Rumpleteasza

Part Seven

The Road Again

The rain had lessened to a fine, insistent drizzle. The thunder had moved on. Shamanih was soaked, cold, miserable, and physically and emotionally exhausted.

They were two hours out from Chorrol along the Orange Road, the trail which lead through the birch-woods into the Jerall Mountains. Jauffre had assured them that the Blade fortress of Cloud Ruler Temple was the safest place for Martin while they worked out their next move.



The Amulet had gone, of course. The one shred of comfort to be taken from the situation was the fact that the assassins had not, as she had first thought, come for Martin. They had only come for the Amulet. Martin's existence was the one ace they had up their sleeve.

But for how long? It was only a matter of time before they came looking for more, and you can't keep a person hidden forever. At least Martin could no longer blame himself for the death of Prior Maborel.

They were riding horses from the Priory, Shamanih having been given charge of the unfortunate Maborel's chestnut pony. As Jauffre had pointed out grimly, he was unlikely to need it anymore.

"How is your shoulder?" Martin asked in a low voice, dropping back slightly from his place between her and the Blademaster.

"It's no trouble", she replied in what she hoped was an unconcerned tone of voice. In fact, the bruise had spread purple all down her left side, and riding was becoming another task of endurance. Martin was certainly not lacking in the strength department. "In any case, it was either this or a lost head. If you hadn't been so quick..."

He looked the other way, evidently awkward. "One excitement after another, isn't it?"

"I hope the remainder of our journey is distinctly boring, I assure you." She cracked a weak smile, which he returned. It faded, however, as he seemed to be searching for words.

"At the Priory... the courtyard... what happened? It is some kind of magicka? Your voice..."

She sighed. "I wouldn't have chosen for you to find out that way. It's just... something I can do, that came to me when I was young. I'm sure it has something to do with my mother - from the scant information I have of her, I know she was a wood-mage - but I've yet to have the chance to ask her, of course." Her eyes seemed deep, far away. "In the Akehane, I put it to use in our ritual summonings. We use song and dance for spellweaving, mainly..."

Martin was listening intently to this unusual bout of talkativeness, but to his disappointment, Jauffre chose that moment to wheel in and close ranks. They were approaching a bridge, where they would need to file closely together.

The rain continued to fall, the light eventually gave out, and no assassins appeared. It seemed that for the time being, they had escaped.

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A/N: Back from the dead, etc