The Eighth Warden Bk 05 Ch 13 14

Chapter Thirteen

Rohav scowled. "I told you this was a bad idea," he said. "You should have been focusing on your work here, but instead you've been playing around and exhausting yourself. It'll take weeks until you're fully recovered."

"I've been careful," Leena protested. "I haven't gone into drain shock since the fight with the dragon."

"It has nothing to do with drain shock—it's fatigue. You've been Traveling constantly, day in and day out, without any break. What other mage besides a Traveler uses their magic so frequently? Perhaps a healing priest. Why do you think the empress's cadre only works four months out of the year, in two-month shifts? But you didn't even make it a month and a half. You wasted too much of your strength on other things outside your duties."

"The empress authorized Leena's work in the north," Pavan said, coming to her defense. He'd already been at the camp when she arrived.

Rohav snorted. "If you think she's only doing what the empress authorized, you haven't been paying attention."

Leena rubbed her temples. "I'm not in the mood to argue with you," she said. "Just tell me what it means."

"To start with, we'll have to rotate you out of your duties with the Travelers' Posts. That'll leave us down another person."

"She's not responsible for the fact that we're short-handed," Pavan said. "Satyana offered to come back if we need her. She's the only one who isn't already in the rotation who's strong enough to take over Leena's workload."

"Well, that helps, I guess," Rohav admitted.

"How long until I can Travel again?" Leena asked.

"A few days to be safe," Pavan said, "but you'll need to take it easy for longer than that. No shifts with the Posts for at least two months."

"What about everything else I'm doing?"

"How much effort does it take?"

Leena had to think about it. The things she did for her friends required more strength, but she made far more individual trips as part of her work with the Travelers' Posts.

"About the same as what I've been doing down here, I think," she said.

"That's too much. No one stops Traveling completely during their breaks, but you need time to recover."

"I was supposed to be expanding our network."

"It can wait," Rohav said.

"And you may not have to do it all yourself," Pavan added. "The Seers believe the wizard Yelena is on her way here, though she's warded too strongly for anyone to track. We do know for certain that she's left Tyrsall."

"You told the Seers about her?" Leena said. From what the others had told her, Yelena was very secretive about the wardens. Leena hadn't intended for that information to go beyond Empress Shereen and the senior Travelers.

"Only that we're interested in her arrival, not why. But while you're here, the empress would like to speak to you about how best to approach her. That's why I came here today."

"Am I allowed to Travel to the palace?"

"I'll take you," Pavan said. "Tomorrow morning?"

Leena shrugged. "I don't know what I can tell her, but if she asked for me, I'll go."

The conversation turned then to administrative matters for the Travelers' Posts, so Leena wandered outside the tent and found Udit waiting for her, using a stick to draw figures in the dirt. She sat down next to him and gave him a little smile.

"Why is Uncle Rohav so mad?" her brother asked.

"Because I wasn't very careful when I was Traveling," Leena said. "I got too tired and ended up going to the wrong place—like the time I fell in the ocean and the fisherman had to rescue me. Do you remember that story? You'll have to be careful too, once you start Traveling."

Udit thought about that for a moment, then said, "Are you in trouble?"

Leena chuckled. "Maybe a little bit. I'm not going to be able to come here every day the way I have been. How would you like to move up north with me, at least for a while?"

"You promised we could move back to Matihar."

"Someday, I hope, but not yet. You can stay with me, though—and once you're a Traveler, you'll be able to live anywhere you want."

"

You're

a Traveler. Why can't

you

live anywhere you want?"

"Do you remember the bad men? I can't come back until we figure out what to do with them. Plus, Ellerie lives up north and I want to be with her."

Udit frowned. He didn't like Ellerie, probably due to the tales told in Sanvar about elves stealing people away.

"Do I

have

to go?" he said.

"If you really want to stay here, you can, but if you come with me, you could see the fortress and meet my new friends."

"Like the lady who flies?"

"Yes. Sarette's not there at the moment, but she'll be back soon. And there are other boys your age, so you could make new friends. Harri's just a year older than you—he takes care of our horses."

That perked his interest. "Horses?"

"Do you want me to teach you how to ride? I have my own horse now."

He wavered, as if not wanting to admit she'd convinced him, but she had one more card left to play.

