Sheepfarmer's Dauther

Chapter Sixteen

The ground was gently rolling, each low ridge less steep than the one before it, as the land subsided from the mountains to the north. Darkness seemed to flow up out of the hollows as light faded from the gray sky. They had no idea how far they had come. Paks was thinking of nothing in particular when she realized that she had lost Canna in the gloom. She stopped and peered into the woods. An owl called from somewhere behind her. She shivered, listening for any sound of her friends. The owl called again, the last hoot sounding odd. It must be Saben, she thought, and hooted in reply. A short hoot answered her; she moved toward the sound quickly. She missed them in a thicket. Saben’s voice nearly startled her into a scream.

“What happened?” she asked when she got her voice back.

“It’s your long legs,” said Saben. “You distanced us again, and Canna fell, trying to hurry.”

“I’m all right,” said Canna. Her voice was strained. “But it’s too dark to walk safely in these trees.”

“Nothing’s on the road,” said Paks. “Nobody travels this late—couldn’t we use it for a few miles?” Out of the dark a hand squeezed her arm as Saben spoke.

“I’m legweary,” he said. “We’ll do better for a rest.”

“Paks, I—don’t think I can go farther tonight,” said Canna. “Even on the road.”

“Let’s see if we can find a good place to sleep, then.” Paks peered around, but could hardly see two trees away for the gloom.

“This will do,” said Saben. The hand on her arm tightened and released. “You didn’t see us.”

“Mmm. You’re right. Hope it doesn’t rain, though.” Canna, Paks saw, had already slumped to the ground. She herself, though still hungry, was too keyed up to feel tired.

“You had first watch last night, Paks,” said Saben. “I’ll take it; I’m sore but not sleepy.”

Paks felt the same but did not argue. “Canna, are you warm enough?”

“I—can’t get this cloak—wrapped, somehow.”

“Let me help.” Paks helped Canna sit up and untangle the cloak. “What did you hurt when you fell?”

“Nothing. It jarred me. I’m all right.”

“We’ll hope so.” Paks doubted it, but there wasn’t anything to do. “Would you rather have a back rest or front rest? I want to keep warm.”

“Back, if you’re giving choices.”

Paks rolled herself into her cloak and lay behind Canna. “Don’t eat all the bread while we sleep,” she told Saben, who chuckled.

“Ha. And here I thought you’d forgotten it.” She heard a rustle and saw a shape moving in the darkness as Saben took a position between them and the road. She thought she was not sleepy, but Saben’s hand on her arm woke her much later to a cold night, not so damp as the one before.

“I can’t keep my eyes open,” he murmured. “No trouble so far.” Paks stretched and unrolled herself while Saben lay down in the warm spot she’d made.

She rubbed her face hard with her hands to wake up, and took a swallow of water from her flask. No trouble so far. How long would that last? She felt her stomach clench on nothing, and thought about the meat in her pouch. No. She drank again. Canna was right about that—they had to space the food out. She thought of her father’s tale about the famine when he was a boy, the year the wolves came. We tried to eat the grass, he’d said. Her stomach growled. Don’t think about food. We have food, but not for now. She looked up to see if the stars were out, but could see only blackness. In that cold, hungry darkness, for the first time she doubted that they would reach the Duke. She forced herself to think. Tomorrow—tomorrow we’ll get to the crossroad. Unless Canna—no, surely she’s all right. I wish we could go on ahead. They must take the short way, if they’re going to Rotengre. We could stay safely ahead if we knew.

She hardly noticed when the light began to grow. All at once, it seemed, she could see her hands and arms, and the two dark shapes stretched out below. She yawned and stretched, wondering if she’d dozed awhile. The light gave no color yet. She nudged Saben with her toe; he gave a sort of gasping snort and sat up.

“What?”

“Dawn. We should be going soon.” Canna had not wakened. They both looked at her. “Do you think she’ll be all right?” asked Paks softly.

