Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [161]
Teg! Location? Hotha’s voice jarred him, like a trap door opening beneath his feet.
West of the Corsanon troops. Pursuing the scouts to the north.
Too late, lad.
Too late? It can’t be.
They got through. I don’t know how. They must have temple witches with them.
A glamour?
Couldn’t have. I can smell through any ever made.
Teg knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to make the point. Where are they headed?
Kali’s spotted them, riding straight for Temple Dumarka.
Teg had stopped under a pine grove, scenting the air. What now?
Report back to An’ Lawrence. We’ll have to deal with the ones in front of us first.
But Dumarka?
Kreshkali’s domain. Turn back.
Teg bristled, spinning around the way he came. He hoped to avoid the hundreds of Corsanon warriors that marched between him and An’ Lawrence. Nose to the ground again, he tore through the woods, hugging the foothills, staying out of sight.
Xane smiled as he jogged along. He loved these woods, the scent of forest loam, sticky pine sap running down the thick trunks, the sound of the wind through the boughs. There was nothing like this in Corsanon. He scratched his head. He’d never been out of Corsanon, until now. Bizarre. Why did everything seem so familiar? Like returning to a memory?
The creatures in the well of his mind were climbing again and he used all his focus to push them down. Every time they rose, words and ideas spouted out of his mouth that made onlookers step back. He didn’t blame them. He wanted to step back too. He picked at the wound on his neck before pulling his hand away, chastising himself. It itched like a dog’s belly.
As he rode along the track, the rocking of the saddle soothed his worries. The squeak of leather, the clip-clop of the mare’s animated stride, the smell of the woods, all conspired to relax him in spite of the rising creatures—those figments of his imagination that were desperate to get out.
‘If I let one of you up, just one, will the rest of you leave me alone?’ He heard a roar of voices, a cacophony of sound in his head. He hunched his shoulders and shut his eyes. ‘I guess not.’
Before he could give it any more thought, the mare’s head lifted, her ears pricked forward. He shortened his reins and peered into the distance. ‘What’s that, Rose?’ He pulled the mare to a halt. Ahead, further ahead than he should rightfully be able to see, were riders. Dozens of them coming at the gallop. The one in the lead rode a huge black mare, a warhorse like the ones bred in the Cusca Plains. He was enchanted with her for a moment then shook his head, turning his mare northward at the run. He had to warn Willem, quickly. But when he caught up with Willem and the Stable Master, he saw immediately they were not surprised.
‘You knew they were coming?’
Willem leaned his head towards a group of cloaked riders, temple priestesses who were not with them when they began the march. ‘We got the warning.’
Xane’s brow creased as he took them in. The horses were fresh, run hard to be certain, but not for more than a league. He glanced at their legs. No mud. No dried sweat. Where did they come from?
‘Stay tight, lad. We’re going to let them ride by.’
‘Ride by? We’ll be spotted.’
‘That’s where they come in.’ Again he indicated the cloaked priestesses. They sat their horses like statues, neither women nor beasts moving save the rise and fall of their breath and the odd swish of a tail. The horses were palominos, golden hides with flaxen manes and tails. As one they turned to look at him. He swallowed; his grey mare tossed her head, pawing the ground.
I know, Rose. I feel the same way. I’d let us run flat out in the other direction but that would only put us face-on with the enemy.
‘They’re weaving a glamour about us, lad. We can’t be seen.’
Suddenly Xane felt the energy of the spell rise up his legs like warm water.