Sheepfarmer's Dauther

Chapter Fourteen

They were deep in the brambles one afternoon, grousing at thorns as they stuffed themselves with ripe berries, when they heard a signal from the Halverics’ bugler. They stopped to listen.

“Not for us, whatever it is,” said Canna. The signal for their return was four long notes, three rising and the fourth the same as the first.

“Could be a messenger from the Duke,” suggested Saben, standing to peer through the tops of the brambles. They were south of the fort, even with the southeast corner of the wall; they could see only a short stretch of the road leading west from the gate.

“I think it’s too soon,” said Canna.

“What can you see?” asked Paks. She was pouring berries from her pail into a sack they’d brought along.

“Not much. But—wait—do you hear that?”

They did not so much hear it as feel it, a growing rumbling along the road to the south. They could see nothing, because of the angle of the woods, but as Paks stood, she could see sentries moving on the fort walls. Other work details, nearer the fort, were turning to look back down the road. The sound began to separate into rhythmic components that sounded like horses and marching feet. A deep-toned horn called from somewhere on the road. The Halverics’ bugle rang out again. A horseman came in sight around the angle of wall, riding out from the fort; Paks could see something glittering on his shoulders, and his green cloak. She thought it was the captain’s horse, and told Canna.

“Maybe we should go back,” said Canna. She bounced up and down on tiptoe, trying to see over the brambles. Paks and Saben could just see through the upper thorny branches.

“Let’s wait,” said Paks. “Whatever it is—it’s odd. And they haven’t called us. Look, Saben; isn’t that—”

“Troops. Yes. Lots.” Out of the trees came a column of men-at-arms behind twenty or so horsemen. “Not the Duke,” added Saben. “Whose colors are those, I wonder?”

“What colors?” demanded Canna.

“Just a second; the wind’s wrong. Yellow field—something on it in black, but I can’t tell what it is. The horsemen—some in chain—one in plate—yellow surcoats. Tir’s bones, those men are carrying pikes!”

“Pikes? No one around here uses pikes,” said Canna. “Yellow and black, and uses pikes—I can’t think of anyone within range—”

“He’s right, though,” said Paks. “It is pikes; I can see the heads glinting in the sun.”

“What are they doing?” Canna had given up the attempt to see for herself.

“Marching—no, they’re halting. Whoever it was that came from the fort is riding up to the head of the column—I’m sure it’s the captain. Let’s see—” For a few moments, Paks fell silent as she watched. Nothing moved. “I guess he’s talking to someone—passing something across or taking—Now he’s backing up. I wonder what—No!” She turned to Saben. “He’s down. He fell off his horse. Saben, look!”

“I see,” said Saben grimly. “I don’t like this.”

“Tell me,” said Canna, “before I—”

“I think they shot him; they’re carrying crossbows. They’re moving off the road—going after the work details—”

“But they’re unarmed!”

“But they are—and look at the rest—they’re marching on the fort. It must be an enemy—”

“But whose?” Canna’s face wrinkled in a puzzled frown.

“I don’t know. Halveric’s, I suppose, but—Oh, no! They’re—the devils! The murdering devils—” Paks started to thrash forward through the brambles.

“Paks, get down!” Saben wrestled Paks to the ground. “Be quiet, you fool! It won’t help for us to go out there.”

“What happened? What is it?” Canna tried again to see.

“Some of our men tried to run. They’re down—arrows, I’d guess.”

“By St. Gird! We have to—”

“Not you too! Think, Canna! Paks, listen. Be still. What can we do with three daggers? We don’t have any armor—they’d shoot us down before we could kill one of them.”

“You’re right,” said Paks reluctantly. “Let me up, Saben; I won’t do anything. But we can’t just—just run away and let them be killed.”

“What about the fort?” asked Canna quietly. “Surely the Halverics will come out—”

“Not if they’re smart,” said Paks. “That’s a big force; I don’t think we’ve seen all of it yet. They’ll be lucky if they can hold against assault, let alone mount a sally.” Even as she spoke, they heard the bugler again, and the crash of the portcullis rang across the river meadows.

“We can’t get back in now,” said Saben. “Even supposing we wanted to.”

Paks started to look toward the fort, to see how it was manned, but drew back sharply. “They’re closer,” she said softly. “On this side of the river.” They all flattened under the brambles as best they could. They could hear the squeak and rattle of harness as armed men came nearer, but they could see nothing. Paks hoped this was true for the men outside as well.

