Manais interrupted any opportunity for further questions by reappearing with a bundle in his hands. He strapped it firmly to the rear of Sandon's beast. Meanwhile, Sandon looked from father to daughter, searching for similarities.
"So, Sandon, remember what I said. Go that way," said Manais, pointing. "The road is not clearly marked, and what little there is may have been disturbed, but it is that general direction. You will either reach Bortruz, or the mines. Both lie that way. If your reach the Bodrum River, you will have gone too far." He turned to the pack. "There is some food there, some bread, some cheese, and a little to drink. It should keep you until you get to where you are going. And I hope the Prophet wills you success in whatever it is you seek."
Sandon nodded, thanked him once more, then turned to Alise.
"Again, thank you for everything you've done, Alise. And give my thanks to Badrae too. If it wasn't for him..."
She said nothing, merely fixed him with that steady gaze. Feeling even more awkward, he stepped forward and reached for her hand.
"I hope to see you again soon," he said.
She gave his hand a slight squeeze and returned his look with a gentle smile. "Oh, I am sure you will, Sandon?if the Prophet wills it. Now go. Do what you have to do."
Just before mounting, he turned back to Manais. "But what about the padder?"
"What about it?" said the old man. "It is yours."
He glanced over at Alise, but she shooed him on. Without another word, he mounted and headed the padder out of the Atavist settlement and away in the direction Manais had given him.
#
Ideally, Sandon would have liked to spend more time getting to know the Atavist community, how it operated, to understand the way they worked together. Alise was right, though, he had things to do. He thought on this as the padder rocked beneath him across the dull ground, picking between the tall spines of the Storm Season plants. The animal grunted and snorted, flicking its tail back and forth, though there were few insects to trouble it. He looked back over his shoulder, but already the details of the Atavist township were becoming indistinct.
"Do what you have to do," she had told him. So, what exactly was it that he had to do? Though he had the skeleton of a plan, he had no details. More than three weeks had passed since Men Darnak had dismissed him from service, and in that time, he had no idea what had happened to the Principal and his party. He looked the part of an Atavist now, he could almost be an Atavist, but that didn't really get him closer to the Principal. For a start, he had no idea where Men Darnak might be. Heading toward Bortruz was merely the first logical step. There was a small office of the Principate there, and he could use that to find...
But no, he couldn't. In his current guise, he could barely gain access to Principate buildings, let alone access any information. None of the Principate functionaries in residence was likely to give him the time of day. In fact, most of the population was just as likely to shun him as an outsider. Wonderful. His perfect disguise was going to be the perfect barrier to letting him accomplish what he needed. He shook his head. What precisely had he been thinking?
Up ahead, two figures were heading toward him. Both were men, Atavists. One carried a pack, and the other had a staff. Sandon watched them as they neared. They barely glanced at him as he passed. One of them, the one bearing the staff, looked up as they came alongside and gave him a brief nod, then they continued on their way in silence. Sandon returned the nod and looked back over his shoulder to watch them. As far as he could tell, not a word passed between them as they headed on down the poorly marked track into the distance. Sandon felt a sense of relief. Clearly, they had taken him for another of their own number. So that much was good -- at least he looked the part. Alise's constant words rang inside his head. "If the Prophet wills it." But it wasn't some long-dead Prophet that was going to make this happen for him. If the stellar alignment was right, if the heavenly influences were in his favor, then perhaps... No, this was nothing to do with planetary positioning. What he really needed now was a healthy dose of luck.
Fourteen
