CHAPTER SIX

For two days they traveled northward on the seacoast road, leaving Cirrus Cove far behind. They crossed the Fohn River. The road rose sharply into a rocky hillside. The soft gold of the dunes disappeared into the harsher grays and browns of the uneven landscape. The pines here were thicker, their bark a deep brownish-black. Their needles were coarser, unlike the silken foliage of those that grew in the coveside meadows.

Khamsin had never traveled North. She went South only once with Tavis to the village of Dram, shortly after they were married. That had been a two day hard ride from Cirrus Cove. There had never been the need to leave her birthplace before.

She commented on the starker landscape when they stopped for the second night, noticing that the Tinker had trouble finding a plot of ground free of rocks and stones for his bedroll. Her own bedroll was in small space under the tentlike awning that extended from the side of his cart. She felt guilty of depriving him of the more comfortable lodgings.

He waved away her concern with an air of indifference and concentrated on building a small fire.

She hadn't told him what she was running from or why, nor had he asked. That plagued her mind as she peeled the thick outer skin from the wild potatoes she discovered growing in abundance near the campsite of the previous night. He seemed satisfied just to have someone to talk to. And talk he did about all manner of things he saw or heard in his travels to the various towns and villages that dotted the countryside. Yet she couldn't believe he was totally without curiosity as to herself.

But what if he viewed her as the Covemen and Tavis had? Long ago she had hardened herself to other's criticisms; even her husband's disapproval was taken in stride. But the Tinker was somehow different. She didn't know how she'd handle his viewing her as a creature to be feared, suspected. A woman-child linked to the powerful Sorcerer by command of an Assignation.

An assignation that never took place.

The last thought so startled Khamsin that she dropped the potato she was peeling into the small pot, splashing herself with water.

She was eighteen years old now, eighteen. The dreaded seventeenth year had passed and though it brought much pain and suffering, the contact, the crucial contact, had never been made. Though he must have tried - she thought of the old man by the sailmaker's, the young gallant in the candle shop, perhaps even those faceless riders in the raid - he hadn't claimed her! Even during her enchantment of the sword she hadn't felt his presence as she had many times before. She was free. Whatever her life portended, it wouldn't involve the whims of the Sorcerer.

Oh, and there was so much to do now! With an increased energy, she finished peeling the last of the vegetables and, plopping them into the pot, placed them over the fire.

The Tinker looked up from the wineskin he was mending as she tugged at one of her small bundles stuffed into the back of his cart.

"Need something, m'Lady?"

"No, no, that's all right. I can manage, thank you." She rummaged around the deep canvas bag 'til her hand found the hard binding of the Book. "I've something to attend to. I won't be gone long."

She glanced over her shoulder as she slipped into the shadows of the tall pines. The Tinker smiled, then returned to his wineskin.

Her short hunting knife trembled as she scratched the lines of the mage circle into a mossy patch of earth. With a breathless intensity, she voiced her incantations. Then she bowed her head, closed her eyes and waited for the feeling of weightlessness to come over her as she descended into a light trance. She chose three stones from the small pouch she wore around her waist and touched them to her forehead, lips and throat before casting them into the rough circle.

Nine times she threw the stones and nine times the answer came back, without variation. She'd crossed a milestone in her life and now must expand her knowledge, increase her sphere of experience. And all signs led her to the City.

The exultation she felt at the clarity of the symbols in the dust and the strength emanating from her circle overrode even the dull, painful ache she carried in her heart since she'd left Cirrus Cove. Had she more time, had supper not been boiling away and the Tinker not been aware of her absence she might pursue her investigations, requesting specifics. Where should she go in the City and whom should she see? Was there still danger? The rapidity and ease with which the few answers came back to her restored her faith in her powers that, for over a year, had lagged and been vague. Still they were yet a few days ride from the bustling trade center built on the North Cliffs, overlooking the sea. There was time for her to divine other information later.

For now, the aroma of potatoes and leeks wafted in the air. She whispered the spell that would un-enchant the small patch of moss and rose, never bothering to look back to see if the ground recovered its formerly unbroken surface. As indeed it did.

The Tinker stirred the potatoes with a long-handled wooden spoon. She bent over the pot, sniffing appreciatively.

"Smells good."

"Better than I ever made it."

"You survived well enough on your own cooking before now."

He plucked at the front of his shirt. "I was on the verge of emaciation until you took over."