“Ho, there!” cried a harsh voice. “We see you. Come out or be shot!” They did not move. Paks heard a rustling crackle as an arrow went into the bramble some yards away. “Come on out, cowards!” cried another voice. Another arrow and another, closer. Suddenly an arrow pinned Canna’s shoulder. She made no sound. The rattle of arrows passed on, was farther away with each shot. “By the Master, I told you nothing was up here,” said the second voice, complaining.

“Take it up with the lord, then: it was his orders,” growled the other.

“Nay—I’ll do what he says—only those prisoners are more to my liking—did you see that redheaded girl?” The voices, still bickering, moved away to their right. Still they lay unmoving, without a sound. Paks met Saben’s eyes; his face was white with anger. She looked over at Canna. Canna blinked back tears; her jaw was clenched. They waited. A blue fly buzzed around the spilled berries, then settled on Canna’s shoulder. They heard shouts from the fort, from the men below. A scream. More shouts. Paks glanced at Saben again, and raised an eyebrow. He nodded.

With great care they both moved to Canna’s side. The arrow did not seem to be in very deep. “Hope it’s no worse than it looks,” murmured Saben. Paks offered Canna a wad of her cloak to bite, then steadied the shaft as Saben cut her tunic away from it. The long barbs of the head were still outside her skin; the head itself seemed to be lodged in the big muscle between neck and shoulder. When Paks pulled, the head slid out easily, followed by a rush of blood. It was both longer and wider than those used by their own Company. Saben clapped his hand over the wound, squeezing it shut. Paks emptied the berries from the sack, and looked doubtfully at the coarse fabric.

Canna spat out the wad of cloth in her mouth. “Go ahead—it’ll do.”

“Not too rough?”

“No. Go on.”

“Wait a bit,” murmured Saben. “Let the bleeding slow. We can’t move now anyway.” Paks folded the sack into a thick pad after cutting a strip for a tie with her dagger. They heard more confusion of noise from the fort, but nothing closer. Paks wondered how long they should wait before moving. The attackers might send scouts through the woods to pick up stragglers. She spent the time packing her belt pouch with fallen berries. Finally Saben let up the pressure he’d kept on Canna’s shoulder. The wound gaped, but the bleeding had nearly stopped.

“Stopped it,” he said. “Let’s have that pad, Paks.”

“It’ll start when I move,” said Canna ruefully. “By St. Gird, it was plain bad luck being hit at all, when they couldn’t see.” She winced as Paks pressed the folded sack onto her shoulder. “Eh—how are you—”

“Like this,” said Paks softly. “Keep pressure on it, and help her sit, Saben.” With Saben’s help, Canna rolled to her side and sat up. Her face was pale. “Now,” said Paks. “Under this arm, and up and around—and again here. There. Don’t move that arm if you can help it.”

“Good job. Thanks.”

“Now what will we do?” asked Saben.

“We’ve got to get away from here before they make a proper search,” said Canna. “And then we’ve got to get to the Duke.”

Paks nodded. “I agree. But Rotengre’s a long way—do you know how to find it?”

“I think so,” said Canna. “As long as I’m with you—but what about you?”

Saben shook his head. “Not me. I know it’s south somewhere, that’s all. You, Paks?”

Paks ignored the question at first. “Canna—you aren’t leaving us, are you?”

“No. But if this wound goes bad, or we have trouble on the way and I’m killed, I wanted to know if you could find the Duke yourself.”

“Oh. I—I think so. At least, I’ll recognize the roads when we get there, the crossroads and such.”

“Good.” Canna shifted, looking around the tiny space in which they lay. “Saben, can you tell what they’re doing, and if it’s safe to start moving? And Paks, let’s get the rest of those berries packed up.”

“It sounds like they may too occupied to worry about us,” said Saben. He rose cautiously and peered out the upper level of the brambles. “There’s a force on the walls—maroon and green both—the Halverics must have armed our men too. Wise of them. And a lot of troops below the walls, and horses. I think we can go, but we’d better stay down. Canna, can you crawl with that arrow wound?”

“As opposed to lying here to be captured by those barbarians, certainly. It’s a good thing our tunics are dark. But let’s eat what we can of these berries before we go.” They stuffed handfuls of juicy berries into their mouths, gaining strength from the sweet juice. In a few minutes, Canna started them moving toward the trees. She sent Saben ahead, and Paks followed her, bringing one pail full of berries. They had buried the other under fallen leaves, in hopes that searchers would not find evidence of their presence.

