Chapter Three
“H e’s still fussy about pissing in front of anyone,” Delen said with a dismissive wave. “He’ll be back.”
Cador paced, eyes locked on the forest’s edge, brittle grass making his bare feet itch. He hated not wearing his boots, but they’d remained uncomfortably wet. The fur he’d given Jem after dinner now lay abandoned, and worry grew with every moment.
His heart leapt at distant movement in the forest, plummeting when Kensa appeared. He strode across the clearing. Fuck waiting.
“Is Jem in there?” he demanded.
Kensa’s eyebrows shot up. “Good morning to you too.”
“Is he?”
She frowned. “Not that I saw. But you know how dainty he is. Those mainlanders—”
Cador marched past her. In the long shadows of the trees, he shouted, “Jem!”
Nothing. A faint breeze rustled leaves and birds called merrily. Were these the dillywigs Jem loved so much?
“Jem! Are you here?” Something scurried in the dry underbrush, and he whirled. Nothing. “Jem!” His heart thudded. “Answer me!” Please. “Damn it, answer!”
He’s not here.
Instinct repeated it again and again. Gone. Jem was gone. He strode back to camp, barking, “He’s not here! If he’s been taken…”
“Taken?” Delen stood from where she’d been speaking with Creeda, Hedrok still sleeping. “By who? Margh saw nothing on watch.”
“Which is a fucking problem! Whatever happened, Margh should have seen it!”
Delen held up her hands. “Agreed. But it’s hot, and we’re all tired, and there were no threats here last time.”
“That doesn’t mean there can’t be new threats! Onan wasn’t on fire last time either!” His fingers itched for his spear. “And we think we’re prepared to fight a war? Can’t even keep watch over one tiny mainlander!”
Cador should have stayed awake. He should have made Jem stay by his side whether Jem liked it or not. He’d insisted Jem have a fur, so why hadn’t he stopped him from sleeping off on his own?
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Delen said. “If he slipped away, we can hardly blame him for wanting some distance. When we get to the Holy Place, he’ll be waiting. There’s nowhere else for him to go around here. Now have some tea—”
“ Tea ? You think I’m going to sit around drinking fucking tea? I’m going after him.” As Delen opened her mouth, he snapped, “No discussion. If I’m to be chieftain, you’ll have to get used to following my orders.”
After a stunned moment, she smiled thinly. “All right, brother. Off with you. But I’m keeping our map of the mainland.”
“Fine.” He yanked on his boots, annoyed to find they were still vaguely damp. How was that possible when the sun was barely up and it was so fucking hot already? He cursed and strapped on his sword, aware that Delen still stood by Creeda and Hedrok, watching him.
He muttered, “There’s fire, and he’s out there alone.”
“I know.” She frowned, gazing at the horizon. “It seems far away. The smoke has lessened. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“What the fuck do we know of fires and when to worry?” he demanded, irritation returning in a blink.
“You have a point. Now go on and stop acting like such a prick. You won’t win back his heart like this.”
“What do you know about winning hearts?” His gaze slipped to Creeda, who listened silently and watched them with her usual flat expression.
Delen’s jaw tightened. “Go,” she bit out, turning on her heel and marching away. Guilt flooded him, and he wanted to call after her to apologize, but it could wait.
Jem couldn’t.
*
It was so hot the whole damn world should have been on fire. Yet the wisps of smoke remained on the distant horizon, now more toward the east, perhaps from another blaze?
Blinking in the sun, Cador paused to gulp from his flask, the boar’s tusk smooth in his hand. He’d run out of ale and had refilled it in a stream that was usually more of a river judging by the dry banks. His legs were longer than Jem’s, and he should catch up with him soon. In fact—
Cador drew his sword at the noise. He’d hated leaving his spears behind, but the sword could be strapped to his back. More practical for walking and likely more threatening to mainlanders, though he wasn’t particularly accustomed to using a blade.
The hilt was foreign in his sweaty grasp, and he almost dropped the damn thing as the thud of hooves grew louder. Spreading his legs, he put on his fiercest expression and hoped he looked frightening and not like he needed to take a shit.
Three riders rounded the bend in the track past a grove of sun-battered trees, and a cry rose up. They reined in their mounts, and Cador saw a convoy of riderless horses and a wagon behind, its driver slowing. He lowered his sword a fraction and waited for them to speak.
A plain-dressed older woman in riding breeches with dark braids called out, “We’re servants from the Holy Place. We’re told there is a landing party from Ergh in need of assistance.”
“And who told you this?” Cador demanded even though they didn’t seem to be a threat.
