Chunk 13
It's been a few days and I'm now almost 8,000 words behind pace [flail] but I'm up at my mom's and I'm not writing as much as I'd like. I also have spotty access to the internet; Mom has a wireless hub but unfortunately it only works when it feels like it. Sometimes unplugging it and plugging it back in, with or without rebooting my laptop, will help. But then again, sometimes it doesn't. :/ I'm piggybacking off a neighbor's unsecured wireless right now because I haven't been able to get Mom's wireless to work all day. No clue how long this will stay open.

Anyway, keep a set of virtual fingers crossed for me. :)



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They mounted their horses and continued to the gate. The Molani guards set to the watch called a challenge, and Arden responded with his full name.

The senior sentry gave him a quick bow, but gave Luka a dubious look. "Highness, we've been ordered not to allow any Ruvori to leave."

Arden gave him sharp glance. "This man is my slave, and therefore Molani."

The sentry bowed lower and even more quickly while waving them through.

There was little traffic on the roads and they made good time, alternately trotting and walking the horses. They encountered a few men approaching the city -- couriers riding or running. The runners would have come from the frontiers, or from some outpost at the back of beyond, across country or over faint tracks where there were no courier posts for changes of horse. A very fit man,dressed lightly and not burdened with gear, could beat a horse over a stretch of twenty miles or longer. A horse was good for carrying equipment and for saving the traveller's energy, but for speed over longer distances, they were only the preferred choice in relays, when a fresh mount could be had at regular intervals.

The mounted couriers were likely from the capital, keeping the emperor apprised of the war and sending back information and the occasional instructions. Arden's father was intelligent enough not to jostle a trusted general's arm, but larger political concerns could demand the alteration of plans and goals.

The foot couriers were the ones Arden wished he could question. They ran past without looking up at him, wearing only loincloths and sweat, and carrying only water skins and the sealed ivory tubes containing their messages. There were only two of them, but there weren't so many men fit to be a running courier and the outposts where they were stationed didn't send them with trivial notes. Whatever those two carried must be important, and Arden's sharply curious nose -- the craving to know things, which had led him into the courier corps and the smaller company of spies in the first place -- turned to follow the message tubes as they passed.

Later. He'd find out what was going on some other time. Or maybe he wouldn't, but there was no help for it.

The road wound through sheer rock canyons and barren hills, all silver, grey and ink-black under the night sky. The cool air was refreshing, keeping men and horses both from heating to discomfort.

When the stars proclaimed it to be near the middle of the night, they came to a crossroads. Arden took the southwest branch, toward Cara. He glanced up the northwest branch, wondering whether Yarro and Tochi had taken that turning however long before. No sense wondering now, though.

As though on cue, Luka broke the silence they'd ridden in for the previous several hours to nod toward the signpost and ask, "Does the man who took Tochi live in Cara, then?"

Arden blinked in surprise and gave Luka a hard look. It hadn't occurred to him that Luka wouldn't have understood where they were bound or why.

"No," he answered. He met Luka's stormy scowl with one of his own and asked, "Were you asleep back at Ashti's temple? Or could you not hear what she said?" And... he hadn't thought of that. It was quite possible that the goddess had spoken for his ears only."

"Of course I heard," Luka retorted. "But--"

"But what?" Arden waved him to silence with an abrupt gesture. "She's a goddess, Luka. She's your goddess, in fact, although the fact that she's not mine doesn't make me any more likely to defy her. She commanded and we obey -- we're going to Cara to try to prevent Baruno from taking over the emperor. And in fact, it's apparently your task rather than mine. I'm just going along to keep you from getting killed on the way and help you any way I can." His voice had slid into sharp sarcasm by the end. He was worried for Tochi himself and could only imagine Luka was much moreso, but what kind of idiot even imagined they'd defy a goddess's direct command?

"But--!" This time Luka cut himself off and looked down, his head bent between tense, hunched shoulders. Arden felt an urge to reach out and touch him, just lightly, for comfort, but stifled it. He knew better than to think any comfort from him would be welcome just then.

"What am I supposed to do?" Luka finally asked. The worry and frustration and fear in his voice softened Arden's mood even more.

"I don't know," he said. "I suppose it'll be clear when the time comes."

I hope.



Chapter Five

Luka hadn't done much riding since his army days but he managed to stay on the horse until Roscha finally called a halt, in a barren spot which had the virtue of being flat and bounded by a trickle of a stream, far enough from the road that they wouldn't be seen by anyone passing. Luka slid off his horse and was able to keep himself from going the rest of the way to the ground, but only by a determined exercise of will.

He unsaddled his horse, hoping Roscha didn't expect him, as the slave, to take care of his as well. He had precious little fat on him as a reserve and hadn't eaten anything in more than a day -- nearly two, come to think of it, since the damned Molani had taken the city by treachery.

The thought brought the bitter anger flowing through Luka's veins and he turned his mind away from it. He led his horse over to the water, gave vague notice to Roscha seeing to his own mount, then flopped down on his belly next to the stream to drink, right beside his horse.

Once his thirst was satisfied, lying right there to sleep sounded like an excellent plan. Luka couldn't quite summon the energy to focus his eyes, much less haul himself to his feet. The air was cold but his blanket was far away, with the saddlebags. Too far away. He crossed his arms and pillowed his head on them.

"Luka? Luka!"

