chapter TWENTY-FOUR
VALARA’S SPIRIT REJOINED her body with a shock that doubled her over. She gasped, choked out the words to summon the current. Too quickly, the magic overwhelmed her. She lay back, eyes closed, and breathed slowly through her nose until the nausea faded. It was the presence of the Mantharah. Its magic was too strong. It was like walking along Enzeloc’s cliffs in a hurricane. She could not judge her balance.
Every bit of her from scalp to toe ached. Her hands felt as though her muscles had locked into fists a hundred years ago. She released a shaky laugh. Maybe they did.
She rolled onto her side. Her hand unfolded to reveal the sapphire. Asha. Her breath caught in renewed wonder. So I have not lost you yet. Not again.
Still cupping the sapphire in one hand, she levered herself to sitting. Overhead, the mid-morning sun shone down upon them.
My brother is dead, came her next thought.
It didn’t matter that her body had died a dozen times or more since their plot to steal the jewels and divide an empire. They were brothers in the soul. Now he was dead, he who had defied the void between lives, who had survived four centuries, while an empire had broken into kingdoms, and the wheel had turned for new lives, new souls.
A strange sensation assailed her—one she could not properly identify. It was not precisely grief. Regret?
She glanced toward her companion. Ilse lay motionless on the ground, eyes blank and staring upward. One arm was flung outward toward the Agnau, the other lay over her breasts. She still wore Daya the ring on her finger, just as she had in spirit form. Valara set the sapphire to one side and crawled over to Ilse. Her skin was warm. A strong erratic pulse beat at her throat.
She lives.
Valara had not been certain. Those last few moments in Dzavek’s chambers were a blur in her memory. She had tried to kill Dzavek. He had stopped her—easily. His reply was an explosion of magic that ripped through her spirit. She remembered then, the jewels, singing in great booming voices, like waves thundering against a cliff, like the bells of Morennioù castle. For a while after, she was too deaf and numb to understand much. Only when the guards appeared had she roused herself enough to escape with Ilse.
More tentatively, she touched the wooden ring. Its surface was warm and silken, with a strong current of magic rippling under her touch. Much fainter came the whispering of voices.
… awake, awake to the flesh, awake to life …
Ilse gasped and pitched upright. Valara caught her before she fell against the stone cliff. Ilse fought her blindly. Her skin burned fever-hot. She was choking, a terrible strangled noise deep in her throat. Quickly, Valara summoned the magic current. Again, it was too much. The current rushed in like a flood tide, but then she found the balance. Soft, soft, softly, she thought, and the magic obeyed.
Ilse drew a wheezing breath, coughed, and breathed again. Valara continued to murmur in Erythandran until the fever faded and Ilse breathed more easily. Then she lowered Ilse to the ground and searched around for water. She found the shallow cook stone. It was dry, but a handful of snow lay next to it. Valara scooped that up and, holding up Ilse’s head, let the melt-water trickle into the woman’s mouth.
Ilse coughed up the first mouthful, but swallowed the next. “Leos,” she whispered. “Leos, I’m sorry. It wasn’t—”
“Hush,” Valara said. “You did well.”
“I betrayed him,” Ilse whispered. “He thought I did. But it wasn’t true. I wanted … peace. No more war. He didn’t understand.”
Valara hushed her, ran her hands over the other woman’s face with as much gentleness as she could. It wasn’t something she had learned from mother or sister. Not in Morennioù. Ilse murmured something incomprehensible. As Valara bent closer, she caught a glimpse of strong memories running like a flood tide through the other woman’s thoughts.
… she saw a young woman running through the snow-dusted forests. She wore the rich clothing of a noble, a jewel in her cheek. An equally young man waited in a clearing. He was handsome, his face the pale brown of the empire’s southwest provinces. They spoke in Károvín. He was an emissary from the emperor. There was a chance for peace, he said. If she would but promise to persuade the new king to treat with them …
I will, the young woman said.
Before she finished speaking, a shout echoed through the forests, and an army appeared …
“He died.”
