The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [67]
“And?”
Antonin smiles warmly. “I have certain business with the duke. If you’re interested in working with us, I will be in Hydolar in somewhat less than an eight-day from now. At the Grande Loge. Either meet us there, or leave a message.”
He takes a slice of meat from the platter and nods toward the empty plate before her. “You need to see more of Candar, and to reflect upon what you would do with your abilities. Enough of talk. Enjoy the meal.”
The redhead glances from Sephya to Antonin, but no glances have passed between the two, nor have any of the twisted energies that she has seen in Recluce. Shortly, she spears a slice from the platter, and the three eat.
XXI
COMPARED TO THE High Road of Recluce, or even to the lesser East-West Highway, the way from Freetown to Hrisbarg seemed little more than a narrow lane. Straight, but narrow. Right outside Freetown the road had split, going north, south, and west, and I had taken the one road that had not paralleled the coast.
Hard-packed clay comprised the center of the road, perhaps as wide as a farm wagon. The years of travel had created a surface that seemed to resist the light rain, at least in the center of the roadway. Heavy ruts and churned ground surrounded the hard-packed and level central section of the highway.
I had tried to unstrap my cloak from the top of my pack while riding and had almost fallen off Gairloch in the process, saving myself with a desperate grab at the front edge of the saddle.
Whheeee…uhhhh…
“All right…I’m sorry…” So I reined to a halt in the middle of the road, looking behind again. We had covered more than five kays without seeing any pursuit, and the rain was threatening to change from a fine drizzle into something heavier.
As I clambered off Gairloch, the insides of my legs twinged. After only a fraction of the distance we would have to travel, my body was protesting, not exactly a promising sign.
Thrummmm…Overhead the clouds continued to darken, threatening more than mere drizzle. Behind the tumbled stone walls beside the road, the meadow grasses bore only a tinge of green amid the tan of the end of the season. The washed-out brown of the long scraggly blades at the base of the wall testified to more than casual rain, as did the puddles in the middle of the unmowed field beyond. At the base of some of the grasses were blackened stalks, showing rot from the continual rain.
The stony outcroppings even in the middle of the fields, the shorter grasses on the other side of the wall, and occasional breaks in the walls and the trampled hoofprints leading across the road from one wall break to another, all pointed toward the fields as sheep or cattle pasture. I had seen neither, unless a few grayish blurs to the south were scattered sheep or goats.
Thrummmm…thrumm…
Splatt…splattt…The cold raindrops on my head prompted me to complete my recovery of the cloak and to replace the pack behind the saddle.
My legs twinged again as I climbed back onto Gairloch.
“Let’s go.”
Wheee…eeee…
Thrummm…thrumnmm…
Splattt…splatt…
Things were going just wonderfully. After being assaulted, threatened by a city guard and having to flee, we were now headed through a cold and miserable rain to a town I knew nothing about, on the way through more towns about which I also knew nothing, in order to reach and cross two mountain ranges I had no great desire to reach, let alone cross.
Wheeee…eeeee…
Ahead, a shapeless lump appeared on the road, resolving itself into a coach drawn by a pair of huge horses. From a short pole beside the driver, who was covered from head to foot with a hooded and shiny