She saw and felt his gaze, and before she’d well started, a sense of pending refusal tightened her throat, raising the pitch of her voice.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s not possible. Not now. You have information more valuable to us than you realize. And beyond that, the Kormehri feel that the Sisterhood abandoned them: While Quaie butchered his Kormehri prisoners of war, the Sisterhood used its magic to escape. And—the rape at Ferny Cove had an ugly effect on the Kormehri. It would be terribly dangerous for you to go there. You’d never . . .”
Her shrill anger cut him short. “Dangerous? Dangerous! I escaped from a Tiger barracks at the Cloister! Got out over the wall, under the noses of sentries! Traveled the wilderness for days, alone! A troll killed my horse, and another ran off with my boots! And you talk to me about danger?”
“My lady, I cannot release you. Jaguars and catamounts, bears and trolls, are not as terrible as men can be. And . . .”
She screamed and lunged, her unshackled hands raking at his face, his eyes. He caught her wrists, astonished at her violent strength, and held her arms overhead while she screamed and kicked and spat. Caerith grabbed her, wrestled her down squalling and struggling, then wide-eyed, looked up at Cyncaidh. The leader stood white-faced, lines of oozing red scoring his cheeks and forehead.
Kneeling, he opened his kit and took out two pills. “Open her mouth,” he said quietly. Caerith pressed hard with his thumbs on the latches of her jaw, forcing her mouth open as he might a cat’s. Then Cyncaidh dropped in the pills, far back where she couldn’t spit them out, though she tried. They held her down while she strained red-faced, then gradually she went slack. Her pupils dilated further, and her eyelids slid shut.
Cyncaidh nodded, and with Caerith carried her to where she’d spread her cloak and blanket. “That,” Cyncaidh said, “is a woman of character and strength. They are fools back there, as well as evil, to have dealt with her so cruelly.”
And speaking of cruelty, he asked himself, what of your own? You intended to steal a Sister if the chance arose, take her away, and wring out her mind for your own purposes, yours and the Emperor’s. And then what? Not send her home again; that would never do. You hadn’t thought about that, had you?
Varia spoke to no one the rest of the way to the Big River, not even in camp. Occasionally she wept, but always silently, inconspicuously. And now not only Caerith looked after her, but from a little distance, Cyncaidh as well.
They reached the Big River and the Inderstown ferry docks in the black hour before dawn, to wait for daylight and a ferry crew. The soldiers, with their commander’s permission, got down from their horses, and napped or sat talking on the shore. Cyncaidh, however, waited in the saddle. Perhaps, Varia thought, because she did. Her anger had passed, replaced by resignation, but she refused to show anything less than deep offense at her captivity. She was here against her will, a prisoner guilty of nothing—certainly not against these people—and she would not seem reconciled to her captivity.
Varia pulled her mind from her situation, focusing on the Big River. She’d never seen it before. Its Farside equivalent, the Ohio, she knew well from visits to Evansville, and it was large, but the Big River was clearly larger. A meteorologist might have told her that the conformation of the east coast, combined with this world’s equivalent of the Bermuda High, the size and circulation of the Southern Sea, and orographic effects of the Great Eastern Mountains, combined to produce high and fairly constant runoffs from its extensive watershed.
On its north side lay the so-called “Marches”—kingdoms not ylvin, but which paid tribute to the ylver’s Western Empire, acknowledging its Emperor as their suzerain. She knew little about them, she realized. At the children’s school in the Cloister, they taught that the Marches had been conquered in a bloody war which ended with the ylvin boot on their necks. And that the ylver planned the same fate for the Rude Lands. How much of it was true she didn’t know. Some of it no doubt.