Wings of Flame Read Online Free Page B

speak her thought, for she seldom spoke much. To Kyrem she said only, “Look. Devil’s toe.”
    â€œWhat?” Startled, Kyrem glanced all around, for she was pointing at what looked like merely a weedy tangle to him.
    â€œGood to eat,” Seda explained. And enough for all, she thought, though again she did not speak.
    â€œShow us,” Kyrem said, signaling the halt.
    She showed them, pulling the plant up boldly and rubbing the dirt off the fat root with her hands; it was the root that was to be eaten. They all ate after watching her bite into it fearlessly. The root was dull dun in color, crunchy on the outside and mealy within, and they found it oddly satisfying. Vashtins, even beggars, seldom came near this plant because of its fearsome name and its claw-shaped, red-tipped leaves, but Devans thought differently about such things, Seda already surmised. As for herself, she had eaten it many times. A shuntali had to learn to brave superstitious fear.
    â€œGood,” the captain said judiciously.
    They ate their fill and stuffed their few pockets with more and rode on, their mood somewhat lighter. And as day wore away into afternoon and no ill chanced, they began to feel that they had outridden the curse, and they talked to each other and grew merry.

Chapter Three
    Evening came on, the dusky melantha of night spreading her black petals in the dome of the sky, and they began to look for a place to stop. No dwellings were near, for they rode far off the track in hopes of avoiding their unknown enemies. Only the mountain wilderness surrounded them, fresh green of ilex and laurel and springtime white of blackthorn bloom—for the season advanced as they descended the slope; red bud had gone to white bloom here, and farther down they would find the green leaf of early summer. But these blackthorns were still bare, deep shade seemed caught in their branches, and twilight brought on again the feeling of danger. Men were shivering, whether from that or the evening chill. Few of them wore so much as a shirt to warm them.
    â€œThere,” said the captain finally. “A dingle. We will be able to risk a fire.”
    A hollow had sometime been scooped in the flank of the mountain, as though by a god’s hand. Laurel clustered thickly around the rim of it and tall iron-black trunks marched down within. The trees stood so closely ranked and the drop fell away so steeply that they had to cling to their horses. Once standing at the loamy bottom, they felt as if they were in another world. Relieved and eager, they set to work, some building a makeshift shelter of laurel boughs, some gathering last year’s fallen thorns for fuel, some kindling fire with bow and bore since no one had flint and iron.
    â€œWe have no water,” said Seda.
    â€œWe shall see,” Kyrem replied, pointing at the horses. Off to one side Omber stood pawing at a patch of moss and ferns. Seda went over and discovered that the steed had uncovered a trickle of water and was digging himself a basin to catch it in. She ran back to the prince.
    â€œA spring,” she reported, astonished. Kyrem nodded.
    â€œIn Deva we value our horses for many reasons,” Kyrem said obliquely. And Seda remembered that the great horse-god had made Ahara Suth, the sacred spring near Avedon, with a single blow of his mighty hoof.
    Huddling together in their shelter after nightfall, eating their remaining roots and a coney caught in a snare, watching the fire that burned just outside their open entryway, the company felt nearly comfortable. Still, the men of Deva mourned their lost comrades. Talk turned to how they might avoid further tragedy, and to Auron of Avedon, king of Vashti, and how he might be plotting to kill them all.
    â€œI keep telling you,” Seda said, she who usually kept silence, “Auron is not like that.”
    They laughed at her, but not so loudly this time, and Kyrem glanced at the lad quizzically.
    â€œHow