It was Bron who answered this time. “We’ll manage,” he said. “Once someone tells us where we are.”
In no time, they learned the connection between the Hayman and Merisack Stones had deposited them on the far outskirts of the town of Gatiset in Sedgefort Prefecture. Bron searched his memory for the map he’d memorized as part of his lessons regarding the enemy state of Kefinor. Sedgefort Prefecture was in the central, southern part of the Kefian kingdom—a journey of less than half adhenof time via lim gates, and a three-week trip by horseback from one gate to the other. They were indeed far from Daesin territory, but hopefully closer to where the Hierarch held Luda hostage.
“How far of a walk from here to Gatiset?” he asked.
Legis, the harvester who’d questioned Bron, shook his head. “You’ll want to avoid that place,” he said in the most dire of tones. “It’s controlled by the Daggermen, and they’re hostile to any not their own, especially strangers.”
Disaris’s fingers dug into Bron’s arm, though she showed no other outward sign of distress or excitement at hearing that bit of information. Bron hoped he sounded only casually interested when he said “I thought the Daggermen only plagued Daesin government officials and military.”
Legis shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. All I know is they showed up in Gatiset last summer, killed the chancellor, all of the constabulary and set up their own justiciars.” He spat on the ground in front of him, his disgust obvious. “A few folks have written to the Crown Prince asking for troops to get rid of them,but we haven’t even seen a water boy much less a real soldier coming to help, and those who protest usually end up dead or missing.” He eyed Bron up and down, pausing at his facial scar. “You’ve the look of battle scourge about you. Have you fought the Daggermen before?”
He’d fought a lot of people during his years in the Daesin army, including the Daggermen. “They’ve infested the borderlands,” he said. “Kill one hive, and there are five more to take its place.” If the hive squatting in Gatiset held Luda, Bron wasn’t going to wait for the Kefian army to arrive to destroy it.
He wanted to question Legis more about the Daggermen but didn’t want to reawaken his suspicions. At the moment, he believed Bron and Disaris were merely a couple with the poor luck of being caught up in the vagaries of lim magic and were looking for a way home. Even if he wanted the Daggermen gone, dead, or both as much as Bron did, he’d cut off the stream of information for fear of being reported to them by this new acquaintance.
“If it isn’t safe to go to Gatiset, is there an inn nearby where we can stay for the night?” He had every intention of journeying to the town and reconnoiter it during the small hours, but he needed to do it alone. A decent inn would provide some protection for Disaris while he was gone.
The woman who’d offered her apron pin as a test of lim presence introduced herself as Zaras. “You can stay with me,” she said. “I’ve room now that my husband’s gone and my son married. And I’m not in town.”
Bron was delighted. The private home of a widow was even safer than the multi-guest accommodations at an inn. He and Disaris both thanked her, and Disaris released him to join their future hostess, introducing herself as Nazlen, daughter of Kerei. She winked at Bron before strolling off with Zaras toward a circle of wagons, some empty, others piled high with wheat sheaves.
Their tasks finished for the day, the harvesters climbed into the various wagons, some to drive and others to hitch a ride. Legis invited Bron to ride with him in the driver’s box. His conversation was both revelatory and continuous for which Bron was grateful. He much preferred listening than talking. One learned a lot more that way.
“It’s a good thing it was us and not the Daggermen who saw you and your woman come through the Merisack Stone. A group of them usually gather round the stone once a week or so, walking this way and that, chanting prayers or tracing the symbols there. They’ve never been able to make it light up the way you did or disappear into it.” Legis flicked the reins on the hindquarters of the two horse pulling his wagon. “If they’d seen you do it, you’d be their prisoner for sure right now.”
Bron didn’t doubt it. The Daggermen arriving in Gatiset coincided with the timeframe in which Golius’s forces had found the smaller gate they used in Slaekum’s temple. Destroying that gate to keep their secrets necessitated finding another one to send messengers through and keep their network informed of the Hierarch’s wishes and warned of any ambushes by the Daesin army. They’d also lost touch with their precious itzuli and her ability to translate the goddess’s grimoire. He was surprised they weren’t visiting the Merisack Stone more often.
“Have you seen their leader?”
In the years he’d spent fighting both Kefians and Daggermen, Bron had captured three Daggermen subchiefs, only to have them die in captivity by their own hand or by the hand of a fellow assassin. None had lived long enough to describe what the Hierarch looked like.
Legis shook his head. “I don’t think so, but who knows, I may have seen him but didn’t realize it. They’re a secretive bunch, and those who are too curious about them end up like those who complain about them.”
When the caravan paused before a two-story cottage set back from the road and mostly hidden by a copse of trees, Legis clasped arms with Bron. “This is Widow Zaras’s home. She’ll take good care of you two. Good luck on your journey home. If you need something before you go, tell Zaras. She’ll get a message to me. I’ll help if I can.”
Bron thanked him and joined Disaris and the widow at the side of the road, waving to those in the wagon as they passed. When Zaras motioned for them to follow her to her house, they lagged behind a little. Disaris used the moment to whisper to Bron. “How many of them do you think are spies for the Daggermen?”
He smiled and waved when Zaras looked over her shoulder to see if they followed her. “At least one, possibly two.” He’d observed all the harvesters who’d witnessed their arrival, noting those who watched but didn’t interact and those who seemed overly friendly. “They aren’t Daggermen themselves. There’s a certain look to the zealot that’s hard to see at first, but once you do, it’s easy to spot. They don’t have it, but they may be in league with them. They’ll be reluctant to bother them at first, so we have about another day before we need to disappear.”
Disaris sighed. “I hope Zaras isn’t one of them.”
Bron hoped so too, for both their sakes and Zaras’s as well. He didn’t want to kill her, but he would if necessary, especially if it meant protecting Disaris.
The widow’s home wasn’t a lavish one but comfortable and very clean with the scent of rosemary rising from the woven rushes placed on the floor. She showed them the room where they would sleep and pointed down the short hall to a closed door at the end. “Knock if you need anything during the night,” she said.
The bedchamber was small with an equally small bed that would fit two people if they were both Disaris’s size. Bron reconciled himself to a night on the floor.
Zaras pointed to a table in one corner holding a basin and ewer. “The well is on the other side of the house with a trough, or I can bring a tub in from the barn and fill it in the kitchen.” She looked relieved when both her guests assured her a scrub from basin or bucket was more than adequate. “I’ll have supper ready for you and a change of clothes for you when you’re done.” She gave Bron an admiring once-over. “You’re taller than my husband was and slimmer, but I may have something of his you can wear.”
When she left, Disaris turned to Bron with a grin. “That was probably the nicest way anyone has ever told us we’re dirty, and we smell.”
He laughed. “It is, and she isn’t wrong. We can use both trough and basin to clean up. Get most of the dirt off outside with the first and finish with the rest using the basin.”
Bron pumped water into several buckets and helped Disaris haul them inside. They filled the earthen water cauldron in the kitchen next to the fire first and then the basin in the bedroom. “Payment for your hospitality, Mistress,” he told her when Zaras protested their labor.
By the time they’d pulled up enough water to half fill the trough, the sun had disappeared behind the trees, and the delectable smells of food being cooked wafted into the cottage’s inner courtyard. Bron stripped off his outer tunic and long shirt, and toed off his boots. Were he alone, he would have stripped naked, but in deference to their hostess who was currently watching them from the kitchen’s one window, he left his trousers on. They were thin enough to dry in little time.
“No one has the right to be so beautiful,” Disaris said behind him, in a voice that carried both wonder and admiration.
