“It’s all right,” I said softly, realizing she thought I had been drowning. “I’m Elspeth,” I said slowly, extending a dripping hand.
She cringed away.
“She fears water,” Darga sent.
Dragon looked at him uneasily, though he had not stirred. I gathered up my towel and dried slowly.
I looked up to find her looking at my naked limbs with a hint of bafflement. I stood very still as she reached out one blackened finger and touched my pale belly. Her finger left a dirty smear, and she stared at it, frowning.
Very slowly, I reached out a wet finger and touched her bare stomach. A rag twisted around her body exposed most of her skin, but rag and skin were indistinguishable, merged together in uniform grime. She suffered my touch, then looked amazed at the clean streak my finger had made. She gazed from the dirty mark on my stomach to the white mark on her own flesh, as if our skins had rubbed off on one another.
“Elspeth,” I said, pointing to myself. I bent down to put my clothes on. My trousers were worn to shreds, but Kella had given me an old skirt and underskirt to put on.
I saw Dragon’s eyes flicker toward the blue underskirt, and impulsively, I held it out to her. Eyes shining, she reached out, then froze, mistrust clouding her expression. I did not move, and finally, she reached out and grasped the underskirt, folding it into her arms and stroking it as if it were an animal. I went on dressing, pulling on Kella’s knitted stockings, my shoes, and a cloak.
“Esspess?” she said suddenly in a rusty whisper.
I gaped, for I had begun to suspect she was mute. I had even thought this might be why she had been abandoned.
I pointed to myself. “Elspeth,” I said distinctly. “Elspeth.”
Then I pointed to her.
“Elspess,” she said obligingly. I grinned, wondering if my name was the only word she would say. I pointed to myself again. “Els-peth.” I pointed to her. “Dragon … Dra-gon.” Later, when she could talk, she could choose a more suitable name.
She frowned. “Drang-om.”
I nodded. She pointed to me. “Elspess.” She pointed to herself. “Drangon.”
“Close enough,” I said. “Food?” I asked, rising slowly. Alarm flared in her eyes. I mimicked eating, and hunger replaced her fright.
Summoning Darga and warning him to move slowly, we made our way back to the camp. Whenever Dragon stopped, I would mimic eating. I sent a probe to Jik, telling him to warn the others not to do anything to frighten her.
Approaching the light of the fire that glimmered through the trees, Dragon hesitated. I had to coax her the last few steps with exaggerated mimicry of how delicious the food would be. When we were close enough to smell Kella’s stew, she sniffed at the savory odor like a hungry animal. The others were sitting very still around the fire, fascinated, for this was the first time they had seen her. To my surprise, she barely looked at them. Her eyes darted about hungrily. Kella had set a pot to the side, and I took this up and held it out to Dragon.
The firelight showed her as an emaciated scarecrow with a mop of filthy hair, clutching the blue underskirt to her chest.
Taking the pot, she squatted unceremoniously and plunged her filthy fingers directly into it, scooping the stew to her mouth with ravenous dexterity.
Kella grimaced and softly wondered aloud whether she had not already poisoned herself with dirt. I was filled with compassion rather than revulsion. I had never imagined that the Talent I had come so far to find would be a half-wild savage who could barely speak. I had imagined a calm discussion ending in an offer of a refuge.
No one spoke while she ate with much lip smacking and slurping, and when she was finished, she licked out the pot, sighed gustily, and sat back on her haunches.
“Well,” Kella said faintly. Dragon’s lambent eyes turned to her.
“Meet Dragon, our newest recruit,” I said with a broad smile.
For the rest of the night, Dragon sat close by my feet, listening to our talk as if to exotic music. She had the disconcerting habit of staring fixedly at first one, then another of us, as if she were trying to memorize our faces. She would not allow any of the others to come near her but eventually fell asleep against my knees.
