Lost Page 13

  Then I fell.

  My hands were in my pockets, so I fell straight onto the road, bumping my chin. Ow. The bird tumbled to the ground with a squawk. I closed my eyes and rested my face against the cooling sand and pebbles. It felt like the most comfortable bed.

  Behind me, a perfect traveling moon rose over the desert. The trackers were coming. The bird pecked at my shoulder and at my face. But I didn’t care. I didn’t even bother moving off the road. I just closed my eyes and went to sleep.

  Rowan Forestal

  Curse Connwaer to the very ends of the world. Kerrn was not surprised. He is a thief, she said. Stealing is what he does.

  That is true. But Conn has proof of Jaggus’s danger to Wellmet, and he is right that we must return at once so we can plan how to act against the sorcerer-king.

  Meanwhile, I can’t let Conn die in the desert, or be captured by Jaggus’s men.

  I took Captain Kerrn aside and asked her to track Conn down and bring him, and the jewel he stole, quietly to the posting inn on the way to Wellmet. I’ll meet them there with the rest of the envoyage.

  Whatever happens, I told her, don’t let Conn fall into Jaggus’s hands.

  Kerrn set off at once.

  CHAPTER 29

  I woke up with the rising sun in my face and the heat pressing down on me like a heavy hand. My mouth felt like Nevery’s study: dusty and full of paper. The bird was gone. I wondered where. I sat up, creaking in every bone, and looked back toward the orange rocks, far in the distance.

  I saw a dark spot there, wavery from the heat rising from the ground. I shaded my eyes with my hand and squinted. The dark spot jiggled up and down on the road.

  A man. Riding a horse. Tracker.

  Drats.

  I jumped to my feet and, the fear jolting through my legs, ran a few steps.

  I stopped. I was being stupid. The tracker was riding a horse. I wasn’t going to outrun him. Catching my breath, I gulped more water from my canteen, then paced along the road, looking for a likely spot.

  There—an opening in the thorny scrub. Going back along the road where I’d walked, trying not to look at the black spot, I found a branch with a few dried leaves on it and, walking backward, used it to wipe out my trail until I came to the opening. I backed into it, still brushing out my footprints, and went along a short way.

  Then I doubled back again, threw the branch away, and crouched in the bushes, hidden.

  At first, the desert around me was silent, then I started hearing scratchings like little clawed feet scurrying over sand and rock, and faint slitherings, and the chirping of birds. The air smelled of hot sand—and of my own sweaty smell; I hoped the tracker didn’t have a good nose or my plan wouldn’t work.

  At last, I heard the shuff shuff of horse hooves on the sandy road, not far away. They went past, but I didn’t move. If the tracker was any good, he was not going to be fooled by the brushed-out footprints.

  Sure enough, after a few minutes, the sound of hooves came back. Then the creak of leather and two human feet crunching onto the ground. The tracker ventured onto the side trail.

  Slowly, I lowered my head onto my knees, closed my eyes, and then kept as still as a mouse under the eye of a hawk. The desert fell silent. The tracker’s footsteps went stealthily past the bushes where I was hiding. I waited ten breaths, and then I slithered out of my hiding place and raced down the trail, toward the road.

  Behind me, I heard the tracker shout, but he wasn’t going to catch me. I burst out onto the road—there was the tracker’s horse, all saddled and ready to go, its reins wrapped around a thorny branch.

  Perched on its saddle was the bird.

  It had led the tracker right to me, the traitor.

  Pushing it out of the way, I grabbed at the reins and put a foot in the stirrup. The horse shied sideways and the bird flew up with a squawk. With a shout, the tracker raced out onto the trail, lowered his head, and bulled into me with his shoulder. We both went sprawling onto the ground. I rolled away and gave him a kick in the ribs, then scrambled up and went for the horse again.

  I clutched its mane to pull myself up, and it shook its head; the tracker grabbed me from behind and threw me to the ground, then leaped on me. I went for my knife; I was just wrestling it out of my pocket when the tracker knocked it from my hand and held his own knife to my throat.