Saben frowned. “Not all right. But it wasn’t a deep wound—I think—”

“We need her.”

“Yes, but we’re no surgeons.”

“I wonder if that—Effa said St. Gird healed people. Canna’s a Girdsman. Maybe he’ll heal her.”

“If he does. But if he can, why not just do it? Already?”

“I don’t know. I never heard of Gird back home—”

“What about Gird?” Canna had wakened. She grimaced as she moved, then forced a smile. “Don’t look so worried; I’m fine.”

“We wondered if Gird would heal you,” said Paks.

Canna looked surprised. “How did you know—you aren’t a Girdsman! It takes a Marshal or a paladin to heal, though.”

Saben looked stubborn. “If it takes a Marshal or a paladin, what has it got to do with Gird?”

“Saben, you drink water, but when you carry it from the river, you have to have a bucket to put it in. I don’t know what kind of power it is that Gird wields, but it must come through a Marshal or paladin.”

“So a prayer wouldn’t work?” asked Paks.

“No. A prayer for courage, or strength in battle—and it can’t hurt to pray for good fortune—but not healing.”

“We could try,” said Paks. Canna stared at her.

“What are you, a paladin in disguise? You aren’t even a Girdsman.”

“No, that’s true. But we need you to be well and strong.”

“I’m—oh, all right. If you want to. It can’t do any harm.”

“But I don’t know how,” said Paks. “You’ll have to tell me what to say.”

“Paks, I don’t know. I’m no Marshal, and Gird knows I’m no paladin, either.” She paused for breath. “Here—” She fumbled at her neck for the chain that held her medallion. “You’ll need this. Hold it. Then say what you want, in the name of St. Gird.

Paks took the metal crescent and held it a moment, thinking. Then she laid it on Canna’s shoulder, over the bandaged wound. She looked at Saben, who looked back, quirking an eyebrow.

“St. Gird,” she began. “Please heal this wound. This is Canna, who is your follower, and she was hurt by an arrow. We are trying to escape to tell our Duke of the Honeycat’s treachery, and we need Canna’s help. In—in the name of Gird—I mean, St. Gird.”

“Ouch!” said Canna. “What did you poke it for?”

“I didn’t,” said Paks. “I just laid your symbol on it; I didn’t push. What happened?”

“It must have been a cramp, then. That hurt. It’s easing now. It seems—I can breathe a little easier.”

“But it still hurts?”

“Yes, but the sharp pain is gone—whatever it was. Don’t worry, Paks. I didn’t expect a cure.”

“I suppose not.” She handed back the medallion and turned to the pack. “What can we have for breakfast?”

“Bread. We’ll try that half-cheese, too.” They divided the small cheese and each took a slice of bread from the half a loaf left the night before. That took the edge off their hunger, though Paks felt she could have eaten much more. Saben managed to fit the eggs into the pack this time. “Let’s go,” said Canna abruptly. Paks and Saben looked at her, surprised, but rose at once.

The morning was still and gray, with a murkiness between the trees that was not quite fog. They stayed close to the road, but Canna would not let them walk in it, fearing a forward patrol. They walked in silence, three dark shadows among the black tree-trunks. Canna set a better pace than the evening before. When she finally called a halt, they moved away from the road and stretched out under a large cedar.

Saben wiggled his shoulders. “Ugh. That pack—the straps are too short. He must have been a skinny man.”

“I’ll take it next,” offered Paks.

“You’re not a skinny man.”

“No, but it’ll get the cramps out of your shoulders.”

“I wish I’d found a weapon,” he grumbled. “A bow, or a sword—”

“We’re better without it,” said Canna.

“How so?”

“If you’d found one, you’d be tempted to fight, wouldn’t you? You’d want to kill one of their scouts to get still more weapons—then free the prisoners—” Saben was blushing, now, and Canna nodded before going on. “There’s not a weapon in the world, Saben, that would let you take on that force single-handed and survive. Our job is to get word to the Duke. For that we need wit, not blades.”