“Yes. It was time.”
“I never loved him. We were betrothed by our parents.”
Ilse lay quietly, her gaze upward toward the sky, away from Valara. Her eyes were like dark bruises, her face gray with exhaustion. “So. What comes next?”
So many questions hidden inside that one.
“Our plans depend on the jewels,” she said slowly. “We must withdraw, certainly. The king is dead, but the king certainly has advisers, councillors, other mages. We cannot remain here in case they track us. But where depends on Daya and Asha.”
“We won’t have long,” Ilse murmured. “Nor will they.”
Her gaze crossed Valara’s. They both smiled faintly.
She was no bad ally, Valara thought. Clever. Stubborn. Subtle. She would do well in Morennioù’s Court. Already her thoughts were running back to her kingdom, and how she would present this woman to her councillors.
They helped each other to stand. Valara retrieved the sapphire. It burned like a tiny blue flame in her hands, and its song rose up clear and bright and joyous, each word as distinct as a bell tone. Rana, my brother. Rana, my sister, my cousin, my love, myself.
There it was again, a sense of regret. Of things left undone. Awkwardly, Valara ran her fingers over the sapphire, sensed the threads of magic and song, like a fabric woven in several dimensions. Asha, I’m sorry. We … We lost Rana. We had to leave too soon. Before the king’s mages discovered us. But we will go back for her. I promise.
No and no. Turn. Open your eyes and you will see her.
Asha spoke so emphatically that Valara glanced over to Ilse before she realized she had done so. The other woman stood still. Her eyes were wide, her expression astonished. She was staring at Daya.
“Did you hear?” Valara asked.
“I did. And … I think I know what Asha means.”
Without waiting for Valara to reply, Ilse made for the gap between the cliffs and the ridge overlooking the plains. Valara hurried after her, the sapphire held tightly in one hand. Its song had fallen silent, but the magic remained, its current pulsing in time with her own heartbeat.
“Ah.” Ilse exhaled. “I should not be surprised.”
Valara shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare. She could just make out a dark speck moving against the shimmering expanse of plains. A rider, galloping directly toward them. “It’s Duke Karasek,” she said. “The man who attacked us. I know his signature.”
They could not run. Karasek with his horse could overtake either one of them easily.
“We must go at once to Autrevelye—”
“No.” Ilse pulled Daya from her finger and handed her to Valara. “Take Asha and Daya. Give me enough time to distract this Duke Karasek, then attack with all your magic, and all the magic of the jewels. If he does have Rana, you will need their help.”
She drew her sword and strode down the ash-strewn mountainside to the plains. Even before she reached the lower slopes, the horse slowed to a canter and then came to a halt. Karasek dismounted and waited patiently. It was that patience that unnerved Valara. Since their first meeting, he had countered every action she took and guessed her every change in plans. That he appeared so soon after Dzavek’s death said he had guessed again, and arrowed directly from the Jelyndak Islands, to Rastov, to here.
Ilse paused a few steps away from Karasek. Valara murmured an invocation to the magic current. But far quicker than she anticipated, Karasek drew his own sword. Metal flashed against the dull sky.
“No!” Valara shouted.
Winds shrieked across the edge of the cliffs. The Agnau had turned pale, and its molten surface heaved as colossal waves rolled across its breadth. Daya cried out in shrill tones, Asha’s voice rose higher, blending with the winds. Sint unde waerest unde werden unde—
Valara shut out their voices. She raised her fist with Daya and Asha. “Ei rûf ane gôtter,” she cried out. “Ei rûf ane—”
A force—like a concentrated wind—swallowed her words. A dazzling light struck her face.
“Wir komen de gôtter.”
Valara blinked. An incandescent light illuminated the Mantharah and its heights. From its midst, two vast figures approached, their faces like suns, one with eyes like the stars, the other with great dark voids where eyes should be. First came Lir with Toc behind. The next moment their places changed. First and last, as the legends said. Together and separate—the paradox of magic.
