again. “You are right. But it will be hard to wait.”
They had barely resumed the discussion when Sludig returned, his face grim. He handed Josua a piece of parchment. “This was in young Simon’s tent.”
The prince read it quickly, then flung it down on the ground in disgust. A moment later he stooped for it, then handed it to the troll, his face stiff and angry. “I am sorry, Binabik, I should not have done that. It seems to be for you.” He stood. “Hotvig?”
“Yes, Prince Josua.” The Thrithings-man also stood.
“Miriamele has gone. Take as many of your riders as you can quickly find. The chances are good that she has headed toward Erkynland, so do most of your searching west of the camp. But do not ignore the possibility. that she might go some other way to throw us off before she turns back to the west.”
“What?” Isgrimnur looked up in surprise. “What do you mean, gone?”
Binabik looked up from the parchment. “This was written by Simon. It is seeming that he has gone with her, but he also says he will try to bring her back.” The troll’s smile was thin and obviously forced. “There is some question in my head about who is leading who. I am doubting Simon will convince her for coming back very soon.”
Josua gestured impatiently. “Go, Hotvig. God only knows how long they have been gone. As a matter of fact, since you and your riders are the fastest horsemen we have here, go west; leave the other part of the search to the rest of us.” He turned to Sludig. “We will ride around the camp, making our circle wider each time. I will saddle Vinyafod. Meet me there.” He turned to the duke. “Are you coming?”
“Of course.” Silently, Isgrimnur cursed himself. I should have known something was coming, he thought. She has been so quiet, so sad, so distant since we came here. Josua hasn’t seen the change as I have. But even if she thinks we should have marched on Erkynland, why would she go on her own? Fool of a headstrong child. And Simon. I thought better of that boy.
Already unhappy at the thought of a night in the saddle and what it would do to his sore back, Isgrimnur grunted and rose to his feet.
“Why won’t she wake up!?” Jeremias demanded. “Can’t you do something?”
“Hush, boy, I’m doing what I can.” Duchess Gutrun bent and felt Leleth’s face again. “She is cool, not feverish.”
“Then what’s wrong with her?” Jeremias seemed almost frantic. “I tried to wake her for a long time, but she just lay there.”
“Let me give another cover for her,” Vorzheva said. She had made room in the bed for the girl to lie beside her, but Gutrun had disallowed it, frightened that Leleth had some sickness which Vorzheva might catch. Instead, Jeremias had carefully set the girl’s limp form on a blanket upon the ground.
“You just lie still and I’ll worry about the child,” the duchess told her. “This is altogether too much noise and fretting.”
Prince Josua stepped through the door, unhappiness etched on his face. “Is there not enough gone wrong? The guard said someone was sick. Vorzheva? Are you well?”
“It is not me, Josua. The little girl Leleth, she cannot be wakened.”
Duke Isgrimnur stumped in. “A damned long ride and no sign of Miriamele,” he growled. “We can only hope that Hotvig and his Thrithings-men have better luck than we did.”
“Miriamele?” Vorzheva asked. “Has something happened to her, also?”
“She has ridden off with young Simon,” Josua said grimly.
“This is a cursed night,” Vorzheva groaned. “Why does this all happen?”
“To be fair, I don’t think it was the lad’s idea.” Isgrimnur bent and put his arm about his wife’s shoulders, then kissed her neck. “He left a letter which said he would try to bring her back.” The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Why is the girl here? Was she hurt in the fire?”
“I brought her,” Jeremias said miserably. “Duchess Gutrun asked me to look after her
They had barely resumed the discussion when Sludig returned, his face grim. He handed Josua a piece of parchment. “This was in young Simon’s tent.”
The prince read it quickly, then flung it down on the ground in disgust. A moment later he stooped for it, then handed it to the troll, his face stiff and angry. “I am sorry, Binabik, I should not have done that. It seems to be for you.” He stood. “Hotvig?”
“Yes, Prince Josua.” The Thrithings-man also stood.
“Miriamele has gone. Take as many of your riders as you can quickly find. The chances are good that she has headed toward Erkynland, so do most of your searching west of the camp. But do not ignore the possibility. that she might go some other way to throw us off before she turns back to the west.”
“What?” Isgrimnur looked up in surprise. “What do you mean, gone?”
Binabik looked up from the parchment. “This was written by Simon. It is seeming that he has gone with her, but he also says he will try to bring her back.” The troll’s smile was thin and obviously forced. “There is some question in my head about who is leading who. I am doubting Simon will convince her for coming back very soon.”
Josua gestured impatiently. “Go, Hotvig. God only knows how long they have been gone. As a matter of fact, since you and your riders are the fastest horsemen we have here, go west; leave the other part of the search to the rest of us.” He turned to Sludig. “We will ride around the camp, making our circle wider each time. I will saddle Vinyafod. Meet me there.” He turned to the duke. “Are you coming?”
“Of course.” Silently, Isgrimnur cursed himself. I should have known something was coming, he thought. She has been so quiet, so sad, so distant since we came here. Josua hasn’t seen the change as I have. But even if she thinks we should have marched on Erkynland, why would she go on her own? Fool of a headstrong child. And Simon. I thought better of that boy.
Already unhappy at the thought of a night in the saddle and what it would do to his sore back, Isgrimnur grunted and rose to his feet.
“Why won’t she wake up!?” Jeremias demanded. “Can’t you do something?”
“Hush, boy, I’m doing what I can.” Duchess Gutrun bent and felt Leleth’s face again. “She is cool, not feverish.”
“Then what’s wrong with her?” Jeremias seemed almost frantic. “I tried to wake her for a long time, but she just lay there.”
“Let me give another cover for her,” Vorzheva said. She had made room in the bed for the girl to lie beside her, but Gutrun had disallowed it, frightened that Leleth had some sickness which Vorzheva might catch. Instead, Jeremias had carefully set the girl’s limp form on a blanket upon the ground.
“You just lie still and I’ll worry about the child,” the duchess told her. “This is altogether too much noise and fretting.”
Prince Josua stepped through the door, unhappiness etched on his face. “Is there not enough gone wrong? The guard said someone was sick. Vorzheva? Are you well?”
“It is not me, Josua. The little girl Leleth, she cannot be wakened.”
Duke Isgrimnur stumped in. “A damned long ride and no sign of Miriamele,” he growled. “We can only hope that Hotvig and his Thrithings-men have better luck than we did.”
“Miriamele?” Vorzheva asked. “Has something happened to her, also?”
“She has ridden off with young Simon,” Josua said grimly.
“This is a cursed night,” Vorzheva groaned. “Why does this all happen?”
“To be fair, I don’t think it was the lad’s idea.” Isgrimnur bent and put his arm about his wife’s shoulders, then kissed her neck. “He left a letter which said he would try to bring her back.” The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Why is the girl here? Was she hurt in the fire?”
“I brought her,” Jeremias said miserably. “Duchess Gutrun asked me to look after her
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