32. Near Unnoticed
32
NEAR UNNOTICED
The Dry Sea bore a close resemblance to prairie, yellow grass dotted with mats of smoke-colored flowers on low, creeping ochre shrubs, all rippling with a noise like the ocean on a rocky shore. The palette was pure Wyeth, but the light deep and liquid as Vermeer, the colors thick and beautiful as van Gogh’s wheatfields. There was no hint of mint to this foliage, a sweetish smell like dried apples rising instead, and Ari’s fingers tingled. Touching a stirrup or other piece of metal tack didn’t quite create sparks, but did produce a brief thrill along the nerves; strands of hair not trapped in braids briefly lifting on an invisible current.
The equines were tired, but plodded along willingly enough. Ari worried about fodder—whatever critters with teeth like that would eat—but she figured Keners knew what he was doing.
Though the warmth was springlike instead of summery, the distance held shimmering heat-ripples. Shadows danced through them—more of the almost-antelopes and pale shadows Hannixe said were shakren .
“Like the equines, only smaller, and the color of your mount. They bear a single horn.” She tapped at her forehead with graceful fingertips. “Curved, almost as a bow. The grass-pards hunt them, and the windsnakes.”
“Foul-tempered beasts,” Keners added, shortly. “They should not trouble us.” Still, a vertical line lingered between his dark eyebrows, and he scanned their surroundings ceaselessly.
Each time they halted Darjeth tried to help Ari with dismounting, but she managed to reach the ground herself without too much trouble. Getting back up was the problem, but fortunately the blond man’s side held up admirably and he could give her ten fingers. His own mounting was a little less elegant than usual, and each stop meant another session with the canteen. The foam wasn’t so bad as the first time and the angry dark branchmarks didn’t spread; he took each treatment like a champ.
He didn’t even swear, though he gritted teeth hard enough to crack. A real gentleman all ’round.
So was Keners. He didn’t try to make Hannixe pay for overriding him, so far as Ari could tell. Instead, he focused on keeping the equines tended, but Ari didn’t miss how he hovered over the Grey Lady at each stop, rapier handy and his pale gaze resting speculatively on Darjeth.
Hannixe found a few low-growing plants with pungent silvery leaves, and when crushed and applied to the wound they seemed to ease the pain. But the level in the canteen dropped steadily, and the Dry Sea was living up to its name.
The sun sank, and just as it was halfway below the horizon—the moon hanging nearby seeming almost as swollen—they reached the Spires.
Towering stacks of glossy black stone spread in a wall, thin crimson veins throbbing near their fang-points. Wind from the Dry Sea poured past, moaning only a little less eerily than the Breach. Ari eyed this new geological monstrosity nervously.
No artist she’d ever studied could truly capture this, though she was sure more than a few would love to try. At least its geometry was reasonably natural instead of alien, and didn’t give her the willies to the same degree as the bone-bridge.
Keners became even more stiffly vigilant, riding first in front, then behind; Darjeth stayed to Ari’s left, equally watchful. Hannixe drooped in the saddle, braiding together strings of silvery shrubbery for later use.
They turned along the spike-wall, jog-trotting with black stone to their left for a long while. Finally, just before the day died completely, a single gap yawned. A listing, weathered wooden post stood just to one side of the aperture, and Keners called a halt.
“A guide,” he said, indicating the pillar. “Destroyed, of course, but…”
Darjeth’s breathing was ragged as Hannixe changed the poultice. She dabbed more crushed leaves on the slice, frowning in the bloody light of sunset. “Is it very bad?”
“Not so much. I simply cannot dance at the moment.” He gave a tight smile, but his forehead was damp, his cheeks hollow-gaunt as the chained man’s had been at first.
Ari peered at the wooden guidepost. A length of rusted chain fell from an eyelet carved in its top and trailed across dusty gravel, vanishing into the gravel-floored cleft between two massive, glossy spires. The rock towers looked very sharp, and the combing windsong mounted as evening rose. “A guide?”
