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His dreams that night were fraught with fears. He dreamed of a four-headed black horse that would take no saddle or bridle, then a grey mare that was so small not even a child could have ridden it, and finally a stallion the colour of fire; a bad omen indeed.

As it raced across the grasses, a man appeared to run at its side. The stallion's flanks were streaked with blood. He doubled his efforts, but all in vain, for the man bent in on himself, his stride lengthening, his dark hair shortening, his jaw elongating. Soon he was running on all fours, a great white wolf, his eyes flashing golden fire in the sunset. The stallion went down, shrieking, hooves flying, the beast’s teeth sunk deep into his shoulder.

Bai woke, shaking, his heart in his throat and his tanshán plastered to his body with sweat. 

He ground out a curse under his breath, stripped, and held the damp long-shirt into the wind to dry. Already the dawn had come. To his sleep-deprived eyes, the land looked silver and grey, all colour drained away. He scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. The thorn hedge had held, despite his agitation. He went to inspect it, a curt nod to his companions as he passed them, sitting around a small fire. 

'You let me sleep late,' he said to Lute.

'It is not yet full dawn.'

Bai grunted, reined in his irrational desire for an argument, and pressed his hands to the thorn's roots. It shrivelled with his words, spoken softly and rapidly, as he'd done many times before. 

‘I’ve brought you tea,’ said a voice behind him. He spun round, startled, to find Sanna with a cup of smoked blackleaf in her outstretched hands. She wrinkled her nose at his shirt, and stared at his bare torso with undisguised admiration.

He grimaced and reached for his blanket. ‘I had a bad night. It just needs to dry. If there were water to spare, I’d wash it.’

She smiled and proffered the tea again.

He bunched the tanshán over his arm and took the cup, raising it awkwardly to his forehead in gratitude before taking a sip.

Sanna held out her hand for the shirt. ‘Let me do that.’

He almost choked on his tea. ‘It isn’t fit for your hands. Besides, it’s nearly dry. It will need but a few breaths of wind more and that is all.’

She hesitated as if she’d argue, then nodded, and went back to sit by the campfire, where the Lyr Blaed woman and Lute were preparing a meagre breakfast of sliced dried mutton and flatbread. Sanna didn’t help, but instead prepared more tea. She seemed to have mastered that, at least. Bai finished his cup, then went to finish drying his shirt.

He realised he stank as he raised his arms. He hadn’t noticed before. Sanna’s presence had made him all too aware that he smelled of several days’ sweat and horse, and now a night of sour dreams on top of that. Too bad there was no water for washing. And no time to oil and scrape his skin. If there were sweet-grasses here, he could mix a paste with a little water, and scrub the worst of the road-sweat away, at least. It would do until they reached the hills. There’d be a beck there, and further in, larger pools.

He gazed over the grasses and found what he was looking for. A handful of seeds, a little left-over tea, and he had a workable paste. He went a little way from the camp, over a low rise, and applied it carefully to the back of his neck, under his arms, and between his legs. Then he grabbed fresh seeds and scrubbed, and brushed the lot away with his palm. Not as good as a wash, but it would do. At least he didn’t smell quite so bad. He gathered more seeds, crushed his shirt around them to release their sweet oils into the linen, and then flapped it into the wind. He pulled it over his head and did the same to his trousers, then filled the pockets of his coat with oil-seeds.

He gave them to Lute when he returned to their camp. ‘I gathered these. Might be polite not to offend the noses of the gentlewomen.’

Lute rolled his eyes, but tipped the seeds into a linen pouch, and tucked it into his pack.

Bai whirled on him. 'And mine!'

‘No time,’ Lute said. ‘If you want to keep those riders as far behind us as possible, then we should ride: stinking’s the least of our worries. The ladies will understand. Pretty sure I’m fine with it, though you didn’t ask me.’

Bai smacked Lute’s shoulder as he went to saddle his horse. ‘It’s not just about them though, is it? Don’t want to be downwind from anything in those hills!’

‘What’s in the hills?’ Sanna asked. 

Bai flung a warning glance at Lute to be quiet. ‘Nothing we can’t deal with.’

‘You don’t have to keep secrets from me as though I were a child.’

‘Is that what I’m doing?’

‘What’s in the hills, Bai penvarzhavay?’ She folded her arms and jerked her chin up, daring him to argue.

He flung his arms wide and gave up. ‘Penvarzhavoy. Sound the last syllable at the back of your throat and nowhere else. Especially if you don’t want people thinking you don’t belong with us. They must think you belong with us if you want to get through in one piece and not have them rat you out to your mother's men.'

She tried it out, and pursued her questioning once more. ‘Tell me what’s in the hills that you’re so worried about!’

Lute looked at her, then folded his arms and stared at Bai. ‘Wolves, trolls, outlaws, and shades and wights if we come too close to old burial sites or unwarded Stones.’

She swallowed hard, but said nothing, maintaining her defiant stance. ‘Thank you, Lute. Now I know, I can be prepared. Are there any defences I could employ against such things?’

‘Yes,’ Lute said. ‘Run when we tell you to. Ride when we tell you to. Get behind one of us when we tell you to.’

‘Teach me the Runes.’ She patted Lute’s arm and looked at Bai.

Bai blinked. ‘What?’

‘I can help if I know the Runes. If I needed to, I could protect myself.’

