Sinner by Sara Douglass. Book One of The Wayfarer Redemption

At his very words, SkyLazer fluttered at the window, grasping the frame and swinging in.

“Well?” Caelum snapped.

“Nothing,” SkyLazer said, and unnoticed to one side WingRidge visibly relaxed, relieved the bridge had remained silent. “The night and morning was quiet. The only ones who passed were routine patrols.”

“Then we won’t be needed -” Herme started, but Caelum interrupted.

“No. I still want you to search the hills. I… I want to be certain he has not escaped this Keep. Get to it.”

Theod waited on his fidgeting horse as Herme mounted.

“We came to Sigholt for a Council, Herme,” Theod observed roughly, “not a manhunt.”

“Still, it gives us a chance for a morning’s ride, my friend,” Herme said, settling himself in his saddle, “and a further chance for you to whittle down that bulk of yours.”

Theod put aside his ill humour and laughed good-naturedly. His grandfather, Roland, had been famously fat, but Theod was a slender man whose frame nevertheless belied a whipcord-taut strength.

“And now we are set to hunt one of the famed SunSoar brood?” Theod said as Herme reined in beside him. “I can hardly blame Drago for slicing the lovely RiverStar to bits. Her tongue could cut roast beef from a distance of thirty paces.”

“Theod!” Herme said, looking about anxiously. “The very walls can hear! Watch your tongue!”

“Well.” Theod shrugged. “I suppose we’d best set off on this manhunt His Starriness has given -”

“Theod!” Herme’s voice hissed between them. “Be silent!”

Theod grinned at him, but he kicked his horse forward and said no more.

The hills surrounding Sigholt were not overly high, but there were scores of ravines and gorges within two hours’ walk from the lake and Keep, and a thousand more shadowy spaces amid the tree ferns and undergrowth that could hide a man. Herme and Theod rode for the morning and part-way into the afternoon, dividing the thirty-strong company into three groups to scour as much territory as they could, but the blue enchanted mist was thick and the hills secretive, and by mid-afternoon they had found no trace of Drago.

“I think Drago must still be creeping about in Sigholt’s cellars,” Theod said, reining up next to Herme’s mount. “My friend, the sun sinks and we have all missed our lunch. Might I suggest -”

They were interrupted by a shout. One of the forward riders was trotting back towards them from a small ravine to the south-east.

“Sir Duke? Sir Earl? There is a track in that ravine. Someone has walked down it recently. A man, by the size and depth of his boot marks, and a woman. A birdwoman, for wings have left faint trail marks after her footfalls.”

Herme and Theod glanced at each other, and spurred their horses forward.

The tracks appeared for about fifteen paces just inside the ravine where there was a patch of soft ground.

Theod swung down from his horse to inspect them more closely. Eventually he looked up, his eyes excited. “Herme? These are -”

“Not Drago’s?” Herme said smoothly. “Well, we have done our best.”

He waved away the rider who’d accompanied them. “Ride back to the patrol and tell them to turn for Sigholt. This manhunt is useless. Drago must still be in Sigholt or its surrounds.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man said, and wheeled his horse about.

Theod waited until he was out of earshot, and then stood straight. “Herme? What are you doing? These are clearly Drago’s tracks. Look, there is the distinctive square heel of those boots of his.”

“So what would you have us do, Theod? Ride after him and hunt him down for Caelum?”

Theod frowned, and looked uncertain. “Well…”

“Well, no, my boy. Drago suits our purpose far more on the loose than shut up in Sigholt, or buried in a corpse yard.”

Theod’s face cleared. “Of course! Caelum might spend weeks searching for him.”

“Or at the least be so consumed with worry about him that he won’t think clearly on ‘other’ issues. A free Drago will create fear and uncertainty and confusion, and that cannot suit us better.”

Theod tore a small gorse bush from the damp soil and wiped out the tracks.

“Then it is just as well we found no trace of him, eh, Herme?” he said, as he finally remounted his horse.

Herme grinned, his face appearing years younger. “Just as well, Theod. We must impress that fact on the man who thought he’d found tracks here. Now, let’s ride back and eat.”

