Sartor by Sherwood Smith

Author:Sherwood Smith [Smith, Sherwood]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sherwood smith, Sartorias-deles, young adult, magic, ebook, nook, fantasy, mobi, book view cafe, kindle, epub
ISBN: 9781611381924
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2012-08-15T03:30:12+00:00

THREE

Gradually the abrupt shift from the eternal spring of the glade to the winter of the rest of the forest began to trouble Atan and her band.

During the day, while they kept moving, they were fine. But the first night was troublesome, and Merewen was startled when she discovered little Julian’s fingers stuffed in her armpits the second morning, her lips bluish. Blue was a good healthy color for a Loi, but not for anyone else, and the sisters were trying to figure out which of them could do without their own scanty warm things when Merewen stooped down and wrapped her yeath-fur cloak around the child.

Julian’s color returned to normal almost immediately. Merewen smiled. She’d worn the yeath-fur cloak because her mage guardian had given it to her, but she’d discovered that she didn’t really need it. Dressed only in her tunic, Merewen still felt a pleasant sense of coolness, not cold, and so too did the morvende, used as they were to the stone depths never warmed by the sun. As long as they were dry, the morvende did not mind cold. But as the forest thinned and they emerged onto the hills above the River Ilder, the others felt the grip of winter closing around bones and flesh.

That wasn’t the only problem. Used as the patrollers were to gleaning for nuts during autumn and fresh berries during spring as they roamed Shendoral, trading work for milled wheat from the miller, they had assumed that scavenging along the road would make their stores last longer.

But the land was barren, ready for winter, and the streams they’d found so far had no mills. There were no other spring glades with fruit growing year round, much less the vegetable patch that the Poisoners had tended so carefully. Unless they found people who had extra stores, food was going to become scarce.

Bigger than both these problems was that of the riders.

The kids emerged from the protection of Shendoral just before sunset. As they peered down the road toward a winding river, they saw horseback riders on the other side, between the river and the twinkling lights of their first village.

Arlas was certain they were villagers, Hannla cheerfully pointed out that here was proof Sartor was waking up, and shouldn’t they flag down the riders?

“They’re searching,” Lilah said, remembering the king’s patrols of summer. ”They’re not riding around having fun. They’re on a search.” She watched the riders as she spoke, appearing and vanishing again beyond the distant hedgerows and fences and the last of the trees. She saw weapons at the saddles, the back-and-forth movement of heads.

“Searching for us?” Atan looked up. “Who even knows we’re—oh, yes.” She grimaced when her gaze fell on Lilah’s black clothes. “They’re looking for me.”

Searchers. The whisper worked down the line, quieting everyone. Faces turned Atan’s way. She felt those gazes, felt the question behind them.

Brick pointed from behind a broad tree. “Are they Norsundrians? Mendaen, you’d know.” He turned his head the other way and beckoned wildly.

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