"Grandmother still won't let you have a dog, right?"

#

Sarette darted through the clouds, unable to keep from smiling despite the rain dripping down her hair and face. Vartus was right—she

did

need to spend more time flying.

Her first day out of Snow Crown she'd gone two hundred miles, following an early thunderstorm south along the mountains. After that, she'd headed headed west, but the second day had dawned bright and clear and she'd only managed forty miles, struggling to stay airborne for more than five miles at a stretch. She'd ended the day exhausted, and hadn't been able to find a village inn anywhere near her stopping point, sleeping in a thin bedroll with just a lean-to for shelter. With no horse or mule to carry her load, she hadn't been able to bring real camping gear.

She'd thought the rough accommodations would make it difficult to recover, but the heavy rainstorm that rolled in overnight had reinvigorated her. She'd gone over a hundred miles for the morning already and didn't feel tired at all.

It wasn't entirely pleasant—her clothing was completely drenched and would require hours to dry—but that was just part of life for a stormrunner. At least her silversteel mail wouldn't rust. Rusting armor was a constant problem not just among the stormrunners but for the High Guard as well. Once Ellerie had time to start producing objects made from silversteel, Sarette thought she might recommend to the Council that they become her first customer. The fact that the armor was half the weight of her old mail, allowing her to fly more easily, was almost secondary.

She swooped up to the highest level of clouds, then back down again, testing the boundaries within which she could remain aloft without expending any of her own energy.

As she flew, she caught sight of movement below, but from her elevation it was hard to tell what was going on through the haze of the clouds. She pulled in enough to charge to remain in the sky, then dipped down for a better view.

There was a large group of wagons below, attempting to circle up in a defensive position. Another group was rushing at them on foot.

Was it an attack? Raiders assaulting a caravan of some sort?

What should she do? Anyone who'd be traveling in the north was warned not to get involved with the plainsmen's internal disputes. Control of the different regions changed hands frequently, and the feuds could last for centuries. Outsiders had no way of knowing what was truly going on.

Four of the attackers—bandits?—were standing back from the fray with crossbows in their grips, loosing bolts when they had a clear shot. It was a poor strategical use of the crossbowmen, but they'd still be dangerous. Other attackers had reached the wagons, and the two groups met with the clash of weapons. That meant the wagons had their own armsmen, at least. Guards, perhaps.

If it was a caravan, there was a good chance these weren't locals at all. They could be foreign traders passing through. And whether they were outsiders or not, they were unlikely to be the aggressors in this fight—the slow wagons wouldn't have allowed them to chase down a group on foot.

Her decision made for her, Sarette gathered as much power as she could and plunged straight down, aiming for a spot halfway between the melee and the crossbowmen. Crackling blue and white streamers of lightning magic gathered around her, and just as she landed, she called down a lightning bolt on herself. It fully charged her weapon, and the sharp crack of thunder stunned everyone into silence. The nearest mule team, startled by the noise, took off running, dragging its heavy wagon behind it without a driver.

Sarette took the moment of surprise to pull heavy winds out of nowhere, whipping them at chaotic angles around the crossbowmen. The wind flung pebbles and spatters of mud up from the wet ground to pelt the attackers' heads, forcing them to shield their eyes. She wouldn't kill them—not without more information—but she had to eliminate the biggest threat.

"Storm witch!" one of the caravan's defenders cried out, dropping his weapon and fleeing. Sarette hadn't intended to frighten the guards, but at least the attackers began to scatter as well. Those who were part of the fray took off in all different directions, but the crossbowmen backed away as a group, still trying to protect their faces. One managed to point his weapon in Sarette's direction, and he was close enough she wasn't certain whether her windstorm would carry the bolt off course in time. Not bothering with a spell, she simply released the charge she'd been building up in her body, lightning streaking from her fingertips to his face. He fell where he stood. The other three turned and ran, two of them dropping their crossbows as they fled.

Sarette checked on the defenders, only to find them edging away from her as well—though after seeing her strike down one of their enemies, no one else seemed inclined to run away. She held her staff-spear out to the side to indicate she wasn't attacking, but she didn't discharge it just yet. She'd wait until she was certain what was going on.

