Law of the Broken Earth(74)
Now, on her own and more or less safe, she had time to think—too much time and far too much solitude for her peace of mind.
She wondered where the queen and the royal party might be. Safe in Sihannas? She wondered about Tan. How far in front of her was he? Would he find her father’s house—would he be safe there until she could come? Would she be safe until she got there?
If there was a Linularinan mage behind her, he was probably much better trained than Mienthe. Only stubbornness and luck had got her out of that strange magecrafted trap in Tiefenauer, and then more luck had kept her from falling right into Linularinan hands when she toppled off that roof. She hoped the guardsmen she had left behind were all right. She did not know enough to guess whether the two might have gotten away, or whether the Linularinan soldiers might have spared the one who had set himself in their way to guard her flight.
Where, she wondered, was the Linularinan mage now? As soon as the question occurred to her, Mienthe was certain he was somewhere close by, far too close—just out of sight—probably hidden at the edge of the tangled undergrowth on the far side of the stream, looking at her. Telling herself that this was unlikely to the very edge of impossibility did no good at all. Mienthe stood up, peering intently back across the stream, but she could see nothing. Birds called: long liquid trills and rattling buzzes and a sweet three-note song that sounded like someone calling mock-e-lee, mock-e-lee.
There was, Mienthe gradually realized, no one there. The birds would not be singing so freely if anyone was hidden there—and no one was, anyway. A Linularinan mage would hardly have crept after her by himself and hidden to watch her. How silly she had been, to feel one might have! The conviction was fading—it was gone, and Mienthe could not even really remember how it had felt to be so certain. A ridiculous certainty! No mage would be slipping about by himself, and she could hardly fail to notice a whole Linularinan company stomping through the marshes after her. And the Linularinan mage, whoever he might be, could not really be very powerful, or Mienthe would never have been able to wind herself backward out of his magecrafted trap.
There was nothing to fear. Any sensible person could see that there was nothing at all to fear in the marshes, however damp, or in this clear spring dawn, no matter how chilly or uncomfortable. She told herself this, firmly, and as she cast one final uneasy glance across to the west, the sun came up above the trees and the moon became pale and transparent against the brightening sky, and then it was full day. At last. The last of her nervousness lifted like mist, warmed away by the sun. She rose stiffly and, having nothing better, rubbed the horse’s legs down with handfuls of coarse marsh grass. The animal deserved better of her than muddy grasses and a tired pat, but she had no grain to give him. At least he seemed to have no serious cuts or bruises.
She could see no sign of pursuit, no suggestion that any Linularinan in the wide world had ever defied the proper bounds of his country to cross into Feierabiand. Indeed, now that her earlier fear had eased, Mienthe found it difficult to believe that any Linularinan soldiers had actually crossed the Sierhanan at all. She felt as though she had probably dreamed everything of the past night. She thought she might awaken at any moment to find herself in her own room, lilac-scented lanterns glowing in the predawn dimness and the gentle sounds of the stirring household around her. It was hard to believe that she was already awake, that she really was cold and muddy and in desperate need of hot water and soap and tea, and that the great house lay miles and miles behind her.
No maid called her name, and neither hot water and soap nor tea appeared, alas. Only the horse shifted restlessly across the damp hillocks of mud and grass, his hooves crunching through the winter’s litter and leaving deep marks in the muddy ground. Mienthe sighed, climbed to her feet—her joints creaked—and went to investigate whether there might be a bit of hard bread in the saddlebags.
There was no bread, but there was a little cloth bag of dried apples and another of tough jerky. Mienthe ate the jerky and fed the apples to the horse, and after that felt rather more cheerful. The horse, a big sorrel animal that looked as though he had Delta blood in him, pointed his ears forward and seemed a little more satisfied with the morning as well, even when Mienthe put on her wet boots, kicked out the fire, and lifted herself—rather awkwardly, with neither mounting block nor helpful groom—back into the saddle.
The horse picked his way slowly among broad-boled trees in woodlands that did not seem ever to have known an ax, lipping at leaves and the grasses that grew in sunny glades among the trees. While the horse might breakfast on leaves, Mienthe was not finding the jerky she’d eaten a wholly adequate breakfast with which to face the long day. And her feet slipped and chafed inside her clammy boots.