“Nothing,” Herme reported to Caelum, his face weary with the effort he’d expended on the search.

He and Theod still sat their horses in Sigholt’s courtyard, Caelum and Askam standing before them.

Caelum nodded, his own face lined with worry. “I thank you, Herme, Theod.”

“Our patrols found nothing in Sigholt or Lakesview, either,” Askam told them. “Where could the snake be coiled?”

“Stars knows what mischief he could get up to out there,” Caelum muttered. “What is he doing? Where is he?”

The silence dragged out four or five heartbeats before Theod spoke up.

“We, ah, we would ride out in the morning,” he said, “with your permission, StarSon.”

“What? Oh yes, I suppose so. Askam, will you stay a while? I may yet need a mounted force to help the Strike Force search.”

Askam half bowed. “As you wish, StarSon.”

“Perhaps Theod and myself could escort the Princess Leagh home,” Herme said.

Both Caelum and Askam looked up sharply, first at the two horsemen before them, then at each other.

Askam shrugged. “I don’t see why not, Caelum.”

“I’d prefer Zenith to take her back via Spiredore,” Caelum said. “It’s quicker and safer.”

“She would be no trouble for us to escort -” Herme began, but Caelum waved him into silence.

“No. Zenith can take her. Now, gentlemen, if you would like to wash and eat, I would see you in the map-room at dusk.”

But Caelum could not find Zenith anywhere. Having spent the morning and afternoon searching for Drago, the Lake Guard spent the evening looking for Zenith, as did every soldier in Sigholt. Nothing.

Finally, late at night, Caelum called the search off.

“Well, maybe it is best you take Leagh with you in the morning,” he said wearily to Herme and Theod, and the two noblemen nodded, hiding their relief.

“As you will,” Theod said, and they bowed and left.

Caelum was sure he knew where Zenith was. As soon as he had the map-room to himself he sent his power surging out.

WolfStar! WolfStar! WolfStar!

And the Enchanter appeared, curious at the desperation in Caelum’s call. “Yes?”

Caelum stared at WolfStar balefully. Again he had appeared out of thin air; that was an enchantment Caelum could only accomplish with the utmost concentration and power, and yet WolfStar made it look like a five-year-old child’s accomplishment.

“Where’s Zenith?”

WolfStar raised an eyebrow. “Zenith? You told me to stay away from her. I have done nothing to her.”

He turned and walked away slightly, his golden wings rustling irritably, his back stiff as if with affront.

“She’s not in Sigholt,” Caelum said. “Neither… neither is Drago.”

WolfStar whipped about. “What? He is not dead?”

“Both have disappeared. I… I had not thought to connect their disappearances until this moment.”

WolfStar stared, chewing his lip, as Caelum told him what had happened since dawn.

“I will find them,” he said once Caelum had finished. “They will not escape me!”

The Fugitive They ran south and east through the Urqhart Hills, Drago leading, Zenith some paces behind. They had plunged into Sigholt’s protective blue mists almost immediately on leaving the bridge, and Drago wanted to get through them before the alarm was raised. He didn’t understand the enchantments that had created the mist, and he was afraid the mist could trap them as easily as it could hide them.

As he ran, he kept the sack tightly under one arm.

Two hours after dawn it was clear that Zenith needed to rest. She was heaving for breath, stumbling along, catching at anything she could for support. Drago pulled her under the overhang of a cliff and almost pushed her to the ground as she still protested she could go on.

“Damn it, Zenith. Why didn’t you tell me you were so exhausted! We will sit here a while.”

“Only a few minutes, Drago. I just need to catch my breath.”

He looked at her. “As long as you need.”

She nodded, dropping her head into her hands and heaving as much air into her distressed lungs as she could.

She was normally so fit, but her struggle with Niah had weakened her physically as well as spiritually.

Drago studied her silently. He didn’t know why she had helped him, or why she was even still with him. She had wings, and could have been leagues away by this stage. On foot, those wings were far more hindrance than help.