Dion braced herself to meet the force of Hishn's arrival, and as the wolf hit her in the chest, the mud and loose fur transferred itself to Dion's mail.
“Okay, Hishn,” she whispered. “You're with me now. Calm down.” The wolf nudged her hard, hiding her head in Dion's arms. But Dion gripped Hishn's jowls and, looking into her yellow eyes, shook the gray head until the wildness left her and the Gray One's thoughts came more clearly.
The smells cling to my nose, the wolf whined softly. I can only hear you in this place.
“I know, but you can see me now, and I, you.” And between the two of them, she told herself, maybe they would see the mudsuckers before the suckers saw them.
Rhom motioned for her to hurry, so she pushed Hishn away and stood back up. “Come on,” she said, as if the words would make her brave. “Let's catch up.”
It took a good half hour to wade far enough across the swamp to see the other side. If the grass islands had not suddenly given way to a mud flat, they would not have seen the other bank until they trod on it, but as it was, they got a clear glimpse of the last stretch of swamp before they had to cross it. By that time, they were covered in mud, and their faces were smeared where they had swatted at the bugs and scratched ineffectively at the bites. Even Hishn's gray fur was thick with drying slime. Dion, whose legs were like lead weights, the mud sticking to her worn boots like liquid rock, told herself that mudsuckers needed open water. They required deep pools to live in, not thin runs. They could not breed in a bog. She wished she had not thought of the suckers breeding.
The Gray One whined constantly, stepping distastefully into the marsh and sinking up to her chest in mud, then deeper into the thin brown water until she was swimming as she followed the wolfwalker. And Dion, her breathing shallow as she held back her fear, lifted her pack over her head like the others and staggered and slipped along behind Rhom, blinded by the clouds of insects that hovered overhead. “Put more mud on the back of your neck,” she advised Rhom nervously. “It'll help keep the bugs off.”
He made a face. “Great. By the time we get out of here, Aranur's sister won't even look at me, let alone walk next to me.”
“She might think it an improvement,” Dion retorted. The next instant, she found herself ducking a glop of mud he tossed over his shoulder.
By the time they reached the other bank, Dion was chilled and sweating. While Hishn leapt ahead of her to disappear into the dry grass on the shore, Dion hid the trembling of her hands by wiping them on her leggings and then in the grass until they were as clear of the swamp mud as they were of the shakes. She was afraid, and she was disgusted by her fear. That she had faced that fear made no difference. It had not faded. She looked at her hands, still trembling, and clenched them against her leggings.
Aranur, who had rested his hand on Tyrel's shoulder for a moment, looked around for the wolf. “Where's Hishn?” he asked Dion.
Dion did not look up at his question. “In the bushes. Rolling in the dirt. Making sure she gets as much of it ground in as possible.”
He shrugged. “At least the dirt smells better.”
The wolfwalker laughed shortly. “Don't be too sure. She's a wolf. She's probably rolling in deer droppings.”
Aranur made a face, but turned to the others. “We'll go another half kilometer to the west,'' he told them, tying the top of his pack down and slinging it onto his back. “Then we'll cut back north. That way, we'll avoid those rockfalls we saw from the ridge. We'll be into the farmland by evening. And with the luck of the moons, we'll bypass any scouts on watch.” He gestured at the second place in line, and Dion met his eyes with an unreadable look. But she fell in behind him, the gray wolf trotting noisily out of the brush, snorting and dropping once more to the ground to roll more of the sticky mud into the dirt and off her fur, before taking her place by Dion's side. Although Dion accepted Hishn's nudging with good grace, the wolfs images must have been strong; the wolfwalker's eyes grew unfocused as she listened to the forest through the beast.
... damp mists rising from the soft dirt. Stench of a worlag's passing and marking the trail with its piss. A shift, a movement, a gather of birds scatter to their left. Eyes flash. Noise blasts through straining ears. Leaves close behind them. The gray shades of motion are gone. Gray fur rubs against the woman's leg ...
They had crossed another hill before the sky became more heavily overcast and the air turned cool. Dion, who had sent Hishn out to hunt for supper, opened and closed her wounded hand as she ran, ignoring the pain as best she could. They were following a dry streambed, clambering quietly among the rocks a meter below the level of the ground, when a bough slapped softly against the back of her hand and she froze.
She held her hand up to halt the others and breathed, “Aranur—”
They all dropped instantly to a crouch. To their left, a group of men sat eating their lunch, two of them sleeping in the cool precursor to the evening's rain. Another moment along the streambed and they would have been in plain sight.
Silently Aranur strung his bow. He picked an arrow, checked the feather for a clean flight, then aimed between the trees down trail from where the scouts waited. A few seconds later, the brush rustled, and one of the scouts stood up sharply. He grabbed his sword and kicked one of the sleeping men. “Yarl, Makks,” he snapped. “Get up. We've got something down trail.” Grabbing bows, the scouts ran silently along the path, and Aranur motioned for his group to hurry. Namina slipped and snapped a twig off a branch, and Aranur whipped around, his face thunderous, but he said nothing, and they did not stop until they were far enough from the site of the scouts that they could breathe without fear that someone would hear.
