The Dragon's Path

fade. It came, she told herself, from knowing more than the people around her. She could almost hear Magister Imaniel now, sitting at the evening meal with Cam and Besel, dissecting exactly how a merchant or prelate had behaved differently than expected, and what it implied that they had. Cithrin knew that Tag the Carter carried enough wealth to buy a small army, but no one else did. The risk of lagging behind the body of the ’van was no more than she would have faced if she’d truly carried a load of undyed wool. Her chances only seemed worse because she knew the stakes of the bet were high. She was undiscovered. No one was searching for her or what she carried, the mule would be made well, and she wouldn’t face a journey to Carse by herself. Everything would be fine.
    “First time out?” Opal said.
    Cithrin glanced at her and nodded.
    “Well, don’t let it worry you, dear,” the guard said. “We take care of our own.”
    It didn’t occur to Cithrin for hours to wonder exactly why a mercenary guard would include a semi-competent carter in
our own,
and by then the plan was set and the caravan with Captain Wester and Master Kit was gone down the road to the mountains and to Carse.
    They passed the day in caring for the sick beast: warming the stable, rubbing down the mule, forcing an odd concoction that smelled of tar and licorice into its mouth. By nightfall, the mule held its head higher and its cough seemed less violent. That night, Cithrin and Opal slept in the stables, wrapped in thin blankets. An ancient iron brazier between them threw off enough heat to keep the room from freezing, but only just. In the darkness outside, something shrieked once and then not again. Cithrin closed her eyes, resting her head on one arm, and willed herself to sleep. She envied Opal’s slow, even breath. Her own body tensed and shivered, her mind jumped from one fear to another, conjuring a hundred possible disasters. The bandits who had attacked the ’van before might arrive in the night, rape and murder them both, and make off with the bank’s money. Opal might discover her secret and, mad with avarice, slit her throat. The mule might relapse and leave her stranded in the autumn cold.
    When a low, grey dawn finally came, Cithrin hadn’t slept. Her head ached, and her back felt as if someone had beaten her with a hammer. Opal, humming to herself, rebuilt the fire, boiled a pan of water with a sprinkling of leaves in it, and checked on their patient. When Cithrin joined her, the mule felt cooler to the touch, his eyes looked brighter, his head stood at its more usual angle. In the next stall, the other mule cleared her throat and grumbled.
    “Is she getting sick too?” Cithrin asked. The very idea made her want to weep.
    “She may, but she hasn’t yet,” Opal said. “Probably just jealous that the old boy here’s getting all the attention.”
    “Should we go, then? I mean, is it safe to get back to the ’van?”
    “This afternoon, maybe,” Opal said. “Better that he have his strength back. Start him with a half day’s work.”
    “But—”
    “We’ve been this way before. We’ll catch them up before they go over the pass. They’ll stop at Bellin, send up scouts.”
    Cithrin knew the name, but she couldn’t place it. Opal glanced over at her.
    “Bellin,” Opal said. “Trading town just before the pass. You really don’t know much about hauling in a caravan, do you?”
    “No,” Cithrin said, both sullen and embarrassed at being sullen.
    “Bellin’s not much, but they’re friendly to travelers. Master Kit took us there for a month once. New people coming through the road every few days, no one staying long. It was like being a traveling company without the traveling.”
    A breath of cold wind stirred the straw. In the brazier, the coals brightened and the thin flame danced. Cithrin’s mind felt slow and sodden with fatigue. What would a guard company do with a month of passing traders and merchants and missionaries? Protect them inside the town walls where they needed it the least?
    “I should go,” Cithrin said. “Check the… check the cart.”
    “Make sure it hasn’t gone anywhere,” Opal said, as if she was agreeing.
    In practice, being only with Opal was better than being with the full ’van. With just one person to keep track of, Cithrin could find moments to let her guard down, be herself instead of Tag. When the time came and they harnessed the mules, it wasn’t all that