35

   

Emerahl pulled the fur collar of her tawl close. Turning to face the tent’s entrance, she sighed deeply, then straightened her back and strode outside.

At once she felt eyes upon her. The first were those of the guards charged with watching her. They were supposed to be her protectors but their role was more akin to jailors. She had endured their polite attention since the day the brothel had left Porin.

When Rozea had heard of Emerahl’s “accident” with formtane she had decided that she must announce her new favorite that day to prevent any more “foolish and destructive habits.” Since then Emerahl had travelled in Rozea’s tarn and was given the best of everything—including her own personal guards.

The other whores stood farther away. Emerahl had barely spoken to them since leaving Porin. She knew from short snatches of conversation with Tide that they believed she had planned her little “accident” with formtane in order to get an audience with Rozea and persuade the madam into promoting her.

It didn’t help that Rozea wouldn’t let Emerahl visit Tide or Brand, or allow them to see her. She knew that Brand had purchased the formtane for Emerahl, and didn’t trust either of Emerahl’s friends not to smuggle something else to her.

There was one dubious benefit to her new position. Her customers were always the richest nobles of the army. The few priests who did visit the brothel’s tents could not afford the services of the favorite. So far.

Emerahl almost wished she hadn’t told Rozea she didn’t want to go on this trip. Once Star had related Emerahl’s gloomy predictions for the trip, Rozea had decided there was a chance her favorite’s fears might get the better of her. The tents were arranged each night in a way that ensured Emerahl’s was watched from every direction. No sharp tools were allowed, and her customers were asked to remove all weapons before visiting. Rozea loved fanciful adventure stories and knew that a stolen knife and quiet slash of an unwatched tent wall had given many a fictional heroine the means to escape her captors.

None of these precautions were keeping Emerahl from leaving, however.

It’s not the guards or the tent walls, she thought as the servants deftly removed the tent poles and the structure collapsed. It’s been the neighbors.

She looked around at the empty field they had camped in. The remnants of an already harvested crop had been trampled well into the ground—first by the army and now by Rozea’s caravans. She felt a twinge of anticipation. So far they’d managed to keep up with the Toren army. The troops often disappeared into the distance during the day, but the brothel caravan always managed to catch up late that night.

Last night they hadn’t. A small party of wealthy customers had ridden back to visit them and had left in the early hours of the morning. Emerahl’s customer, a second cousin of the king, had told her that the army was now travelling as fast as men could be driven so that they would join the Circlian army in time for the battle.

Every night of the journey before this last, the brothel had camped among the troops. Every night priests wandered among these soldiers, bolstering spirits and keeping the general sense of purpose high. It was this that had prevented Emerahl from leaving. Any confrontation between herself and her guards was bound to draw attention. Even if she did manage to slip away unnoticed, the news that Rozea’s prize whore had run away would fill many soldiers’ heads with ideas of a free roll with a coveted beauty, and a reward when they brought her in. She could defend herself easily enough, but doing so would, again, attract attention, and she didn’t have much chance of avoiding that if the entire army was looking for her.

Now that the army had moved ahead of the caravan the danger was gone. Soon the brothel would be too far behind for nobles to visit it at night. She had only to arrange a distraction for her guards and slip away, and with no customer in her bed all night her absence probably wouldn’t be noticed until morning.

“Jade.”

Emerahl looked up. Rozea was walking toward her, her high boots caked with mud. The woman was obviously relishing this travelling lifestyle and always spent each morning stomping around the camp issuing orders.

“Yes?” Emerahl replied.

“How are you feeling?”

Emerahl shrugged. “Well enough.”

“Come along, then.”

Rozea led her to the lead tarn and ushered her inside. A servant handed them goblets of warmed spicewater. Emerahl drank hers quickly, intending to lie down and sleep as soon as she was finished. She was in no mood for conversation with Rozea today, and if she had the chance to escape tonight she wanted to be as rested and alert as possible.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Rozea noted. “Too early for you?”