“Yes, Canna. But think how much fun—”

“If we get to the Duke,” said Canna grimly, “we can have all the fun we want—with weapons he’ll give us.” Saben subsided. Paks wondered again if it was as bad as Canna seemed to think.

“When the column does come,” she asked, “how are we going to move with it without being seen? The woods don’t last all the way to Rotengre.”

“You would ask that. I’ve been trying to remember what the country is like. We can use any trees—hedges—and if it’s dry, they’ll raise a cloud; we can stay far off and still be sure where they are. But it’s going to be hard.”

“I was thinking—surely they’ll take the short way, east of Sorellin. Why can’t we just go straight for the Duke?”

“We can’t be sure. Siniava has a name for being indirect.”

“You mean he might go around in a circle, or something—?”

“Yes. Find a weak spot in the siege lines, and try to break it there.”

“But then what does he want prisoners for? They’ll only get in the way.”

“I don’t know. Some wickedness.” Canna took a swallow of water. “I wish I knew how close we were to the crossroad.”

“Why?” asked Paks. “We’ll find it if we stay near the road.”

“If I were the Honeycat,” said Canna slowly, “I’d have someone posted at the crossroads.”

“But we’re well ahead of the forward patrols,” said Saben.

“That’s exactly what I’d want stragglers to think,” replied Canna. “If someone got through the sweeps and patrols, they’d think they were safe, and they’d be careless. Besides, suppose the Duke sent a courier for some reason—Siniava would have to stop that. So I think we can expect trouble—at every crossroad, and every place a messenger or straggler would be tempted to use the road. Probably disguised as traders, or brigands, or something, to keep the peasants from gossiping too much.”

“How do we get around them, then?” asked Paks.

Canna shrugged. “They don’t know that anyone’s coming. We do. And we expect them. We’ll move very quietly, and watch very carefully, and not set foot on the road.”

After a scant ration of bread, they set off again. Canna forbade any talking until they cleared the crossroad, and they moved as quietly as they could. The road wound back and forth around low rounded hummocks; Paks found it hard to keep an even distance from it.

From far behind came a long low horn call. They stopped and looked at each other. In such cold air, a horn would carry a great distance. Three short blasts of a higher-pitched horn came from the road ahead. This sounded closer than the other, but distance was impossible to judge. Canna nodded at the other two and grinned. She gestured them still farther from the road, and forward. Paks felt her heart begin to pound, drumming in her ears so that she could hardly hear. This would be the real test, getting past the guard at the crossroad. She looked at Canna, who was still moving strongly, and stumbled over a briar. Calm down, she told herself. Saben and Canna gave her a warning glance and went on.

As the road began a curve right, Canna signalled a halt. She beckoned them close, then murmured in their ears. “I think they’re on top of the rise ahead—see how open the woods look up there? They could see the road and the woods both. We’ll swing around the far side of the hill. Be careful. No stumbling about.” Paks blushed.

They turned left along the slope, climbing no higher. As they moved away from the road, the woods thickened, and undergrowth screened them. They could not see more than a few yards uphill. More evergreens cloaked the northern slope. It was easy to walk quietly on the fallen needles, and they moved faster. Still, several hours of tense and tedious work brought them only to the eastern end of that hill, and a low saddle between it and the next rise to the east. As they came up the saddle, the trees thinned again.

Canna waved them down, then peered upslope. Paks looked too, and saw nothing. Trees masked the higher slope and crown. For a second time, they heard the long horn call. This time it seemed closer, hardly north of the hill. At once two short blasts rang out upslope. Clearly Canna had been right about the location of the watch. They crept through the trees, keeping every possible leaf between them and the upper slope as they cleared the saddle. Now they could see, at the foot of a gentle slope, a broad rutted road running east and west. It disappeared behind a south-jutting face of the hill between them and the crossroad.

