Halithe didn’t waste any further breath, it was too cold.
“You should know that mages and magic are not welcome in Athelbryght.”She glanced at him, at that, and saw that he was scanning the woods.“You know of the vore?”
“I’ve heard the stories,” Halithe answered.
“Yes, well, vore are magical constructs, and not by choice.They are sensitive to the use of any power.Smart, cunning, and clever.Use no magic in their presence.Ordinarily I wouldn’t come here, but there are two reasons why.”
He didn’t wait for her to ask.“The first is that Athelbryght was and is neutral territory.Ever since King Xykahn’s time, before that even, the Barony has been ruled by a Chosen.The vore are sworn to the protection of the Chosen, for historical reasons that I assume would bore you to tears.”
“Maybe not so much now,” Halithe said as she wiggled out of her dress, shivering in the chill.
“Such is often the case.”Ritathan snorted.“We will save that for later.I am known to the Chosen, which means we can seek her aid.”
Before she pulled on the tunic, Halithe checked inside her breastband.The single strand of Caris’s hair was still there, still safe, curled in one of her handkerchiefs.She made sure it was tucked in tight.
Ritathan continued, “but until we reach her manor, we are a scribe and his daughter-apprentice, seeking to flee the chaos behind us.Our real names are fine, but you might want to practice ‘father.’”
Halithe froze in the act of pulling on the tunic.The idea hurt.She didn’t want to think of him that way.“No, not that,” she said.“I will call you Papa.”
“As you wish,” Ritathan said.“We will leave the rest for when we are in our room at the inn, after a full meal.Then you can pester me with all the questions you like.”
“I want to know who killed you,” Halithe said.“How they thought they killed you.”
“No,” Ritathan said slowly, “I don’t think you do.”He looked up at the sky.“Are you finished?”
“Yes,” she said, sweeping up her cloak and putting it over her shoulders.She glanced down at the dress, underthings, and slippers at her feet.
“Take it with you.Let’s not leave any traces,” Ritathan said, so she crammed all the layers into the satchel, with no regard for wrinkles or the delicate stitching.
It felt oddly satisfying.
Ritathan handed her the reins to one of the horses.“I assume you can ride?”
Of course she could ride.She was a fine young lady of noble blood.She mounted, then he mounted his horse and took the lead of the pack horse.
“This path should take us to the main road.”Ritathan urged his horse on, the pack horse following.
The woods were quiet, the breeze ruffling the trees above them.The air was crisp and cold and stung her cheeks.“I think you owe me more answers,” she said.
“I do,” Ritathan said over his shoulder.“But it’s getting dark.Best we talk once we are on the road.”
Halithe shivered in the cold, crisp air, and had to agree, as much as her curiosity was eating her alive.But she had no desire to sleep out in the woods.Although there was enough fabric in her dress that she would be able to use it to wrap up and keep warm.That mental picture made her suppress a grin.Then she realized there was no one near to scold her for grinning or laughing, and so she laughed, suddenly wanting to spur her horse into a wild gallop.
The scent of horse and crushed leaves filled her lungs.She settled into the saddle.She felt so damn free.But now was not the time for giddiness.Proper daughters of Master scribes did not send their horses plunging down the road at a gallop, now did they?
Maybe they did.Which thought made her grin until it felt like her cheeks would crack.
In a short time they were out of the shelter of the trees, at the edge of a road with a brim.Ritathan urged his horse up and then she followed, moving her horse to walk next to his.
“Now we can talk,” she said.
“That might have to wait,” Ritathan’s voice was rueful, and at her glance he nodded down the road.
Men on horses sat there, apparently waiting.For them?In front of the riders stood two very large dogs…Halithe corrected herself immediately.
Not dogs.Vore.They had to be.
They were huge, the size of small ponies, but their heads weren’t shaped like any dog or wolf she’d ever seen.Their jaws were large and square; they had the bunched shoulders of a bear, covered by a thick ruff.Their eyes glittered, assessing, staring, studying her.
