“We haven’t seen any oxen yet. We’ve met no one.”

“That is because the road is over there. See it? It is the shortest distance between Fowlrox and the docks. It is well worn, and there are traders day and night because the cargo is so heavy.”

“Have you ever been to Stonehollow, Hettie?”

She shook her head. “No. I might have as a child, but I do not remember it. The Romani work all of the roads. Everywhere there is a shipment to be made. We know the best routes. Of course, it helps when you are quite ruthless.” She glanced back at him, deliberately brushing her hair into his face. He was sure it was deliberate.

“So we are riding to Fowlrox then?”

“No, to Silvandom, which is to the northwest. But we must make our pursuers believe we are escaping their lands so they will stop following us further. There is a river to cross, but there are bridges in Fowlrox. Our stallion is too spent to be able to swim it. We’ll sell him in the city and cross the river.”

“I have a better idea. We wait until nightfall and then leave the horse and cross the river alone.”

“The river is wide, Paedrin.”

“You can’t swim?”

“Of course I can swim. But what is the purpose of swimming when there is a bridge?”

He could not believe she did not see it. “Because I have noticed in Kenatos that there are always people on a bridge. People who are watching to see who crosses it. People who will sell information about us. If we truly do not want the Arch-Rike knowing our destination, then we should deprive him of the opportunity to find out.”

She gave him a serious look.

“Our horse is exhausted. They are closing the distance and will try even harder to overtake us before we get to the city. If all they overtake is a bone-weary nag, they will have no idea where we went from there. It is the Uddhava. We will have a better sleep tonight knowing that they do not know where we are. And besides, I’m hungry.”

“Hungry enough to eat a rabbit? I see one over there. I could probably get it from here.”

“I’m almost tempted to eat the nag. But no. Let’s cross the river tonight and try and rest on the other side. If our nag can’t swim it, neither can theirs.”

“What bothers me is that it actually sounds like a good idea. I must be too tired. You rarely make so much sense.”

“I’ll try not to make it into a habit. Ride hard. Let’s see if this plan actually works.”

She gave him an approving nod and a smile that pleased him more than any compliment could have.

“It would amaze you how many maps occupy shelves in the Archives. For each kingdom, there are maps dating back centuries. I am always melancholy after reviewing them. When those ancient cartographers had put ink to the quill, you see, those cities and towns were alive and full of husbands and wives, sons and daughters, parents and families. One may as well scrape the ink off with a knife blade now. Entire cities have succumbed to the Plague. Small towns are lost forever, and only the Romani brave the ruins in search of ducats or other treasures. Each generation it seems to strike. In the end, I wonder if there will be but one map remaining. An island kingdom called Kenatos.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

It was a grace among the Vaettir to be able to control their breath. That grace made it particularly useful when crossing bodies of water, for rarely did a Vaettir sink unless he chose to. Paedrin’s ability could not extend to Hettie, but he carried her bow, quiver, and pack and transported them across the wide, sluggish river while she set out with strong strokes to reach the other side. The river felt wider than it looked, as is often the case, and he found her drifting downstream despite her stamina. He reached the other side first, which was only natural since he could walk across the lapping waters as if they were merely puddles, and after depositing her gear, he went back to help her, even though he knew she would refuse.

“It is not much farther,” he coaxed, watching her strength flagging as she swam. The bank was a bit farther off, but he stayed near her, in case she floundered. He could see the determination in her eyes, though, and knew she would never ask for help.

It was dark and cold by the time she reached the far bank, so exhausted she could not speak. Lying on the sandy bed, she gasped for breath and lay still. Her clothes were soaked through and her hair drenched.

“You smell better,” he offered with a smile. Her glare was vengeful.

He crouched near her, almost able to hear the pounding of her heart except for the ragged breathing. After several moments of rest, the smell struck him. Wood smoke, from a fire.