When they reached the road, Canna stopped them. “I’ll cross first,” she said. “If anything happens, go east another hill, then head south. Don’t come back for me; go to the Duke. If nothing happens, count twenty, then Paks comes. Then twenty again, and Saben. No noise, and get to cover fast on the other side. May Gird be with us.” Canna turned away, crept to the very edge of the road, and looked. Nothing. Still bent low, she scurried across and dived into bushes on the far side. Paks counted on her fingers to be sure not to skip any; when she had counted twice over, she checked the road and ran across. Once in cover, she turned to watch for Saben. He crossed the road safely, and the three of them moved to deeper cover under the trees.

Canna swung right, back toward the south road, cutting the corner. They had covered what Paks guessed to be half that distance when they began to hear shouts, the clatter of horses, and the rumble of wagons from their right. Suddenly a thrashing and crackling of undergrowth broke out behind. They dropped where they were. Thudding hooves pounded nearer; Paks could hear the jingle and creak of tack and armor. This time the mounted men were silent. They were spaced in easy sight of one another, passing on either side of the fugitives. Paks saw the hooves of one horse churning the leaves scarcely a length from her face. As the horse cantered on, she saw that the rider had a chain-mail shirt under a yellow surcoat, and a flat helmet with a brim. He had a sword at his side, and a short-thonged whip thrust into his belt behind.

When the hoofbeats died away, Canna urged them up and led them back east. “We know how far out he sends the sweeps, now,” she said. “But without seeing the column, we don’t know if these were the forward or the flank.”

“At least we know he’s going south,” said Paks.

“How about one of us going in for a closer look?” asked Saben.

Canna frowned. “It’ll be dangerous. I think we can do better. We’ll climb the next hill on our side, and take a look from a distance. As long as we stay outside the sweeps—” They walked on, more quickly, in case another patrol was riding behind. The ground rose under their feet; again they were in the evergreens of a north slope. They toiled upward, panting. Paks felt the pack of food dragging at her shoulder, and wished they could stop and eat. They heard more noise from the road. A mounting excitement seized all three of them; they began to hurry up the slope, eager to see the enemy column at last.

Paks, shouldering her way through thick pines and cedars, thought only of how they hid her. When she broke into the cleared space on the hilltop, a pace or so ahead of Canna and Saben, she found herself face to face with one of the mounted men. He had turned toward the noise she’d made; as she came in sight he grinned and lifted his reins.

“So there is something here besides rabbits, eh?” He turned in the saddle, taking a breath. Paks shrugged the pack off her shoulder and threw it at him. His horse shied, and he nearly fell. “Why, you—” he began, drawing his sword. Paks had her dagger out and charged the horse, which snorted and backed. He jerked the reins and spurred. She dodged to his unarmed side and jumped to grab his arm. The horse jumped sideways as he overbalanced, and he slid out of the saddle on top of her, swordarm flailing. Paks was stunned by the fall under him. With a snort, the horse clattered off into the trees. Paks struggled to catch her breath and squirm free. Canna and Saben appeared and jerked him aside; Canna had a knife in his throat before he could make a sound.

“Now we’re in trouble!” Canna gave Paks a hand up. “Get that pack, Saben. Come on!” She led them down the east side of the hill as fast as they could go, slipping in the leaves. Paks was so shaken that she had trouble keeping her balance. At the foot of the hill, Canna would not let them rest, but set off southward at a brisk pace. “I should have thought,” she said sometime later. “They’ll have a lookout on every hill. Especially now.”

“Surely they’ve—found him—by now,” said Paks. She couldn’t seem to get her breath.

“I hope not. It depends how they set it up. If they were stationed at intervals, to wait for the column to pass, they won’t know until it does—or until his horse wanders back to the road.”

“It won’t,” said Saben.

“What—”

“You didn’t see. I was behind you—I caught the reins, and tied it.”

Paks looked at him. “That was quick thinking.”

