Sheepfarmer's Dauther

Chapter Fifteen

Paks tried to think where they were as they walked. They’d been south of the southeast corner of the fort—then they’d gone south, and a little east, with the firs. Now she hoped they were walking west; the road lay west of the fort. But how far west—she remembered several turns before it got to the bridge—where were the turns?

This was going to be trickier than she’d thought. Where the trees were open—on the ridge—she could see better, but so could any enemy. She heard a horn call off to the right, and froze. It came again. She looked at Saben and Canna behind her. Canna shrugged. Paks gestured to the thicker growth downslope, and Canna nodded. They eased their way into it, and rested for a few minutes. Paks explained her concern—noisy progress through the thick growth, or visible progress through the thinner woods. After some discussion, they decided to stay in the heavier downslope woods, moving more slowly for silence.

It was harder going, but Paks felt safer. They stopped at intervals to listen, and kept a nervous eye on the rise above them. A patrol could come very close before they saw it. Suddenly she stopped. She thought she saw a lighter area ahead—a clearing, perhaps, or the road. She gestured, and the others lay down. When she looked back at them, their white faces showed clear against the dark wet leaves. She dug into the leaf-mold with her fingers and smeared it on her face, then looked back again and pointed to show what she’d done. They nodded, and began doing the same. Paks gestured again, for them to stay in place, and began to creep forward, keeping to such cover as she could find. From her position, she could see very little. After a few damp, tiring yards of creeping, she was tempted to stand and look. But when she glanced back to see how far she’d come, Canna’s hand signal was emphatic: down. Stay down. Paks nodded and went on.

She was sure she was near the opening, whatever it was, when she heard the beat of many horses coming rapidly. She started to leap up and run, but controlled herself. They were on the road, by the sound: it must be the road. They wouldn’t see her unless she moved. She told herself that again and again, forcing herself to stare at the layers of leaves on the ground lest her eyes be visible. The horses came from her right: at least ten, she thought. She would have sworn that they trotted right over her. The hoof-beats passed and died away. Paks breathed again, and lifted her head. She could see a gap, and trees beyond it. She crept forward until she could see the road itself, scarred with hoofmarks and fresh wheelruts. If the enemy had wagons, that would slow them. She looked along the road as far as she could without getting out in the open. Nothing.

It was much harder creeping back to Saben and Canna with her back to the road. She was sure that someone was there, watching her, perhaps drawing a bow to shoot. She wanted to jump up and run forward. Her shoulders ached. The wet leafmold tickled her nose; she wanted to sneeze. She kept crawling, muttering silently in her head, and almost bumped into Canna.

“The road,” she said unnecessarily, in Canna’s ear.

Canna was pale. “I was afraid you’d jump up and bolt. Those horses—”

“I almost did,” said Paks. “Let’s move farther back—”

They crawled back, then turned downslope again and went deeper in the hollow, squatting under a clump of cedar. “I didn’t see any sentries,” said Paks. “I looked both ways. I don’t know where the horsemen were going.”

“Did you get a good look at them?” asked Canna.

“No. I was afraid they’d see my face, so I stared at the ground. It sounded like ten or more.”

“I thought about a dozen,” said Canna. “They might have been going to that farm, the one where we got the ox that time.”

“I suppose so. I was hoping they were going south and wouldn’t be back.”

“Unlikely, unless they’re messengers. I expect they were after supplies, or information.”

“Now that we’ve found the road, shouldn’t one of us try to find out what’s happening at the fort?” asked Saben. “At least we can find out how big the Honeycat’s force is.”

Canna shook her head. “No—I’d agree if we had a few more. But as it is, we can’t take the chance of losing even one.”

“But if they take the prisoners away by a different route—”

“How can they?” asked Paks. “North is only that track over the mountains—why would they go there? This is the only road south; they’ll have to use it.”

“Unless they go across country.”

“With wagons? I saw fresh wheelruts, deep ones. They’ll have to stay on a road.”

“How far is the crossroads?” asked Saben.

Paks looked at Canna. “Do you remember? I think it was a day’s march—we got here at midafternoon, and the fork was where we halted the day before, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s the road that goes to Merinath, east of us, and to Valdaire if you go far enough west. But they won’t turn there for Rotengre. They’d stay on this road through two crossings—no—southeast at the second. The way we came, anyway. But they could go through Sorellin, or even around it to the west, for some reason.”

Paks had been sketching in the dirt with a stick. “So—a crossroad here, where they could turn, and another here? Right. And then Sorellin, and then—how far is Rotengre? It’s east as well as south, isn’t it?”

