hopes uppermost... and yet imagine greeting Ki with a clear face, seeing her amazement and pleasure. One thing he was certain of had he mentioned it to her, she would have come with him to False Harbor. She would have abandoned her own tasks to help him haul up the Windsingers' chest. And that, he decided, coming full circle in his own personal logic, was exactly why he hadn't told her. It would be wrong to bend her will to his by such a guile. He would not suffer her guilt or pity. Whatever flowed between them must flow freely, or not at all. But if she came, of her own will, he would welcome her. Alone, success might be as fearsome a thing to meet as failure. He would appreciate his friend's being there.
FOUR
T he mellow sunlight of autumn slanted yellow across the wagon trail. 'Trail!' Ki snorted to herself at granting it such a title. Twin dents in the sod of the forest ran off ahead of her. Small bushes grew in between the tracks, to brush the bottom of her freight wagon as she passed over them. White birches dripping golden leaves, interspersed with cotton wood and tangles of willow, edged the side of the track. The occasional Harp tree stood foreign and speechless in the still warmth of the afternoon. She breathed the mossy forest scents and leaned back lazily on the cuddy door. She was rich, for today, in both time and wealth.
She felt only a small pang of conscience at dawdling. It was not for the sake of her customer. She could camp tonight and easily deliver her freight on time tomorrow. But there was Vandien to consider. He had not pressed her, but she knew he would welcome her in False Harbor. She would have gone, and speedily, if only it were not such a fool's errand. She bit her lip, watching the steady undulation of muscles in the grey backs before her. She added up the days; six days since Vandien had left for False Harbor. He would be there by now, unless his luck had deserted him. As for herself, Ki could halt early tonight, and make a leisurely day of tomorrow, to bring in her freight on the fourth day's afternoon.
Or, she reminded herself, she could stir up her team and push them on into Bitters before the middle of the night had passed. Bitters was spread out, a farming place, not a fortified town. There would be no city gates or guards to stop her. Yes, she could do that, and then push on to False Harbor - say a day and a half - and be there in plenty of time, but... damn the man! Here she was, chewing over his little predicament as if she were obliged to wrest him out of it. His own tongue had gotten him into it. He had taken care of himself for many years upon the road before taking up with her. Let him get himself out of this one. Perhaps he would not so lightly volunteer her team the next time. A little sweat would do him good. A wry grin replaced the worried look on Ki's face. Let him stew it out. She'd meet him there, on the eleventh day perhaps, when he'd be properly thankful to see her. Let the little cockerel get his feathers wet first.
Ki's nose twitched. She rose to stand on the wagon's plank seat. Her slim body swayed to the steady rhythm of the wagon as she stretched the kinks from her limbs. Her green eyes narrowed as she tried to pierce the forest growth ahead of her. The trail was too winding. She could not yet see the river, but she sensed it, in the damp tang that came to her nostrils and by the pricked ears of her team. Long habit made her glance at the sun; she shrugged nonchalantly. She'd camp by the river tonight. Bitters could wait. She'd make camp while the sun was in the sky and take the time to wash and sluice the dust from her hair. It would be good to feel clean again. She settled on the seat.
As she approached the river, the trees thinned and receded to a wide grassy area, fringed with brush and vines. Dead branches and debris marked the edge of the river's spring flood margin. The turning of the season had painted the river grasses in warm yellows and browns. Ki
FOUR
T he mellow sunlight of autumn slanted yellow across the wagon trail. 'Trail!' Ki snorted to herself at granting it such a title. Twin dents in the sod of the forest ran off ahead of her. Small bushes grew in between the tracks, to brush the bottom of her freight wagon as she passed over them. White birches dripping golden leaves, interspersed with cotton wood and tangles of willow, edged the side of the track. The occasional Harp tree stood foreign and speechless in the still warmth of the afternoon. She breathed the mossy forest scents and leaned back lazily on the cuddy door. She was rich, for today, in both time and wealth.
She felt only a small pang of conscience at dawdling. It was not for the sake of her customer. She could camp tonight and easily deliver her freight on time tomorrow. But there was Vandien to consider. He had not pressed her, but she knew he would welcome her in False Harbor. She would have gone, and speedily, if only it were not such a fool's errand. She bit her lip, watching the steady undulation of muscles in the grey backs before her. She added up the days; six days since Vandien had left for False Harbor. He would be there by now, unless his luck had deserted him. As for herself, Ki could halt early tonight, and make a leisurely day of tomorrow, to bring in her freight on the fourth day's afternoon.
Or, she reminded herself, she could stir up her team and push them on into Bitters before the middle of the night had passed. Bitters was spread out, a farming place, not a fortified town. There would be no city gates or guards to stop her. Yes, she could do that, and then push on to False Harbor - say a day and a half - and be there in plenty of time, but... damn the man! Here she was, chewing over his little predicament as if she were obliged to wrest him out of it. His own tongue had gotten him into it. He had taken care of himself for many years upon the road before taking up with her. Let him get himself out of this one. Perhaps he would not so lightly volunteer her team the next time. A little sweat would do him good. A wry grin replaced the worried look on Ki's face. Let him stew it out. She'd meet him there, on the eleventh day perhaps, when he'd be properly thankful to see her. Let the little cockerel get his feathers wet first.
Ki's nose twitched. She rose to stand on the wagon's plank seat. Her slim body swayed to the steady rhythm of the wagon as she stretched the kinks from her limbs. Her green eyes narrowed as she tried to pierce the forest growth ahead of her. The trail was too winding. She could not yet see the river, but she sensed it, in the damp tang that came to her nostrils and by the pricked ears of her team. Long habit made her glance at the sun; she shrugged nonchalantly. She'd camp by the river tonight. Bitters could wait. She'd make camp while the sun was in the sky and take the time to wash and sluice the dust from her hair. It would be good to feel clean again. She settled on the seat.
As she approached the river, the trees thinned and receded to a wide grassy area, fringed with brush and vines. Dead branches and debris marked the edge of the river's spring flood margin. The turning of the season had painted the river grasses in warm yellows and browns. Ki
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