When he nodded and gestured to the wagon, she gave him a grateful glance. “Just a nap and I’ll be well.”
Of the sixty-odd members of the caravan, Tyriel trusted only four. Chastin, who was as honest as the day was long, Vjorl, who was committed to his god and order and wouldn’t betray anybody out of loyalty to that oath, Aryn, with those sinful eyes and Gerome, who was too damn greedy to do a damn thing that would endanger his caravan.
Of those four, it was only logical to approach Chastin and Vjorl. They were long friends who shared a wagon where they bedded down at night.
It had been Vjorl, though, who had approached her, rather than the other way around. He had been watching her for a couple of days and just a short while ago, he’d approached her and asked why she wasn’t resting at night.
She hadn’t given him a direct answer, but he’d sensed what she hadn’t said.
“You feel it, too.”
His softly spoken comment had unsettled her until she considered who—and what—he was. The warrior-priests of Burin communed with the earth for the first three years after taking their oaths, learning to read the subtle cues the land gave, and for some, they learned how to read the earth’s energies and manipulate it to perform small magics.
The darkness she’d sense first came to her through a disturbance in the earth, so it was little wonder Vjorl’s instincts had been alerted.
When he offered the protection of his wagon should she desire a rest a nap, she’d agreed.
Now, inside the secure space that smelled of herbs and dry goods, she dropped to the small cot, stretched on her belly and folded her hands under her head.
Knowing the caravan was safe, she was asleep in less than a heartbeat.
* * * * *
“Where’s Tyriel?”
Vjorl glanced down at the blond swordsman who had guided his horse to the side of the wagon.
“She’s resting.” He nodded to the back of his wagon to indicate where the woman had taken refuge against the sun’s bright rays.
“Resting?” Aryn repeated, his brows rising. “In the middle of the day?”
“She’s exhausted. So I told her to rest.”
“Why is she exhausted?”
“If you want to know that, you should ask her.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, then added, “She’s gone without sleep for nearly a week. I’ve noticed her awake and on watch twice now.” He slid Aryn a pointed look. “She’ll share when and if she’s ready, but if something had alerted her elvish senses, I’m going to listen…and watch. I want her rested if there’s danger afoot.”
A new voice called Vjorl’s name in the distance.
Through the dust stirred up by the wagons and beasts of the caravan, they could both make out the Healer’s gray robe.
Sliding Aryn a glance, Vjorl said, “Say nothing.”
Aryn cocked a brow but said nothing as he, too, shifted his attention to the robed figure of the healer.
“I was wondering, have you seen Tyriel?” Michan asked. “I’ve been trying to watch her for the past few days. She doesn’t look well.”
“She’s off doing an errand for me,” Vjorl lied. “She’ll catch up with us later.”
Bushy black brows rising, Michan asked, “But isn’t that her horse?”
“I sent her on my horse. Her steed picked up a rock last night.” Vjorl didn’t even look at the big stallion. Called Kilidare, the steed had tossed his head, then bared his teeth at the gray-robed healer. Now, from the corner of his eye, Vjorl watched as the damned intelligent thing actually began to walk as if he was favoring one foot. He’d always suspected those beasts were far too cleverer than the horses they looked to be at first glance. “Her mount will be fine, but he doesn’t need to do any heavy work for a day or two.”
Aryn frowned but kept his gaze focused ahead even as he listened to the grey-robed healer talk with Vjorl. Once the healer rode away, Aryn asked, “What is going on? Why didn’t you tell him she is sleeping?”
“Do me a favor, run and set my horse loose. He’s in the back with the rest. Slap his flank and tell him to get feed.” Vjorl’s gaze was still on Michan’s back. “My boy will know what that means, and he’ll come back when he’s through. Be quick, and be back fast. Don’t let that healer see you, either, else I’ll slice your pretty face up.”
Chastin had sat in silence throughout this, but now he rose. “I’ll keep watch on Michan, make sure he doesn’t double back too soon. See to that horse, Aryn.” With that, he jumped easily from the wagon bench seat where he’d sat next to Vjorl and took off at an easy jog.
Aryn frowned, eyes on Chastin.
“Aryn.” Vjorl’s voice pulsed with intensity and he waited until the swordsman looked at him. “She doesn’t want anybody to know she’s resting. Please.”
Aryn’s brows lowered, but with a sigh, he nodded. Saying nothing else, he brought his horse around. Clicking to the large bay, he said, “You heard the man, Bel. To the back of the train.”
He didn’t like not having more information, but he trusted his gut and his gut said Vjorl and Chastin were good men, while his skin crawled any time he was near the gray healer.
Aryn turned the matter over and decided that the tattooed warrior scribe had best be quick to offer an explanation—and if he wouldn’t, then Aryn would be having a talk with one long-eared lady this evening.
Vjorl’s ugly beast, a Borinian-bred gelding, took off eagerly, his intelligent eyes wide and bright as he clambered up the hill that bordered the side of the trail, nimble-footed as a mountain goat. Once Harfax, Vjorl’s mount, was out of sight, Aryn brought his own horse around and returned, the questions burning in his mind.
“I don’t trust him.” Vjorl didn’t even wait for Aryn to demand an explanation when he returned, just opened his mouth and baldly stated those four words.
“He’s a healer.” He didn’t mention his own feelings of misgiving about the gray-robed Healer.
“Bah.” Vjorl snorted, the expression at odds with his lean, dark elegant features. “He might wear a Healer’s robes, but I don’t know that I believe his claims of being a Healer. Even if he is, he’s from the grey arts, so any covenants he made when he took on his robes are subject to his own approval. He may not violate the laws of nature when he heals, but he doesn’t have a problem violating the laws of man.”
He lapsed into silence for a moment, clearly considering his own words before continuing. “It isn’t just that she’s not sleeping at night. Something has her on edge, keeps her awake so that she can guard the camp. I’ve never met anybody with instincts to rival the fae. If she feels a need to be on guard at night, then there’s something unpleasant watching us.”
“Have you sensed anything?” Aryn asked, well aware that a Borinian warrior-priest had keen instincts, honed to a razor’s edge.
“Two nights ago,” Vjorl said softly, his gaze on the wagon some distance ahead of them. “I awoke in the middle of the night. There was a…strangeness to the night. Tyriel was awake. The guards were awake. No one else. I said nothing, just sat under the wagon and kept watch. But the feeling didn’t leave. And last night, I couldn’t even close my eyes without feeling a wrongness in the night. Whatever it is, she’s been aware of it for even longer and she’s kept watch. But she needs rest.”