Lir folded her hands around Valara’s numb ones. Toc clasped both of theirs within his. Together, sister and brother spoke in a language unlike any Valara knew. Their lips did not move, but their voices filled the air with rippling tones, like raindrops on a canopy of summer green leaves.
Asha thrummed. Daya grew heavy, an impossible weight.
Lir spoke a word. A light blazed. A shrill cry echoed from the Mantharah’s cliffs. Asha sang, and Daya’s darker voice rose into a glorious chorus of bright notes that tumbled and rolled together, pleading and crying and laughing.
Look, look, look, cried the jewels.
Look, Lir commanded, as she and her brother released Valara’s hands.
Valara drew a sharp breath of surprise. The plain wooden ring she had worn for so many weeks had vanished. In its place was an emerald. Lir’s emerald. But not as she remembered it. No longer plain or dark, it gleamed like burnished magic.
Lir brushed fingertips against Valara’s cheek, her caress like the touch of memory. Toc’s blank gaze turned toward her, his gaze as penetrating as if he still possessed eyes.
Lir who quarreled with Toc and then forgave him. Toc who carved the world’s foundations with his sword, purely because he could. For all his strength, Toc had died. For all her wisdom, Lir had wept in the darkness, uncomprehending. Each night, she set her glittering tears in the sky, in remembrance of her lover and her brother, until he returned.
A warm breath tickled Valara’s face. A sharp green scent, like that of wildflowers and new grass, filled the air. Lir was speaking, but her voice was too much like the wind and thunder, and Valara could not understand what she said. Her vision blurred; the unnatural light dimmed. She blinked again, wiping away the unexpected tears from her eyes.
Lir and Toc had gone.
She knelt beside the Agnau, her hands clenched so tight, they ached. Dazed, she unfolded them. Two jewels lay there, emerald and sapphire, gleaming softly against her hands.
I wasn’t dreaming. The gods came.
“Your majesty.”
Valara stumbled to her feet. Karasek stood a short distance away. A few steps behind him came Ilse, whole and unharmed. Ilse gave Valara a brief smile. No humor, but an assurance. Of what? Her attention veered back to Karasek. Dust and sweat streaked his face, and dark bruises circled his eyes. He met her gaze steadily. “I’ve come to negotiate.”
He took a cloth bundle from inside his shirt and unwrapped its folds. When she saw what lay inside, Valara sucked in her breath. Rana. He brought me Rana.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“Peace. Honor, for us both.”
The same demand that Raul Kosenmark had made. Again, she had the sense of history pressing in toward her.
“I am not yet the queen,” she began.
“And I am no king,” Karasek said. “But I think we both have some say in our governments. If we do not speak first, who will?”
He pressed Rana into her palm—a brief contact, no more—then stepped back. Valara closed her fingers around the jewels. She and Karasek looked at each other. “How did you find me so easily?”
“You and your companion left a trail. I’ve erased it.”
So much revealed behind that simple statement. A part of her listed that as an item to remember when they negotiated in truth, with her installed as queen, and him an emissary from abroad. That would not be honorable, said a voice she remembered from lives long ago.
Honor. She had once held that above all, but then she had lost her way between lives. She remembered once, centuries ago, a chance with the same soul as this man Karasek. She could not recall exactly what passed between them. Not dishonor, but a misunderstanding.
There were no simple patterns. No single thread that one might pluck away, and thus undo centuries of mistakes.
Dimly, she heard Ilse speaking. “Remember what you promised. The jewels are not mere things. They are thinking creatures like us. We cannot treat them as objects to bargain with.”
Honor. A promise kept. Her brother’s voice saying, Yes, it is time to die.
“Yes,” she murmured, half to herself. “And I think I know the way.”
Without giving herself time to consider, Valara spun around and rushed to the Agnau’s edge. She plunged her hands into the lava. Fire burst into life—magic fire that coursed through her body, stronger than any she’d ever experienced. Her head jerked back and her throat opened in a scream.
