Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(66)

I approached Malibu, grabbed a handful of her mane in one hand as I planted my other, and jumped up, swinging a leg around. I sat astride and bareback, ignoring my half-naked state around the recent postpubescent man. He seemed focused on joining the action, and I intended to fuel his attention toward that end.

With a nod from me, Talorcan took off toward the south. We raced along a well-traveled path through our favorite hunting grounds. After several hours, we passed the turnoff I’d taken with Velloc, which led to the cave that had held the box.

I kept my attention on the trail ahead, thoughts in the present moment. Talorcan showed impressive skill and care in how we rode the horses. He pushed them to a comfortable limit, but held them back for endurance.

By nightfall, we stopped at a fast-flowing stream and dismounted. The horses lowered their heads, taking long pulls of clear water, lifting up and snorting before dipping their muzzles again. I cupped my hand into the cold stream, raising a swallow at a time to my mouth, slurping up the mineral-rich, fresh liquid.

Talorcan helped me gather dried leaf-litter brush, creating our beds for the night. We slept without a fire under the canopy of surrounding trees. Babbling sounds of the stream and an occasional horse snort were my lullaby as I sank into a mindless, exhausted state.

Hard shaking startled me. A firm hand over my mouth prevented the scream I almost let loose. I looked up into Talorcan’s squinting eyes. He nodded, removing his hand. In silence and on foot, he led the horses a good distance back the way we’d come the night before. We circled around and stopped behind a large mass of scrub.

Within seconds, dozens of warriors armed to do battle raced by on horseback in the same direction we were headed. Our hidden location obscured my view of the men racing past us, but Talorcan’s behavior and their direction indicated we were safer being undetected. My first exposure to a neighboring Pict tribe had been a blurred ride-by-sighting.

I whispered, “Talorcan, are we friends with that tribe?”

He grunted. Either he didn’t know, had just shared a strong opinion, or didn’t want to talk about it. Talorcan’s closed demeanor confused me. Velloc had openly shared things. We were mated, however, and we also had an unusual understanding and respect born from circumstance.

“Have you been this way before? Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.

“Velloc went to raid the Decantae tribe. Velloc’s stories described the place well enough.” He shrugged.

Well, damn. Thank God for nightly oral history. The men sharing adventures while the tribe hung on every detail—Talorcan in particular—served as the perfect mental map for our journey.

Talorcan’s keen awareness of potential dangers made him a natural guide. My budding appreciation of his instinctive abilities grew as I realized that his field skills vastly outweighed any perceived immaturity.

We traveled in a southeasterly direction until he gradually slowed the pace of our horses. Our approach brought us alongside a steep cliff face on our left and a drop off on our right—with little room for error in between. Talorcan concentrated, and I joined him, my senses reaching out to the environment around us. Every sound filtered into my ears. Scents carried messages on the wind. I twisted around, sharp eyes scanning our exposed flank, searching for any movement that might indicate a threat.

We negotiated the harrowing stretch in about ten minutes and entered dense forest, no longer exposed. Talorcan stayed on high alert, however, causing me to do the same. Tension filled the silence, but I focused on my breaths and maintaining a connection with everything around us.

We emerged from the tree cover and veered left, keeping our horses a few feet below a rise. Talorcan stopped, dismounted, and climbed up a rocky outcropping. He dropped his body lower and lower as he neared the crest until he belly crawled along the ground.

I slid from my horse and followed him, mimicking every movement he’d made until we both hugged the ground together as if sprouted from the same root. We overlooked another tribe. Below, a village with teepee structures, horses, and people carried on various daily chores much like our own tribe. Uncertain what information we’d glean, but not seeing any men or horses I recognized, I remained quiet and observed, waiting for a sign from my guide.

Talorcan glanced over at me, the first acknowledgement of my presence beside him, and laughed quietly, slinking backward, tugging on my hand to do the same. His sudden sense of humor surprised me. The cultural wall of ice between us appeared to be melting, boding well for conversation. As we walked back to the horses grazing on soft grasses, I dipped a toe into the frigid, thawing water, testing the theory.

“Talorcan, why were we looking over the ridge? What did you see?”

He regarded me while pressing his hands on his horse, swinging his agile body onto its back. I mounted Malibu, and we rode a good distance, carefully working our way across and around fast-flowing tributaries, distancing ourselves from the subjects of our spying. Finally, he replied.

“They are the Smertae,” he said.

“Are the Smertae our friend or enemy?” I asked.

“They are sometimes friend, sometimes enemy. The others that rode past us this morning were Cornavii. The number of horses and men of Smertae are down by more than half.”

That meant their men were gone too. “Did they fight in a battle?”

He shook his head. “Not here. I’ve been tracking the Smertae. They’ve traveled in our same direction. Soon, we’ll meet up with them all.”