“Very good, Saben,” said Canna. “I didn’t think of the horse until afterwards. You were lucky not to be trampled.”

“We were all lucky,” he said soberly. “Paks stopped him calling an alarm—”

“Yes. When I saw you throw that pack,” said Canna, “I thought we were lost.”

“You’re right that we must stick together, Canna. One alone couldn’t have made it through that.”

They walked on in silence for a space, keeping to the low ground and swinging east of the low hills they met. Some time in the afternoon, they heard several horn signals far behind, but they did not know what it meant. They only knew they had to keep going. As light began to wane behind the clouds, Paks asked, “Do you think they’ll camp for the night, or march through?”

“I think they’ll camp. I wish I knew the road better. Somewhere between here and the next crossroad we come out of the trees.” Canna sighed. She had slowed the pace; they were all legweary.

“I’m worried about keeping up,” said Paks. “We should be faster, just the three of us, but we’re having to cover more ground. Once it’s open, it’ll be worse. What if they distance us and take a turn we don’t see?”

“We’ll ask someone. I don’t think they will, though.”

They went on until the light was almost gone, and they were stumbling with weariness. When they finally stopped in a hazel thicket, they were all exhausted and hungry. Paks had been struggling with a sharp pain in her side where she’d fallen on rocks under the horseman. Now it was worse.

“I wish we could have a fire,” she said. “Those eggs—”

“We’ll eat them raw,” said Canna. “We can’t risk a fire.” She dug into the pack. Two eggs had broken, but five remained.

“You can have my share,” said Paks. The thought of raw eggs revolted her.

“They’re good. Don’t waste ’em.”

“I’m not. You eat them.” Paks took a scrap of meat from her pouch. Canna looked at her.

“Paks, I should have asked—were you hurt?”

“Just bruised, I think, from the rocks. It catches when I take a deep breath. How’s your shoulder?”

“It hurts a little, but not like yesterday. I should have remembered that the day after is worse than the day something happens. Here’s some bread.”

Paks took a slice. “We ought to change the bandages, and put on more ointment—”

“It’s too dark,” said Saben. “We can’t see what we’re eating.”

“In the morning,” said Canna. “We’ll look at your bruises, too.”

They settled into uneasy sleep. Saben took the first watch. When Paks woke in the early dawn, she found that Canna had taken the second. She started to sit up and bit back a groan. She was stiff from head to heel, and her right side throbbed. Canna insisted on seeing the damage.

“I thought so,” she said. “A fine lot of bruises and a bad scrape—hand me that pot, Saben—and maybe a broken rib or two.” Paks winced as Canna spread the ointment. It stung like nettles. “Don’t move—you’ll have your turn next,” said Canna. But Canna’s wound was clearly healing: no longer an angry red. Canna twisted her head to look. “That’s much better,” she said. “It’s just a little sore this morning.” She gave Paks a long look. “Maybe you did do something with that prayer.”

Paks ducked her head. “It’s not healed completely, Canna. And we put ointment on it.”

Canna looked at their food. “We’ll eat the cheese—and some bread. That leaves—umm. We’ll be out again by day after tomorrow. Well, no help for it.” After that scant meal, they were ready. Paks needed Saben’s help to stand, and found walking difficult.

She was wondering how they would know if the column was still going south when they heard horsemen to their right: they could see nothing. All that morning, as a weak sun struggled through clouds, they moved with hardly a pause. Paks found it harder and harder to keep up. Near noon they reached the southern edge of the unbroken woods, and Canna waved them to a sheltered hollow.

Paks slumped onto the leaves and wished she didn’t have to move. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them to see Canna and Saben watching her. She forced a grin. “I’m just sore. It’s not as bad as yours, Canna; I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Let’s have an apple,” said Canna. Saben opened the pack and passed them around. “Paks, we need you. We need all of us. We’ll slow if we have to—”

Paks shook her head. “No. You said getting to the Duke was more important than anything. I’ll keep up, or you’ll go on. After all, once they’ve passed I’ll be safe enough.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Canna. “After yesterday—if we can possibly stay together, we should. At least for now. The column’s not ahead of us.”