From far away, she heard Ilse’s voice, calling to her. Then Miro Karasek’s. Thereafter, she heard nothing but the jewels. Their voices rose into a single note, so pure that her bones ached and her blood sang. Each gem burned a pinpoint in her palm, searing her flesh. Two pinpoints, then three, then two again, marked her palm, the count wavering with her concentration. She lost track of how many she held. Now they filled her hands, swelling to gigantic size. It was the ending. She had died and her soul taken flight into the void. One moment between, one moment of stillness and expectation, before death lifted her into forgetfulness …
The moment ended. A voice rang out. Like the rushing tide, the magical current surged forward, and a brilliant light exploded in her mind.
Three. Became two. Then one.
For a long moment, Valara could not breathe. The magic had released her, but she could not bring herself to open her eyes, to see what the jewels had become.
“Valara?”
Ilse’s voice, hardly more than a whisper. Gradually, Valara became aware of two arms holding her upright. She was kneeling, her hands still submerged in Agnau’s lake. Ilse crouched next to her. Karasek knelt on her other side, holding her by the shoulders. The Agnau had smoothed to a glassy calm. Shaking, she withdrew her hands from the silvery lava, and gave a cry of shock. In spite of the agony she had suffered, her hands were unscathed, her skin seemingly untouched by the lava. Still uncertain what had happened, she unfolded her hands.
A single jewel lay in her palm. Glistening droplets of creation beaded on its polished surface; hints of ruby, sapphire, and emerald flickered in turn, only to disappear into flashes of opalescent white.
Ishya, said the jewel. Daya unde Asha unde Rana. Waere unde werden.
A dazzling light, like a miniature sun, filled Valara’s hands. The jewel swelled, its shape lengthening into the figure of a man, a woman, an alien creature such as Daya had appeared in the void between worlds.
Ishya stepped onto the Agnau’s smooth surface. It spoke, incomprehensible words like the silvery notes of a flute. Then it walked toward the center of the lake. With every step it grew in size and transparency, until at last it blended with the rising steam.
Valara massaged her palm, which felt warmer than the rest of her. “And so they are free,” she murmured.
She tried to stand, but her legs buckled. Karasek caught her and lifted her into his arms. He was speaking to Ilse, something about his packs, but Valara was too exhausted to make sense of what he said. Words like rain and thunder and wind, she thought, recalling Lir’s speech, though she knew Karasek was just a human male.
She tried to tell him so, but her tongue got tangled. Karasek carried her away from the Agnau to a shaded nook beneath the cliffs. Ilse tucked blankets around her. One of them brushed a hand over her forehead. They murmured the invocation to magic, and she dropped into sleep.
* * *
ILSE WITHDREW HER hand from Valara’s forehead. The woman slept—she could read that swift descent into slumber, the sudden stillness, which reminded her of the moment when a soul left the body for Anderswar. Not death, but something like it. She wondered if sleep were a reminder, sent by the gods, of that void between lives.
“And what next?” she murmured. “What next, indeed?”
“Water,” Karasek said. “Firewood. A hot meal.”
At her startled look, he smiled. “It’s an old campaign strategy. Solve the practical matters first, and the hard decisions become … not easy, but easier to address.”
He spoke for himself, too, she realized. Dark bruises under his eyes, the creases etched around his mouth and eyes, deeper ones between his brows—all those spoke of grief and weariness. And underneath it all a palpable air of tension.
I have seen that look before. I have seen you before, in lives past.
Karasek held out a hand, to help her stand. She regarded the hand first—he had removed his gloves to handle the jewel, she noticed—then lifted her gaze back to his face. “How many did you kill?” she asked. “Back there, on Hallau Island?”
He flinched. “I … do not know.”
So. No assurance that Raul lived. Others had died, however. She had a vivid recollection of Katje, run through with a sword and falling limp to the ground, the strings of life suddenly cut. Another image followed, of Raul stabbing a Károvín soldier. Her own hands felt sticky with blood, though she had cleaned them long ago. She rubbed them absentmindedly.
Karasek was observing her closely. “You are—you were Milada.”
Again he had surprised her. “I was,” she said with some difficulty. “And you?”