When Aranur finally motioned them to halt, Shilia dropped to rest beside Rhom. She breathed quickly, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Longear's men?” she whispered.
Rhom nodded.
The girl hesitated, her brown eyes worried.
Rhom wished he could tell Shilia that the moons would bless them with a clear road to Ariye, but he scowled. It was not for him to second-guess the moons.
She glanced at her brother, then back to Rhom. “Do you think we'll really be safer once we reach the towns?” she asked.
The blacksmith looked at her carefully. But she was not questioning her brother's judgment so much as looking for reassurance. He nodded. “If we can get to a town, yes,” he said confidently. “We can hide among the people—Longear will not guess that we would go through his own front yard to get home. It would take us six times longer to get back to Ariye through the mountains.”
Shilia nodded. “And we have to get back before autumn.”
“If Ariye is to have a chance to prepare for the raiders set to invade in spring, yes.”
“And to give you and Dion a chance to get back to Randonnen to warn your own elders.”
He brushed a lock of hair away from her shoulders. “Randonnen is close to Ariye.”
She looked at him silently. A desert separated the mountains of Randonnen and Ariye, and it was not crossed lightly. She would not see him again if he went home to Randonnen without her.
But Rhom was glancing toward Aranur, and, seeing that the other man had already motioned for Dion and the wolf to follow him, got to his feet as well. He offered Shilia his hand, and she took it, but she would not meet his eyes.
On the trail, Aranur and Dion moved quietly ahead, followed by Gamon, then the two girls, and lastly Rhom and Tyrel. They kept to the streambed for another hour before it turned sharply and angled back toward the lower trails. Gamon glanced at the streambed regretfully. If it rained that night, the runoff would probably wash all traces of them away. But he was not sure it would rain, and the stream turned back toward Zentsis's scouts. He would rather risk the high trails than the scouts, and Aranur had agreed.
They had seen no signs of Zentsis's or Longear's men for the past three hours when evening sucked the light from the sky, and Aranur chose their camp. As he stood looking over the shallow valley, he found his eyes following Dion's silhouette as she hunted greens for their dinner. The man's jerkin and mail she wore disguised much of her shape. At a distance, he would not be able to tell she was not a man! He watched her thoughtfully. Shilia and Namina were girlish enough that they could probably pass as youths if they dressed like Dion. And he and Tyrel both had extra tunics—Shilia had been using his for several nights to keep the stingers from her face as she slept.
The wolfwalker, having gathered an armful of duckfoot leaves, stopped by him, and they stood quietly for a moment. Before them, only a ribbon of purple-orange outlined the horizon. The warm air chilled with dew, and the sky, still pale
with the light of five moons, showed only patches of stars. Dion glanced at Aranur. His figure, broad across the shoulders, lean in the hips, was still, wary, as he searched the forest below for signs of light or movement. She wondered why he, and not Gamon, the weapons master, led the group. Then she shook her head. Aranur had not told her exactly what position he held in Ariye, but it was one of high respect, she knew. That the Ariyen Lloroi had sent Aranur, his nephew, to find and return with his daughters instead of going himself; that Gamon listened to Aranur's lead and followed the younger man without hesitation; that Aranur's fighting skills were already beyond those of most of the Randonnen fighters Dion had met—these things left little room for doubt. If Gamon did not lead, it must be because Aranur would soon be a weapons master on his own. Although, Dion thought uncharitably, the gray-eyed man acted often as if he already wore the weapons master's moon chain. She regarded him with curious eyes, chewing on her lip.
Aranur broke into her thoughts without turning his head. “Dion,” he said softly. “Scout along the ridge, will you? See if Hishn picks up signs of Zentsis's men. If it's clear up here, we can run these bluffs until we get beyond this valley.”
She waited a few seconds, then nodded abruptly, oddly disappointed at his words as she handed him the greens she had gathered. She turned away. As Hishn joined her, she tugged at the gray wolf's scruff and then dropped and buried her face in the creature's fur to hide the sudden watering of her eyes. What was her problem tonight? What had she hoped Aranur would say? Or was she just tired and hungry, sick of the people she was traveling with?
Hishn looked at her, and the yellow eyes gleamed.
Dion tightened her jaw and got to her feet. The Gray One was eager to hunt, and the wolfwalker nodded, making her way across the stones as Aranur followed and stopped by his sister.
“Shilia,” he said, handing her the greens as Dion continued on, “I'd like you and Namina to dress like Dion from here on in.”'
The girl peered at the handful of leaves to see how much dirt clung to their yellow veins, then looked up. “Why?”
He shrugged. “A group of men and boys attracts less attention than a group of men and women, and we'll be in farm country soon.”
That did catch her attention. “You mean that we'll see people soon?”
He nodded. “But they will want to know why you were traveling and where you were from. And Dion,” he said, stopping the wolfwalker just before she slipped off, “you'll have to tell Gray Hishn to stay out of sight when we get to the towns.”
