Inside were other wrappings, and still others, and at last, in a fold of oiled silk, a few black hairs obviously pulled out by the roots, a few scraps that only close examination would have revealed to be clippings from fingernails.
The duchess smiled a smile that even demons in hell would need to practice in order to achieve in such perfection. There was love of pain in it; enjoyment of torture; the rapture she felt when she observed grief and loss, especially when she had caused it; and now she could anticipate doing it all: torture, pain, grief, loss, all in one long-awaited achievement. She murmured, only to herself, “Ah, so, little Legami-am. I have all your hopes and longing in my hands, and they shall be the pathway to that large bale of muscle who guards the Tingawan girl. Bear, he is called. Well, we shall skin him. You shall summon your betrothed home long before he plans to go. It is my will that you shall summon him home. What a pity you will no longer be there when he arrives . . .”
Near the end of the first day’s travel from their camp near Riversmeet, the wagons from Woldsgard passed Abasio, who seemed to be waiting at the side of the road. Blue pulled the dyer’s wagon onto the road behind the others.
When they stopped for the night, Xulai brought Blue a horse biscuit and told both Blue and Abasio about the incident in the nighttime, though Abasio had suggested Blue not talk on this journey, as it might endanger all of them if it were known a horse could listen, remember, and repeat. Xulai badly wanted comforting from both man and horse, and at the moment, they were out of earshot of the others.
While Abasio pondered the storm, the wolves, the duchess and her men, Blue munched his biscuit, mumbling, “Not bad, but they made better in Artemisia.”
Xulai gave him a second one and said mournfully, “Abasio, Blue, Precious Wind says I did something else.”
“And what was that?” Blue mumbled around the last crumbs of his biscuit.
“My cousin told me, before we set out, that if I looked very young, I would be thought inconsequential. And the duchess rode up to look at me, and I think . . . I think I looked like a baby.”
Abasio stared at her for a long moment, forehead wrinkled in concentration. “And sometimes, do you, perhaps, think you are older than you seem to be?”
She looked up, surprised. “Sometimes. Though I don’t think I do that very well.”
He drew her to him, into a comfortable hug, a dog hug, cat hug, friend hug, anything-warm-and-living hug, concentrating on making the embrace full of consolation without any sexual overtones whatever, as those, he told himself, were his private problem. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s any comfort to you, sometimes I think you are about . . . oh, seventy-two.”
“That old!”
“At least. And at other times, about three. I really think it will sort itself out very soon and you’ll average out. You have had a very unusual upbringing . . .”
“A down-putting upbringing,” she said resentfully.
“That, too. But I’m virtually positive it will soon sort itself out. Be patient.”
She resolved to be patient, and the resolution comforted her for almost half an hour. That day’s travel was uneventful, and that night they made camp outside the walls of a watchtower manned by guardsmen from the coastal fiefdoms.
“This is the Eastwatch Tower of Wold,” the sergeant told them. He was a solidly built and placid-faced man from Chasmgard whose dark hair stood straight up in spikes every time he pulled off his helmet, which he did at brief intervals in order to scratch his head. “With Wellsport town moved high onto the slope of the mountain, with Wellsmarsh moved back miles east toward us, if the enemy takes the coast, we’re probably the first line of defense.”
“Wellsport moved?” grated Bear. He had not really believed this.
“The water came slow enough that the Port Lords managed to move the town. First the lower buildings, then the higher ones, a third of the way up the mountain. They kept moving the piers, too, up and up, back and back. The Port Lords are living on their fat. There’s been no cargoes come over the sea for years now. Now the Marish, that’s moved by itself; each year the shallow water was farther upriver to the east, and the reeds and fish and fowl all followed the shallow water. Wellsmouth town was already well up the side of Wellsgard Peak, and there’s still plenty of fish and fowl in Marish for them to live on, just not so close to the town as it was.”
“And north of there?” Abasio asked.
“Oh, Chasmgard, Combesgard, and Valesgard were mountain citadels to begin with, all of them well over the waters’ rising. They’ve lost some garden lands, down near the river, but they have valleys where they can grow their food. It’s only Wellsport that’s had to move itself, but that does make us first in line if we’re invaded. Though far inland as we are, if we’re the first to see invaders from the sea, we’re in deep trouble long before we catch sight of them. We’re depending upon getting a signal from the beacons long before their warriors get here!”
“It might be raining,” said Xulai, who had joined the men in visiting the tower. “If it’s raining, you can’t see anything.”
“Well, that’s true, little missy. So much so that we’ve a standing order: whenever the sky clouds over, we’re to send out a line of relay riders, all the way to the crossroads at Riversmeet, or on to Wellsport if need be. They’re to stay
