arms.
“Give the child to me,” he said quickly. “Then mount up.”
The girl’s father handed her up to Cullin without protest. Cullin tossed him the reins of one of the horses, and he swung up into the saddle quickly.
“Will they follow us?” the girl’s father asked.
“I don’t know,” Cullin replied, shifting the girl to a more secure position across his saddle and against his chest. “Perhaps not. It depends on how badly they want you.”
“Not that badly, I hope,” the second man muttered.
“In any event, it’s not a good idea to wait around for them,” Cullin said. “Let’s go.” He wheeled the stallion and set off toward the road.
We moved as quickly as we could. Running the horses in the dark was dangerous. We needed to put as much distance as possible between us and the Maeduni but none of us needed to break a neck if one of the horses stumbled.
***
The moon rose presently, and we made better time on the road. An hour later, we came to a small village. It was little more than a huddled cluster of rudely built stone cottages, but it boasted an inn to accommodate travellers. Even then, it looked like nothing more than a rough sheepherder’s bothy, but it was dry and warm inside. A good fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth, and the common room was cleaner and more comfortable than we expected.
The innkeeper’s wife, a short, roundly-built woman with cheeks as red as currant berries, made concerned noises over the unconscious girl Cullin still carried, and led us immediately to a sleeping room in the back of the inn. There was only one bed in the room, but it was wide enough to hold several people. The innkeeper’s wife made Cullin put the girl down on it, then bustled off to find hot water, clean cloths and her bundle of herbs.
The girl’s father sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the golden hair back from the girl’s pale forehead. She was very young, not much more than thirteen or fourteen. Even unconscious and pallid as ashes, she was very pretty, her features delicate and fine. She looked fragile as porcelain.
The girl’s father looked at Cullin. “I wish to thank you,” he said quietly. “We tried to fight them when they caught us on the road. Rhegenn managed to wound two of them, but one of them hit Kerridwen on the head with the flat of his sword. She hasn’t regained consciousness since.”
The man called Rhegenn put his hand to the other’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right, Jorddyn,” he said. He turned to us. “I’m Rhegenn ap Sendor. This is Jorddyn ap Tiernyn. We’re emissaries from my lord Jorddyn’s kinsman, Kyffen, Prince of Skai, in Celi.”
Cullin’s eyebrows rose fractionally, and a glint of interest sparked in his green eyes. “You’re a long way from home,” he said.
“Yes, we are,” Rhegenn said. “We were on our way back from Madinrhir in Falinor when the Maeduni caught us.”
The innkeeper’s wife came back into the room carrying a steaming basin of water and a pile of clean cloths. She shooed Jorddyn ap Tiernyn away and leaned over the girl. We watched her in silence as she worked. Finally, she stepped back, shaking her head slightly.
“What you can do for her?” Jorddyn asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” the woman said quietly. “The child’s taken a bad blow there. I fear her head’s broke. I can’t help.”
Jorddyn sat beside his daughter again. “Have you no Healer in the village?”
She shook her head. “None but me, and I’ve naught but my herbs, I fear, sir.”
“A Healer?” I asked. A half-formed ghost of an idea glimmered in my mind. I took an involuntary step closer to the bed.
Jorddyn looked up at me. He was as blond as his daughter, his eyes a clear hazel brown, flecked with green near the pupil. “In my country, we have men and women who can heal by touch,” he said. “I’ve not seen anything like it here on the continent, though.”
I looked down at the unconscious girl. She breathed in short,
“Give the child to me,” he said quickly. “Then mount up.”
The girl’s father handed her up to Cullin without protest. Cullin tossed him the reins of one of the horses, and he swung up into the saddle quickly.
“Will they follow us?” the girl’s father asked.
“I don’t know,” Cullin replied, shifting the girl to a more secure position across his saddle and against his chest. “Perhaps not. It depends on how badly they want you.”
“Not that badly, I hope,” the second man muttered.
“In any event, it’s not a good idea to wait around for them,” Cullin said. “Let’s go.” He wheeled the stallion and set off toward the road.
We moved as quickly as we could. Running the horses in the dark was dangerous. We needed to put as much distance as possible between us and the Maeduni but none of us needed to break a neck if one of the horses stumbled.
***
The moon rose presently, and we made better time on the road. An hour later, we came to a small village. It was little more than a huddled cluster of rudely built stone cottages, but it boasted an inn to accommodate travellers. Even then, it looked like nothing more than a rough sheepherder’s bothy, but it was dry and warm inside. A good fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth, and the common room was cleaner and more comfortable than we expected.
The innkeeper’s wife, a short, roundly-built woman with cheeks as red as currant berries, made concerned noises over the unconscious girl Cullin still carried, and led us immediately to a sleeping room in the back of the inn. There was only one bed in the room, but it was wide enough to hold several people. The innkeeper’s wife made Cullin put the girl down on it, then bustled off to find hot water, clean cloths and her bundle of herbs.
The girl’s father sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the golden hair back from the girl’s pale forehead. She was very young, not much more than thirteen or fourteen. Even unconscious and pallid as ashes, she was very pretty, her features delicate and fine. She looked fragile as porcelain.
The girl’s father looked at Cullin. “I wish to thank you,” he said quietly. “We tried to fight them when they caught us on the road. Rhegenn managed to wound two of them, but one of them hit Kerridwen on the head with the flat of his sword. She hasn’t regained consciousness since.”
The man called Rhegenn put his hand to the other’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right, Jorddyn,” he said. He turned to us. “I’m Rhegenn ap Sendor. This is Jorddyn ap Tiernyn. We’re emissaries from my lord Jorddyn’s kinsman, Kyffen, Prince of Skai, in Celi.”
Cullin’s eyebrows rose fractionally, and a glint of interest sparked in his green eyes. “You’re a long way from home,” he said.
“Yes, we are,” Rhegenn said. “We were on our way back from Madinrhir in Falinor when the Maeduni caught us.”
The innkeeper’s wife came back into the room carrying a steaming basin of water and a pile of clean cloths. She shooed Jorddyn ap Tiernyn away and leaned over the girl. We watched her in silence as she worked. Finally, she stepped back, shaking her head slightly.
“What you can do for her?” Jorddyn asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” the woman said quietly. “The child’s taken a bad blow there. I fear her head’s broke. I can’t help.”
Jorddyn sat beside his daughter again. “Have you no Healer in the village?”
She shook her head. “None but me, and I’ve naught but my herbs, I fear, sir.”
“A Healer?” I asked. A half-formed ghost of an idea glimmered in my mind. I took an involuntary step closer to the bed.
Jorddyn looked up at me. He was as blond as his daughter, his eyes a clear hazel brown, flecked with green near the pupil. “In my country, we have men and women who can heal by touch,” he said. “I’ve not seen anything like it here on the continent, though.”
I looked down at the unconscious girl. She breathed in short,
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