Part 21 (1/2)

”Its owner is irrelevant,” Tarrant said sharply. ”If you have a problem with that, stay here and argue with him.” And he turned his horse toward the switchback path that led down to the water's edge.

It was a nightmare descent, even for one as experienced in riding as Damien was. The path was covered with loose rocks and gravel, and the racing horses slid into several turns. At one time Damien's horse actually missed the edge, and his heart nearly stopped as it half-staggered, half-slid, down to the turn below.

And then they were on flat ground, mud and gravel mixed, clumps of earth tearing up out of the ground as they galloped toward the pier. No secrecy now, nor any attempt at it. Calesta knew where they were headed and that meant the townspeople did as well. The only hope they had of making it out onto the water was to get there before the locals had a chance to stop them.

Out onto the wooden planks, their horses' hooves beating emptily over the rocky sh.o.r.e below. Two men jumped back out of their way, and another few ran as they saw them coming. Good enough. Fear of a maddened horse could be just as effective as a direct a.s.sault, and in this case it proved even better. No one tried to stop them as they turned their mounts down the pier Tarrant had chosen, although Damien could see a few men running for help. Within minutes, no doubt, the whole harbor would be swarming with armed men.

Tarrant didn't stop to lead his horse across the water, but urged it into a leap that carried it from the end of the pier onto the boat's narrow deck. Damien saw it slide as it landed, and by the time Tarrant managed to bring it to a stop, they were nearly in the water. He slowed his own mount down as he approached, less than certain that he could manage the same feat. Sliding off the saddle, he moved quickly toward the boat with reins in hand. His horse was less than happy about stepping onto the swaying deck, but a hard jerk on the reins convinced it not to argue, and it managed a half-leap that got it across the water safely.

Damien cut through the mooring lines, not taking time to unbind them. Behind him Tarrant's sword blazed with conjured coldfire, and in response a wind began to rise almost at once, blowing from the sh.o.r.e toward the Serpent. At the other end of the harbor Damien could see spots of light moving-lamps?-and he could hear the cries of would-be pursuers as they made their way down the slope. Faster! Faster! he urged the wind, as he drew up the sails singlehandedly to harness its power. The small boat shuddered and then drew away from the pier, its sails billowing out white and strong in the moonlight. One of the horses whinnied its discomfort, but Damien doubted that either of the animals would actually be stupid enough to go over the side in protest. Maybe stupid enough to trample their owners, but not that. he urged the wind, as he drew up the sails singlehandedly to harness its power. The small boat shuddered and then drew away from the pier, its sails billowing out white and strong in the moonlight. One of the horses whinnied its discomfort, but Damien doubted that either of the animals would actually be stupid enough to go over the side in protest. Maybe stupid enough to trample their owners, but not that.

”The turbine's below.” Tarrant pointed toward the stairs at the rear of the small boat. ”Get it started.”

”I don't know how-”

”Then make an educated guess.”

With a brief glare for his companion he hurried down the stairs, into the cabin and its attendant cargo s.p.a.ce. In the galley he located a candle and a pack of matches by moonlight. That lit, it was a bit easier to search. The turbine was similar to one he had seen before, the last time he had made this crossing, and he tried to remember how its owner had worked it. He looked about for fuel, located the furnace door, and started things going. It would be a short while before there was enough pressure to drive the boat, but until then the wind would have to do. He allowed himself the brief luxury of sitting down beside the small engine and of taking several deep breaths in succession. Tarrant would keep the wind going until the turbine kicked in, and then he would turn it around to slow their pursuers. If he could. Damien reflected on how hard it was to command the weather like that-even within such limited parameters-and the fact that Tarrant couldn't use the currents for power, but must rely upon the limited amount of fae that was stored in his sword, surely wouldn't help. Then he decided not to think about any of it. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to reflect upon what they had just done. But he couldn't help it. The blood was still red on his sword, and a gory spattering covered his right leg and boot. The feel of his weapon cutting into human flesh was still hot in his palm, and he rubbed his hand against the thigh of his breeches as if somehow that could cleanse it. In his ears he could hear the sounds of innocent men screaming as the horses bore down on them, unseen but all too keenly felt- ”Well?”

It was Tarrant, calling down to him. He opened the valve on the turbine the way he had seen a captain do it once before and was somewhat surprised to hear the small engine rumble to life. Its owner must have had it Worked for it to start that fast; had Tarrant Seen that when he chose this vessel? ”It's on,” he called back, and he made one last check of its dials and settings before he climbed back up to the deck.

Tarrant had sheathed his sword, which meant that whatever Working he had crafted to control the wind was over and done with. G.o.d willing, it would work. The horses were grazing on imagined gra.s.s, and one of them had left its last meal as a gift on the deck. Damien almost stepped in it.

”Do you think they'll try to follow?” he asked Tarrant.

”Unlikely.” He turned the wheel slowly as he spoke, forcing the boat to head into the waves. ”Hunting down a small craft on the Serpent at night would be a nearly impossible feat, even for one of Calesta's power. However,” he added grimly, ”we can certainly bet that all the northern ports will be watched, and that we can expect a similar welcome there if we try to land.”

”In all the ports?”

”If he antic.i.p.ated our journey, then he's had a good week to prepare. If not ... then he still has a whole day left to warp the minds of those who might otherwise a.s.sist us.” He said nothing further on that point, but no words were necessary. The Hunter couldn't leave the shelter of the boat while the sun was s.h.i.+ning. Either they reached the northern sh.o.r.e and found safe harbor within hours-an unlikely task-or they would have to remain on the river until tomorrow's sunfall. ”I'll take the wheel until dawn. You go below and see that there's secure shelter for me somewhere, then try to rest. Oh, and see to the horses.” He glanced at the animals. ”Secure them inside the cabin if you can. They won't like it, but if the sea grows rough, they'll be safer there.”

