“What bothers me is that it actually sounds like a good idea. I must be too tired. You rarely make so much sense.”
“I’ll try not to make it into a habit. Ride hard. Let’s see if this plan actually works.”
She gave him an approving nod and a smile that pleased him more than any compliment could have.
“It would amaze you how many maps occupy shelves in the Archives. For each kingdom, there are maps dating back centuries. I am always melancholy after reviewing them. When those ancient cartographers had put ink to the quill, you see, those cities and towns were alive and full of husbands and wives, sons and daughters, parents and families. One may as well scrape the ink off with a knife blade now. Entire cities have succumbed to the Plague. Small towns are lost forever, and only the Romani brave the ruins in search of ducats or other treasures. Each generation it seems to strike. In the end, I wonder if there will be but one map remaining. An island kingdom called Kenatos.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
It was a grace among the Vaettir to be able to control their breath. That grace made it particularly useful when crossing bodies of water, for rarely did a Vaettir sink unless he chose to. Paedrin’s ability could not extend to Hettie, but he carried her bow, quiver, and pack and transported them across the wide, sluggish river while she set out with strong strokes to reach the other side. The river felt wider than it looked, as is often the case, and he found her drifting downstream despite her stamina. He reached the other side first, which was only natural since he could walk across the lapping waters as if they were merely puddles, and after depositing her gear, he went back to help her, even though he knew she would refuse.
“It is not much farther,” he coaxed, watching her strength flagging as she swam. The bank was a bit farther off, but he stayed near her, in case she floundered. He could see the determination in her eyes, though, and knew she would never ask for help.
It was dark and cold by the time she reached the far bank, so exhausted she could not speak. Lying on the sandy bed, she gasped for breath and lay still. Her clothes were soaked through and her hair drenched.
“You smell better,” he offered with a smile. Her glare was vengeful.
He crouched near her, almost able to hear the pounding of her heart except for the ragged breathing. After several moments of rest, the smell struck him. Wood smoke, from a fire.
“Do you smell that?” he asked.
She lifted herself a little, rolling over a bit and resting on her arm. Then she nodded. “It is nearby.”
“Though we could use the warmth, we should probably go farther upstream. I’ll fetch your things.”
She agreed and stood, clutching herself and trembling with the chill of the water and the night air.
Paedrin went to the bushes where he had stashed her gear. It was no longer there. He stopped, confused, and the smoke shape coalesced near him, almost making him flinch.
“I put her things by the fire,” Kiranrao said. “It is in the woods a little ways, a cave of sorts to hide the light. Over in the trees that way.” He pointed with a gloved hand.
Paedrin did not like being surprised, but he kept control of his expression. “Thank you.”
“Gratitude? What a surprise. Let me see your hand. Is the goose grease still there?”
Paedrin had not given the ring much thought, and looked down at his hand. It felt only like cool steel. “It has not bothered me since we left the city.”
“With some spirit magic, there is no distance.” He removed a small tub from a pouch at his waist and opened it for Paedrin. “Another layer of grease will not hurt. You must keep it from touching your skin. Foolish of you to put it on, Bhikhu. May cost you your finger in the end.” The last was said with a smirk.
“I had hoped we lost you by now,” Paedrin remarked coldly as he applied more of the salve to his ring finger. “But we do not always get our wish. You followed us then?”
Kiranrao nodded and said nothing more. “I travel faster than you do. There is other business to attend to. Romani caravans to gain news from. The Arch-Rike hunts us still, but we are quickly passing beyond his reach. There is a comfortable caravan wagon not far from here where I will sleep tonight. Enjoy your cave, and I will see you in the morning. We enter Silvandom together. Brother.”
Paedrin nodded reluctantly and turned to find Hettie approaching. She was shivering uncontrollably.
Kiranrao gave Hettie a mock bow. “Even a tin knocker shines on a dirty door. At least you are clean now. Get her warm any way you choose. But remember that she belongs to me.”
Paedrin glowered and said nothing.
“Praise the ford when you have crossed it,” Hettie said through chattering teeth. “And I have…with no Vaettir trickery.”