The sleepless nights were taking their toll. Even though her elvish blood made it possible for her to go days on only the bare minimum, she eventually would falter if she didn’t rest. And it had been nearly three weeks since Tyriel had gotten a good night’s sleep. Every time she drifted close to sleep, somebody woke her, purposely or by accident.
The feeling of being watched never lessened.
“You’re not looking well, Tyriel.”
Looking up, she met the gaze of the healer contracted to ride with the caravan. Clad in robes of gray, signifying his school in the gray arts, Michan stood watching her with concern on his bony face.
“I’m fine, Healer.” With deliberate care, Tyriel slid the stone up and down the length of her blade.
“You’re tired.”
In a cool tone, she said, “As I said, I am fine.”
“I do not mean to overstep, lady.” With a gentle smile, he dipped his head. “I may come from the gray schools, but my healing ability works like any other healer’s. I can feel your exhaustion. There have been nights when your restlessness has disturbed my own slumber.”
“My apologies.” She gave him a disinterested look.
“No need…I simply speak out of concern for you.” He hesitated before saying, “Perhaps I could offer you a tonic?”
“Most of the tonics made for humans are either worthless on my kind, or deadly. It’s kind, but unnecessary,” she said, concentrating on her sword.
“I’ve studied with the elvin kin. I know some of the remedies used by them. I’ve moonwart and polyseed.”
Simple herbal sleep remedies, commonly used among the kin. Studying the nondescript brown eyes of the healer, Tyriel gave him another, longer look. Gray-robed or not, he did know his healing. She’d kept an eye on him from day one, leery of the line he walked that was sometimes so close to the blacker arts.
But—call her paranoid—she wasn’t accepting even a cup of water from Michan, or anybody else on this train. She trusted very few, and he certainly was not on the list. She’d even begun to source her own food.
“My thanks, Healer. But I will be fine.”
It was late that morning, just before the midday break when she acknowledged that she was not fine. Lack of sleep was making her feel dull-witted. She had to rest.
Seeking out a familiar face in the wagon train, she waved Chastin down and made a request.
When he nodded and gestured to the wagon, she gave him a grateful glance. “Just a nap and I’ll be well.”
Of the sixty-odd members of the caravan, Tyriel trusted only four. Chastin, who was as honest as the day was long, Vjorl, who was committed to his god and order and wouldn’t betray anybody out of loyalty to that oath, Aryn, with those sinful eyes and Gerome, who was too damn greedy to do a damn thing that would endanger his caravan.
Of those four, it was only logical to approach Chastin and Vjorl. They were long friends who shared a wagon where they bedded down at night.
It had been Vjorl, though, who had approached her, rather than the other way around. He had been watching her for a couple of days and just a short while ago, he’d approached her and asked why she wasn’t resting at night.
She hadn’t given him a direct answer, but he’d sensed what she hadn’t said.
“You feel it, too.”
His softly spoken comment had unsettled her until she considered who—and what—he was. The warrior-priests of Burin communed with the earth for the first three years after taking their oaths, learning to read the subtle cues the land gave, and for some, they learned how to read the earth’s energies and manipulate it to perform small magics.
The darkness she’d sense first came to her through a disturbance in the earth, so it was little wonder Vjorl’s instincts had been alerted.
When he offered the protection of his wagon should she desire a rest a nap, she’d agreed.
Now, inside the secure space that smelled of herbs and dry goods, she dropped to the small cot, stretched on her belly and folded her hands under her head.
Knowing the caravan was safe, she was asleep in less than a heartbeat.
* * * * *
“Where’s Tyriel?”
Vjorl glanced down at the blond swordsman who had guided his horse to the side of the wagon.
“She’s resting.” He nodded to the back of his wagon to indicate where the woman had taken refuge against the sun’s bright rays.