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Authors: Charles Coleman Finlay
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them. He knew that fresh scouts could be sent out in pursuit from the castle as soon as Sebius or Baron Culufre had reason to suspect them of murdering the soldier or carrying Gruethrist's child.
When Claye's stirring woke Xaragitte, Yvon fed her a portion of the cold porridge he had saved the night before. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled, but he suspected she'd need the rest of it before they reached Lady Eleuate's castle.
"How much farther do we have to go?" she asked.
"Wah!" Claye said, slapping at the food cupped in Xaragitte's hand. She pulled it away from him.
"It's a two-day journey," Yvon said. Although a determined force of soldiers could make it in one by marching day and night. "We'll stop tonight and sleep well, then make the ford tomorrow morning and dine well tomorrow night."
She licked her palm when she was done eating. Claye shoved his fingers in his mouth and sucked on them.
Spring had not yet crept this high into the foothills, and the land was bare and still brown. The trail wound through steeper, rocky slopes as it rose toward the high meadows. The mountains surrounding them were not as distant now, and all the peaks had sharper edges.
This was the country of the peasants, the people who had been here before Gruethrist came. Many still lived in their villages farther back in the mountains, pushed there after their revolt. A decade ago, Gruethrist had tried to force the peasants to give up their traditional fields and switch to plows, so they would have more grains to pay in taxes. One of their wizard-priests had proclaimed the sanctity of the old ways and led them in rebellion. There'd been hard fighting, a lot of murders done in darkness against the settlers, before the priest and his followers were slaughtered. But in the end, Gruethrist left the peasants' farming as it was, and collected his extra due in game.
With inferior forces and fewer men, Gruethrist would have to adopt some of their tactics to dislodge the Baron and protect the land he meant his lady's heir to have. Yvon would point that out to him when they met again.
Xaragitte struggled to keep up, using singsongs to the child to measure her pace. When she fell quiet, Yvon looked over and saw her eyes lose focus. Absentmindedly, she almost leaned on him for extra strength. He reached out to brace her, but she caught herself at the last moment.
"It's all right for you to lean on me," he said.
She shook her head dully and staggered on. But her flow of rhymes withered like flowers nipped by frost.
Near dark, they lay down beside the trail, Xaragitte falling asleep with Claye as soon as she had eaten half of the remaining porridge. Yvon made a small ball from the rest of it, rolling it around in his hand, then letting it sit for a long time in his mouth before chewing and swallowing.
He wrapped both their blankets around her and the child, then pulled his cloak tight and leaned against a tree, shivering in the colder mountain air before he dozed off.
He jerked awake before he knew what had startled him. Then he heard a mammut again, from the direction of the trail behind them. Baron Culufre's men meant to make the march in one day and night.
Shaking Xaragitte gently, he said, "They're coming. We must go now."
She nodded grimly and rose. Yvon lifted Claye's limp form and helped slide him into her nursing sling. No sound broke the cool night air again except for their breathing and the soft crunching of their feet over the trail. Xaragitte's head drooped toward her chest and jerked up several times. Before long, she was nearly sleepwalking, eyes all but closed. When Claye woke and wanted to be fed, she became more alert. They stopped a short time later so she could clean the boy's bottom.
"How much farther tonight?" she asked.
"Not much," he replied, but he must have been sleepwalking too. They were on the trail beside the mountain river. A few birds were singing the first notes of morning. Without the faint light in the
When Claye's stirring woke Xaragitte, Yvon fed her a portion of the cold porridge he had saved the night before. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled, but he suspected she'd need the rest of it before they reached Lady Eleuate's castle.
"How much farther do we have to go?" she asked.
"Wah!" Claye said, slapping at the food cupped in Xaragitte's hand. She pulled it away from him.
"It's a two-day journey," Yvon said. Although a determined force of soldiers could make it in one by marching day and night. "We'll stop tonight and sleep well, then make the ford tomorrow morning and dine well tomorrow night."
She licked her palm when she was done eating. Claye shoved his fingers in his mouth and sucked on them.
Spring had not yet crept this high into the foothills, and the land was bare and still brown. The trail wound through steeper, rocky slopes as it rose toward the high meadows. The mountains surrounding them were not as distant now, and all the peaks had sharper edges.
This was the country of the peasants, the people who had been here before Gruethrist came. Many still lived in their villages farther back in the mountains, pushed there after their revolt. A decade ago, Gruethrist had tried to force the peasants to give up their traditional fields and switch to plows, so they would have more grains to pay in taxes. One of their wizard-priests had proclaimed the sanctity of the old ways and led them in rebellion. There'd been hard fighting, a lot of murders done in darkness against the settlers, before the priest and his followers were slaughtered. But in the end, Gruethrist left the peasants' farming as it was, and collected his extra due in game.
With inferior forces and fewer men, Gruethrist would have to adopt some of their tactics to dislodge the Baron and protect the land he meant his lady's heir to have. Yvon would point that out to him when they met again.
Xaragitte struggled to keep up, using singsongs to the child to measure her pace. When she fell quiet, Yvon looked over and saw her eyes lose focus. Absentmindedly, she almost leaned on him for extra strength. He reached out to brace her, but she caught herself at the last moment.
"It's all right for you to lean on me," he said.
She shook her head dully and staggered on. But her flow of rhymes withered like flowers nipped by frost.
Near dark, they lay down beside the trail, Xaragitte falling asleep with Claye as soon as she had eaten half of the remaining porridge. Yvon made a small ball from the rest of it, rolling it around in his hand, then letting it sit for a long time in his mouth before chewing and swallowing.
He wrapped both their blankets around her and the child, then pulled his cloak tight and leaned against a tree, shivering in the colder mountain air before he dozed off.
He jerked awake before he knew what had startled him. Then he heard a mammut again, from the direction of the trail behind them. Baron Culufre's men meant to make the march in one day and night.
Shaking Xaragitte gently, he said, "They're coming. We must go now."
She nodded grimly and rose. Yvon lifted Claye's limp form and helped slide him into her nursing sling. No sound broke the cool night air again except for their breathing and the soft crunching of their feet over the trail. Xaragitte's head drooped toward her chest and jerked up several times. Before long, she was nearly sleepwalking, eyes all but closed. When Claye woke and wanted to be fed, she became more alert. They stopped a short time later so she could clean the boy's bottom.
"How much farther tonight?" she asked.
"Not much," he replied, but he must have been sleepwalking too. They were on the trail beside the mountain river. A few birds were singing the first notes of morning. Without the faint light in the
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