“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 cloak
s. 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 m
any 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?”
The Deed of Paksenarrion Page 21