The next morning we crossed the Suggredoon at dawn. I had expected it to be difficult, but the hardest part was persuading Dragon to hide with Brydda under his enveloping cloak in back of the cart. Jik, Idris, and Reuvan rode the horses, and Kella and I led Avra aboard the ferry. It took only a few coercive pushes to ensure that our papers and the cart were given the most cursory inspection before the soldierguard turned to the few other passengers. I had found a description of myself and Jik in the soldierguards’ minds, as well as a far clearer picture of Brydda, but a coercive push ensured that we did not fit any of those descriptions. Once we had left the ferry on the other side, we took a rutted path straight up the banks of the Suggredoon, which Brydda said would bring us right to the ford. But the road was full of potholes and great stones, so the cart fairly crawled along. Even when the rest of us got out and walked, Avra could not move much more swiftly. Pavo alone remained in the cart, though its jolting must have hurt his poor, weary body.
Brydda grew more silent as the day wore on and seemed increasingly preoccupied. Finally, I asked him if anything was wrong.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I feel uneasy about my parents. And we’re moving so slowly.” He looked down at Dragon with mingled pity and frustration.
“Why don’t you go ahead?” I suggested. “We can’t be more than a few hours away at a fast gallop.”
Brydda bit his lip and looked thoughtful. “I think I will. Reuvan can come with me.” Thinking of his “knack,” I worried that his fears could be well founded.
The triumphant mood of the day occasioned by Dragon’s presence evaporated with Brydda’s departure. He told us to wait at the ford until he returned to tell us the way was clear. He refused to say what he was afraid of, but his elaborate precautions only served to heighten my apprehension.
As if to mirror my thoughts, a heavy, dark bank of cloud looming on the horizon billowed in to veil the sun near the end of the day, and we reached the ford just as a light rain began to fall.
There was no sign of Brydda or Reuvan, so we decided to make camp behind a copse of trees within sight of the ford. It proved nearly impossible to light a fire with the damp wood, but finally we managed and sat around it shivering in the chilly wind. No one felt like talking. Pavo was nearly blue and shivered constantly, but Kella said these were also symptoms of advanced rotting sickness.
Dragon had reacted to the sight of the Suggredoon with real terror, and it had taken all my strength to reassure her. I was afraid she would run off and be lost. Her reaction to the river and to my submersion seemed to indicate something connected with water had happened to her, but I could not penetrate her mind, and she was unable to explain, only clutching at me in mute plea. In the end, I found myself patting her as I would pet Maruman.
“At least she doesn’t stink,” Jik said earnestly when I wondered aloud to Kella what might have caused her fear of water. We laughed, but oddly this was true. Dragon smelled like rich, dark dirt after rain. She had not used her remarkable illusory powers since joining us. I hoped she would not tame to the extent of forgetting them altogether.
All at once I heard the drumming of hooves in the distance.
We all stood, the underlying fears that had gnawed at us since Brydda’s departure showing clearly in our faces. There was one rider, coming fast. Idris gave a shout of joy as he recognized Brydda’s horse, then he fell silent, seeing the rider was Grufyyd, whose face he did not know.
Reining the horse in, Grufyyd dismounted. He looked pale and there were dark shadows in his eyes. After a brief greeting, he urged us to pack up quickly and come with him to the cottage.
The serious note in his voice warned us something was badly wrong.
“Brydda?” Idris began worriedly.
“My lad
is fine,” he said, then once again urged us to make haste.
Not until we were approaching the great forest of trees at the foot of the mountains did he say, “Soldierguards have been to Rangorn. It was fortunate that ye dinna come sooner, else they would have taken us all.”
“They were looking for Brydda?” I asked. But Grufyyd shook his head.
“They said they were looking for seditioners. A small group of young gypsies,” he added significantly.
I stared. “But why? How? No one from the Council knew we even existed, and the disguise was all but washed away before we left here.”
“Henry Druid an’ his folks kenned ye were about,” said Grufyyd.
“But how could he …?” I stopped, thinking hard. “They said in the encampment that he has a friend in the Council. Someone influential who sends him all sorts of expensive delicacies. Maybe the Druid told his friend about us.” I chewed my lip. “But why go to so much trouble over a few gypsies?”