He made a quick gesture of denial. “Nobody. No, that is a lie. I was a captain in the army. Leos Dzavek sent me to arrest you that night, when you met with the emissary from Veraene.”
Something in his voice, the way his hand swept up and outward, recalled another moment in a different life. A laughing voice, an exaggerated politesse. It was a memory far removed from this moment and this life, but now Ilse knew when she and the jewels had met this man for the first time. “You were a commander for the emperor before. You sailed—”
To Morennioù. Five hundred years ago. I was there, as was Raul Kosenmark.
Raul. Her last glimpse of him had been a blur of shadow, the golden gleam of his eyes in fire and moonlight as he fought against the Károvín.
All the tears she had refused these past weeks broke through. She wept, a silent flood of grief that she could not restrain. For Raul. For Galena, lost to her family. For Katje and the others who died on Hallau. For herself, bound to an exile that no longer served any purpose.
I want him. I want Raul. Not Lord Kosenmark and heir to Valentain. I want the man I came to love. I want … to be Anike, and he Stefan, so we might live our lives in quiet, far away from the affairs of kings.
But however passionately she wished it, her dreams could never come true in this life. Raul had died on that miserable island. She almost wished that Károví’s soldiers might overtake her, so that she would not have to struggle on alone.
Later I will think what I must do. Not yet. Not yet.
Karasek made no move to comfort her. He stood in silence, as if he understood she could not bear the least touch of sympathy. His patience was like the jewels’, waiting for deliverance in Anderswar. It was the best gift he could bestow her.
At last her grief emptied out. Ilse released a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You are right,” she said. “I do need sleep. You, as well.”
Her voice sounded harsh to her own ear. She could not begin to guess what Karasek made of her. They had been enemies once, in lives past. Of that she was certain. They had also been friends, but lives and centuries could change anyone. She had just witnessed that fact made flesh and act.
If he shows any pity, I shall stab him.
To her relief, he had the grace and intelligence to guess her needs. In a quite ordinary tone, he said, “I’ll take first watch and start a meal cooking.” He hesitated, then added, “And afterward, we will talk. All three of us.”
* * *
WHEN VALARA WOKE, the sun was directly overhead, a white disk against the hard gray sky. Someone—Karasek, no doubt—had erected a length of canvas to make a screen for her. Above the constant scent of magic, she smelled rain and lightning. She stretched underneath her blankets, as memory slowly collected. The Agnau. Karasek. The three jewels.
A strange, strong emotion flooded her, a sensation akin to that of magic flooding her body.
I have done what the jewels and the gods required. What my soul wished these past four hundred years.
Her palm ached with the memory. She rubbed it with her thumb. The flesh felt thick and ridged where she’d gripped the jewels, and when she stretched her hand, the skin pulled tight. A scar of magic, she thought, as she examined it. In the center, a knot the color of new milk, bluish-white against her golden skin. Dark pink threads spiraled out between her fingers and around to the back of her hand. On impulse, she summoned the current to change the scars to ordinary flesh.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm …
Nothing. She felt nothing, not even the least wisp of current. Frightened, she repeated the invocation, but the words stopped in her throat and even her thoughts stuttered and died away. Nothing. Worse than nothing. She saw magic’s current, felt its presence pulsing around her, a vast ocean spilling over from Mantharah, from the imperfect divide between spirit and flesh. But when she reached out to touch it, it receded.
What has happened? Why can’t I work magic?
She pressed her hands against her eyes. One felt warm and soft. One burned with an unnatural fever. A mark of magic and the gods, she thought, laughing silently. It was not as she had expected. The laugh caught on a sob. She bit down hard on her tongue. No tears, no. It was not as she had expected, but she should have known better.
It took her several long moments before she could breathe steadily, before her heartbeat slowed from its first panicked rush. Later, she would examine the situation. She would be calm and dispassionate. It was not the end after all. She was still queen of Morennioù, or she would be, once she took the throne. Even if she no longer had magic, she still had her duty. It would have to serve. So she told herself.
