instructions. If he received none after three days, I told him, he should return to Awndyn. I didn’t want to lose my possessions. Lightning, Mist and Serein dismounted and led their horses off the road into the forest undergrowth. At first the going was hard; brambles hooked in my trousers and tore them. The pungent smell of bracken was up around our noses. Farther from the track, less light penetrated the canopy and fewer plants grew between the trunks. Tinder-dry oak and beech leaf litter crunched under our feet and the hooves. “I hope Gio’s rebels don’t torch this,” I said.
Mist said, “God, now he thinks of it! Scout ahead and tell us how far we have to walk before we can rejoin the road.”
I shrugged off my water bottle that glugged at every step, and hung it on Wrenn’s saddle. I dashed away. It was impossible to move without sound in the forest; stories that tell of my predecessors doing so are just flattering lies. But I have lively reactions and I can run so swiftly through the tangle that no one registers the sound as human. I ducked under branches, leapt over fallen brushwood and sprinted with long strides. I sped up the rise and doubled back to the road. It seemed clear beyond the camp. I hid behind a tree, peered out and withdrew immediately. Another band of men strutted past with their pikes on their shoulders.
I ran on again, enjoying myself, but every kilometer I spotted more groups, so I returned to my friends, nimbly through the spaces between snarled undergrowth. Hot saliva was gushing into my mouth; I felt real once more. “This isn’t good-they’re all along the road! We…” I lowered my voice. “We could walk in the forest all the way to Eske but there’s a hundred and twenty kilometers to go, so it would take you days. I say we keep going until nightfall and then try to rejoin the road farther on, when the rebels should be encamped or indoors. I’ll scout ahead again.”
Mist said, “Lead on then, smoky creature.”
“Somewhere around here is the Cygnet Ring Inn ratskeller. Foresters drink there so we should pick up a track eventually.”
“Damn, you move so fast I can’t even see your footholds,” Wrenn grumbled. “There’s no path here.”
“Then we make a path.”
We walked, leading the horses, over the copper-colored floor, under the stippled green ceiling for the next few hours, some distance from the road so we wouldn’t be heard. The light began to fade and the dusk became darker by degrees. The ground could not be seen clearly; tree boles seemed to float toward us, distanceless. I felt as if something sentient and silent was watching us. I couldn’t decide whether it was large and invincible, or small and instinctive.
On the road with their mounts, the others had been slow, but now negotiating trees and bramble thickets they slowed still further until they didn’t seem to make any headway at all. I burned with frustration. I kept urging them on until Mist lashed out, “I’m going as fast as I can! I can hardly see. I keep stumbling over things and so does this stupid nag. I
Lightning intervened. “Look, Jant, let’s rest here, have a few hours’ sleep and then check if the road is safe. The newspapers said Eske is full of unrest and I don’t want to be exhausted when I travel through town.”
“You’re all so unbelievably tardy,” I said, but I flopped down immediately and made myself comfortable on the leaf litter. The others, who were not as practiced at bivouacking or as careless as a Rhydanne, looked about for a patch of grass or a landmark to camp next to.
Wrenn threw his pack on the ground and sat on a stump that was so rotten he bounced off it and it fell to pieces. He brushed moss from his arse and began to unlace his boots.
Lightning paced about. “I think that the town will be safe without Gio to stir up the Zascai. The ingrates don’t understand how hard we have been working for them all this time…” He tripped over a tree root and kicked it angrily. “Creeping about in the dark like highwaymen!”
The post-coach jumps the news from manor to manor. I imagined every governor realizing that the Castle is only protected by tradition and their own beliefs. I almost heard them thinking: what could be in this for us? “Half the Plainslands has supported Gio for six months. We don’t know what we’re heading into.”
Mist said, “I only know we must make haste to reach San.” She made a small hearth, unrolled her blanket and shared out some Trisian
Lightning took out one of his books. He was writing his three-hundredth romantic novel, which would probably be much the same as the other two hundred and ninety-nine, but maybe this time with a nautical theme. Their popularity was a constant source of wonder to me. He usually pays me to translate his unimaginative but ardent scribblings, but he always has my translations checked. Lightning looked wistful, a powerful emotion he had practiced over centuries, which he now fell into easily. He had adopted it when it was fashionable, although it didn’t suit him. “Swallow is never here when I love her,” he said. “I wish I could speak to her. In times of trouble, she finds an inner strength. Maybe it’s because she lives in pain and is hardened to it.” He sighed, and went back to writing, with the practicality of a lover who has sought the same character in different women over fifteen hundred years.
For the past hour I had thought of nothing but scolopendium. My mouth watered for it and my joints ached. I couldn’t hold out much longer before my need began to show. It’s just a weakness of my body, I thought; it isn’t really
“Oh, go ahead.” Mist shook her head in disgust, though I could tell she was taking notes.
“Thanks. You don’t know how much I…”
“I’m beginning to guess,” said Wrenn.
“So one day it’ll kill me. Want some?”
“Certainly not!” he said contemptuously. He walked to the edge of the clearing and stood with his back to us to have a piss. Then he returned and lay down on his coat with his rapier to hand. He watched me covertly, pretending to be asleep.
I hunched over and mantled wings around a candle stub. I licked my needle more or less clean, ran it through the flame and filled it from a skylark vial. I tied a tourniquet around my upper arm, and made the injection. I flushed the syringe out with my own blood and pulled the spike from my arm. Then I keeled over, into the leaves. An aching nausea filled my empty stomach and dispersed as my rush came on. Gradually and gratefully I gave up on thinking about anything at all.
The tops of the oak trees were pushed by a wind that didn’t touch us below. Each gust churned the topmost boughs in the distance, then shook the branches above us as it passed.
A crunch sounded somewhere deep in the forest. Lightning glanced up from his book and stood up silently. He bent his longbow against his boot and strung it. He kicked the fire out, then hauled me to my feet by the scruff of my neck and simultaneously gave Wrenn a hefty kick on the bum. The Swordsman woke with a start and Lightning raised a finger to his lips. “Footsteps,” he whispered.
“Insects?” Wrenn’s eyes widened.
Lightning shook his head. After the first few trees the ground was obscure. I listened. The footfalls extended deep into the woods from our left to right. As they came closer, we could tell they were made by men. There were at least five directly ahead of us, but the noise seemed to stretch out far on both sides.
“How many?” Ata mouthed.
Lightning held up his free hand with the fingers extended, clenched his fist, then opened the fingers again.
Wrenn sprang to his feet, crossed his arms over his waist and drew his rapier and dagger at the same time. Mist pawed uneasily for the 1851 Wrought sword that she carried buckled to her pack.
The footsteps resolved; the people making them walked about two meters apart. I peered into the gnarly gloom but I couldn’t glimpse anybody. We should be able to see them by now. I smelled hot oil. The crunching continued; they were almost on us. They stopped. There was silence.
