The Crown of Dalemark (The Dalemark Quartet 4)

“My daughter,” Navis said, looking quite at ease, “is even more inclined to be late than your sister.”

The man laughed a mouthful of bad teeth. “Women!” he said, handing Moril the cwidder.

They went out through the gate. Mitt and Maewen felt weak at the risk of it all, but Navis and Moril wandered nonchalantly along the line of horses and Navis gave Moril a leg up to ride double with him until they came to the cart. As he arrived on top of the mare, Moril gave Kialan a friendly wave. Kialan waved back. They saw him scan the three horses and try not to look puzzled.

Moril giggled. “Expecting Hildrida to be with us and all set to pretend he didn’t see,” he said as Mitt and Maewen mounted. “Now he can’t think what’s going on. Good.

It distracted him beautifully.”

Mitt batted aside the Countess-horse’s biting mouth. “What do you mean?”

Navis set a sedate pace round the walls toward the main part of Gardale Valley. It was sensible, although Maewen could see the cup flopping heavily in Navis’s pocket and the sight made her want to gallop. “Moril means,” he said, “that while he was waving to Kialan, Hildy and Biffa came out and almost instantly cadged a lift in a carriage. If that carriage takes them into town and they hire horses at those stables in the first street, they could be away almost as soon as we are.”

“And Kialan can’t tell Keril,” said Moril. “Keril’s rather good at getting things out of people.”

“I believe you,” said Mitt.

As their three horses rounded the corner of the school walls, Maewen had a good view of a man in Hannart livery pushing his way out through the gate and running toward Kialan, shaking his head. Before they were quite out of sight, Kialan was giving a genuine display of someone annoyed and baffled and at the end of his patience. As the walls hid them, the Hannart horsemen were turning to ride off the other way.

Miraculously, nobody at all seemed to have noticed the cup was missing.

PART FOUR

SWORD AND CROWN

15

Weariness hit Maewen as soon as they were well away from the school. The Gardale Valley was as beautiful as she remembered from her visit with Aunt Liss, and much the same except there were far fewer houses. They took narrow lanes where wild roses grew in the hedges, miles of them, that blurred in her mind. She was so tired she almost missed seeing Hestefan’s cart and would have ridden straight past if the others had not stopped.

The cart was parked on a triangle where three lanes met. The mule was hitched to an oak tree almost the same color as the cart and dozing on its feet. Moril jumped off the mare and went racing anxiously over, with the cwidder bumping on his back. He looked over the tailgate and came back. “It’s all right. He’s asleep inside.” The relief in his face was mixed with worry. “I don’t think he’s well.”

“He’s not a young man,” Navis said. “And I’m sure he was injured, or shocked at least, when your cart overturned.”

“Let him sleep,” Mitt suggested. “They say sleep cures.”

Moril unhitched the mule, which was not anxious to move, and drove the cart behind the horses. Hestefan did not stir. The miles went by slower still. Moril was white with worry.

“And no wonder,” Navis murmured to Mitt. “What becomes of him if Hestefan dies?”

“There’s that brother of his,” Mitt said stoutly. “He’s fond of the old lolly, that’s all. Worry about Hildy instead. And I’ll tell you about Kialan now.”

The two of them talked in low voices. Maewen continued to ride in a daze, long, long lanes through the valley, a long, long haul up a slanting track into the hills beyond. After what seemed an age, her horse humped itself onto level green turf at the head of the track, and there was the waystone casting a huge hollow shadow in the evening light. Wend’s shadow was even bigger as he stood up to meet them.

Seeing him, Maewen relaxed from a watch she had not realized she was keeping. Safe at last! she thought. Wend was Undying. He had the power to keep her safe. Most of her weariness dropped away. She realized it had been a smoke screen her mind had put up to disguise how terrified she had been that someone would jump out from behind a hedge and try to kill her again. She was so glad to see Wend that she leaned down from her horse and wrung his hand.

Wend was surprised, but she could tell he was very flattered, too. His face looked like that of a normal human person who was glad to see friends again. “There’s a good camp in a mile or so,” he said.

It was a very good camp. It was a green lawnlike place set back from the road, spread beside a pool from a cascading stream. There were rocks to sit on and a small wood of rowans and silver birches leaning over the place. “Protection,” Wend said, patting a graceful silver trunk.

“Libby Beer?” Mitt asked.

Wend looked at him. “You know her?” he asked sharply.

“You might say so,” Mitt said. “We’ve met once or twice.”

Wend stared at him gravely for a moment, as if he were reappraising something. Then he turned away, looking puzzled.

The fresh, safe feeling in the camp revived everyone. They all bustled about, seeing to the horses and making a fire. When Hestefan crawled out of the cart, rubbing his eyes and saying he didn’t know what had come over him, he was greeted with jokes and laughter from everyone. There did not seem to be much wrong with Hestefan. He helped Wend fill Wend’s hat with wild strawberries as energetically as Mitt and Moril were hunting mushrooms farther upstream. Among them they provided quite a feast.