A hand gripped his shoulder and shook. Luka muttered something he hoped sounded threatening and sank back down toward sleep.

More hands gripped him under his arms and heaved, then yanked him over into a sitting position. One arm held him up while the other vanished for a moment, then a splash of icy water drenched his face. His eyes snapped open and he yelled, flailing at whatever, but his arms wouldn't move. Eventually the voice penetrated his ears again.

"...something to eat, then we'll wrap you up and you can sleep. Come on, there we go...."

Luka felt himself levered up to his feet. The word "eat" had sounded like a vaguely decent idea and his legs stiffened enough to hold him up, with help. He felt himself walked a few paces away, then settled down on a blanket. An onion appeared in his hand, then a slab of cheese in the other.

Food. He knew what to do with that, and if he hadn't, his pinched stomach was eager to remind him. He ate in eager bites, from one hand and then the other, until both were empty.

"...hadn't eaten in a while. Sorry, I should've remembered sooner; we could've eaten while we rode."

The voice flowed past but Luka paid scant attention. His hand found a roll of bread. When he took a bite he found there was a sausage inside. That was far more interesting than any words at the moment.

"...some good time, though, and we should be far enough ahead of anyone coming after us. Anyone we couldn't handle, at least. Between the two of us we could fight off a few men if we had to -- once you've had some sleep at least -- and any larger group will be going more slowly."

Luka finished his sausage roll and licked his fingers. Sleeping sounded good. He'd been doing that earlier before someone had bothered him, but food was a good enough reason to rouse him so he wouldn't thrash whoever'd done it. The food was gone, though, and his stomach was content. Sleep next.

Hands urged him to lie down on the blanket. The air was still cold and there was a wind sucking what little warmth he had. Another body lay behind him, draped an arm around him to pull him close, then bundled a second blanket over top. Much better. Luka slept.



The shoulder-shake that woke Luka up was much less tentative than he was used to, but then he rarely slept longer than he'd intended. He swatted at the hand on him and muttered something to Tochi about getting him a... then remembered.

He rolled over and let out an involuntary grunt at the ache in his thighs. He was strong and healthy, but obviously sword work was different from riding, especially long hours of riding with no rest stops.

Roscha handed him a water skin and another bread roll, which Luka fervently hoped contained sausage. A bite proved that it did, and he was almost ready to forgive the man.

Almost.

A glance at the shadows told him that it was near noon, although he didn't remember which way they'd turned off the road, so he wasn't sure if it was a couple of hours before or a couple of hours after. Either way, Roscha would probably want to continue on soon. And if he didn't, Luka did. The sooner they finished with this plot against the Molani emperor and satisfied Ashti, the sooner they could get back to searching for Tochi.

Luka tore a bite off the sausage roll and chewed, his jaw tight and angry. He understood why Roscha had abandoned Tochi, and that it wasn't the Molani's fault that a goddess had interrupted their plans. To give him a little credit, Luka had to admit that he'd seemed upset by it, and he'd certainly looked and sounded angry when he'd found that that friend of his hadn't gotten Tochi after all.

Of course, if his friend had chosen Tochi then he'd have been dead. The other man, the one who'd actually chosen Tochi for his slave, had at least been smart enough to leave the palace right away. Even if he weren't the kindest master to his slaves, he had a good sense of how to keep and protect his property, and that was a good thing in this case.

It was, wasn't it?

Had Roscha been angry because his friend hadn't got Tochi, or because that other man had?

Luka could think of a couple of reasons why he might not want to know the answer to that question. Not just then, at any rate. No matter what the situation was, there was nothing he could do about it and giving himself nightmares over it, or adding weight to the guilt already perching on his back, wouldn't help Tochi and might distract Luka and delay the completion of this task for the goddess.

Trying to forget about Tochi didn't work, so instead Luka focused his thoughts on the problem of the Molani god and how to stop him. He had no idea how to thwart a god and knowing that some other god believed that he could and would didn't reassure him much.

Why him in particular? What made him the one person to prevent this god from conquering the world? The only thing he could think of which set him apart from others was his skill with the two swords, but you couldn't kill a god with a sword, or even two swords. And at any rate, gods didn't come into the world to act for themselves directly; so Luka had always heard and so Ashti had confirmed. The gods acted through mortal agents.

So they'd be acting against the god's agents, then. That seemed reasonable. But if they were going to stop some mortal from doing something, then again, why him? If some corrupt priest needed killing then why couldn't someone else do it?

Although perhaps the priest wasn't properly corrupt. If he was doing as his god commanded, then that was proper so far as it went. Not corrupt, then. A priest who had the misfortune to be sworn to the wrong god. Put in those words, it was regrettable; the man was behaving rightly, doing what he'd sworn to do, but it was still Luka's task to stop him. If they could do it without killing him then that would be well, but if not then they'd do what was needed. This was war of a sort and each man served his own side as well as he could.

Luka finished his sausage roll and watched Roscha saddling the horses.

War made things different. What was right and honorable depended on which side a man served. Luka had always looked down on spies, but he'd benefitted from the information they brought back more than once. And sabotaging an enemy's defenses, or burning his crops or poisoning his water were all time-honored tactics. Luka had never done such a thing himself, and would have found it difficult to do so and still feel as though he'd kept his honor, but they were always done and he'd appreciated the results, even if he hadn't cared to think to hard about how they'd been achieved.