  “I will use it,” he growled. “Keep still.”

  No, he wasn’t going to catch me that easily. I wriggled and groped after the other knife in my boot. The tracker ripped off my head scarf and held his knife under my chin. The blade’s sharp edge drew a line of blood on the skin of my neck.

  I kept still.

  The tracker loomed over me, knee on my chest, breathing hard. In the struggle, the head scarf had come off, and a blond braid like a rope hung down. Not a tracker, I realized. A friend. I felt a sudden flare of hope. “Kerrn!” I gasped.

  She didn’t answer, and her ice-chip blue eyes stayed cold. She took her knee off my chest and hauled me to my feet and over to the horse, which had its reins still tangled in the bush. She reached into a saddlebag and pulled out several lengths of thin rope. Not speaking, she took my hands, looped a piece of rope around them, and tied it off.

  I stared at her. “What’re you doing?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Stay quiet.” Using another, longer length of rope, she tethered my tied hands to a loop of leather on her saddle. Then she turned back to me. “Show me what you stole, thief.”

  Oh, no.

  Kerrn had always thought of me as a thief, not a wizard, and I had stolen the jewel, that was true enough. But I couldn’t let her touch Jaggus’s locus magicalicus. It would kill her, sure as sure. I shook my head and stepped back, but the tether rope brought me up short.

  Kerrn lunged toward me, grabbed me by the front of my robe, and backed me against the horse, which stood calmly still. I tried to squirm away while she searched me, first one pocket, tossing the empty purse string on the ground, then the other, where she found the leather bag. Letting me go, she started to open it.

  “No!” I shouted, and with my bound hands knocked the leather bag from her hands. It flew through the air and landed with a soft thunk on the sand.

  In one stride, she reached the bag and bent to pick it up.

  “No—don’t touch it!” I strained toward her, held back by the tether.

  Kerrn stopped with her hand just above the bag. “You stole a jewel, just as you did last year, in Wellmet. The Lady Rowan sent me to bring you, and it, to the posting inn on the road to Wellmet. I must be certain that it is in here.”

  I licked my lips; they were dry and chapped. “It’s in there, Kerrn. If you touch it, it’ll kill you.”

  She studied me for a few moments, her eyes cold. “Very well,” she said at last. Carefully, she picked up the bag by its string and held it above her saddlebag. “Will it be safe in here?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  Kerrn opened the saddlebag and dropped the leather bag inside. Then she picked up my knife from where I’d lost it during our fight, put it in the pocket of her robe, and swung up onto the horse. In the saddle, she unhooked one of her canteens and took a long drink. “You are thirsty?” she asked.

  I nodded, suddenly tireder and hungrier and thirstier than I’d ever been in my entire life.

  Kerrn held up the canteen. “I know you, thief. You are trouble. Give me any problems and I will keep you dry. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  She leaned over to hand me the canteen and I drank deeply. The water went into me like rain onto dry ground—I soaked it in. “Thanks.”

  Kerrn frowned down at me. “We are not far from the canyon lands.” The orange rocky place, she meant. She hung the canteen from her saddle. “We will walk as long as we can before camping for the night.”

  “I’ll walk, you mean,” I said as I rewrapped my head scarf, awkward with bound hands. “Me and the horse.”

  Kerrn nudged her horse into a walk
. Pulled by the tether, I fell into step behind them.

  We walked in silence under the bleached-blue sky. Plod, plod, plod, toward the road to the posting inn, and to Rowan. Or, more likely, I realized, to Jaggus’s trackers. He wouldn’t let me, or his locus stone, go that easily. We needed to be going in the other direction, away from Desh. I’d have to watch for a chance to steal the jewel back from Kerrn and make an escape.

  But not right now. I was too tired.

  Right about when I didn’t think I could take another step, we stopped, and camped for the night.

  The next morning, Kerrn scanned the sky. The clouds over the mountains had come closer and looked heavy with rain.

  Kerrn frowned at the clouds. “We must move fast,” she said, tying my tether to the horse’s saddle. “We need to get through the canyon lands before the rains.”

