Company of Strangers, #1 Read online

  She looked at Alaric, who rode immediately before her with Dianthe on his left. That put him free to use his sword, which he had, in fact, strapped to his back. Its hilt gleamed dully, the finish matte-silver with hundreds of fine scratches covering it, speaking to years of hard use. Did it have a name? Scrappers could be sentimental about their weapons, but somehow Sienne couldn’t picture Alaric naming his sword.

  A pair of birds swooped by, silent but for the sound of their wings. Sienne followed their flight and saw them disappear into the trees some hundred yards ahead that surrounded the highway. A gaily painted caravan emerged from their shelter, headed toward Fioretti. The sound of laughter and song floated toward Sienne on the breeze. Traveling performers, come to try their luck in the big city. Sienne edged her horse to the side, though the highway was big enough for their group to pass the performers without inconveniencing anyone.

  The woman driving the lead wagon stood up on her seat as they neared. “Scrappers, ho!” she shouted. “Where fare thee?”

  “Yonder and far,” Dianthe said. It had the sound of a ritual greeting.

  “Good luck to ye,” the woman said. “Boys, let’s sing them along, shall we?”

  A couple of men in the wagon behind the first waved and laughed. One of them held an instrument made of pipes of varying lengths to his lips and blew a merry trill that brought another pair of men—boys, really—swarming out of the back of the wagon to perch on its flat wooden top. The three men hummed a note that the pipe player mimicked. Then they sang out in a three-part harmony those birds might have envied:

  As I went walking down to sea,

  (Sing tirra-la, hey, lay,)

  I met five travelers, two and three,

  (Sing tirra-la, la lay!)

  The men were bold as scrappers be,

  The ladies loveliest to see,

  All five to fight courageously,

  Dread bandits, run away!

  The man playing the pipes winked outrageously at Sienne with the line about “lovely ladies,” and she blushed and laughed. Perrin applauded when they reached the end of their song and bowed, one of the boys nearly falling off the wagon in his enthusiasm.

  “A cheery start to the journey, don’t you think?” he said when the caravan had passed.

  “I’d rather not begin by eating dirt,” Alaric said. The wagons had kicked up large puffs of dust as they passed.

  “Averran said a man must eat a peck of dirt before he dies, but it is generally agreed he did not mean all at once,” Perrin said. “Though he might have done. There is, after all, the story of the stone biscuits.”

  “Is that a legend of your avatar?” Sienne asked.

  “There are many stories of Averran, some of them likely not true. I am told Averran takes credit for all the best ones regardless.”

  “What are stone biscuits?” Kalanath said. He was riding at the rear of their procession, and Sienne looked over her shoulder at him. He wore a scarf pulled up to cover his mouth and nose that he lowered now that the dust had settled somewhat.

  “As the story goes, Averran was traveling to Marisse when he met a young woman going the same way. They fell into company, as one does, and the young woman revealed that she was low on supplies and very hungry. Averran confessed that he was in the same situation, as he chose to depend on the kindness of strangers. But he had some stone biscuits he was willing to share with her. The biscuit he gave her was round, like a stone, and when she tried to eat it, it was as hard as the same.”

  “Sounds like my cooking,” Dianthe murmured.

  Perrin smiled. “When she complained, Averran told her that he could never go hungry so long as he had stone biscuits, because all he had to do was contemplate eating one, and the prospect of doing so was so unappetizing he was able to control his hunger a little while longer.”

  Perrin fell silent. After a moment, Sienne said, “And?”

  “There is no more. That is the story.”

  “I do not understand,” Kalanath said.

  “Neither do I,” Perrin said. “I hope someday to comprehend its meaning. For now, I take it to suggest that anything can be endured when the alternative is more terrible. The priest who taught me, though, claimed there was more to the story—that the stone biscuits could be eaten if one knew the secret. But he did not tell me what it was.”

  “Your beliefs are odd,” Kalanath said. There was an unexpected note of derision in his voice.

