Briar ignored her. “But you’d never find a cork oak in these parts. Too cold.”
Niko looked down his nose at the boy. “I beg your pardon?”
Briar shrugged. “Just thought I’d mention it.”
Niko glared. The tree-shape rippled, and became a long-needled pine sapling. “All right?” he demanded, stalking over to gather his saddle and bridle. “If we are done picking at nits, I would like to return to Gold Ridge!”
Grinning, Briar went to saddle his own mount.
By the time they approached the cut where the river entered Gold Ridge Valley, they could see that the smoke lay even thicker there than it had before. Tris retreated behind a damp handkerchief tied over her nose and mouth. Soon everyone but Daja chose the same kind of protection. Nothing kept the smoke from stinging their eyes, and all of their horses made it clear they did not appreciate riding toward the smell of fire.
Polyam slipped between Daja and Tris, the worst riders, to help them control their ponies. “What price for your vine?” she asked Daja, wet cloth muffling her words as they rode between the twin watchtowers. “Tenth Caravan Idaram will be here one more day, but then we must go. Frankly, if you will excuse the play on words, things are getting a little too hot around here.”
Tris groaned and coughed.
“I thought, two gold majas,” replied Daja soberly, looking up at Polyam. “That would increase your zokin even more, since you told them you thought I’d sell at three.”
“What kind of Tsaw’ha are you?” demanded Polyam. “This isn’t about my zokin, but your profit! You know as well as I that gilav Chandrisa thinks she can get at least six gold majas in a sale.”
“I don’t need a lot of money right now,” said Daja with a shrug. “You people will want to buy from me again, yes? When I know what I’m doing and I create things because that’s what I want to make, not because I had an accident, then I’ll charge more. It doesn’t feel right to get rich off something that’s a mistake.”
Sandry took pity on Polyam, who stared at Daja slack-jawed. “Why not pay two gold majas and three gold astrels?” the noble suggested. “That’s over half a maja more—they’ll think you bargained until Daja was addled, to get her to sell at a price like that.”
Daja grinned at Polyam. “She’s right, you know. Your zokin will be higher than ever. You’ll be known as the hardest-trading wirok north of the Pebbled Sea.”
On and on they debated as they passed from the smaller valley into the larger one. Looking across the river, Lark cried out in dismay.
A hundred yards downslope from the far watchtower, an almond orchard was in danger of fire. Its only barrier was a fringe of dry, open grass just thirty feet wide. A band of low, hungry flames was gnawing on that. Already sparks and stems of burning grass were drifting into the trees.
Lark fumbled for her saddlebags, muttering. Niko stopped her with a soft word as Yarrun rode out from under the trees, onto the grass. Halting his mount, he threw his fire-stopping powder into the air. His horse, it seemed, was used to such antics and remained stock-still, only twitching its ears as the powder drifted past.
Speaking that unfamiliar language, Yarrun shaped signs with his fingers, just as he had their first night in the valley. Once again the fire went out. The mage slumped in his saddle, bent over the horn. Lark started to urge her mount to the bridge, to see if he was all right, but he straightened and shook his head at her. Fumbling in his saddlebag, he drew out a flask and removed the cap. He held it up as if toasting Niko.
“I have my uses, don’t I?” he cried, his voice harsh. “At least I’m important for half the year! They wouldn’t give me a teaching position at Lightsbridge, no, but here no one could manage without me!”
Shivering, Lark turned her mount and urged it up the road to the castle. Silently, the rest of the small company followed. Niko came last this time, looking back often at that lone figure on the riverbank.
9
The only one who enjoyed the rest of the ride was Briar, and he felt restless. Passing the saffron terraces, they caught a glimpse of Rosethorn, laboring with a handful of farmers in the many pockets of soil. Briar growled, seeing her there without him. He wanted his magic back; he wanted it fixed.
Since that was out of his hands, and he knew it would hurt Sandry if he complained, he tried to put it out of his mind. He succeeded for the most part, though every now and then the picture of Rosethorn barefoot in sandy earth returned to itch him.
Once their group reached the castle, it broke up. Niko went in search of Lady Inoulia to discuss matters like glacier water and a new copper mine. Polyam returned to her caravan to report the result of her efforts. At last it was only Lark and the four young mages in the rooms they’d been given. Little Bear was there to greet them, out of his mind with joy after having been left behind. It took them a while to calm him down.
Once everyone was seated, Sandry brought out the rolled up backstrap loom. Hooking one end around a table leg, she stretched out the length of woven threads, straightening the edges until each fiber lay completely flat. Briar soon found he didn’t want to look at the thing. Its ghostly colors shifted under his eyes, as if he viewed the work through a heat haze. Little Bear sniffed it and jumped halfway across the room with a yelp. After that, he kept his distance.
Sandry looked at her work, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. “Lark?”
“We need to do one more thing to make it stable,” the dedicate said. She opened the leather pouch she took wherever she went and drew out a long, thin vial. From it she poured a mound of colorful dust into one hand.