Once again, I'd picked the worst possible time to ally myself with the forces of right and justice. They were clearly led by a lunatic.
We jolted into motion, heading back the way we'd come. The household retainers, with their caparisoned mounts and rich tunics, fell in to flank us. I could see the wagon behind once we'd pulled into the streets, similarly escorted by the cloaked guards. They were keeping a discreet distance from us.
This kind of subterfuge was hardly Alvantes's style. Could he really be so afraid to go up against Moaradrid and his band of ruffians?
Only when we passed through the southwestern gate, the one called the Henge, did I understand the sense in Alvantes's elaborate precautions. Perhaps I should have guessed. It wasn't the warlord Alvantes feared, it was the army he'd camped on Altapasaeda's doorstep.
I stared through the gaps in the curtains, trying vainly to gauge the numbers gathered to either side. This force far outnumbered the one I'd encountered outside Muena Palaiya, and probably this was only half of it, since they'd certainly have blocked the northward gates as well.
Though 'blocked' was perhaps too strong a word. 'Blocked' would have meant an unmistakeable declaration of war, and if Moaradrid had intended that, he wouldn't have wasted time with anything as tiresome as diplomacy. Three separate encampments had formed, one for each gate, but far enough from the road to discourage an impression of blatant hostility. Still, I could see sentries posted, for all that they were trying not to look like sentries. They would be watching for me, Estrada and Saltlick, and assuming they weren't aware of his murder, for Panchetto, and any attempt to escape to Pasaeda to alert the king.
A throng of peasants travelling together into the farmlands around Altapasaeda, or a wealthy but over- cautious family out on a daytrip, however, were things they might overlook. They'd be suspicious. They might report it back to Moaradrid. They probably wouldn't stop us. Under my breath, I said, 'It looks like we'll make it.'
'Cretin.' The word was slurred but intelligible. I looked round to find Estrada half-sitting, half-lying against the panelled wall. Though she still looked groggy, her eyes were open and fixed on me.
'You're awake.'
'No thanks to you.' Now even the slurring was gone. Her voice was clear and cold.
'Estrada, I'm sorry. I mean it, I am. I was wrong to drug you, wrong to try and rob Panchetto, definitely wrong to drag Saltlick into that whole sorry mess…'
'Spare me, Damasco.'
'What?'
'Spare me. And keep your voice down.'
That wasn't what I'd expected. I was repentant, wasn't I? I was even sincere. Weren't good people supposed to respect things like that? Estrada's tone was… well, not quite contemptuous, because that would have implied a degree of interest.
Perhaps I'd really gone too far this time.
I glanced back outside, and saw that we were pulling past the furthest edge of Moaradrid's encamped troops. Though they were paying us more than usual interest, there was no sign they were following, or suggestion of that they would try to stop us.
I remembered what I'd said to provoke Estrada's unkind response. I'd assumed at the time that her critique of my intelligence was just casual abuse. Now I wondered. 'Maybe I'm not such an idiot,' I said. 'Alvantes has led us right through their lines.'
Estrada looked at me disdainfully. 'No, you definitely are, Damasco. You don't understand at all, do you?'
Her mouth cracked into a faint smirk that never made it as far as her eyes. There was something uncharacteristically cruel in that smile, something that sent fear crawling up my spine. 'Alvantes has no intention of escaping. Just the opposite, in fact.'
CHAPTER 20
I didn't remember falling asleep, but the next I knew, dreary dawn light was smudging the drapes and we were no longer moving. I was glad to see that Estrada had disappeared. She'd refused to explain her cryptic comments, her tone had remained on the colder side of frosty, and I'd quickly given up any hope of a conversation.
I sat massaging cramp out of my legs and considering my next step. Now more than ever I had good reason to try to escape. Alvantes and Estrada didn't want my help; they'd made that more than clear. I could still repent if I wanted to. The pouch of coin would keep me in comfort for a few weeks, long enough to consider a change of career. I could even go home, see if my parents were still alive. I hated the thought of Moaradrid getting away with his crimes, but what could I do to change it? Men like me didn't stop men like Moaradrid, any more than a rabbit could stop Saltlick. I'd never been anything but a thief. Now that I considered it, I'd never been particularly successful at that.
The door sprang open. I expected Estrada, but it was Alvantes who glared through the entrance. 'Good morning, Guard-Captain,' I said. 'We've stopped.'
'Well observed, Damasco.'
'Have I got time to stretch my legs?'
'I should think so. We'll be here a while.'
I looked at him questioningly, but it was obvious he wasn't going to say any more than Estrada had. I moved to step past him, and felt a hand clamp on my shoulder.
'One moment.'
Balanced half in and half out of the carriage, I had little choice.
'You have something that's not yours. It's time you gave it to someone who'll take better care of it.'
Well there went any hope of my new life. I pulled out the coin-bag and proffered it to him.
'Not that. Hells, if you survive to spend it you've earned it. No, it's the stone I want.'
I drew forth the giant-stone and placed it in his cupped hands. I'd gotten used to its weight. Without it, I felt lighter. 'May it bring you as much comfort as it has me, Guard-Captain.'
Alvantes gave a barking laugh. 'Maybe next time you'll be more careful who you steal from.'
I couldn't help smiling. 'That's all behind me. I'm a new man.'
'Really? We'll see.'
He tucked the stone inside his jacket and marched away, back to where his men were waiting. I noticed the mock-farmers had abandoned their disguises, revealing Altapasaedan City Guard livery beneath. The others had settled for tearing the misleading emblems from their tunics. Though a few of them remained on horseback, there was little sense of urgency. Some sat smoking; others were polishing weapons, checking gear or talking in low voices.
This wasn't just a rest break. We'd stopped altogether.
Were we waiting for the Castovalian irregulars we'd parted from all those days ago? It was hard to imagine this nondescript glade as a preordained meeting place. I tried to remember what Estrada had told me of her plan, but it had been so absurd that I hadn't paid much attention, and it all seemed a long time ago.
Perhaps the easiest solution was simply to ask her. Estrada was sitting with Saltlick in the back of the cart. He was no longer hidden, and wasn't likely to be again, since he'd eaten a good proportion of his camouflage. Estrada was tending to his latest wounds. A gash in his leg looked particularly raw and unpleasant, and he was still carrying his left arm gingerly. Still, as always food seemed to have improved his spirits and bolstered his constitution. He smiled when he saw me. Then his mouth turned down belatedly into a frown.
Poor Saltlick, he wasn't meant for holding grudges.
I waved, and called, 'Good morning Saltlick, Estrada.'
'What do you want?' Estrada's tone had thawed slightly, but it was still a long way from friendly.
'I want to know what's happening. Why have we stopped?'
I climbed onto the back of the cart, Saltlick shifting to accommodate me.
'What difference does it make to you? You'll follow along until you find an opportunity to sneak away, or rob
