“I’ll meet you,” Bernard rumbled. “What about the girl?”
Isana’s voice came a moment later, as though she spoke under a great strain. “She means no harm to Tavi. I’m sure of that. Beyond that I don’t know. Hurry, Bernard.”
“I will,” Bernard said. Then he stepped back into her vision and drank away whatever was in the cup. “This man after you, with the swordsman. Why did you expect him instead of me?”
Amara swallowed. “He’s an earth and woodcrafter. Very experienced. He can find the boy.” She lifted her head, looking at him intently. “Let me up. I’m the only chance you have to help Tavi.”
He scowled. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you don’t know these people,” Amara said. “I do. I can anticipate him, what he’s going to do next. I know his strengths, his weaknesses. And you can’t defeat his swordsman alone.”
Bernard stared down at her for the space of a breath, then shook his head irritably. “All right,” he said. “Prove it. Anticipate him. Tell me where he is.”
Amara closed her eyes, trying to remember the geography of the region. “He knew I would expect him to follow, directly. That’s his strength. But he didn’t follow. He anticipated me, and he’s moving around, to get ahead of the boy. Check the causeway, the furies in the cobblestones. He’ll have made for the road and be using those furies to help him get ahead of the boy, so that he can cut him off.” She opened her eyes and watched the Steadholder’s face.
Bernard growled something quietly, and she felt a slow, silent shudder in the earth. There was silence for a moment, while the big man knelt and put a bare hand on the ground, closing his eyes with his head tilted to one side, as though listening to a distant music.
Finally, he let out a breath. “You’re right,” he said. “Or seem to be. Someone’s earthwaving through the road itself, and fast. Horses, I think.”
“It’s him.” Amara said. “Let me up.”
Bernard opened his eyes and rose decisively. He recoveredhis axe, gestured at the earth, and Amara abruptly found her limbs free, the bow and the arrow returning to their original shapes, unwinding from her arm. She clambered to her feet again and recovered the sword and knife from the ground.
“Are you going to help me?” he asked.
Amara faced him and let out a shaking breath. “Sir. I swear it to you. I’ll help you protect your nephew.”
Bernard’s teeth flashed, sudden in the darkness. “Good thing you’re not going after these people with wood from their own trees.”
She slipped the sword through her belt. “I hope your shoulder doesn’t hurt too much.”
His smile widened. “I’ll make it. How’s your ankle?”
“Slowing me,” she confessed.
“Then get your fury to lift you again,” he said. He drew a piece of cord from his pouch, ran it through the back of his belt, and tied it closed in a loop. He tossed the loop to her and said, “Keep your body behind mine and stay low. The wood will make my passage clear, but don’t go waving your head around, or a branch might take it off.”
Amara barely had time to breathe her agreement before the ground itself rumbled, and the Steadholder took off at a bounding run, the earth impelling him forward with every step. She turned and ran to keep up with him, but even in her best condition she would have been hard pressed to hold the pace. She managed to take several steps to keep close to him, one hand clinging to the loop of leather cord, then leapt in the air, calling to Cirrus as she did.
The presence of her fury solidified beneath her feet, and she flowed over the ground after the Steadholder, tugged forward by the cord. If he noticed her weight dragging at him, it did not show, and the man moved through the night with perfect confidence and near-perfect silence, as though even the withered grass beneath his feet conspired to cushion the impact and lessen the noise of his passing.
Before she had gotten her breath back, they had passed into the woods, and Amara had to duck her head to keep branches from slashing at her face. She hunched down in the Steadholder’sshadow, once jerking her feet up as he leapt a fallen tree that Cirrus hadn’t quite managed to carry her feet over.
“Got them!” he said, in a moment more. “At the ford. Fade’s on the ground, Tavi’s partly in the water and . . .” He snarled. “And Kord is there.”
“Kord?” Amara demanded.
“Steadholder. Criminal. He’ll hurt them.”
“We don’t have time for this!”
“So sorry it’s inconvenient, Cursor,” Bernard snapped. “I can’t feel your friends. They’ve left the road.”
“He must be concealing his own passage,” Amara said. “He never passes up a surprise attack. It won’t be long before he gets to the boy.”
“Then we have to defeat Kord and his sons first. I’ll take Kord, he’s the old one. The other two are up to you.”
“Crafters?”
“Air and fire—”
“Fire?” Amara blurted.
“But cowards. The taller one is more dangerous. Hit them hard and fast. Over the next rise.”
Amara nodded and said, “I will. Cirrus!” The Cursor gathered the air beneath her and with a rush of swirling winds swept herself from the ground, through the stark branches of the barren trees and into the air above them.
CHAPTER 21
The waters of the little river were ice-cold, swift. Tavi’s mouth went numb the moment Kord pushed his head into the water, and his ears tingled and burned with sensation. Tavi struggled, but the Steadholder’s grip was too strong, fingers tangled tightly in Tavi’s hair. His greasy Steadholder’s chain thumped against Tavi’s shoulders. Kord pressed down brutally, and Tavi felt his face mash up against the rocks at the bottom of the river.
And then that inexorable pressure vanished. Tavi felt himself hauled back, by the hair, and thrown through the air to land upon the ground many feet away. He came down upon something warm and living, that proved to be a dazed Fade. Tavi lifted his head, blinking water from his eyes, toward Kord, but someone moved between them, blocking his view.
“Uncle!” Tavi said.
Bernard said, “Get Fade up and get him out of here, Tavi.”
Tavi scrambled to his feet, hauling Fade up with him, and swallowed. “What are we going to do?”
“Get clear. I’ll handle things here,” Bernard said. Then he turned his back to Tavi, keeping himself between Kord and his nephew. “This time, Kord, you’ve gone too far.”
“Three of us,” Kord growled, as his sons took up a position on either side of him. “And one of you. Plus the fool and the freak, of course. I’d say that you’re the one who has his neck stuck out, Bernard.”