She gazed in a groggy daze at the fields they passed. Mostly buckwheat and barley with patches of vegetables: squashes, edamame, turnips, and radishes. The plants appeared wilted, stunted. She hadn’t realized how little rain had come this year. Drought gripped the region.
Every house had green flying from pendants hanging off the eaves of thatched roofs or pinned to doors. Children in rough-spun linens raced by, the boys waving flags of ragged green or holding knots of verdant color tied to makeshifts swords they swung at each other. Girls wove the emerald cloth into the twin braids falling in bouncing tails of browns. Farmers tied the cloth to the sleeves of dusty felt coats or linen shirts, and wives pinned green ribbons to their aprons.
People glanced at them, brows furrowing. A simmering anger brimmed in the air. Worry over her own body and her mind losing connection with her flesh dwindled. The king was increasing taxation when he should be giving the commonfolk relief. At least here. Maybe in the Colony, the lands to the south, or in the farms to the north of the city where she was from, the fields were prospering. But the central lands were not faring well. Ponds were little more than puddles, lily pads drying on cracking mud. Instead of rills, gullies held puddles teaming with tadpoles wriggling for life in increasingly dwindling spaces.
Something had to be done. She leaned back, remembering the work Deffona and Refractor Charlis were doing. Attempts to stop both the riots and the king’s ambition to control the mines of the Border Fangs. Those mountains were a dark haze on the horizon. They would grow sharper as they traveled farther west.
Dust on the horizon announced a column of riders approaching. Her stomach tensed. She glanced back in the wagon where Ōbhin sat, his hand casually resting on his sword as he gave Dualayn a meaningful look. The odious man swallowed and then looked back at his books as he leaned against the wall of the wagon bed.
Would he say something? Metal glinted. The riders wore armor. As they neared, the pendants with Lothon’s colors snapped from atop lances: the white stag on the field of blue and green. Crown knights wore full plate armor with tabards adorned with their personal coat-of-arms. Behind them marched a column of infantry soldiers in chain armor, shouldering long pikes that bristled like a forest.
“Good day, sir knight,” said Miguil when they reached the column.
The captain reined up before them, his troop passing. He had the visor of his bascinet helmet raised, his ruddy face dominated by a bushy, brown mustache. “Goodman. How have you found the road?”
“Dry and dusty.”
The knight-captain glanced at them. “I don’t see many goods. You returning from the market?”
“We are heading to the Upfing Forest to conduct a scientific inquiry into the nature of the Red Heart of the Forest,” said Dualayn without looking up. “I am Dualayn Dashvin of Kash, financing the expectation. These are my servants.”
“I see,” the knight-captain said. “A foreign bodyguard? Can you rely on a Tethyrian not to be too inebriated to swing a sword?”
“He is Qothian, Captain,” Dualayn said. “A loyal and honest man. He has served me well. I have no complaints about him or the protection he has given me.”
Avena held her breath, noticing Ōbhin’s hand casually resting on his sword pommel. Then she glanced at Dualayn. A fuzzy tingle rippled through her fingers. She clutched at her skirt, a bead of sweat running down her face, catching the dust that billowed up from the soldiers tromping by.
“Dangerous going into the woods that deep,” said the knight-captain. “And the road west is growing unsafe these days. I could provide an escort, at least until the forest edge. More and more farms are lying fallow as farmers think there’s more profit to be found in robbing the merchants who come to buy their crops.”
“That’s not necessary,” Avena said, her voice tight. “We’ll be fine. Ōbhin is more than a match for brigands.”
“Quiet, woman,” the knight-captain grunted. “I’m speaking with your master.” His gaze slid back to Dualayn while Avena bristled. “I am sure your man is good, but he is only one man. I would be glad to give you an escort. A pair of knights.”
A pair? Avena’s hands clutched at her skirt. Her heart pounded fear through her veins. If Dualayn could get alone with those knights and reveal the truth, he could be spirited to safety. He’d escape justice then.
“It is a tragedy,” said Dualayn, “that so many have been driven to hardship by drought and taxes.”
The knight-captain snorted, ruffling his mustache.
“But I do not wish to separate your command. I am confident in Ōbhin’s skill. He used to protect the kings of Qoth, you know. He is versed in tactics that would surprise even you, Captain.”
“I am loath to let you pass without an escort. I fear I must insist. For your own safety.”
Avena’s stomach sank when she heard the gallop of hooves. One of the knights trotted up, his armor jangling. He waited for the last pikeman to march past then swung around the wagon to reach the front and confer with the knight-captain.
A tension mounted in Avena. Ōbhin could take off Dualayn’s head in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t fight a column of soldiers. There would be no putting off this knight-captain. How long before their escort discovered that Dualayn was their prisoner? They would all hang if the twisted, disgusting man said the wrong word. She didn’t want to see Ōbhin die. She racked her brain for something to do. To say. Anything that could let them travel on without an escort.
“There are