Dion paused, frowning.
He saw her expression, but he was tired himself, and in no mood for her to question him at every turn. “It can't be helped, Dion,” he stated flatly. “She can join you on the trail afterward. You could not explain her without exposing who you are.”
“Hishn and I can circle the towns while you go through,” she protested quietly.
He shook his head, his temper flaring so that he had to clamp it down hard. “We've gone over this before, Dion. You get into trouble when you're off by yourself. Look at your hand.”
“I get into trouble no more than anyone else,” she returned in a low voice. “Have you forgotten your run-in with that lepa flock last ninan? Or the time you stepped in quicksand and almost drowned? My hand will not get better just because I run through a town instead of a forest. And I can pass around a -village in the same time it will take you to go through.”
“No.”
“Dammit, Aranur,” she exploded. “Why not?” She remembered in time that her emotions were felt by Hishn, as well, and grasped the snarling wolf by its fur.
Aranur ignored the wolf. “Too much can happen, Healer Dione,” he said deliberately. He took a breath and forced Dion to meet his gaze. “And I don't want to lose you.”
She gazed at him, an unreadable expression on her face. “Yes,” she agreed bitterly, her voice low. “A healer is handy to have along.” Turning abruptly, she strode along the ridge with the wolf until she disappeared.
Gamon gave her a sharp look as she passed.
Aranur stared after her. He ground his teeth, then slapped dust off his thighs in frustration and strode over to his uncle. He took another breath to calm down, but his voice, when he spoke, was still angry. “I just don't get it, Gamon,” he said, glaring after Dion. “Every time I pay that woman a compliment, she acts as if I've just insulted her.”
The weapons master eyed his nephew in amusement. “Are you asking my advice?”
Aranur swore under his breath. “I've had enough of your advice to last half my lifetime. And it hasn't gotten me anywhere yet but trouble.”
“Looks to me that, with Dion, that kind of trouble could be mighty fun,” the older man said slyly.
Aranur snorted. “She'd rather be with that wolf of hers than with me.”
“Maybe Hishn has a softer voice.”
“And maybe I'm tired of her fighting me every time I ask for something to be done.”
“It seems to me,” his uncle returned quietly, “that you order more than you ask.”
Aranur stared at him.
“You also command more than you make conversation. Perhaps all Dion wants is some consideration.”
“What do you think I've been giving her?” Aranur demanded.
Gamon chuckled. “I don't think I'd better answer that. “He changed the subject. “Where is she off to now?”
“I asked her to check the ridge to make sure Zentsis's men have not been up here before us.”
“It's not an easy route we've chosen,” the gray-haired man commented. “I'd lay odds that the scouts will think we'll be keeping to the low ground.”
“I'd think the same,” Aranur agreed, “but I've learned that I can't anticipate Zentsis's men with any accuracy.”
“I think we have Longear to thank for that.”
Aranur frowned heavily. “That Longear—I just can't figure him out. We jump in the least likely direction, and each time, he's there before us, like a cat playing with a mole. Why the mudsuckers? And how did they find us so quickly out here? It's as if they can't decide whether they want to kill us or capture us—indications point both ways.”
Gamon lost his smile, and his gray eyes were grim. “Or as if Longear is after more than just our group. There would be no other reason to seed the waters or set as many scouts out here as there are.” He shook his head. “I can't seem to anticipate the man. I can't seem to get inside his head and figure him out.”
Aranur chewed his lip and went thoughtfully to the fire where Rhom was cooking. He was worried. They had avoided the scouts just barely each day. Unless they reached a town soon and found a fast road out of this part of the county, it was only a matter of days before they were forced into Lloroi Zentsis's hands. They had evaded the scouts twice already; Longear could not afford to let them slip through his fingers again. With a sigh, Aranur sat down to eat, but the bird meat was as tasteless as wood.
The next day, they trudged over two more small hills and around a meadow of itch grass before the thick brush grew sparse and they found a stream so shallow it could hide nothing except the water skeeters that skipped along its surface. Dion, seeing the slight depth of the water, slung her pack on the ground and took off her warcap to dunk in the creek. Gamon and Rhom made their way downstream, but Aranur stopped beside the healer and splashed his face in the creek as well. He glanced back at Namina, but Dion said she would keep an eye on the girl. Now that they were finally away from the scouts— as far as he could tell, he reminded himself--he did not want to risk Namina betraying them again. The girl had been crying again during the night; he could tell by her eyes. Whether it was from her guilt over their trail and Dion's hand, or because of her sister who had died, he did not know, and as the moons shone, he had to admit that he did not care. If she did not start taking an interest in her own life again, by the moons, he would— He stopped and glared at the woods with such intensity that he startled himself. Would what? He swallowed his frustration. He would do nothing, he knew. He would let Namina sort out her life on her own! And watch the girl waste years doing it. He splashed water down his neck to loosen the mud that had caked under his collar. Moonworms ...
