Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

10

Uachi rode south along the thoroughfare just until he came to a branching road—a mile or two, no more. He had no desire to encounter soldiers or others who might have seen his face. Besides, in the Holy City and some of the northern reaches of the Penruan realm, an Arcborn man astride a fine horse would draw unwanted attention. He'd be suspected of thieving, or of having fortunes beyond his fate. He had no reason to expect that things would be different just because he had crossed over an imaginary line drawn by men who thought themselves fit to decide where one nation ended and another began.

He chose a rutted side-road meant more for farmers' carts and cattle than heavy traffic, keeping his head down but remaining alert for danger. The terrain in the northernmost reaches of Narr was flat, rolling fields and meadows. He could see the horizon, and the silence was unbroken by the groaning of a ship, the shouting of soldiers, the rumbling of carts or the calls of working men.

It was strange to be in a place so utterly silent after living with near-constant companionship for nigh on six years since the rebellion. As Uachi left Tuamach well behind him, he realized with a sense of icy clarity how alone he was, how very far from the world and the routines he knew.

In immediate contradiction to his reflections on his solitude, a dark blur sped past him. Farra, who'd been trailing in Uachi's wake for a couple of miles, sniffing at the foreign grasses growing in soft fringes along the road, raced along the rutted road with her strong muscles rippling beneath her coat. With her ears laid back against her skull and her tail streaking behind her, she was simply enjoying the boundless freedom of being out in the countryside with no walls around her.

Once, Uachi would have felt a similar freedom at being away from Karelin, although he would have longed for the shadowed protection of the Duskwood, a gloomy world many outsiders felt was oppressive. Here, he felt exposed, and without things to distract him—organizing, giving commands, making decisions, making plans—there was nothing to put his mind on but the problem of Ealin and Uarria.

He had no way of knowing where Ealin was, and only the suspicions of his own mind and the clues Mhera's vision had afforded him to tell him which way she had gone. Now, so far away from any home he'd ever known and alone on the other side of a border he had been meant to defend, Uachi wondered for the first time what might happen if he could not find her.

He pondered this question for many hours as he rode. He considered it when he stopped at a stream to fill his water skin and allow his horse a drink, and he thought longer on it when he hunkered down to rest that night with the blue moon creeping up into the darkened sky.

It was as he lay down to sleep that he decided. Lying on his back on his thin bedroll, gazing up through a scarce canopy of trees at the distant stars, he told himself he would not return to the Holy City, or to his post, until he recovered Uarria and brought her safely back to her parents.

If he could not do that? Well, then, he would never go home.

***

The second day into his lonely journey, Uachi fell upon a cruel misfortune.

He was riding across a narrow bridge that passed over a broad mill-stream, a construction that had clearly seen better days. Many of the farmhouses and stables Uachi had passed on his journey had fallen into disrepair, and he had felt an unanticipated sympathy for the folk who must have made their homes in this region, wondering if they had suffered through famine and want like the Arcborn in Penrua. The mill just down the stream was dilapidated, the wheel still turning but the building itself nearly falling down around it, and he wondered if it was even used any more.

Then a crack! broke into his reflections, and he was pitched forward, sliding off of the saddle and rolling over his horse's shoulder to land painfully on the bank.

Uachi jolted to his feet and turned, his hand on his dagger, but no enemy had unseated him. The rotted bridge had broken, and his horse's foreleg had fallen through. The horse gave a whinny of fear and pain. It was obviously trying to lift itself up and out of the trap, but its back hooves scrabbled on the slick wood, the whites of its eyes flashing as they rolled in fear.

"Calm," Uachi said, approaching the beast. He snagged the horse's rein and held fast, steadying its head. "Calm. Let's see what we can do."

But when he looked down, his stomach lurched in pity and regret. The horse's leg was badly wounded; a white sliver of bone could be seen poking out of the bronze hide, and blood ran freely down the leg.

Uachi stroked the horse's neck, still holding its bridle steady. The beast was hot and slick with sweat, and Uachi knew it was in terrible pain. There was no way he could hope to bind the leg; even were they in a stable with an experienced master of horses, to help such a beast recover from a wound like this one was nearly unthinkable. It would suffocate, unable to bear its own weight.

The horse shifted again, giving a sound of pain that twisted Uachi's stomach. It blew out a hot gust of breath, trying to get its legs under itself and stand steady. Exhausted, it lowered its other foreleg and then folded its back legs beneath itself, coming to rest on the narrow bridge.

Uachi could try to extricate the horse from the bridge, but the effort would torture the poor animal, and the end result would be the same no matter what. He did not allow himself time to think; he drew his dagger and, in one swift and decisive motion, he ended the horse's suffering.

He stood watching the dark red blood flow over the horse's golden chest and flank, his heart feeling like a stone, his stomach heavy with frustration and pity.

It did not take long for the horse to die. As it slumped over, the sound of another bone breaking snapped through the air, and Uachi was glad he had not made the beast suffer longer.

Uachi cleaned the dagger and sheathed it. He stood for a moment, looking down at the dead animal where it lay half on and half off the wooden bridge. Then he lifted his head. Near at hand stood Farra, looking half again her size with all the fur along her spine and her tail fluffed in alarm. She was watching the horse, wide-eyed, and scenting the air with her whiskers aquiver.

"It's all right, girl," Uachi said. He surveyed the landscape. There was no house, no sign of civilization between him and the horizon, and there was no way Uachi would manage to move over one thousand pounds of dead weight on his own. There was nothing for it but to leave the horse where it was.

He unstrapped his packs from the horse's saddle and sorted through his belongings. He wouldn't be able to carry everything himself, and for all her loyalty, Farra would never consent to being treated like a pack animal. He consolidated what provisions he could into a single bag that could be carried over his shoulders, and strapped the bedroll to the top of the pack. Some of his food and implements as well as his small tent had to be left behind.

And so, as the sun sank toward the horizon and the day faded into afternoon, Uachi turned away from the bridge at the mill-stream and struck out along the road in a southbound direction on foot.