Frost by Robin W Bailey

to her stomach. She clutched it unconsciously as the wind rustled her clothes, feeling the rough binding and carven characters through the material of her tunic.
    â€œWell, you've saved me a long ride to Chondos,” she said with a sigh. “Now tell me what to do with this.” She took out the Book.
    Kregan's face darkened. “I don't know yet what to do with it.” His brow wrinkled; a grim mood settled on his features. “Riding to Chondos is still the best plan. There are tools there I will need, and people to help us. If I can do anything with the Book we must take it to Chondos."
    Entering that land was still not a pleasing prospect. Though she trusted this one Chondite, his people had an evil reputation that she could not easily forget. The Stranger in the woodland trusted them, though, and all he had said had come true.
    â€œIf there's no other way, then we've wasted enough time,” she said.
    Her friend looked thoughtful, held up an objecting hand. “I would waste just a little more,” he said soberly. “Our road has been long—your own somewhat longer and bloodier than mine. Should you wish to avail yourself of the stream and its cleansing waters I would not complain of the delay."
    Frost smiled at his tactfulness. Indeed, she could smell her own stink; the road dust was thick on her face and her hands. Her garments were splotched with dark stains, dead men's blood. Her hair, tangled and wild from hard riding, was even crusted with blood.
    â€œNot long ago my father would have cut off the lips of any man who dared say such a thing.” She shrugged her shoulders. A sad note crept into her voice. “Well, times change."
    â€œIf you're modest, I'll busy myself elsewhere,” Kregan offered.
    She pulled off a boot. “Modesty is something I left behind,” she hesitated, looked over her shoulder to the south, Esgaria, “in a past life."
    How could she tell him? How could she tell anyone of her crime?
    Her clothes in a pile by the water's edge, Book and sword near at hand, she strode into the stream. The water rippled, caressed her with gentle coolness. With unconscious grace she leaned forward. A cascade of thick, black hair swirled as she immersed herself, rose and began to scrub.
    The bath lightened her mood. She stretched face down, letting the water flow over her, feeling the sand and pebbles strewn on the bottom with her fingers and toes.
    She scrubbed her clothes, too, washing out the dust, but not the brown stains that spotted the gray fabric. As she worked, she glanced up at Kregan, aware that he had not taken his eyes away since she had stripped. He sat near the bank, and it amused her to watch him shift position every few moments. Now he sat with his knees drawn tightly together.
    â€œMaybe this will help,” she said, and splashed him.
    She pulled on her dripping garments, buckled her sword.
    â€œYou shouldn't wear those wet,” Kregan said, rising.
    She blinked. The late evening twilight could not completely hide the prominent sign of his arousal. “You just want to admire the view a little longer,” she chided. “I'll dry out quick enough when we start to ride.” As an afterthought, she added, “You can ride in that condition, can't you?"
    Kregan smoothed the front of his tunic and smiled broadly.
    She picked up the Book and put it away, called to Ashur. Munching a bit of grass, the unicorn tossed its head and trotted to her side.
    â€œI've a little dried meat in my saddlebag,” Kregan said.
    â€œWe'll eat as we ride."
    When they were mounted she took the offered morsel. The meat was heavily salted, but hungry as she was, nothing ever tasted sweeter. They rode slowly, chewing, but when the meal was done, she nudged Ashur with her heels. The unicorn broke into a run; Neri followed, and Frost watched their shadows race before as the bright moon peered over the horizon behind them.
    An ominous wall rose on their