certain he’s
more than he claims, but I have no idea what.”
“There’s
not a lot of fat on him,” said Jimmy, “but he doesn’t
move like a man weak from hunger.”
Dash said, “Do
you have a theory?”
Jimmy said, “No.
But if he’s not the servant of a rich trader, what’s he
doing up here?”
“Smuggler?”
“Maybe,”
answered Jimmy, doing up the front of his trousers. “Could be
anything we could imagine.”
Remembering what
their grandfather had cautioned them over the years about leaping to
conclusions, Dash said, “Then we’d best not imagine
anything.”
“Wait and
see,” agreed Jimmy.
They returned to
the horses, and Malar hurried off to relieve himself away from the
trail. When he was out of hearing range, they continued. Jimmy asked,
“Remember that abandoned farm a day’s walk this side of
where we met Malar?”
“The one
with half a thatch roof and the fallen-down cow shed?”
“That’s
the one. If we bolt, and get separated, meet there.”
Dash nodded.
Neither chose to discuss what to do should the other never appear.
Malar returned
and they started off. The servant from the Vale of Dreams had been as
closemouthed as the brothers. Part of the reason was the environment.
The nights were still and even in the day noise carried. They knew
they were approaching an area likely to be patrolled by the invaders;
they were leading their horses rather than riding them, as, even in
the woodlands, a rider presented a much higher profile in the
distance than a man on foot or a horse. Periodically they stopped to
listen.
Rains came later
that afternoon and they sought out what shelter they could, finding a
hut of some sort, burned out, but with just enough thatch to give
slight respite.
Sitting atop
their saddles, hastily removed to get them out of the weather, they
took stock.
“We’ve
got another day’s grain, then we’re done,” said
Dash, knowing his brother was just as aware of supplies as he.
Malar said,
“Shouldn’t there be winter grass under the snow, sirs?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Not much in it, but the horses will eat it.”
Dash said, “If
there are horsemen in Krondor, they’ll have fodder.”
Jimmy said, “The
difficulty will be in persuading them to share, brother.”
Dash grinned.
“What’s life without a challenge or two?”
The rain stopped
and they resumed their trek.
Later that
afternoon, Malar said, “Young sirs, I believe I hear
something.”
All conversation
ceased and the three stopped walking as they listened. The frigid
days of winter had given way to a promise of spring, but it was still
cold enough they could see their breath in the late afternoon air.
After a moment of silence, Dash was about to speak when a voice
echoed from ahead. It spoke a language neither brother recognized,
but they knew it was the Yabonese-like tongue of the invaders.
Glancing around
for a place to hide, Jimmy pointed and mouthed the word,
There
.
He indicated a
large stand of brush that surrounded an outcropping of rocks. Dash
wasn’t sure they could secret the horses behind it, but it was
the only thing nearby that offered shelter from whoever came their
way.
Malar hurried
around the upthrust rocks and pulled aside a low branch, allowing
Jimmy and Dash to lead their horses around to a relatively sheltered
hiding place. In the distance horses could be heard.
Dash’s
horse’s nostrils flared and her head came up. Jimmy said,
“What?”
“This
witchy mare is in heat,” whispered Dash as he tugged hard on
her bridle. “Pay attention to
me
!” he demanded.
Malar said, “You
ride a mare?”
“She’s
a good horse,” insisted Dash.
“Most of
the time!” agreed Jimmy, hissing his words. “But not
now!”
Dash tugged on
the horse’s bridle, trying to focus her attention on himself.
An experienced rider, Dash knew that if he could keep her attention,
she might not call out to the horses that were approaching.
Jimmy’s
gelding seemed relatively
more than he claims, but I have no idea what.”
“There’s
not a lot of fat on him,” said Jimmy, “but he doesn’t
move like a man weak from hunger.”
Dash said, “Do
you have a theory?”
Jimmy said, “No.
But if he’s not the servant of a rich trader, what’s he
doing up here?”
“Smuggler?”
“Maybe,”
answered Jimmy, doing up the front of his trousers. “Could be
anything we could imagine.”
Remembering what
their grandfather had cautioned them over the years about leaping to
conclusions, Dash said, “Then we’d best not imagine
anything.”
“Wait and
see,” agreed Jimmy.
They returned to
the horses, and Malar hurried off to relieve himself away from the
trail. When he was out of hearing range, they continued. Jimmy asked,
“Remember that abandoned farm a day’s walk this side of
where we met Malar?”
“The one
with half a thatch roof and the fallen-down cow shed?”
“That’s
the one. If we bolt, and get separated, meet there.”
Dash nodded.
Neither chose to discuss what to do should the other never appear.
Malar returned
and they started off. The servant from the Vale of Dreams had been as
closemouthed as the brothers. Part of the reason was the environment.
The nights were still and even in the day noise carried. They knew
they were approaching an area likely to be patrolled by the invaders;
they were leading their horses rather than riding them, as, even in
the woodlands, a rider presented a much higher profile in the
distance than a man on foot or a horse. Periodically they stopped to
listen.
Rains came later
that afternoon and they sought out what shelter they could, finding a
hut of some sort, burned out, but with just enough thatch to give
slight respite.
Sitting atop
their saddles, hastily removed to get them out of the weather, they
took stock.
“We’ve
got another day’s grain, then we’re done,” said
Dash, knowing his brother was just as aware of supplies as he.
Malar said,
“Shouldn’t there be winter grass under the snow, sirs?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Not much in it, but the horses will eat it.”
Dash said, “If
there are horsemen in Krondor, they’ll have fodder.”
Jimmy said, “The
difficulty will be in persuading them to share, brother.”
Dash grinned.
“What’s life without a challenge or two?”
The rain stopped
and they resumed their trek.
Later that
afternoon, Malar said, “Young sirs, I believe I hear
something.”
All conversation
ceased and the three stopped walking as they listened. The frigid
days of winter had given way to a promise of spring, but it was still
cold enough they could see their breath in the late afternoon air.
After a moment of silence, Dash was about to speak when a voice
echoed from ahead. It spoke a language neither brother recognized,
but they knew it was the Yabonese-like tongue of the invaders.
Glancing around
for a place to hide, Jimmy pointed and mouthed the word,
There
.
He indicated a
large stand of brush that surrounded an outcropping of rocks. Dash
wasn’t sure they could secret the horses behind it, but it was
the only thing nearby that offered shelter from whoever came their
way.
Malar hurried
around the upthrust rocks and pulled aside a low branch, allowing
Jimmy and Dash to lead their horses around to a relatively sheltered
hiding place. In the distance horses could be heard.
Dash’s
horse’s nostrils flared and her head came up. Jimmy said,
“What?”
“This
witchy mare is in heat,” whispered Dash as he tugged hard on
her bridle. “Pay attention to
me
!” he demanded.
Malar said, “You
ride a mare?”
“She’s
a good horse,” insisted Dash.
“Most of
the time!” agreed Jimmy, hissing his words. “But not
now!”
Dash tugged on
the horse’s bridle, trying to focus her attention on himself.
An experienced rider, Dash knew that if he could keep her attention,
she might not call out to the horses that were approaching.
Jimmy’s
gelding seemed relatively
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