Khamsin's laughter hid the slight flush on her cheeks. She remembered the feel of his strong, hard body against hers, when she was weak and trembling. There was nothing emaciated about the man at all.

They finished the meal with light conversation dotted with stretches of comfortable silence. At last, when the fire reduced itself to a pale orange glow, Khamsin sighed and leaned back against the wheel of the cart, stretching her legs out before her.

"You seem contented, m'Lady." His voice was soft but carried easily over the night sounds of crickets.

She couldn't see his face in the darkness but the earring in his ear reflected the dim light of the glowing coals. She didn't need to see his face anyway. She knew every line by heart. The sight of him that first morning after the burning of the village etched him indelibly into her mind.

"Things are better, yes," she replied, ignoring the direction her thoughts again traveled. She was a widow, she reminded herself. A widow, and when the Tinker touched her it was only to heal her wounds. Her outer wounds. Not the tear in her heart.

"They were bad." His words held no judgment, nor pity.

"Could have been much worse."

"That is true of most things."

Then they were silent for awhile. The sound of the wind playing through the leaves around them was the only interruption to their thoughts. Khamsin's drifted back to Cirrus Cove, to what she had been and what she could become. She thought of Tanta Bron, practicing her herbals and spells, and marveled that the old woman never chose to further her own education in the occult. She seemed content to live her days out in the cave. Khamsin knew now that even if the raid on the village hadn't happened, she would have left Cirrus Cove before Wintertide. With or without her husband. But her reasons, then, would have been different.

"Haven't you wondered, Tinker, why I was willing to leave my home?"

She heard the rustle of clothing as he stirred and could envision his now-familiar noncommittal shrug in the dark.

"Besides the obvious, you mean, with the destruction of the village and the death of your husband?"

The words still carried pain, though not as much. "Yes."

"Did you love him?"

His question caught her by surprise. She didn't reply.

"Your husband, Lady Khamsin. Did you love him?"

"Tavis was my friend," she said finally. "So I suppose I did love him."

"As a friend."

"Yes."

"But not as a lover."

"Tinker, I..." Though she knew the answer, it was difficult to voice, even in the dark.

"I know. It's not my place to ask such things. But it matters, you see."

"Why?" For a moment, her heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

He cleared his throat. "For one, it would help me understand why you left Cirrus."

She forgot that was her original question to him and so felt obliged to answer it.

"No, I didn't love him, as you said, as a lover."

"You're sure?"

She caught a movement in the dim light as he leaned closer to her. "I'm sure. But...," and she hesitated, wondering if his questions uncovered yet another flaw in her character. That of a stingy, selfish wife. "But I never refused him. I did care about him."

"I see." He was quiet. When he spoke again, his voice carried a slight hesitation she never heard before. "Tell me. That is, have you ever been in love, Khamsin?"

She thought a long while. Love was something that grew over time, over a sharing of mutual experiences. It was deeper than just a physical attraction. She wondered if that was what was happening to her. But perhaps the Tinker was a symbol of strength and reassurance only because he was present at a particular place at a particular time. Her rescuer could've been anyone. Even a Hill Raider. Shaking that disturbing thought from her mind, she answered his question.

"No. I don't believe so."

"Well. You have much, then, to learn."

She heard the smile return to his voice and she relaxed. It was so easy to talk to him, easy to voice things she wouldn't have been able to say to herself, a week ago. "Even before...the raid, I had begun to wonder if I belonged in the village," she told him, turning her thoughts to more practical matters. "You know I'm a Healer. I've also practiced the magic arts." She waited for his reaction, wishing she could see his face.

"The villagers didn't approve."

"They didn't understand. Perhaps if they had, they would've approved." She tugged on a blade of grass poking through the rocky ground. "But that's all past, now."

"So you leave, seeking what?"

She sighed. "Knowledge. Experience. There was only so much Tanta Bron could teach me. And only so much I can learn on my own. It's as if I've come as far as I can go by myself. New surroundings should provide increased knowledge."

"That sounds like something from a book of prophecies."

"It is." She pulled up one knee and rested her elbow on it, toying with the short thickness of her hair.

"Why didn't you leave Cirrus sooner?"

"Because...an Assignation was placed on my name. But since it never occurred, I'm now free."

"An assignation?"

"I was claimed as a child. Though Tanta Bron - Bronya the Healer - raised me, it was with the knowledge that I'd been marked at birth. But there was a time limit: the assignation had to take place before my eighteenth birthday. I turned eighteen the day the village was raided."

"Do you know who placed the claiming mark on you?"