”Gerald-” He hesitated. ”I can't handle a boat. You know that, don't you? I don't know the least thing about sailing-”

”Then I suggest you see if there are any books on the art lying about.” The pale eyes glittered. ”And pray that we make landing before dawn. Weather-Working is a chancy art at best, and to rush it as I did ... that might well draw a storm.”

Damien looked out at the choppy waves-was there more froth riding on them than before, or was that just his imagination?-and he s.h.i.+vered. How large a storm might the adept have conjured, in his need for an obliging wind? It wasn't a welcome thought in any context, but with him and Tarrant alone on this boat and half the northern coast setting traps for them, and then when the sun came up he'd be handling the boat alone- h.e.l.l, he thought. Taking a deep breath, fighting to calm his nerves. he thought. Taking a deep breath, fighting to calm his nerves. You knew it wasn't going to be easy. You knew it wasn't going to be easy.

He went below to search for a manual.

Thirty.

Gresham came to Narilka's workbench and sat himself down, straddling a nearby chair. For a moment she just went on buffing as if he weren't there, but the pressure of his gaze slowed her rhythm, and at last forced her to stop. Slowly, reluctantly, she looked up at him. to Narilka's workbench and sat himself down, straddling a nearby chair. For a moment she just went on buffing as if he weren't there, but the pressure of his gaze slowed her rhythm, and at last forced her to stop. Slowly, reluctantly, she looked up at him.

”You want to talk about it?” he asked.

It took her a minute to find her voice. ”I don't know what you mean.” The words sounded weak even to her, and Gresham shook his head gently.

”Don't, Nari.”

”What?”

”Keep it all pent up inside. It just eats at you worse that way.”

She turned back to her work and started buffing again. But his large hand reached out and took hers, and kept her from moving.

”It was polished long ago,” he said quietly. ”See?” He turned the piece over; its surface was gleaming. Gently he took it from her and set it on the worktable. Then he took up her hand again, folding it carefully in his own. ”Talk to me, Nari. Let me help.”

With a sound that was half-sigh, half-sob, she turned away from him. ”You can't help. n.o.body can help.”

”Let me try.”

She shook her head stiffly. Tears were forming in her eyes.

”You miss him?”

”I'm afraid for him. Oh, Gresham ...” And then the walls broke down and the tears came, hot tears that had been days in the making. ”What they're doing to him ... n.o.body understands. They don't even really care, as long as he does what they want. So what if there isn't a whole man left when they're finished? What does it matter to them if he goes crazy?” She lowered her head, and wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. ”I've been having nightmares,” she whispered. ”I think they're his. Is that possible?”

”If you care that much for him? Yes, of course it is. That's how the fae works.”

”He's so afraid, Gresh.”

He snorted. ”Any sane man would be, going where he's going.”

She shook her head. ”It isn't that. Nothing that simple. It's because-” She stopped then, because the truth was too private a thing. She couldn't even share it with Gresham.

He fears that this masquerade will really transform him. He's afraid of losing his soul. He had held her all that last night, barricaded in his apartment as if the enemy were at his door, and she had tasted the substance of his fear as if it were her own. She had felt the terror inherent in his masquerade, his gut fear that once the essence of Gerald Tarrant was invoked into his flesh he would never be free of it. To invite the substance of your enemy to take you over, to dim the flame of your own soul so that his might burn even brighter ... was there any greater terror than that? She had managed not to cry that night, but only because it would have made him more afraid. Now the tears flowed freely. He had held her all that last night, barricaded in his apartment as if the enemy were at his door, and she had tasted the substance of his fear as if it were her own. She had felt the terror inherent in his masquerade, his gut fear that once the essence of Gerald Tarrant was invoked into his flesh he would never be free of it. To invite the substance of your enemy to take you over, to dim the flame of your own soul so that his might burn even brighter ... was there any greater terror than that? She had managed not to cry that night, but only because it would have made him more afraid. Now the tears flowed freely.

”He needs me,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand, said nothing.

”I could help him.”

”You said they had their reasons for not letting you go with them,” he reminded her. ”You said you'd try to accept that.”

Reasons. She shut her eyes and trembled as anger seeped into her veins, a rage that was days in the making. ”d.a.m.n his faith!” she whispered fiercely. ”They think they'll have more control over the fae if I'm not there. Who's to say if they're right? Or even if they are, if it's worth the price he'll have to pay? What kind of a G.o.d is that, who rewards his people for suffering?”

He snorted. ”No one I know has ever claimed to understand the One G.o.d.”

Oh, Andrys. She reached out with all the power of her soul, wanting so badly to feel his presence, to know that he was still safe. But she lacked the kind of power it would take to establish such a link. Was he reaching out for her, too, with the same sense of desperation? Or was he beyond all that by now, subsumed by the essence of his masquerade? s.h.i.+vering, she opened her eyes, blinking tears away. She reached out with all the power of her soul, wanting so badly to feel his presence, to know that he was still safe. But she lacked the kind of power it would take to establish such a link. Was he reaching out for her, too, with the same sense of desperation? Or was he beyond all that by now, subsumed by the essence of his masquerade? s.h.i.+vering, she opened her eyes, blinking tears away.

”Look,” Gresham said gently. ”You can't go through all this and pretend it isn't happening. I've seen what it's doing to you these past few days, trying to work as if everything's normal while your soul's all tied up in knots. Why don't you take a few days off? Go somewhere maybe, take a break. Try to relax. You need it, Nari. Trust me.”