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Ilja and Vilém exchanged scowls. Then Vilém shrugged and Ilja jogged back to the village. He didn’t stop there, Ilse noticed, but continued up the slopes to a boulder-strewn ridge. Jannik watched, too, as if he wanted to make certain his orders were obeyed. An interesting clue. His authority wasn’t absolute, then.
Jannik turned back to Ilse. “I am trusting you.”
“Only a little,” she replied.
He smiled faintly. “True. I’d like to examine your friend. Will you allow that?”
“You are a healer?”
“No. But I have good eyes.”
And he wants to make certain I’m telling the truth before he gives Ilja and the others that signal.
She nodded. “Do as you must, then.”
Jannik picked his way through the rushing water. Ilse wondered why the ford existed, if most visitors came from the north. Traffic from the eastern plains must have been more frequent once. No longer, because she could see how the stone bed of the ford had shifted and sunk, leaving deep holes in spots. He seemed to know the best path, because he never once paused or lost his footing.
He stopped at the near bank, the water swirling around his ankles. This close, she could see that he was not as old as she first guessed. He was built lean and muscled, and his gait as he crossed the river spoke of strength and grace. It was the silver-threaded hair and the lines etched into his face that had misled her. A life in Ryz would do that, she thought.
Jannik stretched out a hand to the mare, which sniffed at him suspiciously, then blew a rattling breath. He smiled, a much warmer smile than he had offered to Ilse. Then his gaze flicked up to Ilse. “It will be easier,” he said, “if you do not stand next to me.”
Wordlessly, she handed him the reins and stepped back. He drove his staff into the ground and gathered the reins in one hand as he ran his other over the horse’s nose, crest, and neck. The air stirred, and she caught a whiff of green. Ilse’s skin prickled and she remembered Jannik’s comment about having good eyes. She glanced across to Vilém, who waited almost patiently. Whatever she sensed, it was not strong enough to carry across the water.
I’m tired. I’m dreaming up new dangers. Nothing more.
Now Jannik touched Bela’s shoulder, just as he might the shoulder of another horse. Bela’s eyes slid open. They were red-rimmed and glazed with fever. Her face was mottled with a hectic coloring.
Ilse reached for her friend, but Jannik blocked her path. The scent of magic intensified. From the air, from her own heightened sensibilities, Ilse could read her signature and that of Bela’s, that of starlight glancing through a mist of clouds, the shape of a hawk, hovering overhead. A magical signature was more than an image or a scent, but humans were wont to translate the extraordinary into the everyday.
Her vision darkened. For a moment, it was as though the dawn had returned, and she saw its edge of light creeping over the dew-laden grass. A fragment of poetry hovered just out of memory’s reach—of magic and its nearly invisible imprint upon the ordinary world. Not Tanja Duhr’s words. A different poet, from a different life.
She blinked, and saw Jannik studying her with narrowed eyes.
/> “What is wrong?”
Her voice came out too quick and breathless.
“I wanted to ask you that same question,” he said.
Again, she had the impression of strong emotion beneath that outward self-possession—more emotion than the situation could explain. She shook her head, uncertain how to translate those brief sensations into words. “Nothing that matters.”
“I don’t quite believe you,” he said. “But we can talk about that later.”
He turned and flung up a hand. Vilém came alert. “Get Ilja and Nikola,” Jannik called out. “And several blankets. Big ones. Hana or Zofie should have what you need.”
Vilém nodded and jogged back to Ryz. A shout echoed down from above. Ilse glanced toward the ridge where Ilja had disappeared. Someone—several someones—had emerged from the fringe of trees. Ilse counted three people. One of them slowed long enough to hike up her skirts before she raced down the hillside.
“Is that Ana Rudny?” she asked Jannik.
“Her daughter,” he replied.
* * *
VILÉM RETURNED WITH Ilja and another man, who carried several blankets. While Jannik and Ilse fashioned a sling, the others lifted Bela from her horse. Bela hissed. Sweat was pouring over her face. Ilse quickly untied the scarf from around her head, knotted it several times, and set the cloth between the other woman’s teeth. Bela bit down hard.
“What happened?” one of the men asked.
“Rockfall,” Ilse said shortly. “It killed our other horse.”