“Gaps are few, and at some there are guides. Before the misfortune, all one had to do was follow a chain in order to arrive safely.” Keners frowned, staring into the gap. “I had hoped the renewal would bring them to some kind of repair.”
Huh . Ari stepped closer, studying the wood’s grain, the thick rust on the chain. It looked ancient, many links rotten enough to snap under their own weight.
“Perhaps enough remains of this one, and we can feel our way through.” Hannixe shook out a fresh scrap of fabric and bent once more, accomplishing a neat compression bandage with a few swift movements. Darjeth obeyed her slight prodding, lifting his arm and twisting to grant her greater access—but slowly, his teeth bared in a grimace.
“Unlikely.” Keners shook his head, examining the chain as well. “If we step into a false passage we may well wander starving for a hundred mortal years. That is, if the windsnakes do not descend. They would not approach the chain, but if ’tis broken or we stray, they will feast well.” He glanced at Ari, pale eyes narrowed, and the message was clear.
This is a really bad idea .
“Well, you are canny enough to elude both the Golden and the restless dead.” The Grey Lady straightened, stretching and shaking her hands briskly. “Finding the way should be little trouble for you, no?”
“If my lady asks it, I will do all I can.” The Fox didn’t sound happy about the notion. “Even in darkness.”
“There is no hope,” Darjeth said, clamping his arm against the bandage and sagging atop his rounded grey boulder-seat. “You have done all that is possible, Hannixe—you and our lady queen. Perhaps you should simply leave me, and withdraw to some safety.”
Like hell I will . Ari bit her lower lip, gently; the torc with its white jewel warmed against her breastbone, safely tucked under her mantle. The forest had healed itself in fast-forward, the Mere had turned to clean water. It was ridiculous, but maybe…
She stepped closer to the post. It trembled slightly, but that could have been the wind.
“Be careful,” Keners said. “My lady queen, do not?—”
Ari’s fingers met dry, rough wood. Please. I’m doing the best I can here.
For a moment nothing happened, and she felt utterly ridiculous. Evening breeze mounted, the Spires keening, and the sound went right through her head like the grinding shatter of a car accident.
An image of the chained man rose in Ari’s head, sharp and vivid. Head cocked as he rode, he stared at some point past her, the big black equine shaking its mane impatiently. Splinters quivered under her fingertips, sharp edges jabbing. Metal crackled and rang, drowning out the wind’s voice.
Do you doubt now, Ariadne?
She snatched her hand back, her entire arm tingling as if waking from nerve compression. The wooden post stood straight and tall now, sleek and darkly varnished; a last gleam of blood-red sunset passed down the dull iron chain, snaking whole and untarnished into the gap. Pebbles shifted, gravel settling, and somewhere in the distance a low rolling growl like thunder echoed.
“By silver.” Keners sounded wondering, and not a little awestruck.
Darjeth did, too. “I have heard that before; ’tis our lord prince’s displeasure. I think he has ascertained our aim.”
I certainly hope so . “He’ll follow us?” Ari couldn’t squash the thin thread of hope blooming in her chest. She turned to Hannixe and the guys, shaking out her hand. The buzzing in her fingers wouldn’t abate.
“I think it likely he feared you taken, and was already riding hard through the Blight to attack the Mirrored City.” Hannixe shivered, cupping her elbows in her palms, hugging herself very much as Ari habitually did. “The traitor will be so busy with that event, we shall pass near unnoticed.”
“Good.” Ari hoped it didn’t mean the chained man was angry at her . But if she was going to get a beating—or worse—she’d damn well better make it worth the price.
Like filching cash from Wanda Lee’s purse to add to her getaway fund or fleeing from a big white house where her ex-husband’s body lay on hardwood, some things just had to be done.
“Keners,” she continued, “how are the equines?”
“Strong enough for one last effort.” There was a new note in the Fox’s tone, suspiciously like respect. “As am I, and my friend Darjeth.”
“I am ready.” Hannixe helped the blond man to his feet. “Let us make what speed we may.”