Paks could see that Canna was having a hard time crawling; several times she stopped, swaying, but she never fell. Luckily their explorations during the berry harvest had left little trails running here and there almost to the forest edge; they did not have to force a new path. Canna managed to keep moving, and at last they fought free of the thorns. It was growing dusky; they could see fires twinkling on the meadow below.

They pushed through the hazels that fringed the woods and moved on into the darker shelter of the trees, now walking upright. When they found a sheltered hollow, they settled in to make further plans. Even in that dimness, Paks could tell that Canna was paler than usual.

“At least we’ve got full waterflasks,” she said quietly. “And we’ve got some berries. I have a lump of cheese. What about you?” Saben had a hunk of dried meat, but Canna had only the berries she’d put in her belt pouch. “We can cook in the berrying pail,” Paks went on.

“If we have anything to cook,” said Saben. It was almost too dark to see. “Canna, how are you doing?”

“Could be worse—” Her voice was shaky.

“You’d better have the cheese and meat,” said Paks. “That’s what they told me when I lost a lot of blood: eat to make it up.” Canna protested, but Paks was firm. “No—you need it. Saben and I can eat berries. You’re the one who will slow us down if you don’t recover.” She handed over her cheese, and Saben gave Canna the meat. They ate in silence; Paks and Saben, already full of berries, ate little.

“I wonder what they’ll be up to tonight,” said Saben at last.

“Not much, I hope. I suppose it depends on how far they’ve marched today—and how the assault goes.” Paks suddenly found herself yawning, though she was not at all sleepy. She pushed thoughts of her other friends aside. “How glad I am, Canna, that you said we should bring our cloaks to lay over the thorns. It’s going to be cold out here.” It was already hard to believe how they had sweated under the brambles.

“Shouldn’t we try to get farther away?” asked Saben.

“No—we’d just blunder around and make noise in the dark, and we might get lost. What do you think, Canna?” Paks remembered that Canna was senior to them.

“I think you’re right. It’s too dark. Though I wish we could find out what they are doing, to tell the Duke. And who they are.” She sighed. “But that’s even more dangerous. We don’t know these woods well enough, and we can’t risk capture.” She paused, then went on in a different tone. “I know neither of you are Girdsmen, but—I wish you would join me in prayer. At least for the confusion of our enemies.”

“That I’ll go along with,” said Saben. “But won’t Gird be angry if non-Girdsmen pray in his name?”

“No,” replied Canna. “He welcomes all honorable warriors.” She reached into her tunic, the cloth rustling as she moved, and pulled out her holy symbol. Paks heard the faint chinking of the links of the chain. “Holy Gird, patron of warriors, protector of the weak, strengthen our arms and warm our hearts for the coming battles. Courage to our friends, and confusion to our enemies.”

“Courage to our friends, and confusion to our enemies,” repeated Paks and Saben. Paks felt strange, calling on one she did not follow, but surely such a simple request could not be misunderstood. She heard the chain jingle as Canna replaced the medallion, and reached to help Canna wrap her cloak around her injured shoulder. She added her own.

“I’ll take the first watch,” she told Saben. “You sleep.”

He rolled up in his own cloak and lay next to Canna. Paks sat with her back against a tree, listening to the noises from the fort, and trying to imagine what they meant. She wondered which of her friends had been killed, and which were in the fort—and who had been captured. And who was the enemy—and why here, at the end of a road? Ferrault had said that the worst they could expect was brigands robbing the grain wagons—yet first the Halverics, and then this army, had marched up to take the fort as if it were important. Why?

She slipped her knife from its sheath and tested the edge. It had dulled on the cloth, as she’d feared. She felt for her whetstone, then paused. The sound would be distinctive if anyone heard it. Still, a dull knife—she decided to take the chance. She moved the blade lightly across the stone. Not too loud: good. It would take longer, but she had time.

When her blade was sharp, she put the stone back in her pouch and the dagger back in its sheath. She looked for stars overhead, but the leaves were too thick. No way to tell how time passed. She heard no noises from the fort, now, and only wind in the trees. She stretched first one arm, then the other. It was colder. She rubbed her arms, hard, then took down her hair and rebraided it by feel. The wind picked up; it smelled like rain. She thought she heard a drum in the distance, and wondered again who the attackers were. An owl called, a long wavering hooo—hooo—hoo hoo. She stretched one leg at a time, and wished she had not wrapped Canna in both cloaks. It seemed much colder. Saben began to snore. Paks reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Don’t snore,” she said when he jerked awake.