“Perhaps he no longer believes ye were just gypsies,” Grufyyd said. “One of the soldierguards said the gypsy attire might be a disguise and that the seditioners were more dangerous than most.”
Uneasily, I remembered that I had been forced to reveal my power in the escape. The gatewarden would have woken with a strange tale of the gypsy girl who had rendered him unconscious with her touch. It had been wishful thinking on my part to assume his testimony would be dismissed as ravings or excuses.
Katlyn met us at the door of the cottage with smiles and talk of a hot meal and warm beds. Despite everything, it was a happy reunion but for Pavo’s obvious deterioration.
Wrapped in a blanket and shivering from a chill no fire could abate, he was clearly in great pain. His neck and arms were now covered in bruises, a symptom of tissue degeneration. The slightest bump left a livid mark on his skin. Katlyn did her best for him, feeding him decoctions to numb the pain, but they were only temporary measures. Pavo was dying.
“He is content,” Darga sent from where he lay on the hearth. “He is not afraid to die.”
After we had eaten, Katlyn managed to do what we had failed and persuaded Dragon to wash.
Jik, Idris, and Reuvan went off with Grufyyd to organize sleeping quarters in the barn, and Kella went to sort out blankets.
I was glad to find myself alone with Brydda, having had no chance to question him about the soldierguards. His first words took my breath away. “I don’t suppose you come from Obernewtyn?”
I gaped at him.
He nodded. “It was a thought I had earlier, for I guessed you weren’t quite telling the truth when you said you came from the highlands. Then my father said one of the soldierguards had asked about Obernewtyn, and everything came together. I had heard the place was near destroyed by a firestorm.”
“A lie to keep people away,” I admitted. “But useless now.”
“I don’t think they knew anything for sure.”
“They couldn’t have managed to connect us and Obernewtyn at all, unless the Druid … this confirms he’s part of this. We already feared that the Council had been questioning what Rushton was up to. But the Druid is the only one who could have informed them about our disguises.” I blanched. “And if he has guessed we are not real gypsies, he would question all that I told him about Obernewtyn being in shambles. I must warn Rushton.”
Brydda nodded. “It might be safer for your friends to leave Obernewtyn before any investigation. I would be happy to have your people join me. I am sure Bodera will be glad to have you join his rebels.”
“Rushton will have to decide that,” I said. “He is our leader.”
Idris opened the door and asked Brydda to help shift the books from the cart into the shed, because it had begun to rain again. Left alone except for Pavo, I forced myself to accept that he would not survive the journey back.
His eyes fluttered open, and he saw the pity in my face. “Don’t be sad for me, Elspeth.” His voice was barely audible. “I have lived free in a world where freedom is rare. I have pursued work that I love. I have learned much, and I have had good friends and perilous adventures. What man who lives three times my span can say as much?”
I blinked hard and found I could say nothing without crying. I was glad when everyone trooped back in, laughing and talking. Kella called out that she was warming some fement. This prompted Brydda to sing a rollicking song about a drunken seaman. In the midst of uproarious laughter, the door opened and Katlyn entered with a stranger.
The room fell into an astounded silence. The unknown girl was slender as a willow wand, with creamy pale skin and a thick silken mop of flame-colored curls.
Slowly, it dawned on us who we were looking at.
It was Dragon.
“I don’t believe it!” Jik gasped.
I was stunned. Who would have suspected what lay under the dirt? Even clad in a rough hessian shift dress, she was extraordinarily beautiful. And such hair! I had never seen hair that color—like gold and flames entwined. Later, Katlyn told me it had broken her heart to cut it, but it had been so matted and fused with dirt that she’d had no choice.
Dragon’s eyes, blue as the summer sky, flickered round uneasily.
“Don’t stare at her. She doesn’t understand,” I said softly.
Though unable to stop looking, the others sank into more natural poses. Beaming with pleasure, Katlyn ushered Dragon around to my side. Reaching out, I tugged at one springing fiery curl.