Canna peered at the furrowed dirt. “Yes. Let me think. We’re about two days from Sorellin, I think, and it’s—oh, call it four days this way—” she pointed at the route east of the city, “—from that village we stopped at, coming up. I think it’s about as far from us as Sorellin, but I’m not sure.”

“Six or seven days altogether—about what I remembered. But we could go ahead of them this far,” said Paks, pointing to the first crossroad. “They have to take this road that far, and they might not expect us to be ahead of them.”

“But we don’t know how long they’re going to stay here,” said Saben. “We could wait a month for them, and the Duke none the wiser.”

Canna shook her head. “No. Siniava has a name for moving fast. I think he won’t try the fort more than a day or so; if they don’t break, he’ll leave someone behind and take the rest of his force south. I can’t see him tying up his whole army for one little fort.”

“And I thought,” said Paks, “that if we got ahead of them, we could get some food, too, before they came along to buy it up.”

“Yes, but then we’ve been seen. They’ll ask questions. If they find out that someone in Duke Phelan’s colors has been buying food, they’ll come looking for us.”

Paks frowned. She was very conscious of her empty belly. A few berries and hazelnuts were not going to be enough—and they wouldn’t have time to gather many.

“Well, Canna,” said Saben, “do we have to stay in the Duke’s colors?”

“Yes—or be taken for bandits or spies. With our scars, we can’t pass as farmers. But Paks has a good idea: we can move south along this road to the first crossing, and wait a day or so. If they don’t come, we can decide then who will go straight to the Duke, and who will keep watch.”

“Let’s go, then.” Paks rose with the others. Although the fog had cleared, the light was already waning under an overcast sky. She led them downslope again, across a narrow trail, and up the next gentle rise. She tried to stay just close enough to the road to be aware of the gap in the trees. They saw no one, and heard nothing on the road.

Paks had just begun to wonder if they were nearing the farm when she smelled woodsmoke, and saw more light off to the right. She recalled the four or five huts and a barn, a rail-fenced enclosure for stock, and long narrow strips of plowed and fallow ground. Her mouth watered at the smell of the woodsmoke. She looked at Canna and Saben; they looked as hungry as she felt.

“I might be able to steal something,” she said.

Saben nodded, but Canna shook her head. “No. Remember the horsemen.” Paks had forgotten, in her hunger. “It would help, though, to find out if that’s where they are. We haven’t heard them on the road: I hope they aren’t sweeping the woods.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Paks.

“I didn’t think you had. We’re not out of the net yet; we need to think of everything—because they will. Saben, why don’t you slip up to the road this time. Just like Paks—stay down, no matter what.”

“Right away. Oh—is my face dirty enough?”

“Not quite.” Paks smeared leafmold across his cheek. “There.”

“And I’ll do as much for you next time,” he said, grinning. Paks and Canna sat down to watch as he crept toward the road.

“That’s hard on the arms,” said Paks as she watched.

“Yes. I don’t think we should talk.” Canna’s face was grim. Paks shot her a glance and went back to watching Saben. He looked very slow, but she knew how hard it was. She thought about the chance of a mounted sweep in the woods and shivered. No fog to hide them—not enough underbrush here. We ought to be farther apart, she thought. Then they might find only one—or that might make them look harder for more. Her belly growled loudly. Canna looked at her, and Paks shrugged. No way to stop that without food.

Saben was out of sight now, among the bushes by the road. Paks slipped her knife out and looked at it. If she hadn’t given her parole, she would not have a knife—would not have been out berrying, most likely. She would have been in the fort, maybe in a cell. But then, she’d have a sword by now, because the Halverics had armed the Phelani. But besieged by such a force—she shook her head, and returned to thoughts of the route south. A day to the crossroads and wait. They could do that, even without food. Her belly growled again, louder. Except for Canna, she thought. Canna’s been hurt; she has to have food. And if I can find food for one, I can find it for three. She cheered up a bit. There was Saben, creeping back toward them. The smell of smoke came stronger as the wind veered a moment. Saben came nearer. When she met his eyes, he signalled them to move farther away from the road. Saben followed them. When they stopped in a thicket, Paks saw that his face was pale under the leafmold.

“What is it?” asked Canna.

