Dryad-Born(39)

She rubbed her legs and stood. The Kishion examined the contents of the saddle bags. There were some rations there—dried beef, fruit, nuts, figs, and cheese. An old heel of bread was removed as well. He tossed these to her, though kept some of the figs for himself.

“Do you even need to eat?” she asked him, tearing a hunk from the bread.

He shook his head no. “I enjoy the taste of food. But I will not starve to death or die of thirst.”

She sat down by the edge of the stream, taking a nibble from the cheese. It was sharp but full of flavor. “You truly cannot die then?”

He nodded. “I do not know the magic the Arch-Rike uses to give me this invulnerability. I have vague memories. I know about the Vaettir, the Preachán, the Cruithne. I am Aeduan, as you can tell on your own. I believe I have even visited all of the kingdoms. But I do not recall my past.”

Phae sighed deeply. “I am sorry I was rude to you.”

He gave her a curious look, pausing in his examination of the saddle bags. “You are a strange girl. I do not deserve your apology.”

“That may be true, but I offer it still. I do not hate you, Kishion.” She sighed again. “I wish you had a name, though. I do not like calling you that. It doesn’t…feel right. When you have finished your task, I do want you to go find your true name. When you have, come and tell it to me. This is assuming my life is useful to the Arch-Rike in some small way.”

A haunted smile passed over his mouth. “I doubt I will remember your request for very long. Now that you’ve killed a man, can you see why losing the memory is better? The guilt is crushing you.”

Phae shook her head angrily. “No, I never want to forget what I did. I never want to do that again. I want to remember how it felt.” She wiped her face, sighing again. “Is there anything else in the bags then?”

He poked inside the next one. “Ducats, mostly. Ah, here we are. A map.” He withdrew a leather-bound parchment scroll. He uncapped the ends and slowly opened it, his expression keen.

“I see,” he murmured.

“What is it?” Phae asked, getting to her feet quickly. She glanced at the scroll and saw a representation of the kingdoms. There was Stonehollow, featured prominently. She saw the city as well as the road to Fowlrox. There were other trails marked though, roads that were unfamiliar to her.

“They are looking for a new road into Stonehollow,” the Kishion surmised. He pointed at the lines and the mountains. “See, they are drawing the different passes and marking each one they have tried with an ‘X’. This is the gate where they were hiding. These are probably scouts, looking for a safe haven, another way of transporting stone and timber away from Stonehollow. Away from the only road in or out of the kingdom.”

Phae looked at him curiously. “Why would they do that?”

“Because the strength of Stonehollow comes from its defenses. You cannot attack this kingdom because the only way in is through one of the mountain passes where they have carved a road through several enormous boulders. An army cannot cross those mountains except through that road. It is easily defended. It also means they can control all the stone and timber they sell, because they can tax what goes out through the road. If the Romani find another way to leave the valley, it will give them a way of manipulating the trading here. The Arch-Rike will wish to hear of this.”

“I heard from my…friend that the Romani may not control the trade routes in the future. Is that true?”

The Kishion nodded. “Yes. There is a treaty with Wayland. This is useful information to have.” He secured the saddle bags again and then climbed up on the saddle. Phae stared up at his face, feeling the mounting dread. Perhaps the Arch-Rike was not a person to fear. She had the sense that her life was about to change. If she embraced the change, perhaps her fate would not be as horrible as she thought.

He reached for her again and she clasped his arm and mounted behind him again. When she had first seen him, the scars on his face had frightened her but now she hardly noticed them. His eyes had seemed dead. They no longer did. There was something inside his eyes now, a longing for his past. But she also remembered quite vividly how quickly his mood could change and how dangerous he truly was. It made her shudder.

With a tap from his boots, the horse plunged into the shallow stream and emerged on the other side in moments. They managed an even pace to preserve the animal’s strength. In the distance behind them, the haze from the brushfire could still be seen. She wondered what Master Winemiller was doing. Had he gone into Stonehollow to seek information? Was he traveling to the cabin at that moment? What of the Vaettir prince? Where was he? So many questions flitted through her mind.