"Steady on! Steady on!" a voice called out. A short, balding man stomped to the front of the crowd. He didn't carry a weapon, but blood was dripping down his forehead. "Stormrunner," he said, giving her a wary nod.

"You know what I am?" she asked.

"Met one 'o your kind before, back when I was young. Didn't expect to see any stormborn so far from the Heights, though."

"I'm on my way to Four Roads. My name is Sarette." She waited, still tense, hoping to hear something to indicate she'd chosen the right side.

"Garus. Caravan master with Overland Holdings. We're hauling a load of ingots from Ironholt." He glanced at the attackers fleeing in the distance. "Guess these fellas found out about it."

Corec had mentioned Overland before—it was a real trading company. Sarette allowed herself to relax. With the danger seeming to have passed, it occurred to her that she'd forgotten her earlier worries about whether she'd be able to fight again. Not that it had been much of a battle, but when it had come down to it, facing this foe had allowed her to ignore the incident with the dragon. Maybe that was the answer—focus on what was happening in the moment rather than worrying about what might happen in the future.

One of the guards stood up from where he'd been attending a comrade. "We lost Raffe," he reported. "And Dom needs a healer. He can't ride. Leren's got a nasty slice on his sword arm. The others can get by."

Garus stared at the fallen man. "We'll take Raffe with us. Not gonna leave him here for the crows. Make some room for him and Dom on the wagons." He shook his head. "I suppose I should thank you, Miss. Don't know if we could have handled them on our own."

"They'll be back," another fellow said. "And now we're down three fighters."

"I passed over a big town about seven miles east," Sarette said. "There may be some guards for hire."

Garus nodded. "Lone Rock. That's where we're headed. Overland has an outpost there."

"I can escort you that far, if you'd like," Sarette said. It would mean backtracking, but once the caravan was safe, it wouldn't take her long to make up the time.

"Appreciate that," Garus said. He faced the others and raised his voice. "Get the wagons ready! Someone go after the mules that ran! We're heading out in fifteen minutes!"

#

Shavala and Zhailai rushed through the underbrush, following the shouts and the sound of a barking dog. The dragon had been racing ahead of them, sometimes out of sight as he chased flying insects, but there wasn't supposed to be anyone out this way so they'd let him have his fun. Then they'd heard the commotion.

They burst into a wide clearing, finding two recently plowed fields. A bag of seed lay abandoned in the middle of the nearest. On the far side, a cabin had begun to take shape, with three layers of rough-hewn logs fitted together in a square.

Near the cabin, the dragon had cornered a human man and a dog atop a freshly cut stack of firewood. The dragon was on his hind legs, leaning against the front of the wood pile, but hadn't yet figured out he could go to the side and climb the wood like stairs.

"Risingwind!" Shavala shouted. "Stop! They're friends!" She reinforced the feeling through the tree bond.

The dragon twisted his neck to look back at her, like a child caught doing something naughty. He left the wood pile and loped her way, projecting agreement with her statement and confusion about why he was in trouble.

Zhailai breathed a sigh of relief as the emotions came through the bond. "He was playing?" she asked.

"It seems so," Shavala said. If the dog had been alone, perhaps the dragon would have tried to kill it, but so far he'd never shown any aggression toward the people he met. He'd likely been curious about the man, then was startled by the dog.

Shavala knelt down to scratch Risingwind's chin and the back of his neck. She'd chosen the name to encourage flying, though so far the concepts of both flying and names had eluded him.

"What is it?" the man shouted from his perch as he saw the creature settle down.

"It's a dragon!" Shavala called out. "Just a baby."

"A dragon! Another one?"

"This one is friendly! He won't hurt you. Do you want to meet him?"

The farmer stared for a moment, then clambered down the side of the wood pile. He tied up the dog, which was still barking, then made his way across the field.

"Yer elves!" he said in surprise when he drew close.

"Yes. I'm Shavala and this is Zhailai. We are friends of Corec Tarwen." She patted the dragon's head. "And this is Risingwind. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He just wanted to see if you had any food."

The man took a careful step back. "Food? Like what?"

"He likes rabbit and pheasant."

"I don't got anything like that."

"Don't worry—I'll see that he's fed, and I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again. But I was told all the farmers were supposed to be east of the keep."

