whatever the ancient bird had said to keep him waiting through the long months of my convalescence had altered Gahltha completely. Gahltha now believed utterly that I was to rescue beasts from their long slavery to humans. No surprise that he and Maruman both had insisted on accompanying me to the lowlands.
I sighed, sick of living my life at the directive of the vague whims of fate and futuretellers.
At the conclusion of our impromptu meeting the day before, Rushton had suggested I say nothing of Maryon’s predictions concerning myself to the general population of Obernewtyn. I had been only too glad to agree. Success would simply add to the myth surrounding me, and if I failed, it would not matter what had been predicted. Matthew had been told that the purpose of the journey was to return the gypsy to her people, which was true enough, and that while in Sutrium we would inspect the safe house and inquire as to whether Brydda Llewellyn’s rebels would accept us as allies. Rushton still had no answer since his visit to Sutrium, and he feared missing an opportunity to ally ourselves with those who could very well be the next rulers of the Land.
If only they would accept us.
I glanced back over my shoulder to where the gypsy lay on one of the wooden pallet beds, Maruman curled fast asleep ather feet. I judged her to be about forty years of age. Her features were too strong for beauty, but she was handsome and her hair was as black as my own. One sleeve had ridden up to reveal the potmetal bracelet she wore above her elbow.
Her stubborn resistance to healing had begun to take its toll. Despite Roland’s sleepseal, there was an unhealthy pallor to her skin.
“She’s nowt dead yet,” Matthew said defiantly.
I frowned at him. “Let’s hope she lives until we get to Sutrium and that we have no trouble getting her through the gates.”
“We have papers,” Matthew said.
“Yes. False ones. But, Ludwilling, the soldierguards will not have a description of her yet—or of me.”
The farseeker paled. As usual, he had given no thought to the realities of the situation in his dreams of heroic deeds.
“I wonder where th’ gypsy who shot them arrows in Guanette rode to in such a rush. I dinna see him very well through the trees, but he were tall and well-muscled. He had gray hair in a gypsy plait, an’ he were wearin’ a blue shirt,” Matthew said dreamily. Beyond his sloppy shielding, I caught a glimpse of a vision in which a tall gypsy hero thanked us regally for the return of his companion.
“There’s no possibility of us chasing after this gypsy and just handing the woman over as if it were a public play,” I said sharply.
Matthew flushed and his shield slammed into place. “Ye said ye’d give her to her people, an he mun be one of them.”
“And so I will, but discreetly.”
If she lives
, I thought.
And if I can find them
.
Matthew let out a formless exclamation of surprise, dragging me back from my worries. We had reached the top of along rise, and Sutrium lay before us in the blighted light of the gathering storm.
It had grown much bigger than I remembered, spreading farther west until it joined up with settlements along the side of the Suggredoon River and stretching east and north into straggling outlying districts and farmlands. Beyond the city lay the great sea.
In some ways, Sutrium was not unlike the coastal town of Aborium. We had journeyed there on the very expedition that had led to the rescue of the empath-coercer Dragon. Whether it was my imagination or the knowledge that Sutrium was the home of the main Councilcourt, it seemed a dark and menacing place.
Unlike Aborium, there were no watchtowers. It was too big for such things to be of any use. But in any case, there was no need, since there were three huge soldierguard camps on the city outskirts. One lay slightly inland on the banks of the Suggredoon; another closer to the sea, near the ferry port; and the third to the east, among