“Umph,” he said, and rolled over. She stood and swung her arms vigorously to warm up. Better. The wind dropped, and she squatted down against the tree again, hoping it would not rain, hoping the wind would die away altogether. It didn’t. Just when she thought she would be warm enough after all, a chill current of air flowed into the hollow and she started shivering. She rubbed her arms again, but it didn’t help. Her teeth chattered.

“Paks,” said a voice out of the dark; she nearly yelped. But it was Canna’s voice. Paks scooted around to her side.

“What is it?”

“I woke up and heard your teeth—take this cloak; I don’t need it.”

“I don’t want you to get chilled.”

“I’m warm enough. Don’t be silly; take the cloak.” Canna heaved up and began unwrapping herself from the second cloak. Saben woke up.

“What’s going on?”

“Paks is freezing, and I’m giving her back her cloak.”

“It’s time for me to take a turn watching anyway. Warm up, Paks; I’ll wake you later.”

“Th-thanks.” Paks rolled into the warm cloak, and lay beside Canna, shivering for awhile. She fell asleep as soon as she was warm. She woke in a panic, with Saben’s hand firmly over her mouth. Before she could move away from his hand, she heard the reason for it: horses somewhere nearby. She touched his wrist, and he moved his hand away. She looked at Canna. Canna looked back without moving. She had heard the horses too. A heavy wet fog lay between the trees; their cloaks were furred with moisture.

The horses came nearer. She could hear the jingling bits, the squeak of leather. And voices. “There won’t be stragglers out here—we’d have found ’em holed up in that woodcutter’s hut in this weather.”

“Or else they’re already far away.”

“No—we hit late enough, they’ll have been close in. The only thing is those brambles, the big ones, but Palleck’s squad went over that yesterday.”

“Shot arrows into it, you mean. Those lazy scum wouldn’t pick through thorns. But I agree, that should have flushed anyone out. Still, if he wants us out here, here we’ll be.”

“Right enough. I won’t argue. I wonder though—I thought we were going to lift the siege at Rotengre. What’s he want to come up here and take a bunch of mercenary prisoners for?”

“I don’t know. One of his schemes, I suppose. You know how he hates ’em. I don’t doubt this Duke Whoever, the Red Duke, will be angry enough at the green ones when he finds his men where they’ll be. And Tollen told me the Red Duke’s at the siege.”

“Is he? That’s a bit clearer. My lord Siniava will be up to his usual tricks, no doubt.” The voices had moved past, and now faded into foggy silence.

The three in the hollow looked long at each other. “They’re taking the prisoners somewhere,” said Saben softly. “I wonder where?”

“But what about the fort?” asked Paks.

“Siniava—Siniava. I should know that name. Yellow and black—and Siniava. Oh!” said Canna.

“What is it?”

“We can hope I’m wrong, but I think I know who that is: Siniava. I think it’s the Honeycat. You’ve heard—?”

Paks shivered. “Yes. Too much. Now what are we going to do?”

“Tell the Duke. Now more than ever. I wish I knew where they were taking the prisoners. He’ll want to know.”

“And if they’re trying to break the fort to get more,” said Saben.

“Yes. There’s a lot we need to know—where they’re going, and when, and by what road—”

“We—I—could try to get close to them and find out,” suggested Paks.

“First we need to get Canna outside their skirmish lines,” said Saben. “She can’t travel as fast. But this fog’s a big help; they can’t see us.”

“Do you know which way is which?” asked Canna.

Saben’s face fell. “No. I didn’t think of that.”

“I do,” said Paks. “At least I’m fairly sure. Let’s go south a bit more, and then cut west to the road.”

She helped Canna stand; the dark woman was steadier than Paks had expected. Then she led the way from tree to tree, with a pause behind each to look and listen. The woods were silent, except for the drip-drip of fog from every twig. They went on. It could have been hours; the light grew only slightly, and the fog was just as thick. At one pause, Saben asked, “How do you know this is south?”

“Remember the view from the wall—beyond the biggest brambles, and running south, was a belt of fir trees. I remember wondering if it had been planted there for some reason.”