“A man called Jory. He was continuing south to Neuvella after a rest. You’re Cador, aren’t you? The chieftain’s son?”
He lowered his sword. “Yes.” He belatedly added, “Thank you for coming. My nephew is…taken ill.”
“Yes, we heard about him. We should take him to visit the elder at the origin of the healing waters to the east in Gwels. We can treat him there, and it will be safer for all of you to bypass the Holy Place and travel to Neuvella that way. We worry the winds will change and the fires will block your path should you go the traditional route.”
He considered it. Could a wildfire spread that quickly? In his lifetime on Ergh, he’d never seen the land burn. And he had never heard of these healing waters, but if they worked, he didn’t care. “This elder is a healer?”
“Yes, the most learned in Onan aside from the royal healer Tregereth of Neuvella.”
“That is our destination. The castle.”
The woman nodded. “Going by way of Gwels is a longer route to Neuvella, but safer. If your people are traveling slowly with the ill child, it is wise to stay as far from the fires as possible. And you must want to get the child to a healer soon.”
“Agreed. Where is Jem? Didn’t you give him one of the horses?”
The woman’s brow furrowed, and she shared a glance with her companions. “Who?”
His heart skipped. Ah, but this woman would be a stranger to Jem and wouldn’t know his nickname. “Prince Jowan.”
Her frown only deepened. “Prince Jowan of Neuvella? Your husband?”
“Do you know another?” he demanded. “Did you give him a horse?” His sword pointed at the dusty ground, and his fingers flexed around the handle. If something had happened to Jem, if someone had hurt him, if…
“Your…er, grace, we have not seen Prince Jowan since he left for Ergh months ago.”
Fuck . Fuck! He breathed through the flare of fear that seared before settling in his gut like an icy fist. “He walked ahead of me. Some hours—I’m not sure how many. No more than seven. You should have met him. Is there another path?”
She was still frowning. “Not south. There’s only the road we came on and the road we will take east.”
“Maybe he hid from you.” He’d be skittish after what had happened.
The riders all looked bewildered. The woman said, “I can’t see why.”
“It doesn’t matter. Give me a horse.” He marched over to the extra mounts and eyed a large brown animal. “Fast?”
“Er, yes. The saddle is—”
Cador had already taken the reins and unfastened the restraining rope from the horse’s bridle. He launched onto its back, patting its neck as it flicked its mane and sidestepped. “No need.”
“But you should come with us and stay with your people.” The woman nodded to one of her companions. “Steren will find Prince Jowan. He knows this area well.”
Yes, it was the logical thing to do, but the thought of giving up and returning to Delen and the others without knowing Jem was safe made him want to howl like he’d been gored by a boar’s tusks.
“I’ll find him. Get my people safely to this elder healer and then to Neuvella.” He belatedly added, “Please.”
She opened her mouth before sighing. “All right. Continue on this road and you’ll reach the Holy Place. If Prince Jowan hasn’t made it, there are still enough servants to launch a search.”
“Thank you. And what’s causing the fires? Jem—Prince Jowan—said this isn’t normal?”
The woman shook her head grimly. “The spring rains didn’t come as expected. I’ve never known it to be this hot. We have seen the western skies alight for weeks. Of course we pray that the rain will come and all will be well.”
“No rumors of battles that might have caused it?”
She looked truly astonished. “No! Why?”
Cador had no time or inclination to explain. “Name?” He held the warm leather reins loosely and patted his mount.
“I’m—”
“The horse .”
She flushed. “We called her Melwyn since her coat looked like fresh honey when she was born. It’s darker now as you see, and she eats so much we started calling her Dybri for the special hay she loved devouring. And—”
He’d already wheeled Melwyn—make that Dybri—and spurred her into a run. As the hot winds rose and the distant smoke came nearer, Cador kept his head low, searching for Jem and calling his name until he was hoarse.
*
As he neared the stable on the outskirts of the Holy Place, Cador should have been ready for a mug of ale and a proper meal of something other than byghan and the cured boar they’d brought for the voyage. Yet he felt sick with worry, the massive knot in his stomach only expanding.
Was Jem injured? Lost? Kidnapped? What if Cador had been right after all and he’d been grabbed?
It might have been Western spies, that wicked King Perran plotting against them.
The bastard controlled the sevels with an iron grip, and he hated Jem’s mother.
Tas had planned to use that to Ergh’s advantage, but perhaps the West had beat him to it.
Cador reminded himself no one had known they were sailing to the mainland. They’d seen no other ships, but that was no guarantee they hadn’t been spotted, was it? It was possible that—