  We reached the canyon lands by mid-morning. The clouds hung gray and threatening over our heads.

  Even though I’d slept all night, I was already tired, tripping over my own feet, and hungry—we’d only had a little dried fruit for breakfast. The bird flapped from one perching spot to the next along our trail.

  Kerrn reined her horse to a stop. “We must move faster,” she said, looking down at me.

  I pulled down my head scarf. “I don’t think I can go any faster.”

  She stretched a hand down to me. “You can get up behind. But do not try to escape.”

  Without answering, I grasped her hand, put my foot atop hers in the stirrup, and let her pull me onto the horse’s back. It sidled, but Kerrn patted its neck and spoke calmly, and it settled. We set off again at a faster pace.

  The twisted orange rocks around us glowed in the gloom-gray light. The horse picked its way through ravines and switchbacks, Kerrn’s hands steady on the reins. The clouds grew lower and darker; at last, the wind picked up and drops of rain splatted onto the dusty ground. Kerrn nudged the horse into a faster walk. We were nearly at the end of the canyon lands. The rain, icy cold, fell more heavily, until it was coming down in sheets. I shivered and held on to Kerrn’s robe so I wouldn’t slide off the back of the horse.

  We came to the dangerous place, where the road edged along the rock face that sloped down to a steep cliff. Kerrn guided the horse onto the narrower trail.

  We were halfway across when the storm’s first burst of thunder and lightning struck nearby, a blast of light and ear-pounding sound that sent the horse whinnying and rearing with fright. I fell off at the first buck, flat on my back on the hard road, my hands still tied by the tether to the horse’s saddle. Kerrn hung on for a moment longer, and then went flying, landing with a thump on sloping rock made slick by running water. She slid down, toward the edge of the cliff.

  The horse shied to the side, dragging me with it; I scrambled to my feet and grabbed its reins, patting its neck as Kerrn had done to calm it. The horse stilled, but its flanks twitched as if it was still frightened. I was frightened, too; my heart pounded and my knees were shaking.

  Rain slammed down all around us. I peered through the curtain of water, looking for Kerrn. At the very edge, far below, where the slope ended in the cliff, she clung to the rock face, her feet dangling over empty space. Pebbles and rainwater rattled down the slope past her, but she didn’t move.

  Because if she moved, I realized, she’d go over.

  Right.

  I’d been waiting for a chance to escape; now I could take the horse and get away. I bent and pulled my other knife from my boot and used it to cut the ropes tying my hands. I took up the horse’s reins and got ready to climb on. Then I took a deep breath and leaned my forehead against the saddle. Raindrops poured down on my shoulders and on my head. The horse stood still, waiting.

  Drats. If I left Kerrn, she would slide off the cliff and die on the sharp rocks below. I couldn’t do it.

  There was plenty of rope in the saddlebag. I tied one end tightly around the saddlehorn; then I knotted the other around my ankle. The horse stood steady as I got down on my knees and then flat on my stomach and crawled onto the slope, staying off to the side of where Kerrn had slid to a stop below.

  The face of the rock was seamless and slick with rainwater. I slithered downward. My hair hung in wet rattails in my eyes. Pebbles I knocked loose rattled by Kerrn and fell down into the ravine, but she didn’t move.

  The rope was a little too short; I’d reached the end of it, the knot tight around my ankle, and I was still an arm’s length above her.

  “Kerrn,” I croaked.

  She didn’t look up.

  “Captain Kerrn,” I said again, louder.

  Moving in tiny increments, she tilted her head up, face pressed against the rock, peering through the pelting rain. Maybe she hadn’t heard me coming, the rain was so loud. Her eyes widened. Slowly, she moved her hand higher up the rock face.

  Beneath her, a few pebbles shifted, and she slipped a hair closer to the edge. She stilled, and her fingers whitened with the strain of clinging to the rock. She closed her eyes. The rain began to ease up; I heard a flash flood racing through the ravine below us.