Emerahl nodded.

“We have to start early if we’re going to catch up with the army tonight.”

“Do you think we will?”

Rozea pursed her lips. “Perhaps. If not, at least we’ll keep ahead of Kremo’s caravan.”

Kremo was one of Rozea’s competitors. The man’s caravan was larger and he catered to all but the poorer soldiers, who could only afford the lone, sick-looking whores that trailed the army like carrion insects.

“I’d better get some sleep, then,” Emerahl said.

Rozea nodded. Emerahl lay down on the bench seat and fell asleep straightaway, waking only briefly when the tarn jerked into motion. When she woke next, the tarn had stopped. She looked up and discovered Rozea was gone.

Closing her eyes, she started to drift into sleep again. Shouting male voices jolted her awake. She opened her eyes, cursing the noisy guards.

Screams erupted somewhere beyond the tarn.

Emerahl scrambled upright and yanked the door flap of the tarn-cover open. Trees crowded the road. Men she did not recognize were rushing through them toward the caravan. Emerahl heard Rozea somewhere in front of her tarn, bellowing orders to the guards, who were already moving to meet the attackers.

They were wearing the armor and brandishing the swords and spears of Toren soldiers, Emerahl realized. She stared hard at one of them. His emotions were a mix of greed, lust and a gleeful exultation at being free of endless orders and restrictions.

Deserters, Emerahl guessed. Turned thief and outlaw most likely.

She looked around, heart racing. There didn’t appear to be many attackers, but more could be hiding in the trees. She paused as she noticed the fallen tree lying in front of Rozea’s tarn. The trunk had been hacked at; this was no natural obstruction.

A stranger suddenly stepped in front of her. She recoiled in shock, shrinking back into the tarn. He grinned up at her and ripped the flap aside. As he started to climb into the tarn, Emerahl gathered her wits. She drew magic, then hesitated. Best make it look like a physical blow. She sent it in a ball of force at his face.

His head jerked backward and he grunted with surprise. Blood began to pour from his nose. He growled in anger and heaved himself into the tarn.

Tough bastard, she thought. And stupid, too. Drawing more power, she directed it at his chest. The blow threw him backward out of the tarn. As he fell, his head struck a tree trunk with an audible crack.

Emerahl crept toward the doorway. She jumped as another figure stepped into view, then relaxed as she recognized the face of one of the brothel guards. He bent and she heard a chopping sound.

“He won’t be bothering you again, lady,” the guard called cheerily.

“Thanks,” she replied dryly.

“Now keep out of sight. Kiro and Stillo need a bit of help.”

The whores’ screaming had changed to a panicked shrieking. As the guard moved away, Emerahl ignored his order and peered out the door.

Three of the deserters were backed up against one of the tarns. They were fighting two guards—now three as her rescuer joined them. The girls inside the vehicle sounded hysterical. As she watched, the skinny, wasted-looking attacker lashed out—faster than he looked capable of moving—and the guard that had been fighting him sagged to the ground.

The skinny man paused to regard his remaining two comrades. Instead of joining them, he stepped behind them, swung around and hacked at the tarn cover. The frame broke and the cover collapsed inward. The girls started screaming again.

At the same time, one of the two fighting deserters fell. The skinny man reached inside the tarn. Emerahl held her breath, then her heart sank as the man pulled out a slender arm. He yanked at it and Star toppled out of the tarn and onto the ground at his feet.

He put his sword-point against her belly.

“Stand back or she dies!”

The fighters paused, then backed away from each other. The remaining deserter was bleeding heavily from a leg wound.

“That’s right. Now, bring us your money.”

The two guards exchanged glances.

“Bring us your money!”

Emerahl shook her head sadly. There’s only one way this will end. If the guards ignore Skinny’s demands he’ll kill Star. If the guards give in, Skinny will take her away as insurance against the guards following him and retrieving the brothel’s money. He’ll most likely kill her as soon as he feels he has escaped them.