‘Oh, for…! What, you think it’s like learning your letters?’

‘I’ve learned three tongues, including yours.’

‘Not very well,’ he countered, stubbornness setting in. He couldn’t decide if she was starting to irritate him, or if he was looking forward to the challenge she presented.

‘Correct me then.’ She folded her arms. ‘Teach me to speak your language like you do.’

He gave up. ‘Fine! I’ll teach you some Runes.’

Lute huffed and mounted Hálana. He reached and grabbed Lezhnaiáth’s reins and shoved them into Bai’s hand. ‘No time, unless you want to tutor her on the road. Sun’s almost up. Time to go.’

Bai nodded. ‘Sanna, will you ride with me?’

She turned and whirled away, almost running for her horse, the long skirts of her coat flying behind her. He grinned and mounted, and when she caught up, he began the first lesson.

‘I will teach you Ana, for Sight,’ he told her. ‘This will tell you the truth of things that your eyes see. If your heart knows there is something else there, Ana will show it to you.’

He held up one hand. She watched, green eyes intent. He traced the Rune in the air, his spell giving the shape life. Twisted shapes glowed with copper light. He jerked his hand and the Rune disappeared. ‘You try.’

‘I cannot remember that! It looked like the branch of a bent old thorn.’

‘Down-stroke first,’ said Bai, digging for inner patience, and demonstrated. A long stroke down, and a jerk to the right. ‘Then the branches, if you will.’

Two more strokes. The Rune took shape, and burned with a pale gold fire. 'You try.'

Sanna nodded, and raised her hand.

Bai looked at the dull, heavy thing she'd created with dismay. He shook his head. ‘Are your hands made of iron, woman? Try again.’

He snapped his fingers and the hideous thing shattered.

Lute nudged him with his fly-whip, frowning. ‘What do you want to go teaching Tethiri spells to this dull-eyed shurshána for, Bai cárazhi?’

Bai shot him a foul look for that. ‘Because I think it would do no harm for her to know. She has, I think, some talent. Did I ask you for opinions?’

‘I asked him to teach me,’ said Sanna, eyeing Lute haughtily. ‘Or does he have to do everything with your permission?’

Bai laughed as Lute’s mouth fell open. ‘Maybe he’s right. Ana is all I’ll teach you today, ma-zhíana. Go and ride with your fellow stowaway.’

‘What did you call her that for?’ Lute scratched the end of his nose with his fly-whip and watched Sanna’s stiff back as she went to catch up with the Lyr Blaed woman, who had ridden a little ahead, wrapped in her own thoughts. ‘She is not one of us. No need to waste our words on her.’

Bai’s grip on his reins tightened. ‘I never waste words, Lute. Least of all on poselenech runaways. But I never deny any to those who need them either. Why should you?’

‘I’ve left my tribe to go with you and see these women to safety,’ Lute said, his voice almost a growl. ‘Don’t ask me to give them more than that!’

‘You came because I gave you an order to. I did not ask. Or do you forget that? The women are not my main reason for this journey. Don’t forget that either.’

Lute fell silent. Bai’s lips thinned. The lad had forgotten. He let out a sigh. ‘I am sorry, Lute. I wouldn’t ask you to come were you not my shield-bearer – and my friend. But if those who rely on us for protection could learn do fend just a little for themselves, then why not teach them to do so?’

Lute rolled his shoulders, frowning.

‘Is there something else?’ Bai asked.

Lute said nothing, but his frown deepened, and he picked viciously at a loose button on his coat. Bai sighed again.

Lute drew reign. They had come to the crest of a low hill, the first of the foothills through to Silverheim. From there, the land began to rise gently, the hills in the distance.

‘Speak, Lute,’ Bai said softly.

‘What I want I can’t ask for.’ Lute’s face was set, his black eyes glittering.

‘There should be nothing to come between us. I rely on you. If I don’t have your trust, then can I trust you?’

Lute shifted his weight impatiently in his saddle, his head bowed.

‘Very well,’ said Bai. He beckoned the women closer, then pointed to the hills. ‘You’ll see two sharp peaks up ahead. At their feet is a lake, and a network of caves. We’ll head for there, and then branch off at the lake’s shore, to the East, towards Vallesia. We’ll avoid the worst of the Ulthvár territory that way, though I can’t promise the same respite for anything else.’

The Lyr Blaed woman tossed her head. ‘Better to go all the way to Vallesia’s North, and then come South again to Silverheim.’

‘It would take too long.’

‘But no pursuit that way. Not once we get to Vallesia.’

Bai showed her the hilts of his svárathin in sudden, impatient anger. ‘I have spoken! Do you think I have endless months to spend away from my people on your behalf?’

She nodded, chastened. Bai noticed that Lute looked brighter, now that part of the journey would take them away from the hills.

‘What of the Vallesians, Bai cárazhi?’ Lute said.

Bai’s gaze flickered to Sanna to see if she’d understood Lute’s endearment. She gave no indication that she had, however. He relaxed. He'd speak to Lute later about it, but for now, he was content to let it lie. 

‘The Vallesians owe us no loyalty,’ Lute continued, and a spark of wickedness crept into his eyes. ‘They do fear a silverless Lyr Blaed though. And you want to take one straight through them like a knife through butter. Do you really think it's going to be that easy?'

 

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