Later, I will tell myself all this a second time, a third. Until I can believe it.
She rubbed away the tears. Drew in a long breath. Ran a hand though her knotted and tangled hair. Appearance did not matter, her father had once told her. Only courage did.
Time for courage, she told herself.
She crawled from the half-shelter to find Karasek and Ilse Zhalina speaking together by the edge of Mantharah’s lake. They had built a fire, and she could smell the rich scent of black tea brewing. Karasek’s horse was tethered nearby. Valara caught the words patrol, search, and perimeter. She listened closer and gathered that the general confusion at Zalinenka had worked in their favor, but soon that dearly bought time would run out.
I came for honor, he had said. An honor that ran deeper than his oath to Leos Dzavek. What else had he done in honor’s name? What had such a decision cost him?
She stood, catching their attention immediately. Karasek broke off his conversation. Sometime during her sleep, he had washed away the dust and sweat.
“We’ll eat, then break camp,” he said. “I’ve done what I could to delay pursuit, but unless I return within a few days, my fellow councillors will take additional measures. And I have several tasks I must accomplish before then.”
More hints. She ought to insist on precise information, but she was strangely afraid to at this moment. Perhaps later, in private, she could question him more thoroughly.
“What have you told them?” Ilse asked.
“That I was tracking Leos Dzavek’s murderer.”
“Ah.” Ilse glanced toward Valara. “So you were, in a way. What comes next?”
“For you, evasion,” he said. “For me, I must return as quickly as possible and report my findings to Duke Markov. I planned to tell him that we were mistaken, and that Morennioù’s queen had nothing to do with King Leos’s death. She most likely returned home at once, when she escaped my patrol.”
“Then who did kill the king?” Valara asked.
He shrugged. “Leos was not without enemies, but most of those belonged to minor factions within the court. Outside of Károví is another matter. Immatra in particular would like to expand its territory. If our kingdom fell into confusion, they would have an opportunity to claim and hold our northern coastline.”
It seemed too simple an explanation. Apparently Ilse thought the same because she said, “Would your councillors believe that? And what if they believed you too well? It does Károví no good to avoid war with Morennioù, only to provoke war with another kingdom.”
An excellent question, Valara thought, and one that clearly discomfited Miro Karasek, because he glanced away uneasily. “I think … we cannot avoid war. But to answer your question, the most I can do is distract them for a time. I erased your signatures before I followed you. And matters are rather confused in the palace.”
She took in the unspoken implications. He cannot deceive them forever. Which means they will someday discover his part.
Now it was her turn to be discomfited, but she refused to dwell on that. “What about us?” she said. “What do we do next?”
His mouth quirked into a humorless smile, as if he guessed her thoughts. “First we prepare the ground here, in case Markov sends his trackers north. I shall lay down signs for a second camp farther south, and trails leading east to the coast. You have the simplest task. You go home.”
She was vividly aware of two things in that moment—the sudden change in Ilse Zhalina’s expression and her own sense of balance utterly overturned. They were of the same root and branch, she thought, struggling to keep her face under control. We have both lost a great deal. She has lost her Lord Kosenmark. I have lost my magic. Is that too great a sacrifice? The gods do not think so.
The idea of the gods caring struck her as absurd. She smothered a laugh, caught the startled look from both her companions, and shook her head. “I am sorry. But I cannot trust the roads through Autrevelye. I must find another passage home.”
It was the most transparent lie she had ever offered to anyone. She held her breath, expecting Karasek to protest, Ilse to point her sword at Valara’s throat and demand the truth. But no. To her astonishment, both seemed to accept this outrageous explanation.
They would, neither of them, last a week in Morennioù’s court.
No, that was not fair. Ilse’s gaze had turned inward, as if other problems claimed her attention. And Karasek’s eyes narrowed in a different kind of calculation.
“I know what to do,” he said after a moment. “You will head west and south. Once I’ve reported back to my colleagues, I can rejoin you. I can—” He paused, and in a somewhat less natural voice said, “If you agree, I can escort you to Taboresk, where my holdings are. Then to a port city, where ships can be hired for longer voyages.”
