Free Springwar by Tom Deitz Page B

picked up again.
    “I doubt anything has moved since the last time you looked at that,” Rrath drawled, punctuating his remark with a swallow of peppery stew.
    “I’m considering an alternate route.”
    “Are
there any?”
    Eddyn laid the map between them. “If we’re lucky, we should reach Grinding-Hold tonight, which is right at the edge of the Wild, where the river drops down in cataracts that power the grinding wheels. Beyond are the plains. Wecould stay on the river and have easy going, terrain-wise, after we pass the hold—just continue skiing the river. But there’s not much food or shelter through there, and we
are
in a hurry. So look: The river curves around right here; if we go overland, we could cut off a day or more.”
    Rrath studied him carefully. “I assume you have reason to think that might be unwise?”
    Eddyn nodded. “First—and this is
not
a problem—if we stay with the river, we’re guaranteed a modicum of shelter—from the camps, at night, and from the terrain in general—because the river usually flows between banks, which will keep the worst of the wind away.”
    Rrath nodded back, uncertainly.
    “The problem’s the weather. We’ve been incredibly lucky so far, but I’m not sure how much longer we can count on the weather to cooperate. If we got caught out on the plain with the wind and the cold—we’re coming into the season of the long blows now—we could burrow in and maybe survive awhile. But it could easily blow for more days than we’ve got endurance or supplies. And the landscape’s also more rugged.”
    Rrath cleared his throat. “You’re right about the weather. But …” He paused and shook his head. “Never mind.”
    Eddyn regarded him sharply.
“What?”
But then realization awoke in his eyes, and Rrath knew he’d said too much. “You’ve trained as a weather-witch. You could find out what the weather’s going to be for the next few days.”
    “Training to be a weather-witch and being one are two different things!” Rrath flared. “Do you think I’d have let us run afoul of that storm if I’d known it was coming? I know a little, but not enough.”
    Eddyn grinned in a way Rrath didn’t like—a way that said he knew Rrath was holding back. “You knew enough to use the basic technique to locate Avall,” he replied, all pretense of amiability vanished. “You were claiming to
be
one back in the boathouse,” he went on. “Beyond that,
I
know that weather-witches can only work in private. I know you and one of the ghost priests disappeared every night after we’d made camp. If privacy’s all you need, you can have it.”
    “One needs a lot more than privacy,” Rrath retorted. “One needs a high place, a certain
kind
of high place. Beyond that, I can’t say.”
    “Water from the appropriate Well?”
    “So
you
said.”
    Eddyn’s face went hard as stone. “If you can witch, I’d thank you to do it.”
    “I’ll do what I can,” Rrath conceded at last, with a sick feeling in his stomach.
    “Think of it as minimizing our time together,” Eddyn noted slyly. “The quicker we get to Tir-Eron, the quicker we’re rid of each other.”
    “What about Avall?”
    “What about him?”
    “If he went into the river, and we
leave
the river—”
    “I’ve considered that,” Eddyn replied cryptically. “Never doubt that I’ve got a plan. The point is, the more options we have, the better our chance of success.”
    “I can’t guarantee a lot.”
    “Try.” Eddyn’s tone brooked no argument. “How much time do you need?”
    “It’s only possible four times a day,” Rrath informed him. “Dusk, dawn, noon, and midnight. And that assumes I can find an appropriate place, which is
not
a given.”
    “Try,” Eddyn repeated. “If you’re not back by two hands past noon, I’m going on without you—and I’ll have your gear with me. If you take longer than that, you’d better like fish, and you’d better like cold.”
    Rrath didn’t say