20
The next morning, Tariel and her men set out on the road bright and early, the sun at their backs and the morning wind cool on their faces. She felt rested and refreshed after spending a night at the inn—sleeping with her men, all together, had cleared away any lingering feelings of discontent and strengthened theirbond.
Even Wellion did not seem as surly this morning, she noted as she looked over her shoulder at him. Zolotais floated alongside him, teaching him basic Maroyan phrases. Perhaps finding an ally in the desert spirit had boosted his mood. Tariel knew if she was traveling in a group of people who hated or mistrusted her that she would not be thrilled either, so she was happy to see that things were calming down. Even Yarim had been polite, not flinging a single barb Wellion’s way as they breakfasted or when they’d saddled up theirhorses.
“It should only take us another half day’s ride to get to Salanis from here,” Wellion said when they’d stopped for a short break to eat their midday meal. They were disguised again, but this time Tariel had merely changed herself into a man to match the others, and subtly disguised the others with minor adjustments to their features andcoloring.
“We’ll need to find a place to stay while we wait for Lord Raffis to arrive,” Calrain said as he munched on the smoked meat and soft bread they’d taken with them from theinn.
“Hopefully we won’t have to wait too long for him,” Yarim said. “Inns are always expensive in large cities likethat.”
“I thought we didn’t have to worry about money?” Wellion asked with a smirk as he tossed an apple core into the bushes. “Since you insist you have such deep pockets and we don’t need that rewardmoney.”
“Just because I have money doesn’t mean that I like to spend it recklessly,” Yarim said mildly. For once, he didn’t react to Wellion’s bait, and Tariel smiled, squeezing his hand in silent gratitude. Perhaps they might make it to the Empire without coming to blows, afterall.
“You are doing remarkably wellwith your lessons for a man with such a limited education,” Zolotais remarked to Wellion as they continued their journey. “Far better than Calrain andRiann.”
Wellion shrugged. “I have an excellent memory, so it makes it easy.” He said the last part of the sentence inMaroyan.
“You are showing off,” she said, giving him an indulgent smile. “But in this case, that is not a bad thing. You will have a distinct advantage over the others if you can master the basics of Maroyan by the time we get to the Empire. Have you thought more about what I said to you lastnight?”
Wellion frowned. He was a good distance from Tariel and the others, having volunteered to scout ahead so their conversations would not distract him from his lessons, and so they would not overhearhim.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Before, I didn’t have much of a plan, only that I wanted to get far away from my old life. But now that I know I am going to the Empire, a land ruled by magic, I am not socertain.”
“Male magic users are very rare,” Zolotais said. “I imagine the only reason that you have any at all is because your twin sister was a mage, and some of her power was transferred to you in the womb. Mages in the Empire snatch men up like you as soon as possible, because they are more likely than anyone else to gift them with strong, talented babes. It is difficult for female mages to conceive because their constant use of magic taxes their bodies, but a father with magic of his own makes getting pregnant far morelikely.”
Wellion felt a sudden surge of desire at the thought of planting his seed deep inside Tariel. The idea that he could give her something the others could not appealed to him, and he looked at the whole thing in a differentlight.
Wellion wanted to ask Zolotais more questions about harems, and the Empire in general. But he heard voices up ahead and tugged on the reins of his horse, slowing down. Zolotais, sensing trouble, immediately disappeared back into the abacus, which Wellion now carried in his pack. He tied his horse to a tree and crept through the woods and around the bend toinvestigate.
“Damn,” he muttered as he peered through a bush. Ten soldiers, and some bigwig with fancy togs, waited up ahead, forming a kind of blockade on the road. Wellion had no doubt that they were searching for fleeing bandits—word had to have spread by now of the defeat at TraizeValley.
He quietly crept back to his horse, then rode back to meet Tariel and the others. “There is a blockade ahead,” he warned. “Ten soldiers, and some nobleman with them. I believe they are searching for fleeingbandits.”
Tariel exchanged glances with the others. “We should have no need to worry, then, since we are not bandits,” she said. “But just in case, I will change your disguise a bitmore.”
She waved a hand, and the others snickered as Wellion felt tingles spread across his face. “What have you done?” hedemanded.
Tariel giggled, and the sound was so endearing that some of Wellion’s anger faded despite himself. “I’ve just added a few beauty marks to your face,” she said, patting his arm as she passed him. “Come on now, let’s meet thesesoldiers.”
“Moles,” Wellion muttered as he followed after her. “She gave me fucking moles.” He was glad he could not see his own face—he gathered from the others’ reactions that he looked quite hideous now. But so long as the men did not recognize him, he supposed it was worthit.
They reached the blockade in a matter of minutes, and the soldiers, seeing them, quickly closed ranks. The bigwig he’d seen earlier stepped directly in front of the path, looking down his nose at them from his large warhorse. Despite being a pampered noble, he looked fit beneath his clothes, and Wellion assumed the sword on his hip was not just forshow.
“Identify yourselves,” he said in a curt voice. “Who are you, and what is your business on theseroads?”
“We are humble travelers,” Tariel said in a deep voice, stepping forward. She was disguised as a man with close-cropped black hair and a lean build, wearing a simple tunic and cloak. “My friends and I are on our way to Salanis, hoping to find work. Our farm was burned down by bandits, so we havenothing.”
The nobleman’s face softened fractionally. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, relaxing a little. “These bandits have been a scourge on our lands. Thankfully, now that Major Gallington has finally routed them, our people should start feeling saferagain.”
He raised a hand, as if he were about to tell the soldiers to let them pass, but his face froze as his eyes settled on Riann. “You!” he said, jabbing an accusing finger at Riann. “I recognize you. You are one of theringleaders!”
“What?” Riann recoiled, shock stamped all over his face. “Sir, you must have me mistaken for someone else. I am nocriminal.”
But Wellion winced, realizing that Riann’s new disguise gave him a passing resemblance to one of his father’s troop leaders. “No, you cannot fool me,” the nobleman growled, his face turning red. “I have been held hostage by that foul man you call Lord Traize, and I would know the man who kidnapped me anywhere. Men, arrest this man for kidnapping androbbery!”
“No!” Tariel cried, putting her horse in between Riann and the soldiers. “Sir, Riann is not from around here. He is a Fjordlander! Surely you can tell that from hisaccent.”