Unless I intervene. But I can’t. Not without revealing I’m powerfully Gifted.

Or would she? Rozea already knew her favorite had a few Gifts. If Emerahl kept her use of magic basic—just a weak blast to knock the sword from the man’s hand, for instance—nobody would be more than a little surprised. She would have to wait for the right moment, when Skinny was distracted. The slightest hint of a magical attack and he’d push that sword into Star’s belly.

Emerahl drew magic and held it ready.

“You’re not getting a coin from us, you cowardly lump of arem dung.” Rozea stepped into view from between two tarns.

The wounded deserter chose that moment to collapse. Skinny didn’t glance at his fallen companion. He only pressed his sword harder into Star’s belly. The girl cried out. “Make one move and I’ll kill her.”

“Go on then, deserter,” Rozea challenged. “I’ve got plenty more like her.” She nodded to the guards. “Kill him.”

The guards’ expressions hardened. As they raised their swords, Emerahl sent a bolt of magic forth, but even as it left her she saw Skinny’s blade stab downward.

Star screamed in pain. Emerahl’s magic knocked the sword aside at the same moment a guard’s sword sliced through Skinny’s neck. Star screamed again and clutched at her side. Emerahl realized with dismay that her blast had ripped the sword out of the girl and caused even more damage. Blood gushed from the wound.

Emerahl cursed and leapt out of the tarn. The guards stared at her as she passed them and crouched at Star’s side. She heard Rozea say her name sharply, but ignored it.

Kneeling down beside the injured girl, Emerahl pressed a hand firmly over the wound. Star cried out.

“It hurts, I know,” Emerahl said quietly. “We have to prevent your blood escaping.” Pressure alone wasn’t going to stop the flow, however. She drew magic and formed it into a barrier beneath her hands.

She looked up at the guards. “Find something to put under her so we can carry her to my tarn.”

“But she’s—”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

They hurried away. Emerahl looked around. Rozea was still standing several strides away.

“Do you have a kit of cures and herbs?” Emerahl asked.

The madam shrugged. “Yes, but no point in wasting them. She’s not going to survive that.”

Cold-hearted bitch. Emerahl bit her tongue. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve seen worse fixed by Dreamweavers.”

“Have you now?” Rozea’s eyebrows rose. “You become more interesting every day, Jade. When did a poor runaway like you get the chance to observe Dreamweavers at work? What makes you think you can do what takes them years of training to learn?”

Emerahl looked up and met Rozea’s eyes. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you—if you get me the kit and some water. And some bandages. Lots of bandages.”

Rozea called to the servants. The door flap of the last tarn opened and fearful faces appeared, then one servant emerged and hurried to Rozea. The guards appeared with a narrow plank of wood. Emerahl rolled Star on her side. The girl made no sound. She had fallen unconscious. The guards slid the plank underneath her. Emerahl kept her hands pressed against the wound as she rolled Star back onto the plank. The guards took the ends of the makeshift stretcher and carried the girl toward Rozea’s tarn.

Rozea followed. “You’re not putting her in there. You can treat her just as well outside.”

The sooner I get away from this woman the better, Emerahl thought. “She shouldn’t be moved once I’ve sewn her up, so we have to get her somewhere warm and comfortable first.” She looked at the guards. “Put her in.”

They obeyed her. As they climbed out again, Rozea stepped into the doorway. Emerahl grabbed her arm.

“No,” Emerahl said. “I work alone.”

“I’m not letting you—”

“Yes, you are,” Emerahl growled. “The last person she will want to see when she wakes up is you.”

Rozea winced. “She would have died either way.”

“I know, but she needs time to accept that. For now you’ll only agitate her, and I need her calm.”

Rozea frowned, then stepped aside. Emerahl climbed inside and crouched next to Star. A moment later servants deposited a large bowl of water, scraps of material and a pathetically small leather bag on the floor near the entrance.

Emerahl didn’t touch them. She placed her hands on the wound again.