  “You are, of course, entitled to your opinion,” Perrin said stiffly. “I would not expect an Omeiran to understand.”

  “We worship God in Her pure form, not through go-betweens,” Kalanath said.

  “Please let’s not get into a religious debate,” Dianthe said. “I’m sure God is understanding of all our human weaknesses.”

  “I should not speak of God,” Kalanath said. “I am sorry I was rude.” He didn’t sound very sorry.

  “Perfectly understandable,” Perrin said, still a trifle coolly.

  Alaric, who’d been silent this whole time, said, “Is Averran as hard to communicate with as everyone says?”

  “He is known for being ill-tempered and impatient,” Perrin said. “One must approach him carefully and with great humility, for he may reject a supplicant’s plea simply because he is irritable at that moment. Praying for Averran’s blessing is rather like coddling a crotchety old man.”

  “Then…forgive me if this is rude, but…why would anyone worship him?” Dianthe asked.

  “When one might pay one’s devotions to a simpler avatar?” Perrin shrugged. “Averran is still one of the faces of God—” Kalanath made a grunting sound, but Perrin ignored him—“and we should not ignore one of Her aspects just because he is unpleasant. Averran was wise, for all he was difficult to get along with, and he was, and still can be, generous and giving. Though it is true that his generosity is sometimes of the sort you are not certain you wanted.”

  “This won’t be a problem, will it?” Alaric said.

  “I do not take your meaning, sir.”

  “I mean, if Averran is so testy, how does that affect your prayers for divine blessings? We depend on those protections.”

  “Ah. If I may be permitted an immodesty, I understand Averran well enough to know how to approach him. I assure you there will be no problem.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Alaric said, in a tone that suggested the discussion was over. Sienne cast one more glance at Kalanath, who’d retreated behind his scarf again. What would it be like to worship God face-to-face, or however it worked for Omeirans? Sienne might not be very religious, but she knew God was too powerful for humans to comprehend. That was why She had come to earth in the form of Her six avatars, to give humans a way to approach Her. Sienne wished she dared bring up the subject with Kalanath, but he hadn’t sounded as if he wanted to discuss it.

  They passed another group of travelers, these on foot, with the look of people who’d come a long way, and then they were in the forest. The cool shade of the oaks was a welcome relief from the sun’s rays, which had become uncomfortable once they’d gone far enough inland that the ocean breezes didn’t reach them. The oak trees grew less densely than the pines of Sienne’s northern home, and there were places where the road was exposed to the full sunlight, but for the most part it was beautifully shady and smelled of green leaves. Sienne hadn’t been out of Fioretti since she’d arrived five weeks earlier, and she’d forgotten how big the world was outside the city walls. And they hadn’t even really begun their journey yet.

  They rode along in silence for a few hours as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Sienne watched for wildlife, squirrels mostly, but also birds that called to one another and, once, a fox, its dusty red coat slipping between a couple of overgrown bushes. If she were home, she might see litters of tree-cats in the branches, their gold or black fur touched by sunlight as they glided between trees. It was too bad they were so hard to domesticate, because they were soft and purred when they were happy. In the before ti
mes, people had had them as pets, or so legend had it. It was a nice idea.

  Just after noon, when Sienne’s stomach had begun complaining, Alaric said, “We’re here,” and urged his horse into a faster gait. Ahead Sienne saw a sprawling building with several horses hitched to a rail out front. Smoke rose from the stone building’s chimney, bringing with it not only the smell of a fire, but also the scent of roasted meat. Sienne’s complaining stomach growled.

  “We’ll eat here, then strike off north,” Alaric said. He dismounted and looped the horse’s reins over the post, then began pulling his gear off and making a neat pile on the ground. Sienne did the same, then followed him up the hard-earth path and through the door.

  The outpost was lit only by the sunlight coming through its many windows, and Sienne blinked in the dimness. Vague shapes loomed, gradually resolving into chairs and tables like an ordinary tavern. About half of them were occupied. People looked up when they entered, then looked away, uninterested. The smell of roast pork and cooked vegetables filled the air, mingled with the scent of warm beer.