“Fir trees. How do you know fir trees from pines or anything else?”

“I’m from Three Firs, remember? Fir trees I know.”

“Hunh. And I thought you were smart or something.” Saben gave her a quick grin before going on.

They had come up a long slope, and now they felt an open quality to the silence that meant a ridgetop. When they started down the far side, the firs disappeared.

“Now what?” asked Saben.

“Now we stop for a bit,” said Paks, eyeing Canna, whose face was pinched with pain or cold. She found a spot below a rock ledge, and they settled their backs against it. “We can have those berries now. Do you have a tinderbox, Saben?”

“No, worse luck. But we couldn’t start a fire here, could we? So close?”

“No, but later. I don’t have anything. Canna?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. There was no reason to bring it out, but I’ll look in my pouch. Yes. There it is.”

Paks grinned at the other two. “We’re in good shape, really. We’ve got something to make a fire, and something to cook in—”

“And nothing to cook,” Saben reminded her.

“Don’t ill-wish,” she retorted. “We could be dead, or prisoners, and we’re not. If only Canna hadn’t been hit—”

“If never filled the pot,” said Canna. “I’m doing well—it hurts when I move that arm, just what you’d expect.” Despite her words, Paks noticed that she sagged against the rock.

“Well, I need a rest, if you don’t,” said Paks.

“Now I know how you knew which way was south,” said Saben. “But how are you going to find west? I don’t remember any convenient belts of trees in that direction.”

“This ridge runs west, more or less,” said Paks, who had finally thought of that only a few minutes before, when she too wondered how she’d find west without the sun.

“Umm. You’re right again. But I don’t think following it will be as easy.”

“No. I don’t either. It would be nice to find someone’s path going the right way.”

“If we can find a path, so can their men.”

“Yes. I should have thought of that. Well, we’ll just have to try. If we do get lost, the sun will come out someday.”

“Let’s go on and share out the berries,” said Canna. The berries seemed to have shrunk overnight, and did little to fill their empty bellies.

“The next time we do this sort of thing,” said Saben, “let’s be sure to carry three days’ rations in our pouches, and tinderboxes, and bandages, and—let’s see—how about mules and saddles, too.”

Paks and Canna both chuckled. “In a pouch—of course,” said Canna. “To be honest, I don’t plan to do this again, if I can help it.”

“Come now,” said Saben. “We’re going to be heroes in this tale. Escaping the villain, bringing word to our Duke, rescuing our friends—” Paks nodded; she had already imagined them freeing the prisoners on the road, and returning to the Duke in triumph. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy, but—

“If we come out of this heroes,” Canna said soberly, “we’ll earn it. Every step of the way. You two—you’ve done well, so far, but you don’t understand. There are too many things that can go wrong, too many miles. This is no fireside tale, no adventure for a hero out of songs: this is real. We aren’t likely to make it as far as the Duke, though we’ll try—”

“I know that,” Saben broke in. “We aren’t veteran scouts. But still—it’s easier to think about if we think of it as an adventure—at least I think so. The bad will come soon enough without looking for it—beyond being careful, of course.”

“As long as you don’t think we’ll go dancing down the road and find the Duke as easy as finding those berries—” Canna sounded doubtful.

Paks shook her head. “We know, Canna. A lot can go wrong; we need you to keep us from making stupid mistakes that will get us all killed. One of us has to get through.” She still thought they could do it; Canna was just worried because of her wound. She took a drink from her flask, then shook it. “I wonder how far downslope water is. Canna, how’s your water?”

“About half. We probably should look for more.”

“You stay here,” said Saben. “I can’t get lost if I go down and back up. I’ll hoot like that owl last night when I think I’m near again.” He took their flasks and disappeared into the fog.

“If they are marching to Rotengre,” said Paks,.” do you think they’ll go through Sorellin, or around it?”

“Not through, even if they control the city—it’d be risky. I expect they’d take the fork we came up by.”

“I hope so. That will be—a week on the march, at least, and more likely eight or nine days with that crowd. We’ll have to get food somewhere. We can march two days on water alone, but not a week. D’you think we could buy food somewhere? I’ve got a silver—a nis—and some coppers—”

“It depends. If we’re seen, we can be talked about. If we’re far enough behind to be safe, we could lose them. Probably we’d best stick to what we can find—or steal.”

“Steal!” said Paks. “But we’re not supposed to—”

“I know. But it’s better than capture. We can tell the Duke, when we get to Rotengre, and he’ll make it good.”