“They’re there,” he said in a strange choked voice. “I counted twelve horses tethered along that fence—you remember. They’ve—they’ve killed the farmers—and their families. The—the bodies are just—lying around. Like—like old rags, or—” His voice broke, and he stopped, choking back sobs. Paks had a sudden vision of an army in Three Firs. She had never thought of that, of armed men coming onto her father’s farm—her brothers and sisters—

“Saben!” Canna shook his arm. “Saben, stop it. You’ve seen dead before. It’s terrible, yes, but we don’t want to be next—”

He looked up, eyes wet. “But we’re fighters, Canna—that’s what we’re for. Those weren’t soldiers; they didn’t have a chance.”

“Saben, it’s only your second year—and we don’t do things like that—but surely you know that some armies do.”

“If only we’d come faster, we might have stopped them,” he said.

“Three of us? With daggers? Remember what you said last night, Saben.”

“But our people,” said Paks. “What about our people? If they’d kill farmers like that, what will they do to soldiers?”

“Paks, don’t think about it. All we can do is get help: tell the Duke. Whatever can be done, he’ll do. You know that.” Canna turned back to Saben. “Do they look like they’ll be there long?”

Saben took a shaky breath, then another. “Yes. They—they were cooking. One of the cattle, I think. They’re all around the fire.”

“Then we can slip past, probably, and we’d better—” She broke off as a rattle of hooves rang out on the road.

“One horse,” said Paks. “Messenger?”

“Could be.”

“Let me look,” said Saben. “I won’t do anything.”

“Well—”

“I’m all right, Canna. We do need to know what they’re doing.”

“All right. We’ll stay here. Don’t get caught.”

“No.” Saben turned away, toward the road, and disappeared. Paks found she’d slipped her dagger out again. Canna shook her head and pointed at the sheath. She slipped it back in. They waited. They heard a shout from the distance. Another shout. Paks felt her heart give a great leap in her chest.

“Saben?” she gasped.

“I hope not,” said Canna. “Holy Gird defend him. If that was a messenger, maybe they’re shouting at each other.” Her face was paler than before.

They listened. No more shouts. Paks imagined Saben full of arrows, his body dragged to the fire, or taken alive for questioning. She shuddered. Canna touched her hand. “Don’t think about it. We don’t know—imagining things will make you weaker.” Paks nodded without speaking, and tried to force her thoughts elsewhere. Again the noise of hooves, this time many of them, on the road. Was the whole troop leaving? They waited in a silence scarcely broken by the rustle of leaves in a slight wind. Paks gave up looking in the direction Saben had gone, and stared at the ground. She jumped when Canna nudged her.

Saben was coming toward them, walking almost upright. He was grinning. Paks felt a rush of relief that made her unsteady on her feet as she rose. “I thought you’d—”

“I know,” he said. “When they yelled it scared me, and I could see what was happening. Canna, the troop’s gone, ordered back to the fort, and they left a whole cow on the fire. The messenger, that single horse, told them not to wait, because they were starting south in the morning. If we hurry, we can have meat, and plenty of it.” At once Paks’s hunger returned.

“What about sentries?” asked Canna. “Surely—”

“No—all the horses are gone, and every horse had a rider; I made sure of that. Please, Canna—it’s our best chance.”

“It’s risky—but you’re right. It’s our chance.”

“We could pass the farm,” said Paks. “Saben or I’ll double back if it’s clear. How’s that?”

“Good idea. I hope they’ve cut that meat; I don’t want to leave any obvious signs.”

“I never thought of that,” said Saben. “They were poking at it; I saw that the first time I looked. But I don’t know about cut—”

“We’ll see. Even if it hasn’t, we ought to be able to find other food there—and they may think one of theirs took it.”

They moved on, carefully. The farm clearing lay across the road; when they had passed it, they moved to the road edge and looked both ways. “Maybe only one of us should cross,” said Paks. “If anything happens, maybe they’ll look on that side—”

“I don’t know if that matters,” said Canna. “Still, any precaution might help. Saben, you’ve seen the worst already—can you go?”

“Yes, Canna.” Behind the leafmold, his face was composed, his blue eyes steady.

“Good. If the meat isn’t marked up, haggle a corner off; don’t leave clean knife cuts. Maybe they’ll think a stray dog got it. See what else you can find, but don’t leave anything so stripped that it’s obvious.”

“Get some cloth for bandages, if you can,” said Paks. She thought Canna looked worse than she had that morning.

“Yes, and another tinderbox, if you see one,” added Canna.

“I’ll see what I can find.” After another careful look both ways, Saben darted across the road into the trees on the far side. Paks could see him skirting the clearing, coming in behind one of the huts. He disappeared. After a long wait, she saw him come back toward the trees, then turn back to the huts again. This time he was gone even longer. Then she could see him again, edging along the clearing toward the road, with a pack slung over one shoulder and a bundle in his arms.