The man grunted. "Them soldiers came and told me I could stay here as long as I paid taxes, but they said I was on my own if bandits came. I told 'em I'll start payin' when they start doin' their job, and not a moment sooner. They ain't been back since."

When faced with a matter that pitted free choice against saving lives, only humans would try to measure the outcome in metal coins. Shavala wouldn't interfere. Perhaps Corec figured it was fair to let the issue rest until he'd recruited enough soldiers to patrol a larger area, or perhaps no one had told him about this fellow yet.

"It's late in the season to be planting wheat," Zhailai said, eyeing the seed bag.

"It'll grow well enough," the man said. "Just have to dig some ditches to get water from the creek, then hope the frost don't come early this year." He shrugged. "But I can clear and plow more fields over the summer. Should be able to get in some winter wheat and some garden crops."

Shavala frowned. Even if the harvest went well, the farmer would have a lean year.

"There are huckleberry bushes three miles that way," she said, pointing southwest. "No berries yet, but they look healthy."

"Oh?" he said. "Enough to make it worth the trip?"

"Yes. And a mile south of that, there are old fields with potatoes growing wild."

He chewed on his lower lip as he thought that over. "I'll have to check it out. Maybe the folks at the keep'll be willing to buy any extra."

"You're welcome to take as much as you like," Shavala said.

"I may just do that."

"We'll leave you to your work, and I'll be sure to keep Risingwind away from here in the future."

After saying their farewells, Shavala and Zhailai headed back to their camp. The dragon bounded ahead again once he realized where they were going.

As they hiked, Zhailai said, "Is it wise to tell only a single human about the berries and potatoes? He may claim them for himself, and not allow anyone else to harvest them."

"

Someone

should make use of them," Shavala said. "And I didn't tell him about the other berry fields, the honey trees, or the wild oats. There's also the old apple orchard we found the other day." The area, mostly abandoned farmland, was full of resources, and Shavala had mapped only a small portion of it.

"Those trees haven't fruited in years."

That was true—apple trees didn't remain healthy for long, especially with no one to care for them—but they could be used to grow new trees.

Shavala was quiet as they walked. If she could accelerate growth for the apple trees, she could do so for the farmer's crops as well. The dorvasta druids already did that for their people's own farming, in small clearings dotted around the forest, but the staff would allow her to work on a wider scale.

"You're thinking about something," Zhailai said.

"How many of the other farmers near the keep do you think are getting a late start on their planting?" Shavala asked.

"All of them. They don't grow crops the way we do, and even the good soil here has hardened over the decades. It'll take them time to break the ground."

Shavala glanced ahead at the dragon. His presence might interfere with her plan, but he'd have to become accustomed to people sooner or later—and people would have to become accustomed to him.

"Tell me," she said to Zhailai, "how do you feel about doing some traveling?"

#

Nedley's stomach growled, prompting him to check the position of the sun in the sky. It was earlier than they normally stopped, but the caravan had been making good time now that the weather had improved. The group was a few miles ahead of schedule, and the people wouldn't object to a break after several days of hard travel.

Twisting in the saddle, he whistled, then waved his arm over his head. "Circle up!" he shouted. "We're stopping for the night!"

A wave of calls and cries traveled down the line, passing along the order, and Lewin took off at a gallop to make sure everyone got the message.

Nedley remained where he was, directing the drivers to a flat area west of the road. There was a good-sized stream in that direction, marked by the taller grasses and saplings rising along its banks.

He watched while the wagons formed a rough circle. It was a trading caravan trick Corec had taught him. If raiders attacked, the wagons and carts would provide cover, giving the defenders a chance even if they faced archers or greater numbers.

The circle ended up uneven, bulging outward on one side to fit everyone in. It was difficult to estimate the size they needed when they had more wagons showing up every day. Eleven families had joined them just that morning, already heading south on their own but happy to accept the protection of the larger group.

Nedley pushed away a feeling of uneasiness at how large the caravan had grown—already twice as many people as the first trip, though only half again as many wagons. A sizable portion of the group were refugees without the means to buy the vehicles or the animals to pull them. That batch had brought only what they could carry on their backs. Nedley was feeding them from the provision wagons in exchange for their help in cooking, driving, or taking care of the mules and horses.