“Speaking of the column,” said Saben. “I think I’ll crawl up there—” he nodded at the treeline, “—and have a look. Maybe I can spot them.”

Canna nodded, and he moved away. Beyond the trees was rough pasture; they could see his head outlined against the tawny grass. Presently he came back.

“They’re there,” he said. “The column and sweeps both. Very impressive. They were still coming in sight when I came back. Want to take a look?”

“I will. Paks, you stay here and rest.” Paks wanted to protest, but felt more like lying still. She fell into a doze while they were gone, and woke with Canna’s hand on her arm.

“Paks. Wake up. They’re moving south, and the prisoners are with them. We think at least sixty prisoners, both ours and Halverics. I’m not sure how many troops, but there are ten wagons and several score horse.”

“Did the whole column pass?”

“Yes. They may be trying to reach the second crossroad by nightfall. I wish I knew how far that was.”

“Then we’d better go. I feel better.”

“Good. Saben and I think we’ve found enough cover for the next stretch.” Canna helped her up. Paks tried to convince herself that she would feel better moving, and they started again.

Out from under the trees, with the sun’s disk showing through the clouds, it was easy to keep their heading. Luckily the fields were edged with strips of woodland or hedge, and all through the afternoon they were able to keep up with the column while staying well hidden. The mounted sweeps never came as close as they had; Canna worried more about being spotted by a herder or farmer who might tell the tale.

By late afternoon the column reached the second crossroad, where the road from Dwarfwatch crossed the great Guild League road. The three fugitives had gained on it, now even with its middle. They could see the head of the column swing left, onto the direct route for Rotengre. They could also see the mounted patrols that moved out along all the roads to screen its passage. They dared not risk moving forward before dark.

“It’s not lost time, exactly,” said Saben. “Now we know how many of them, and what equipment—”

“Too many,” said Canna. “Over three hundred foot and a hundred horse. If the whole Company was here, it wouldn’t be an easy fight.”

“At least he’s obvious,” said Paks. “A force that size will be seen—someone’s bound to tell the Duke even if we fail.”

“Don’t forget those farmers—he may be killing everyone he sees.”

“Come on, Canna; he can’t kill everyone on the road between here and Rotengre. Traders come this way, and—”

“Saben, from what I’ve heard of him, he’ll kill anyone who stands in his way.”

They had turned east across the fields, and come to the caravan road well beyond the patrol’s position. Besides, they had seen the riders turn back. Even so, they took no chances. Canna scouted the road, and they crossed one by one, as before. The night was cold and clearer than the day had been; the stars gave just enough light for them to walk on open ground. They went on until they saw the fires of the encamped column.

“Here,” said Canna, stopping them in a little triangular wood. “This will do. Paks, how’s your side?”

Paks leaned against a tree. She felt that if she sat down she would never make it back up. “Stiff,” she said finally. “A night’s rest will help.”

Canna handed around a meager measure of the remaining meat and bread. They had eaten it almost before they tasted it. “It has to last,” said Canna. “I don’t know where we can get any more—we’ll do better spacing it out—” She did not sound convinced. Paks clenched her jaw to keep from asking for more. She knew Canna was right, but her belly disagreed. Saben gave a gusty sigh out of the darkness.

“My old grandmother used to tell me, when I wouldn’t stop begging for sweets on market day, that someday I’d want ’em worse than I did then, and because I’d begged I wouldn’t have any. What I don’t understand is how the food would be here now if I hadn’t begged then. Do you suppose there’s some magic—?”

Paks found herself chuckling. “Only if learning not to ask meant learning not to want. It’s an idea, though: things you want and don’t ask for coming when you need them.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” said Saben. “So much the worse. Canna, if we wait until the column has passed that village, can we go and buy food?”