Once across the road, he handed the bundle to Paks and urged them back into the trees. “Wait until you see what I found.”

“Hush,” said Canna. “We’re too close.” They walked on until the road was completely hidden, then sat down.

Paks unrolled the bundle, Saben’s cloak wrapped around a number of things: three round loaves of brown bread, half a small cheese, six apples, a small padded sack of lumpy objects—“Careful,” said Saben. “Those are eggs.”—onions, a few redroots, several strips of pale linen, a small stoneware crock with a pungent smell, and a short-bladed knife.

Saben was pulling other finds from the worn leather pack he’d found: strips of half-roasted beef, another cheese, and a roll of cord. “They’d hacked the cow up with their swords,” he said. “Some was bones with meat on, and some just strips of meat, so I took these. We could get more without it being noticed, I think, but I couldn’t carry more, and didn’t want to take too long. It must have been baking day; bread was rolling all over the hut floors. I took what had rolled under things. There was a barrel of apples; we can get more easily. Not so many cheeses, unless they’re stored somewhere else. I didn’t look in the barn. The eggs were under a bed; I felt them when I reached for bread.”

Canna smiled. “Saben, you found a treasure. I don’t know about going back—but now we’ll eat. Let’s see—we’ll share a half-loaf of bread, and one of those big strips of meat, and have an apple each. More than that, and we’ll be slow and sleepy.”

Paks and Saben sighed at that, but by the time they’d eaten what Canna allowed, Paks felt much better. Not satisfied, but better.

“Let’s see your shoulder,” she said, when she had swallowed the last bit of bread. “These strips will be softer than that old sack. And I think this stuff in the crock is for wounds, isn’t it?”

Canna sniffed at it. “It smells like what the surgeons use, yes.” Paks unwound her hasty bandage of the day before, and Canna slipped off her tunic, wincing. The folded sack, blood-stained, was firmly stuck to the wound. Paks poured some of her water over it.

“Brr. That’s cold,” said Canna.

“I thought that would loosen it.”

“It may, but it’s cold.” Paks worked as gently as she could, and finally got the sack off. Underneath, Canna’s shoulder was swollen, red, and warm to touch. “It’s—tender,” said Canna, as Paks probed it. “Is it going bad?”

“I can’t tell. It’s red, and it feels different. Maybe just swollen. Here—I’m going to try this stuff.” Paks smeared some of the gray-green sticky gunk in the crock over the wound. “How’s that?”

“It stings a little. Not bad.”

“Maybe I should have washed it first. If we had hot water—”

“No, that’s all right. Just tie it up, and we’ll hope for the best.”

Paks folded the soft linen into a pad, then bound it on as she had before, this time with the softer linen strips. “Now you can put your tunic over it,” she said. “Maybe that will be more comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Canna. She was pale and sweating.

“What about another trip to the farm, Canna?” asked Saben. “This won’t last long, and we may not have such a good chance again.”

“We’ve got to travel light—”

“I know, but a week’s march—”

“Let’s see what we’ve got now. Enough bread for a couple of days, with this meat. Cut it in hunks like this, Saben—” Canna showed the size. “I don’t know how that cheese will travel, but we can wrap it. Those redroots will have to be cooked, but they’ll keep. You’re right—we could use more. But it’s getting late—”

“Less likely to be seen, then. I’ll be careful.”

Canna looked uncertain. “I—wish I knew—”

Paks felt a vague uneasiness. “I think we should get farther away.”

“You’ll think differently when we’re hungry the day after tomorrow,” said Saben.

Canna looked from one to another. “I—I say no, Saben. We’ll go on. We shouldn’t take chances we don’t have to; the ones we must take are bad enough.”

Saben shrugged. “Whatever you say; you’re the commander. Here—let me see what I can fit in this pack.” The bread, cheese, onions, and redroots disappeared into the pack. They stuffed their pouches with the pieces of meat, and Paks tucked the eggs inside her tunic. Saben took the crock of ointment, and Canna stuck the knife in her boot. They filled their flasks at the little creek that flowed eastward from the farm into the woods.

“We should go as far as we can while we have light,” said Canna. “I think it will be safe enough to stay near the road, but if you see anything—even a woodcutter or herder—drop and get out of sight. And be as quiet as possible.”

At first Paks led the way, but Canna was clearly tiring. After the third time Paks found herself far ahead, she suggested that Canna lead. The dark woman nodded without speaking. Paks and Saben moved out to flank her, and they went on in the growing dusk.