GriffinSinger

1. Seer, Sand, and Secrets-2

Three days later, Irenya was recovered enough to ride, though the nausea persisted. The innkeeper’s daughter had been a blessing, not with food—though she did suggest it—but with a bath and much-needed washing of clothes. The girl also stitched a canvas band around the inside of Irenya’s straw hat. Refreshed, Irenya was content to mount a well-rested Nettle and continue the journey; her only mission was to find Fis and go home to her own world. On the evening of the fifth day since she fell ill, the party camped in the open. Over their meal, Leachim congratulated her for not needing to stop once, though he eyed her sausage wrapped in bread. ‘I would not recommend that yet. Too spicy.’

‘But I’m hungry, and I missed the Summer Solstice feast.’

She managed to eat half and threw the remainder into the fire. Cramps woke her during the night. Twice she lay unmoving and let sleep reclaim her. The third time she eased her aching body from the bedroll. The fire was dead and everyone asleep. She pushed a path through bushes and undergrowth, working toward a bubbling stream some distance away. Gedric had insisted on making camp without the masking sound of water. ‘If Riadan’s cutthroats—or anyone else—come looking for us, I want the duty guards to hear them,’ he’d said.

She had scarcely made headway when a familiar voice spoke softly. ‘Princess?’

Irenya turned at the whisper but couldn’t see Julis. ‘Where are you?’ A shadow detached itself from the undergrowth.

‘Belly gripes again, is it? Do you need Leachim?’

‘I’ll be all right.’ Her gut squeezed and gurgled. She clutched her abdomen. ‘Gotta go.’

The bushes grew thicker. She pushed her way through, guided by the faint sound of the stream and driven by tightening cramps. At the water’s edge, she looked for a spot where she could either squat, or throw up, or simply die. Under a fitful moon and in a spread of tall grasses she crouched, the soft gurgle of the stream competing with her stomach. She waited, trembling all over, for the intestinal struggle to resolve itself, at one end or the other.

Footsteps and the rustle of foliage warned her someone was approaching. She heard the person settle in the undergrowth. In other circumstances, she might have been tempted to speak or make a joke. A fart trumpeted intention and there were other sounds. The smell was overpowering.

When the person had gone, Irenya moved. She needed privacy. The stream led her away to a deeper pool and a rocky outcrop half-hidden by long grass. The stone held a vestige of the day’s warmth, a small comfort at her back when what she wanted was a doctor with a syringe full of Stemetil. Her mouth went dry. Her tongue thickened, her face broke out in a sweat, and then her stomach heaved.

A whole army of hooded men could descend on her as she sat sprawled against the rock and she would thank them for deliverance. She swilled her mouth with water scooped from the pool. The nausea retreated. By the light of the moon, she saw a small frog appear. The creature began to croak. Others joined in. Grateful for a lull in her misery, Irenya dozed, soothed by the soft chorus, until the frogs fell silent. She heard footsteps. Soft. Stealthy. The frogs plopped into the pool. Had someone else come to assail her with the after-effects of spicy sausage?

The person stopped on the other side of the rock. Irenya remembered that the ground fell away and she would not be visible unless she stood. Apart from a bit of shuffling, the person made no other noise. Julis? Come to look for me? But no one called her name. She heard the splash of urine on stone … a man. Then he shuffled about, whistled softly through his teeth. The longer she remained silent, the less inclined she was to reveal her presence. An owl hooted. The man replied with something approximating the sound. A second set of footsteps approached, swishing through the grasses.

Neither spoke until the second person stepped close to the rock. ‘I expected to hear from you days ago.’ The voice was little more than a whisper, but there was no mistaking the speaker. Gedric. ‘What has gone wrong?’

‘Tariglanda’s guards were out in force, my lord. I thought it wise to be keeping clear. I took the long way round, and that cost me some days. There be terrible rumours around Akkod, about murder. Is it true, that young pup Ganingaherin … now ruling prince?’

The voice was unfamiliar, but its owner spoke with the accent and speech patterns of the Cheron dialect.

‘He is. The news … give me the news. Has it been done?’

‘Indeed, my lord. Four barrels be safely stored. No nasty explosions or fire, and the—’

‘Any problems in Pullen?’

‘No, my lord. None at all … ‘cept …’

‘Except what?’

‘The barrels at Ilkyrie … Seems Ahearn has reported the arrival of forty-four. One barrel be missing.’

Gedric’s whisper turned hoarse with fury. ‘Four barrels you were supposed to take—not five. You said you could count. What have you done with the other one?’

‘But we took only four, my lord, as I said. Counted ‘em myself.’ The man offered another sullen rejoinder, but Irenya’s ability to concentrate was fading fast.

‘No matter,’ muttered Gedric. ‘Perhaps the counting was wrong at the beginning.’

‘Aye, my lord. One thing … I heard something nasty happened to that young fella from Elphinvale. The one who travelled in the winter—to Ilkyrie. Mayhim … or some such name.’

‘Natham?’

‘That be it. Seems he had jewellery and such to sell, pretty things, and costly. Got in with some bad folk and they did him in. Prince Innes’s soldiers found no jewellery about him, just lots of little bags of the powder hanging inside his clothes. Might be him … Took the barrel … Selling the stuff.’

Gedric’s reply was lost to Irenya. She willed them to go. Elaaron’s commander could do his shady deals by some other rock where she wasn’t implicated.

The unknown man mumbled. He must have asked for payment and Gedric’s clearer reply denied him. ‘Return to Cheron. You will be paid there, as we agreed.’

Irenya clamped a hand over her mouth and swallowed hard. The sound of feet pushing through grass came to her in snatches. She shivered and gulped air. Her stomach heaved. Her skin broke into a cold sweat. She swallowed again, sucked more air into her lungs, and was sick in the grass. Past caring, she knelt while her body obeyed its own commands, and when it was over, she sat motionless, the discomfort fading. Gedric’s scarred face had not loomed, suspicious and accusing, over her shoulder. She drank water from the pool, rinsed her face and felt the coolness trickle down her neck. When she tried to stand, her body wobbled about on boneless legs. Her hands were so weak, she had difficulty gripping the smooth rock. She peered over the top. There was no one in sight. She fled the area as fast as her legs would allow, back the way she had come.

At the place where the air still stank, she had to rest. Her heart was beating much too fast, her breath wheezing in her throat.

‘Princess?’

The voice startled her. ‘Oh, Julis,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘Decided to come looking for you. Can you walk?’ He sniffed the air. ‘Rich one there.’