My head was spinning. Still caught, still dragged along with them, into ever greater danger. I could imagine no good ending for us. I had no idea why she wished us all to hold hands. Reppin gripped my wrist as if she wished to break it. Perhaps she did. Kerf was not as mean but he had stripped his mittens off to grip my other wrist. There would be no tugging free. I tried. He smiled benignly as I struggled. How had I not seen how dazed he was?
I heard voices through the trees. Chalcedean. They were calling to one another in Chalcedean. “Now!” Dwalia cried, and she sounded almost hysterical. I could not make out what she intended to do, and then I saw the standing stone that now leaned drunkenly, nearly toppled by the immense spruce that had grown up beside it.
“No!” I cried as Dwalia gripped Vindeliar and reached toward the faded glyph with her gloved hand. “No, it’s dangerous! My father said it’s dangerous!” But her hand touched the stone and I saw her dragged in. She did not release Vindeliar and he followed her, and then Alaria. I screamed and I heard an answering scream from Shun. Then, in an instant as brief as a flash of lightning, I saw. I understood. Change it. One tiny chance to change it. Not for me. My escaping was too unlikely. Reppin would never release me, and if she did, they’d come back for me. But I could change it for Shun. I suddenly coiled down, mouth wide, to where Kerf’s bared hand gripped my wrist. I bit his forefinger as hard as I could, sinking my teeth into the second joint, tasting his blood as he yelped. He let go of Shun to slap at me but I held tight to his hand, teeth, and fingers as I dragged him with me into a tarry darkness dotted with distant stars.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aftermath
The Black Prophet has likely been at the root of our near failures. Without his alliance, it is doubtful that Beloved would have enjoyed any success with his rebellion. Prilkop vanished from our records generations ago and we are beyond any doubt that his disappearance was deliberate. Since he was discovered as a natural-born rather than bred at Clerres, his time at our school was too short to be certain of his loyalty.
Perhaps the most astonishing part of this disaster has been that both Prilkop and Beloved returned to Clerres of their own volition. And initially both he and Beloved were inclined to share a complete and true report of all their activities. But something in our questions caused both of them to soon become recalcitrant. When gentler means failed and we could not lull them into contentment with their situation, we were forced to move into more energetic methods of questioning them. All know that knowledge gained by such means is often untrustworthy. We have recorded separately information garnered from questioning both Beloved and Prilkop, and recorded as reliable only that which corresponds.
Our knowledge of the traveling stones, of those who made them and how they were constructed, and even what locations the runes signify is fragmented but fascinating.
—Lingstra Dwalia, North Countries Gleanings
That long, cold day faded slowly.
The lone surviving Chalcedean died quickly. I tried to ask him about Bee, but he only shook his head and groaned. Any information the others knew had been lost with their lives.
I stood, shaking my head. The commander of the Ringhill Guard, one Spurman, was already giving his men orders to gather the bodies. Foxglove rode over to me. Her face was full of hope as she dismounted. “No,” I said softly to her unspoken question. “She was here and so was Shine. But the Chalcedeans and the captives fought a day or more ago. Bee and Shine fled when the Chalcedeans turned on one another. They are at least a day gone, perhaps two. Where they are now, no one seems to know.”
“I’ll organize a search,” she replied calmly. “They can’t have gone far. Fitz, we’ll find them.”
“So we all hope.” I lifted my voice as I turned to my guard. “Captain Foxglove will be conducting a search for escaped Chalcedeans. Watch for any of their captives or any stragglers.” I turned a firm gaze on my Rousters, where they had assembled in a rough formation separate from my guard. “Alive,” I cautioned them. “Any pale rider in white furs, any captive of theirs, or any Chalcedean mercenary you find, take them alive.”
Foxglove was shaking her head. “Not likely. We’ve seen two bodies in white furs. Both looked as if they’d cut their own throats. Probably rather than be taken by the Chalcedeans. We ambushed some Chalcedeans on their way to the ship. And chased what remained of them back here.”
“Do what you can, then,” I said quietly.
I left Foxglove to organize the search while I returned to the tent where Bee and Shine had slept. A more leisurely inspection of it turned up nothing that I connected to either of them. A very pale Lant had followed me there. He stared at the corner where they’d slept.
