Page 14 of Into the West

That clinched it. “Why not?” she said, raising her chin. “Your decisions have held as good as your luck, so far. It sounds like a fine plan to me.”

“Excellent!” He beamed at her, and she felt her heart clench, though she did her best to smile brightly. “Most of the scouting group is back; we only needed to leave a couple of guards and one mage to watch the receiving Gate. So let’s go tell them the news and see what they have to say.”

Isla looked from her husband to Delia and back again, then shrugged. “Well, at your age I’d have leapt to have an adventure, and you’re surely going to have that. I’d trust Hakkon and Ivar with my life, and they will certainly take care of yours. Don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure you are properly packed up for this.” Her face grew thoughtful. “In fact, there’s that ridiculous fur-lined cape-of-state I think I’ve worn twice packed in the storage barges. I’ll ask one of the girls where it is and we’ll cut it up and sew it into two over-tunics, one for you and one for me.”

Delia felt a pang of guilt to think that Isla was going to sacrifice that magnificent ermine-lined cape for someone who—well, never mind. That “someone” was going to be going away shortly, and would no longer be any kind of temptation to the Baron. Kordas rose, and so did she. “Let’s ride,” she said, knowing that by riding they would be cutting any time they might have for talking severely short. Right now, the last thing she wanted to hear from Kordas was more praise about how much good she was going to do, and how pleased he was that she was leaving him—no, sorry, going along with this plan.

I can’t deny that this hurts. Other side of the world for all I know, and still infatuation is hard to let go of. I imagined so many things with him. He . . . thought about my feelings, at least, so I made a good impression on him.

This is the right thing to do.

Doing the right thing doesn’t always feel good, though.

The mage camp was almost identical to the one that had been at the center of the lake-crescent when she had first come through, with the exception that there didn’t seem to be any ruins at this end. The river that ran into the point of the crescent here drained right out of the swamp they were going to have to bypass, and so was bursting with fish, crawfish, and frogs even now.

Bursting rather less with frogs than it had been when the camp was set up. Sai’s new apprentice, a young, balding man called Venidel, had turned out to be quite the expert frog-“gigger”—that was what he called himself, anyway—and absolutely no one in the camp ever turned down a dish of Sai’s frog legs. Nothing went to waste, of course, because the rest of the frog became bait for crawfish and fish. Even the frog skin was dressed to make condoms, as were animal intestines, turtle membranes, and eel skins. They were in demand, considering at this point most of the expedition had little else to do, and babies were definitely not wanted at this point.

As they rode up into the camp, Sai hailed them cheerfully from the camp kitchen. “Crawfish stew over boiled wheat?”

“Yes, please!” Kordas replied, before Delia could say anything. “Breakfast seems to be three days ago.”

Sai waved them over to the area in the middle of the camp where the common kitchen had been set up. Before it had gotten so cold, flat-topped ovens with curious chimneys at one end had been created using rocks, mortar, mud, and magic to bind it all together, in order to maximize the amount of heat they could get out of their fuel. The local villagers had been intrigued by the unique design of their bread ovens, because they used so little fuel—and in fact, they were doing quite well, still, just using windfall. Even the tiniest little scrap of a twig was useful. Delia didn’t understand it at all, but something about the way that the stoves were built made them use very little wood and store heat for a very long time. Sai had told them how to make the ovens without using magic, and now there was at least one in every village, and because of how well they radiated steady heat, the villagers were making plans to put them in every house. In kind, the villagers had taught the expedition which creatures, fungi, and vegetation were edible, as well as recipes for them.

Pots and pans were always on those flat tops, heating water for washing and tea, and cooking things that were best done “low and slow,” while bread went in when the ovens were hottest following their morning firing, and meats got roasted slowly in their own juices and Sai’s bone broth once the day’s bread was out. Nobody fried anything anymore, and no one cooked over open flames, at least not in the encampment. And certainly no one wasted anything, not just fuel. Even turnip and carrot tops went into stew, chopped fine. Vegetables were scrubbed, not peeled, as Delia knew very well, having scrubbed more than she cared to count.

Well, even if I still have to do that, there won’t be nearly as many of them.

Sai and his brother Ceri were dishing up the crawfish stew onto the herbed boiled wheat in the bread bowls. They were both stern-looking, usually silent, with massive white eyebrows and long, straight white hair. Ceri wore his in a tail on the top of his head. Sai used to wear his unbound and combed until it looked like a fall of ice. Not since they came here, though. Now he had it braided down his back. I guess it was too much trouble to keep loose when we’re all crammed into little boats and running around outdoors all day, she thought; she’d felt the same, but her reaction had been to have her sister chop it all off at about chin length, and keep it trimmed that way.

She and Kordas took their bread bowls and got their spoons off their belts. And that was another change: now, everyone kept a spoon and a small all-purpose knife with them at all times, and cleaned it for themselves after eating. No one ate off plates, or even bowls. The fewer things that needed cleaning—or could be lost or broken—the better.

“So,” said Sai, motioning to his brother to stir the pot. “Dole is on magic duty on the other side of the new Gate today, along with a handful of your Guard, but I assume you’ll be putting together a permanent scouting party now that we are leaving for good?”

Kordas nodded. “You assume correctly.”

There was a cluster of cut-off sections of tree trunk along the back side of the ovens, so that people could sit and put their backs to the warm—was it clay?—of the sides of the ovens while they ate. They all sat there, Sai in the middle. All of the Six Old Men (as Kordas called them) tended to dress similarly, in practical, hardwearing trews and loose tunics in muted browns and grays. Now that it was colder, those tunics were heavily quilted, and she suspected the trews were layered over lighter trews. Sai’s tunic had something special: the outline of a dragonfly quilted into the back.

Delia dug into her food without hesitation. The cooks at the common kitchens varied from adequate to competent, but Sai and Ceri were something extraordinary when it came to cookery. She was always glad to eat here. Even the boiled wheat was delicious.

“I assume you want me along?” Sai continued. “We ought to have at least three mages; my apprentice and I can be two of those, but do you want one of us Six Old Farts besides me?”

“Didn’t Endars train in things that would be useful for a scout?” Kordas asked. As if he didn’t already know. I think he knows what every single mage in the camp can do.

“He can mind-ride on birds, yes, yes, yes. And he’s good at fires. Putting them out, starting them, throwing fireballs. He can light up a pine cone and toss it. If the party gets stuck somewhere with the wettest of fuel, he can make it burn.” Sai wrinkled his nose. “He’s a terrible cook, though. He thinks meat should be charred on the outside and raw on the inside.”

Kordas chuckled. “That would be why we’d have you along.”

Sai preened a little. “Well, of course! And I assume Jonaton; that will be four experienced mages, and Jonaton is very good at Gates. That will make up for the rest of his shenanigans.”

“He won’t be ‘borrowing’ from you any more, Sai, at least on the scouting party. You won’t have anything with you that he won’t have himself,” Kordas pointed out.

“Hmm, true, true, true. And Jonaton means Hakkon, and I like to have a good slab of beef between me and trouble.” He cackled. “So who else?”

“Alberdina and Ivar, and three people you don’t know. Former Imperial fighters, a Sergeant Fairweather and her two cousins. At least one Doll, maybe two.” Kordas paused. “And Delia.”

“Oh! You’re going!” Sai exclaimed, turning toward her. “Oh, I can think of a lot of ways you can be useful! You were a great help when we put the Gate down here, and who knows? There might be some actual talent for magic in you! We can find out!”

Delia was relieved to hear that out of Sai; he didn’t suffer fools at all, and he never gave out compliments if he didn’t truly mean them.