  I stretched as far as I could reach. “Kerrn, take my hand.”

  She didn’t move, but she opened her eyes again. If she reached up, she’d just about be able to touch my fingertips.

  “There isn’t enough rope,” I said.

  “I can see that,” she answered through gritted teeth.

  “It’s tied to my ankle,” I said. “You’ll have to grab my hand and then climb over me.”

  “I cannot move, or I will go over.”

  “If you don’t move, you’re going to go over anyway,” I said.

  She tilted her head up a little more, and focused on my hand. “How did you get your hands free?”

  I half laughed. “I had another knife, all right? Will you just reach out and take my hand?”

  She took a breath to answer, and started to slide.

  “Kerrn, hold on!” I shouted.

  With a desperate lunge she flung herself toward my hand; I grasped her wrist tightly and grabbed her other hand. “Go!” I gasped.

  Without hesitating, she climbed over my back, careful where she put her feet, and used the taut rope to pull herself up the rock face. I got myself turned around and pulled myself up to the top, where I sprawled next to Kerrn in a mud puddle, panting and soaking wet, and covered with scrapes and scratches. Beside us, the horse was quivering, but held its ground. The black bird perched on the saddlehorn, shaking water off its feathers. A few drops of rain pattered down around us, and the sound of rushing water echoed from the ravine.

  Kerrn got to her feet. Her white robe was covered with orange mud; her head scarf hung over one shoulder and trailed on the ground, and her unraveling blond braid hung over her other shoulder. She gave me a curt nod; I figured she meant “thanks.”

  I grinned and sat up, and started to work on the rope knotted to my ankle. I wondered if she’d let me have the horse so I could make better time. I’d be able to outrun trackers with a horse. Or maybe she’d want to come with me. We could send a letter back to Rowan, telling her that we couldn’t go near Desh with the locus stone, that we’d gone on to another city.

  Kerrn went to the horse and untied the rope from the saddle. She pulled the knife from her belt and used it to slice off a new length of rope.

  I looked up at her, swiping the wet hair out of my eyes, and held out my booted foot. The water had made the knot swell, and I couldn’t get it off. Without speaking, she cut it from my ankle. Then she offered her hand. I took it, and she pulled me to my feet.

  And she didn’t let go of my hand. Before I could pull away, she looped the new piece of rope around my wrist, grabbed my other hand, and tied off the rope. “Where is the knife?” she asked.

  I stared at her. She wasn’t going to let me go?

  “The knife?” she prompted.

  I didn’t answer.

  She pushed me up against the rock wall and searched me. When she found the knife
in my boot, she glared at me. “My knife,” she said. Right, the one I’d nicked from her on the road. With the knife, she cut another length of rope for a new tether and tied one end to my hands, the other to the saddle. She picked up the horse’s reins and led it along the muddy trail, and I stumbled along behind her.

  CHAPTER 30

  After camping, we traveled most of the next day, me keeping my eyes open for trackers. We waited out the afternoon storm in a hut at Frogtown, sitting on the packed dirt floor while rain poured down outside. Kerrn sat cross-legged, inspecting the hem of her robe. The light was dim; I didn’t think she could see much.

  I sat with my back against one of the mud walls, looking up at the ceiling, which was made of cactus ribs and dried palm leaves woven together. The rain falling on the roof made a pattering sound, like thousands of rushing feet. The bird stood in the doorway, looking out at the rain. My stomach growled.

  I leaned my forehead against my bound hands. Explaining all of this in my next letter to Nevery was going to be tricky. And when we got to the posting inn, if we got there, Rowan was going to be very unhappy with me.

  I looked out the open door, past the bird. While we’d been talking, the storm had eased off; the silver-gray curtain of rain opened to reveal the desert beyond the village, sparkling with raindrops which gleamed golden in the setting sun.

  Kerrn hefted the saddlebags and, holding the end of my tether, headed out into the golden light, pulling me with her. Waiting for us was an old lady wrapped in rags and shawls.

  “She caught you, did she?” the water-crone asked me.