“Nobody is to disturb me,” she called out. “Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Rozea replied.

Emerahl closed her eyes. Forcing her breathing to slow, she turned her attention inward.

She reached the right state of mind quickly. This healing technique was similar to her own method of changing her physical appearance but not as demanding of time or magic. Her mind must alter its way of thinking in order to grasp the world of flesh and bone. In this state of consciousness everything—flesh, stone, air—was like a vast puzzle made up of a multitude of pieces. Those pieces formed patterns. They liked to form patterns. When healing, she need only to realign pieces roughly in their proper pattern and old links would re-form.

That was how she liked to work, anyway. Mirar had tried to encourage her to hone her skills beyond what was necessary. He had made an art of this healing method and would always continue refining his work until the patient was back to his or her original state—or better—with no scarring and no need for rest in order to recover strength. Emerahl hadn’t seen the point of spending so much time and effort on healing just for the sake of aesthetics. Besides, if Star didn’t end up with a scar, the others might realize Emerahl had done something exceptional. Tales of her work would certainly draw the attention of priests.

Slowly, the broken inner edges of the wound realigned. Fluid no longer spilled out, but flowed along appropriate channels. When nothing remained but a shallow wound, Emerahl opened her eyes.

Reaching for the water and bandages, Emerahl heated the former and used the latter to clean the wound. She reached for the kit and took out a needle and thread. Using a little magic, she heated the needle as Mirar had taught her, to help prevent infection. The thread smelled of a herb oil known to fight festering of wounds. The kit might be small, but its contents were good.

When she turned back she found Star staring at her.

“You’re not what you seem to be, are you, Jade?” the girl said softly.

Emerahl regarded her warily. “Why do you say that?”

“You just healed me with magic. I could feel it.”

“That’s just the cure I gave you making you feel strange.”

Star shook her head. “I was watching you. You didn’t do anything but sit there with your eyes closed, while I could feel things moving inside me. The pain is less, when it should be worse.”

Emerahl considered Star carefully. She doubted the girl would believe a denial.

“Yes. I did use a little magic trick I learned from a Dreamweaver to ease the pain. Don’t think you’re all properly healed. You could come apart again if you’re not careful. I have to sew you up now, to help stop that happening. Do you want medicine to make you unconscious?”

Star looked at the needle and went pale.

“I… I think you’d better give me some.”

Emerahl put the needle down and looked through the kit. She found a vial of liquid labelled “to force sleep—three drops,” which smelled of formtane and a few other sedatives.

“This will do.” Emerahl looked at Star and sighed. “Will you promise me something?”

Star paused, then nodded. “You don’t want anyone to know you used magic.”

“Rozea already knows I have a few Gifts. I don’t want her to know how Gifted I am or she’ll have me doing things with customers I don’t want to do. So let’s pretend that you weren’t as hurt as you appeared to be and that I only used magic to stop the blood flowing and to hold things together while I sewed you up.”

Star nodded. “I’ll tell them that.”

“You promise you’ll tell them no more?”

“I promise.”

Emerahl smiled. “Thank you. I miss you all, you know. Sitting up here with Rozea is so boring. She won’t even let Brand come and talk to me.”

“Now you’ll have me to talk to,” Star pointed out, smiling.

Not if I leave tonight, Emerahl thought.

She put a hand behind Star’s head and lifted it so she could tip a few drops of the cure into the girl’s mouth. Star swallowed, grimaced, then continued talking.

“You were right, about this trip being dangerous. We are so far behind the army now. How many of the guards are dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Some are. I know that. What if this happens again?” Star looked at Emerahl, her eyes becoming glazed. “I’m so glad yr with ‘s. If yr powrs’r strong, y en help pr’tect ’s. We need y.‘ ”

Emerahl looked away, turning her attention to threading the needle. Of the guards she had seen fighting only two had been alive at the end. Others might have been keeping watch for further attack, out of her sight, but if not then the caravan was now badly under-protected.

