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 wa
tch 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.
The Deed of Paksenarrion Page 24