  Dianthe nudged Sienne. “Sit,” she said, indicating a nearby table, and Sienne sat. The others joined her, all but Alaric, who headed for the bar that occupied the whole left side of the room.

  Sienne watched him lean down to speak to the very short man behind the bar. “Aren’t we going to eat?”

  “Alaric will order meals and drink. There’s no menu. Trantius cooks something and you eat it or you go hungry.” Dianthe smiled. “But it’s not like outposts are known for hospitality. A meal, a place to sleep, and somewhere to pick up the latest gossip or a fresh horse, that’s pretty much it.”

  Alaric returned. He was glowering. “Something wrong?” Dianthe said.

  “It’s nothing.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. “Trantius says some Ansorjans came through here two days ago. Seems they were poking around our find.”

  “They won’t find anything. We were barely able to find anything.”

  “Maybe.”

  Alaric straightened as the short man appeared at his side. He was balancing plates on his arms and gave them all a friendly smile.

  “So this is your new team,” he said. “Two of you I’ve never seen before. I’m Trantius.”

  “Perrin Delucco as was,” Perrin said, bowing from his seated position. “A pleasure.”

  “I’m Sienne,” Sienne said.

  “Well, you can’t ask for better companions,” Trantius said with a wink to Dianthe. “Drink’s coming up.”

  “We took care of a little problem for him, a year or two ago,” Dianthe said as the man bustled away, “and now he thinks highly of us. Refreshing, really.”

  “Because your reputation lacks the star-like luster of the typical scrapper team?” Perrin said. “Why is that, I wonder?”

  “You didn’t seem to mind when you took this job,” Alaric growled.

  “And I mind even less now. I am simply curious.”

  Dianthe looked at Alaric, who shrugged, still scowling. “We take…unusual jobs,” she said. “The kind that don’t always pay off in coin or artifacts. Some of our past associates took exception to our unorthodox approach to scrapping.”

  “But this is not one of those,” Kalanath said.

  “We don’t discuss our business in public,” Alaric said.

  “No, it’s not,” Dianthe said. “But if you want to back out, now would be a good time. If you’re concerned about your profit.”

  Kalanath looked from Dianthe to Alaric. “I would not have agreed if I did not wish to join you,” he said. “And my reasons are not the common kind either.”

  “So why—” Sienne said, then shut her mouth. No prying.

  Kalanath glanced at her, and to her surprise, he smiled. It made him look even younger than he was. “Anyone who will black a Giorda’s eye is one I will call friend.”

  “I can accept that,” Alaric said. Sienne longed to ask Kalanath why he disliked the Giordas that much—that had sounded like much worse than fending off unwanted advances from whatever her name was—but Kalanath turned his attention to his food, and the moment was lost.

  Trantius returned with a handful of mugs, which he distributed. “On the house,” he said.

  “You’re losing money on us,” Dianthe said.

  “I can afford it. You heading out?”

  “Going east,” Alaric said, shooting a warning glance at Sienne. How he’d known she was going to say something, she had no idea, but he’d said before they were going north, not east. He must think the easygoing Trantius too loose-lipped for safety. Smart.

  She took a bite of pork roast, which was juicy and delicious, and washed it down with some beer. Kalanath took his mug in both hands, bowed his head, and whispered a few words over his drink. Sienne tried not to stare. She’d heard Omeirans had dietary restrictions and unusual religious beliefs, but she didn’t know the details. So far it didn’t seem to be an issue.

  Perrin drained his mug and waved for another. “It’s not as strong as I like, but quite delicious,” he said, and let out a belch. “Ah. Much better.”

  “It’s noon,” Alaric said.

  “It is indeed, sir, but I think your meaning is other than your words declare.” Perrin put down his mug and leaned forward. “I enjoy my drink, but I assure you it will not interfere with the performance of my duties. Averran’s blessing falls upon his priests regardless of their state of inebriation.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Sienne felt filled to bursting with all the questions she didn’t dare ask. Prying into their business would give them tacit permission to pry into hers.

