The Deed of Paksenarrion (31 page)

“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.

About midmorning, they were striding through a small wood when they startled a sounder of swine; the boar swung to face them with a wheezing snort. Paks froze. Beside her Canna and Saben were as still. The boar’s little eyes, set in wrinkled skin, were golden hazel; the bristles up its back were rusty brown. Paks watched as the pink nose twitched in their direction. One of the sows squealed. Two others minced away on nimble hooves. The boar whuffled, and swung its head to watch the rest of the pigs. Now they were all moving, drifting along a thread of path.

“Roast pig?” said Saben plaintively. The boar looked at him and grunted.

“Not with daggers,” said Paks, remembering the butchering at Amboi’s farm. The boar grunted again, backed a few steps, and swung to follow the others. Paks relaxed and took a deep breath. “I hope we don’t meet more of those,” she said.

“Right,” said Canna. “We’d have a—” she stopped abruptly as a boy dressed in rough shirt and trousers jogged into their view and stopped short. His eyes widened.

“Soldiers,” he breathed. He backed up a step, fumbling for his dagger.

“We won’t hurt you,” said Paks. “Don’t be afraid.”

He was poised to run. “Ye—ye’re a girl, an’t ye?”

Paks and Canna both grinned. Paks answered. “I am. Were those your swine?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why’d ye ask—ye’ll not take ‘em, will ye?”

“No,” said Paks. “I just wondered.”

“Wheer ye be goin’?” he asked. Paks judged he was about fifteen or so, a short muscular redhead with pale eyes in a heavily freckled face. She thought of Vik with a pang, and wondered where he was now.

Paks winked at the boy. “We’re just—taking a little trip, lad, you might say. Know where we could find some good ale?”

He relaxed a bit and grinned. “Is it ale ye’re wantin’? Ye look more like robbers, I was thinkin’, but if ye’ve got the coppers I know wheer ye can get ale.”

“Robbers!” Paks tried to sound shocked. “Nay—we’re but travel-worn and thirsty. As for coppers—” she jingled the coins in her pouch.

“Weel, then,” he said, “ye might do worse than my uncle’s place, over on the river down yon—” he pointed south. “’Tis not what ye’d rightly call an inn, not bein’ on th’ road. But serves the farmers round, ye see, with my uncle’s brew and no tax to pay like that
Silver Pheasant
out on the road. And I’m thinkin’,” he added shrewdly, “ye may not be robbers, but ye look like ye won’t have to do wi’ roads, eh?”

Paks grinned. “As to that, lad, if you should happen to see a sergeant, you might not remember you saw us—would you?” She had a copper ready for the hand he held out.

The boy snickered. “All I seen in these woods is swine—that’s all.” He turned to the path they’d taken and followed it.

“I wonder how many fugitives that lad’s ‘not seen,’” said Canna.

“Or turned in,” said Paks. “I know it was risky, Canna, but I couldn’t see killing him—”

“Of course not. We’re not the Honeycat. I daresay he thinks better of us for being irregular. He won’t turn us in unless the price is right.”

“If we’re lucky, they’ll try to bully him first,” said Saben. “That one won’t bully easily. Do you think we can stop at uncle’s for anything?”

“No—” Canna began; Paks interrupted.

“It’s our one chance to get food, Canna. He may not tell on us if we go, but he’ll surely gossip if we don’t. And we can go straight on from there, with a good start on the column.”

Canna frowned. After a minute or so she said, “Well, it’s worth trying, I suppose. If it works, we’ll be much better off. But—they don’t need to know how many of us there are. Only one will go—”

“Me!” said Paks and Saben together.

“No. Saben will. Paks, you and I stay under cover. If there’s trouble, Saben, yell out how many. If we can, we’ll take them. Don’t hesitate to walk out if you sense anything wrong.”

They could see a line of trees ahead, and the gleam of water beyond. A thin stream of smoke bespoke a chimney. Canna and Paks melted into the hedge along one side of the hay meadow they were crossing, and Saben walked openly beside it to the cluster of shanties on the riverbank.

The largest building had two chimneys, one smoking, and two children playing in a wattle-fenced dooryard. As Saben neared the fence, the children looked up and yelled.

“Ma! Ma! A man!” The door to the shanty opened, and a tall fat woman peered out.

“Good day, mother,” called Saben. Paks could not hear if she answered. “A lad I met in the wood said I might find somewhat to eat here, a deal cheaper than the
Silver Pheasant,
he said.” The fat woman’s head moved, as if she spoke, but again Paks could not hear. Canna nudged her and pointed; Paks saw a lean figure dart from one of the huts behind the larger one. Paks slipped her knife from its sheath.

“I’ll watch Saben,” said Canna in her ear. “You keep an eye out for more lurkers.” For several minutes Paks saw nothing. She stole a glance at Saben, now lounging against the gate of the wattle fence. She looked back at the other huts. A flicker of movement: she’d missed seeing what or how many. Beyond the buildings, a narrow trail led westward into trees; it must go to the distant road. She glanced around the margin of the clearing, and caught a movement not ten yards to their left. A tall man in rough leathers, with a heavy bow, crept to the edge of the trees; he was watching Saben intently, his mouth agape. Paks nudged Canna, whose eyes widened. With infinite care she eased back, leaving Paks on guard, and made her way behind the bowman. Paks did not shift even her eyes, lest it call attention away from Saben.

“Ye might come in whilst ye’re waitin’” called the woman from the shanty door.

“Thank you, mother, but no,” said Saben casually. “I’m not fit to enter anyone’s home. Another time, if it please you.”

“Please yerself. We’re not fine folk here,” answered the woman. “The bread’ll be out directly.” Paks’s mouth watered at that. “Ye’ll be havin’ a hard journey all alone,” the woman went on.

“No one’s lonely, going home,” said Saben.

“Oh? Weel, wheer’s yer home, if I may be s’bold?”

“Far away, mother, and worse that I have to dodge all around, going as many ways as a cock picking straws—why, the woods be full of sergeants, and at this rate it’ll be Little-eve before I see my sweetheart again.” Paks had never suspected Saben of so much imagination.

“I only wondered, ye see, because ye wanted so much—more than fer one fellow, even such a big ‘un as ye be.”