“No. I expect Siniava will have spies there.”

“What a suspicious old crow,” grumbled Saben.

“If he weren’t, he wouldn’t be that powerful. I’ll take first watch tonight, Saben; you and Paks get to sleep.”

Paks was tired, but her side hurt so that she found it hard to get comfortable. She would have sworn the ground was covered with cobbles, yet Saben was snoring lightly in minutes. She tried rolling onto her back. Her legs stuck out into the cold. Her stomach growled loudly, and she found herself thinking of stew, and hot bread, and roast mutton—I’m as bad as Saben at the market, she thought. She turned on her left side. At last she fell asleep, to be wakened by Saben on a clear frosty dawn.

As they chewed their scant breakfast, trying to make it last, they watched the distant fields. The sun rose and glinted on the enemy helmets as they assembled. Thin streams of smoke from their fires rose straight into an unclouded sky, to bend southward above the trees. The column began to move. Suddenly a puff of blacker smoke billowed up, then another and another. In a minute they could see the red leaping flames.

“They’re torching the village,” said Canna. “I daresay they’ve killed the villagers, or taken them prisoner.” They watched as yet another billow of smoke stained the sky. Paks thought of the friendly folk who had waved at them on their way north.

“Why burn it?” she asked.

Canna shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know. To hide the murders as wildfire? Who can imagine what that filth would be thinking.”

As the tail of the column disappeared, they set off across the fields, angling toward the burning village. They could see the dry grass near the huts burning, flames spreading toward stubbled fields and woods beyond. A light breeze came with the morning, moving the fire south, a pall of smoke with it. Soon they were up with the smoke, paralleling the fire. The smoke set them coughing. Paks felt a stabbing pain when she coughed. She was uneasily aware of the flames creeping along the ground or rising in crackling leaps when they found more fuel than stubble. But the wind never strengthened nor shifted direction, and soon they had passed the fire by.

All that day they dodged and darted from hedge to hedge to thicket, keeping the column in distant view. As the day wore on, they worried more about farmers. They feared that Siniava had offered a rich reward for reports of stragglers. Paks moved more easily, despite continuing pain; by late afternoon what really mattered was the gnawing hole in her belly. They had scarcely spoken to each other all day, but she could see the same hunger on the others’ drawn faces.

Despite the clear sky, it was still colder; Paks dreaded the night to come. The column halted; the smoke of their watchfires stained the evening sky. Canna kept moving, and they edged past at a respectful distance. Paks wondered why, but she was too breathless to ask. At last Canna stopped, well beyond the head of the column, and explained her reasoning.

“We’re sure now where they’re going, and by what road,” she said. “Now’s the time to separate. We’ve found no food; if one takes all we have, that’s enough to make the Duke’s camp—I think three days’ travel. They’ll take at least five, with those wagons. But without food, all three of us can’t make it. The Duke must know—”

“But Canna, you said yesterday we should stay together,” said Saben. “One person could be stopped by anything. And what about food for the two left behind?”

“We’d find something,” said Canna.

Saben snorted. “You with an arrow wound, and Paks with a broken rib? I suppose you meant me to go?” Canna nodded, and Saben shook his head. “No. I won’t leave two wounded companions and take all the food—not if there’s any other way.”

“Why don’t we stay ahead tomorrow?” suggested Paks. “Maybe we’ll find something to eat—and if there’s a chance to stay together—”

“I suppose so,” said Canna, sighing. “I wish we dared have a fire; those redroots would be good.”

Paks felt her mouth water. “You ate raw eggs; why not raw redroots?”

“Tastes awful,” said Saben. “But it might fill the holes.”

They gnawed on the raw roots, bitter and dry, and ate a slice of bread each. Paks offered to take first watch, but the other two insisted that she sleep. By morning the ground was frozen, white hoarfrost over the stubble.