“This is Vaelin Al Sorna,” Erlin told her. “A novice brother of the Sixth Order. We owe him our thanks.”
She hid it well but Vaelin saw her tense when Erlin mentioned the Order. She turned to Vaelin and moved her hands in a series of intricate, fluid movements, an empty smile fixed on her face. Mute, he realised.
“She said we are fortunate to find such a brave soul in the midst of the wilderness,” Erlin related.
In fact she had said: Tell him I said thank you and let’s go. Vaelin decided it would be better if he kept his knowledge of sign language to himself. “You’re welcome,” he said. She inclined her head and moved to the packs.
Vaelin began to eat, shovelling the food down with dirty fingers and not caring that Master Hutril would have been appalled at such a spectacle. Erlin and Sella conversed in sign language whilst he ate. The shapes they made were practised and formed with a fluency which shamed his own clumsy attempts to mimic Master Smentil. But despite the fluency of their communication Vaelin marked the sharp, nervous movements of her hands and the more restrained, calming shapes made by Erlin.
Does he know who we are? she asked him.
No, Erlin replied. He is a child. Brave and clever, but a child. They are taught to fight. The Order tells them nothing of other faiths.
She cast a brief, guarded glance in Vaelin’s direction. He grinned back, licking grease from his fingers.
Will he kill us if he knows? she asked Erlin.
He saved us, don’t forget. Erlin paused and Vaelin got the impression he was trying not to look at him. And he’s different, his hands said. Other Brothers of the Sixth Order are not like him.
Different how?
There is more in him, more feeling. Can’t you sense it?
She shook her head. I sense only danger. It’s all I’ve felt for days. She paused for a moment, a frown creasing her smooth brow. He has the Battle Lord’s name.
Yes. I think this is his son. I heard he gave him to the Order after his wife died.
Her movements became frantic, insistent. We have to leave now!
Erlin forced a smile in Vaelin’s direction. Calm down or you’ll make him suspicious.
Vaelin got up and went to the stream to wash the grease from his hands. Fugitives, he thought. But from what? And what was this talk of other faiths? Not for the first time he wished one of the Masters were here to guide him. Sollis or Hutril would know what to do. He wondered if he should try to hold them here somehow. Overpower them and tie them up. He wasn’t sure he could do it. The girl didn’t present a problem but Erlin was a grown man, and strong. And Vaelin suspected he knew how to fight even if he wasn’t a warrior by trade. All he could do was keep watching their conversation to learn more.
He caught it by chance, the wind shifted and brought it to him, faint but unmistakable: horse sweat. Must be close if I can smell it. More than one. Coming from the south.
He hurriedly climbed the south side of the gully, scanning the southern hills. He spotted them quickly, a dark knot of riders a half a mile or so to the south east. Five or six of them, plus a trio of hunting dogs. They had halted, it was difficult to make out what they were doing from this distance but Vaelin surmised they were waiting for the dogs to pick up a scent.
He forced himself to stroll slowly back to the camp, finding the girl sullenly prodding the fire with a stick and Erlin retying one of the straps on his pack.
“We’ll be on our way soon,” Erlin assured him. “We’ve put you to enough trouble.”
“Heading north?” Vaelin asked.
“Yes. The Renfaelin coast. Sella has family there.”
“You’re not her family?”
“Just a friend and travelling companion.”
Vaelin went to the shelter and fetched his bow, feeling the girl’s mounting tension as he strung the bowstring and slung the quiver over his shoulder. “I have to hunt.”
“Of course. I wish we could give you some of our food.”
“It’s not permitted to take aid from others during this test. Besides I’m sure you can’t spare any.”
The girl’s hands moved irritably: True.
“I suppose we should take our leave now,” Erlin said, coming over to offer his hand. “Once again, my thanks young sir. It’s unusual to meet such a generous soul. Trust me, I know…”
Vaelin moved his hands, the shapes he made clumsy compared to theirs but the meaning was clear enough: Riders to the south. With dogs. Why?
Sella’s hand went to her mouth, her pale face nearly white with fear. Erlin’s hand inched closer to the curve bladed knife at his belt.
“Don’t do that,” Vaelin instructed him. “Just tell me why you’re running. And who’s hunting you.”
Erlin and the girl exchanged frantic glances. Her hands fidgeted as she fought the impulse to communicate. Erlin took her hand, Vaelin wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm or silence her.
“So they teach you the signs,” he said, his tone neutral.
“They teach us many things.”