And two guards can’t watch me effectively.

She began sewing the edges of the wound together. Star made a small whimpering sound at first, then her breathing slowed and deepened.

Star’s right. The whores need protection, Emerahl thought. Especially if the caravan doesn’t meet the army again for days.

Days in which she was in no danger of being discovered by the priests.

She muttered a curse. Finishing the stitching, she put the needle and spool of thread back in the kit. Then she called Rozea’s name.

The madam peered into the tarn. She looked at Star and her eyebrows rose.

“She lives?”

“For now.”

“Well done.” Rozea climbed inside and sat opposite the sleeping girl. “Nice stitching. You’re full of surprises, Jade.”

“Yes,” Emerahl replied. “Including this one. I’m leaving. I want the money you owe me.”

Rozea paused. Emerahl could sense the woman’s indignation turn slowly to annoyance as she realized she could not keep her pet whore from escaping. “If you leave now, you go without a coin.”

Emerahl shrugged. “Very well. But don’t expect to see me again. Ever.”

The madam hesitated. “I suppose I can give you some food and a few coins. Enough to get you back to Porin. When I return we’ll talk about the rest. How does that sound?”

“Reasonable,” Emerahl lied.

“Good—but before you do, tell me why you feel you must abandon us. Was it today’s unpleasantness? It was a bit of bad luck, but surely travelling with us is safer than travelling by yourself. You’ve seen the lone workers, how ill and beaten they look.”

“I don’t intend to sell my body. I can get work as a healer.”

“You? Why would people pay you when they could get the services of a priest or Dreamweaver for free?”

“When people don’t have a choice they’ll take any help they can. There can’t be many priests or Dreamweavers left in the villages between here and Porin. They’ve all joined the army.”

“Of course there are. There are plenty of healers too old to travel who stayed behind.” The woman’s voice softened. “Are you sure about this, Jade? I would hate for anything bad to happen to you. You think a few Gifts make you safe, but there are men out there with cruel minds and stronger powers.”

Emerahl lowered her eyes.

“What are your chances of attracting unwanted attention alone, a girl of your looks? Here, with us, you are safer. As soon as we catch up with the army I will hire new guards. How does that sound?”

“Perhaps if…” Looking away, Emerahl chewed her lip.

Rozea leaned forward. “Yes? Tell me.”

“I want to be able to refuse a customer I don’t like the look of,” Emerahl said, raising her eyes to meet Rozea’s. “I want every third night off.”

“So long as you don’t refuse them all the time, I suppose that is reasonable for a favorite, but resting every third night is unreasonable. What about every sixth night?”

“Fourth.”

“Fifth, and I’ll raise your fee.”

“What point is there in that? You won’t pay me.”

“I will, when you need it—and I have enough to pay new guards.” The woman paused. “Very well,” she said slowly. “I will accept your limitations.” She leaned back in her seat and smiled. “So long as you give me your word you will stay with me for the next year.”

Emerahl opened her mouth to give her acceptance, then paused. She should not give in too easily.

“Six months.”

“Eight?”

Emerahl sighed and nodded. Leaning forward, Rozea patted her on the knee. “Wonderful. Now stay here while I see if the boys have managed to move that tree yet.”

As Rozea climbed out of the vehicle, Emerahl looked at Star and smiled grimly. She had no intention of keeping her word. As soon as the caravan neared the army and the girls were safe, she would leave. The conditions she had set would only help to ensure her safety until then.

And perhaps I can arrange for us to fall too far behind the army for nobles and priests to ride back to visit us, she thought.

 

As soon as Auraya’s feet touched the ground, Mischief leapt off her shoulder and ran into her tent. Auraya approached slowly. She had seen the light within as she’d flown closer to the camp, and the lack of any sense of a mind there had told her that one of the White was waiting for her.

“Mrae! Mrae!”

“Hello, Mischief.”