Khamsin hesitated, the silence filled with the hollow cry of an owl. "The Sorcerer," she admitted finally.

"That's serious business." The Tinker shifted position with a rustling of clothing. "And not one to be taken lightly."

"I'm aware of that. That's why I'm cautious about maintaining your company. For your sake, you understand. And that's also why, though I view you as a friend, we must part when we reach the City."

There was a spark from a tinderbox, then the sweet, heavy smell of tobacco as the Tinker lit a thin cigar. Khamsin could hear the hushed sound of the smoke as he blew it between his lips.

"To be honest, I've not thought much past tomorrow. Never do, you know. Learned a long time ago it doesn't pay." He twirled the cigar between his fingers for a moment. "But what I do know is this: we have an early start and a long ride ahead of us, if I'm to make it to Browner's Grove. I have some business there that must be attended to. So, my friend Lady Khamsin, it's my suggestion you take to your blankets and get some sleep."

She didn't accompany the Tinker into the small inland town of Browner's Grove but remained on a grassy hillside by a winding stream with Nixa for company. The thatched roofs of the town were just barely visible in the distance. It was a clear autumn day; the sun was warm with a pleasant light chill to the air. The leaves of the trees already turning the deeper shades of gold and orange. Only the pines remained green.

She walked along the stream, her light woolen cape open, Nixa tagging by her side. She carried the small satchel containing the Book and her amulets. In the few hours the Tinker would be absent she could accomplish much, if she set her mind to it.

But her mind wasn't on her divinations at the moment, but rather on horseback, following the tall man down the rutted road to the town. She wondered what drew him there. Though he dragged the red cart behind she had the feeling his purpose in Browner's Grove had little to do with his trade or his merchandise. Did he have family there? A wife and children, perhaps, who might not look with understanding at his traveling with a young widow?

If he had children, she mused, settling against the flat top of a large boulder, they might very well be closer in age to herself than she was to the Tinker. She asked his age, just in conversation, over their small dinner at the first campsite. And he replied, in his usual offhand way, that the last birthday he counted was number thirty-three. His children, if he had any, could have counted a dozen birthdays by now.

She refused to let herself speculate about his supposed wife.

But there she was being a nosy-body, as Rina would say. The thought of the curly-haired woman caused a painful tightness in her throat. She sighed raggedly, reminding herself of her purpose. Which wasn't to pry into the Tinker's private life. Tomorrow they should reach the City and then go their own ways. It would be best, for both of them.

She scraped a section of the rock free of litter with her short hunting knife and lay a handful of tinder on top. To this she added some roots from one of her medicine pouches, laying them carefully in specific spots. Then she took a small vial from another pouch and let two drops of an amber liquid fall into the center of the pile. She closed her eyes, murmured a few words and a sharp popping sound heralded the start of her fire.

She read the patterns in the smoke as it spiraled upwards. Then, with a sharp wave of her left hand, extinguished the blaze and looked for a message in the charred twigs and grasses.

For the first time, she saw the sign for revenge along with the symbols for power. And the symbol of the Dark God, Tarkir. She shuddered as the atrocities of the Hill Raiders came into mind.

So. That was the purpose of her education. It began to make sense now. It was remarked in the Cove towns that the Hill people were in league with the Sorcerer, currying favor with the Darker Powers. Had the Assignation been completed, had she been taken to the Sorcerer's lair at Traakhal-Armin, then there would be no one to stand between Him and his quest for power.

For over three hundred years he had ruled, become stronger. Villages, cities, even kingdoms were said to fall under his hand.

He could command the beasts of the forest, the winds and the tides, all on a whim. The early thaw the year the Hill Raiders charged through Cirrus Cove at Wintertide could very well be his handiwork. As could the storm that preceded their latest attack. He could render men sightless with a look, speechless with a touch.

And he so feared one small babe born in the midst of a maelstrom that he placed an assignation on her, in his name.

But it was an empty threat, for he never called her, never appeared before her mage circle in his billowing black robes, embroidered, it was said, with threads spun of the finest white gold, forged with the blood of virgins.

But how could she, Khamsin, possibly hope to confront the tremendous powers of the Sorcerer? She was just a Healer, in truth, who dabbled in white magic. A few spells, here and there, and some incantations. She could never use her abilities to attack, only defend. As she did the day Enar, Turpin and Gilby grabbed her.

She passed her hand over the charred embers again and the answer came back, again. Knowledge. Experience.

But where was her teacher?