Dragon took the strand of her hair and pulled it round to her eyes, then she let it loose. She lifted the shift to show the blue underskirt I had given her.
Reuvan burst out laughing. She looked up at him, startled, and bared her teeth. That broke the spell woven by her dramatic transformation. “She may be a girl,” Reuvan said, “but she is still dragon-natured and had better keep her name as a warning to anyone who might think otherwise.”
Brydda patted his mother’s shoulder. “Well, I always knew you were a witch.”
Even Pavo smiled at this absurdity.
Over steaming mugs of fement, we talked of ways and means to reach our various destinations. I told Katlyn and Grufyyd the whole story of Obernewtyn, deciding it was better to take them fully into our confidence. If Obernewtyn was under investigation, we would have to leave it anyway. And if not, I had an idea that Katlyn and Grufyyd might be glad of a reason to return to the highlands. The trouble was that the chance of reaching Obernewtyn before the mountain pass froze was dwindling.
“If only the Olden pass had not been poisonous, we might have gone that way and cut off days of traveling time,” I sighed.
“Poisonous …?” Brydda began.
Suddenly Darga growled, and Dragon jumped to her feet.
“What is it?” I said, but Brydda hissed. In the silence, we could hear a horse galloping toward the house.
I farsensed the rider and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Domick,” I told the others. There were steps on the porch, and the door was flung open.
“You are here!” cried Kella, leaping up to embrace him.
“Thank Lud you’re here,” he said, keeping Kella close in his arms. “You must leave tonight, all of you.”
“What is it?” Brydda asked sharply, rising to tower over the coercer. Domick’s face changed as he noticed Idris, Reuvan, and Dragon.
“It’s all right, Domick. They’re with us,” I said quickly. “They know about Obernewtyn, about everything.”
The coercer looked less disapproving than I expected. He glanced at Brydda speculatively. “I guess you must be Brydda Llewellyn, better known as the notorious Black Dog. It is good to meet a man whose name I have heard so many times as one who ferociously opposes the Council.”
Brydda met this with a curious look. Domick sighed. “It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the meat of it.”
He threw off his dripping oiled coat. “I first heard the name of Brydda Llewellyn here, but I heard it again before I had even reached Sutrium. Soldierguards were watc
hing the ferry, looking for you. I overheard them saying Brydda Llewellyn’s network of seditioners had been exposed, and he was on the run. I wanted to come after you, Elspeth, to warn you, but I knew I couldn’t get to you before you reached Aborium.” An expression of suppressed agony crossed his face, and I realized what a struggle it had been for him to proceed with his mission.
“The first thing I noticed about Sutrium was the number of Herders about. They seemed to outnumber Councilmen, and there was a definite feeling of fear whenever they were around.
“I mingled with people wherever there were crowds. I had the feeling I was safer that way. I let people understand I was a trading jack whose cart had been burned in a firestorm. That explained my ignorance about customs lowlanders take for granted. And it let me ask questions as I sought work to amass coin enough to replace my cart and tools. I knew I had to get close to the Council, but I couldn’t think how.
“Then one night in a drink hall, I overheard two men talking to a third man who was to take up a job at the Councilcourt. They were laughing and warning their friend that his new job was dangerous. The third man was beside himself with fear by the time the other two left. I struck up a conversation with him by offering him a mug and learned that he had come from the highlands to work in Sutrium. He had been recommended by a Herder, and though he neither wanted nor liked the idea of going to Sutrium, he dared not refuse. In the end, I managed to persuade him to let me take the job.” Domick flicked a look at me, which told me what sort of persuasion he had used. “I turned up in his place and was accepted at once, since they were expecting someone from the high country.
“At first I heard nothing useful. It was a menial job, and I began to think I would have been better off applying to be a soldierguard. Then I realized I could not have found a better way to spy on the Councilmen. Once my face was familiar, it was as if I were nothing more than a broom or a mop, and they talked quite freely in front of me.