Auraya relaxed a little, though she wasn’t sure why finding Mairae waiting for her was different to finding any other White. It was probably because Mairae had admitted to enjoying many lovers. She, of all the White, would be the least bothered by Auraya having one, too.

The tent flap was open. Auraya peered inside to find Mairae sitting on one of the chairs. In the lamplight she appeared even younger and more beautiful. She looked up at Auraya and smiled.

“Hello, Auraya.”

Auraya entered the tent. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing new.” Mairae shrugged. Her smile became more forced. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to visit you. Seems like I never get a chance to talk to anyone. It’s always war and politics. Never just talk, between two people.”

It was more than that, Auraya guessed. Something was bothering Mairae. Auraya didn’t need to read the woman’s mind to know it. She moved to the chest that Danjin had packed for her. Opening it, she lifted out two goblets and a bottle of tintra.

“Drink?”

Mairae grinned. “Thank you.”

Auraya filled the goblets. Mairae took one and drank deeply.

“So where did you go tonight? Just flying about?”

Auraya shrugged. “Yes.”

“Juran seems eager to face the Pentadrians. Have you noticed?”

“I wouldn’t have said he was ‘eager.’ More like… if he has to do it, he’ll do it well. How do you feel?”

“I… I’m dreading it,” Mairae admitted with a grimace. “You?”

“Definitely not looking forward to it,” Auraya smiled wryly. “I have no doubts, though. We’ll win. The gods will make sure of it.”

Mairae sighed and took another gulp of tintra. “It’s not defeat that I’m worried about. I dread the killing… the bloodshed.”

Auraya nodded.

“You don’t seem worried, though,” Mairae commented.

“Oh, I am. When I find myself thinking about it, I think of something else. It’s going to be horrible. Of that we can be sure. There’s no point tormenting myself now by imagining how horrible. It’ll be bad enough when it happens.”

Mairae considered Auraya thoughtfully. “Is that why you spent the last few nights flying around? Are you distracting yourself?”

“I suppose I must be.”

One of Mairae’s eyebrows lifted suggestively. “Is this distraction a ‘he’?”

Auraya blinked in surprise, then laughed. “If only!” She topped up Mairae’s goblet, then leaned forward. “Do you think I could persuade Juran to revoke the law against using a Dreamweaver’s services?”

Mairae’s eyebrows rose. “I’m surprised you haven’t attempted it already.”

“If I hadn’t been in Si I would have.” Auraya met and held Mairae’s eyes. “Do you think he would revoke it?”

“Perhaps.” Mairae frowned as she considered. “If he’s reluctant to, suggest lifting the ban for a set time after the battle.”

“I will. I would rest a little easier if I knew those that survive the battle might survive their injuries.”

“I don’t think it would make me rest any easier,” Mairae said glumly.

Auraya smiled. “Sounds like you need to find yourself a distraction, Mairae. Surely, in the greatest army Northern Ithania has ever seen, there’s a man or two who has caught your eye.”

Mairae’s eyes brightened. “Yes, quite a few actually, but with so many of my former lovers here as well I have to be on my best behavior. It wouldn’t do if I was seen to favor one ally over another.” She paused, and a thoughtful look came over her face. “Though there is one race I haven’t tried…”

Auraya felt a stab of horror as she realized what Mairae was considering.

“No!”

Mairae grinned. “Why not? They might be small, but—”

“It’s forbidden,” Auraya told her firmly. “By Huan. Matings with landwalkers produce deformed children.”

“But I won’t conceive.”

“No, but if you seduce any of them into breaking one of their most serious laws, you’ll mar or even destroy this new friendship between Siyee and landwalker.”

Mairae sighed. “I wasn’t all that enchanted by the idea, anyway.” She lifted her goblet to her lips, then hesitated. “Do you think anyone will mind if I don’t choose from the nobility? There’s a good-looking war-platten driver in the Genrian army. A real champion, that one.”

Auraya smothered a sigh. The rest of the night was not going to pass quickly.