Paks sighed. It was beginning to seem more complicated. “If we stay close enough to know where they are, we’ll be close enough for their scouts to find, won’t we?”

“Yes. If we knew their route, we could go ahead of them—that would be best—but we don’t.” They sat in silence awhile. Canna shifted her back against the rock. Paks looked at her.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“Better not. Let me think—if they march like others I’ve seen, they’ll have two waves of forward scouts, mounted, and a patrol on each flank. The flankers usually stay in sight of the column; the forward scouts may not. And a rearguard. The first day will be hardest, until we find out their order of march.”

“I don’t know whether to hope for rain, to slow them down, or dry weather to make it easy for us.”

“Either way we’ll have our problems; so will they. Best be ready to take what comes. One thing, Paks—”

“Yes?”

“We need to agree on who’s in command.”

Paks stared. “Why—you are, surely. You’re senior.”

“Yes—but I’m not even a file leader. And I’m injured; I couldn’t make you obey, unless you—”

“Hooo—hooo—hoo hoo.”

“Saben’s coming. Hooo—hooo.” Paks tried to hit the same pitch. They saw a human shape loom out of the fog.

“There’s a good spring not far down,” said Saben. “And I found these growing around it.” He dumped out a pouchful of small shiny red berries and a few hazelnuts. “I don’t know what those berries are, but they taste good.”

Paks tried one. It was tart and juicy, very different from the luscious sweet bramble-berries. She and Canna ate while Saben cracked the hazelnut husks and piled the meats.

“I can take the pail down there,” said Saben, “and gather more.”

“I don’t think so,” said Canna. “Look at the fog.” A light wind had come up, and the fog was beginning to blow through the trees in streamers. “We should be heading for the road. Saben, I was telling Paks that we need to agree on who’s in command—”

“You’re senior, Canna. Whatever you say—”

“All right. Paks agreed too. But if I’m disabled, one of you will have to take over, and—”

“Oh. Paks, of course—don’t you think?” He popped a hazelnut into his mouth.

“That’s what I thought.” Canna sounded relieved. “I wanted to be sure you’d agree, though. I’m not a corporal or anything.”

“That’s all right. It’s no time to worry about that.”

“Good. Let me tell you what I think is next; if I miss anything, bring it up.” They both nodded, and she went on. “We need to be close enough to know where they’re going, without getting caught. That means staying out of their sight. If they head for Rotengre, we can stay together; if they don’t, we’ll have to separate: one goes straight to the Duke, and the others follow Siniava.”

“But Canna,” said Paks, “can’t we do something about the prisoners? To free them, or something?”

Canna shook her head. “No—I don’t think we can. The most important thing is to tell the Duke what’s happened. If we try to free them and fail—and think, Paks: just the three of us, with daggers; we would fail—then we’d be caught or killed, and the Duke still wouldn’t know. I don’t like it either, but we won’t help that way.” She waited, looking from one to another. Paks finally gave a reluctant nod. Saben grunted. Canna went on. “Another thing—if one of us is caught, or killed, or—or whatever—the others must go on. Someone has to get to the Duke, no matter what, or the whole thing is wasted. Clear?”

Paks had found the other hard enough to accept; this was impossible. She and Saben spoke together. “No! We can’t—” Saben stopped and Paks continued. “Canna, you’re hurt now—we can’t leave you. What if they found you? We’re—we’re friends; we’ve fought together, and—”

“We’re warriors first,” said Canna firmly. “That’s what we’re here for. If you accept my command, you must accept this. We’re warriors, and our duty is to our Duke. He’s the only one who can help the rest, anyway. I’d leave you—I wouldn’t want to, but I would. And you’ll leave me, if it comes to that, rather than let the whole cohort be lost, and the Company after it.”

“Well—all right. But I hope it doesn’t.” Paks stood up and stretched.

“So do I,” said Canna. Saben gave her a hand up. “Now—remember to use hand signals as much as you can; sound carries, as we heard.” They nodded. “Paks, if you think you can find the way west, lead off. Whatever you do, don’t veer north.”

“I’ll be careful.” Paks looked around. The fog had thinned; she could see a short way through the trees. At the top of the ridge she followed the crest of it west—or what she hoped was west. In the dampness the leaves underfoot made little noise. They could hear nothing nearby, but from time to time they heard a distant drum.