Her heart beat faster. Home. He was offering her a passage home. Another inexplicable gift. “Are you making atonement?”
“As you did?” he asked.
A pointed observation. Yes, they had each done the other harm. He, by leading an invasion against her kingdom. She had betrayed her brother and her homeland—Karasek’s homeland—more than once throughout history. If she examined her life dreams honestly, she suspected she would find more instances of her perfidy.
“We are none of us perfect,” she murmured.
“Like children whose tongues stumble before they learn to speak,” Ilse said softly. “So we, the children of Lir and Toc, stumble and fall, from life to life, until our minds and hearts and souls learn to speak with wisdom.”
An old, old quote from a poetess long dead, one even Valara knew from her early days in the schoolroom. She has spent too many lives evading her true love. And now, for this life, it is too late.
Karasek could not know about Raul Kosenmark, but he seemed to have caught the essential meaning. “We were children once. We are no longer. Peace, then,” he said. “Between all our kingdoms.”
As if his words released them, they all stood and set to work. Karasek had brought ample supplies. He and Ilse had gathered more dried peat while Valara slept, and had cooked a meal of dried fish and oats—plain but hot and filling.
They ate with good speed, then worked together to divide Karasek’s gear into two heaps. Most went into a pack he designated for them; the rest went back into his remaining saddlebags. Under his direction, they buried their garbage and covered the campfire with loose dirt, stamped the dirt into smoothness, and scattered more dirt and gravel over that. Karasek paced around, inspecting the site. As he did so, he murmured the words in Erythandran to erase all traces of their presence from the past.
“Will that suffice?” Ilse said.
“If my other plans succeed, it won’t have to,” he answered. To her questioning look, he said, “I’ll fabricate a larger camp farther south, and lay down trails from there to the eastern coast to mislead any trackers, before I circle back to Rastov. You two should head southwest toward the mountains. Here is the route you must take.”
He outlined the landmarks they should watch for: the village called Kámenmost, with six houses and a sizable goat pen, where they should turn due south; the stream, almost a ditch, that they should follow; and the stone outcropping that marked the wooded ridge where they should make camp. He makes a good general, Valara thought, as she took in these precise and ordered details. Even of such a small army.
“The country’s wild,” he said. “You won’t meet up with any cities or towns, and very few farms, but I would caution you not to use any magic, and to keep a constant watch.”
I have no magic, Valara thought. Again pain lanced through her. It was as though the gods had scooped out her vital organs, leaving nothing but a void. She drew a long breath to calm her nerves. It was not a subject she wished to discuss with either Karasek or Ilse Zhalina. Not today.
She had no need to just yet, because Ilse had taken over the conversation. “When should we look for you?” she said.
Another interval where he calculated plans and counter plans. “Ten days,” he said at last. “Whoever arrives first waits for the other—but no longer than three days. Longer than that, and you must consider me lost.”
Lost. Almost the same words she had used to Ilse Zhalina the day before. Valara suppressed a shudder, not needing further explanation. They had left several other important subjects untouched. No questions about Markov’s spies, nor what Valara and Ilse might do if the other councillors doubted Karasek’s story.
“So we have another parting,” she said.
Karasek gave a brief smile. “We’ve had several.”
He mounted and offered Valara a salute. Valara returned the gesture. A soldier and a leader. What might have happened if he had come to Morennioù in peace?
With a pang, she dismissed that thought. She could not alter the past, only the future.
“Farewell,” she said.
“Until ten days,” Karasek replied, then wheeled his horse around and set off toward the coast. Ilse hoisted their pack over her shoulder, but Valara lingered, still watching Karasek.
“Will he make it?” Ilse asked.
“He will.”
She spoke more in hope than certainty.
Ilse offered no reply. She turned to go, but Valara continued to watch, one hand shading her eyes, as Karasek’s figure dwindled in size. He had not looked back since his departure, but in her mind’s eye, she saw him as he had appeared in Autrevelye, one hand raised in farewell.