  The rest of the meal passed in silence, uncomfortable and wearing as if they were all strangers who happened to share a table. That was mostly true. Sienne didn’t know any of them well, and here she was proposing to travel into the wilderness with them. She wasn’t afraid of them—well, Alaric made her uncomfortable, a little—but they would face danger together, and that was the sort of thing she’d always believed she’d do with friends. How do you think you get those kinds of friends? she asked herself. She looked at each of them in turn, Alaric still glowering, Dianthe rapt in her own thoughts, Perrin getting solidly drunk, Kalanath reserved and silent, and had to admit she couldn’t imagine ever being friends with any of them.

  6

  When the meal was finished, they handed the horses over to the outpost’s ostler. Sienne shouldered her pack and picked up her bedroll. It wasn’t heavy, but still weighed too much for her invisible fingers to manage. With the donkey laden with the tents and cookware and supplies, she’d have to carry it on her back. The trouble was, she didn’t know how to strap it on. She hoisted it over her shoulders to rest above her pack. It slid and rolled, and she had to twist to catch it before it hit the ground.

  Hands took the bedroll from her. “This way,” Alaric said, positioning it comfortably and fastening it across her shoulders. “Balancing the load will let you walk for miles carrying it.”

  “Thanks.” He hadn’t sounded at all dismissive or scornful. Maybe—

  “Try to keep up,” he added. “Nobody has the means to carry you.”

  “I’m not weak,” Sienne retorted, entertaining a brief fantasy of slapping him across the face. He probably wouldn’t even notice, the big oaf. “Stop making assumptions about me. Not all wizards are the same, you know.”

  Alaric crossed his arms over his massive chest and regarded her dispassionately. “You don’t know enough wizards,” he said, “and I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming you’ve never traveled rough. It’s a difficult transition, and if you slow us down, we’ll all suffer.”

  “Then why aren’t you nagging Perrin? He’s probably never traveled rough either. And his boots aren’t made for it. He’s the one you should worry about slowing us down.”

  Alaric scowled. “Worry about yourself.” He turned away, leaving Sienne fuming and wishing she’d thought of a better retort. Likely one wo
uld come to her at three in the morning.

  They walked eastward along the highway until they were out of sight of the outpost, then Alaric turned off the road and headed north. The rough terrain, uneven and covered with dead grass and low scrub, forced Sienne to walk carefully to avoid tripping. It took her some minutes to get the hang of stepping lightly, lifting her feet rather than shuffling along. The unusual gait was tiring, but she gritted her teeth and held back complaints, which wouldn’t make the journey any easier.

  “Our destination is about two and a half days from here,” Alaric said, not sounding the least bit winded from the pace he set. “It’s what’s left of a city from the before times. Most of it is long since crumbled to dust, but it had a fortress built of stone that’s still mostly standing. That’s our goal.”

  “And we seek…what?” Perrin asked. He did sound winded, but his voice was strong.

  “Our client, Vincentius Fontanna, studies the history of Rafellin—or, more accurately, the part of the old world that Rafellin now occupies. He’s learned that fortresses like this one were part of a line of defense stretching from the southern coast through what’s now the Empty Lands to the eastern sea. Apparently they were worried about an Omeiran invasion. No offense.”

  “It is in the past,” Kalanath said.

  “At any rate, these fortresses were equipped with distance-viewing magical artifacts, some of which have been recovered elsewhere. Master Fontanna has identified this fortress as belonging to the defensive line, something no one knew before, and believes the artifact is still there. The fortress has been raided, but the keep, the inner structure, is intact.”

  “That seems a trifle unlikely, good sir,” Perrin said. “The rapacity of scrappers, which I say recognizing that I am one of that rapacious bunch, should surely mitigate against anything remaining.”

  “You’ll understand when you see it,” Dianthe said. “It looks utterly destroyed. But we found a way in—if we were half our size. Or a third our size, in Alaric’s case.”