“But grandmother,” Alan added, “I have no brother."
“I would have sworn from the first that you were brothers!” she insisted.
The two looked at each other, smiled and shook their heads. Hal changed the subject. “Grandmother, we must be over the wall before dawn. You have helped us till now. Help us in this."
She frowned. “They will still be looking for you. But if you are to beat the dawn, I dare say you must go."
She gave them directions, and they gratefully took their leave. “It may be that you will meet us again, if we live,” Hal told the peculiar old woman. “Remember us, I pray you.” And he kissed her withered cheek. Then they went out again, into the shadows.
The moon was low as they slipped away. A certain house, Margerie had told them, built against the town wall, could be climbed, and the occupants would not raise the alarm. Her instructions helped them avoid their pursuers, but nearly doubled the distance. Though they moved quickly, it was almost dawn when they came to their destination.
They climbed rapidly but as quietly as they could on the heavily thatched roof. They knew that not a quarter of a mile away, at the town gates, the castle guards and lordsmen were gathered. By the time they reached the peak of the roof, the black sky had turned to gray. Hal stood on Alan's shoulders and pulled himself up onto the wall, then hoisted Alan up beside him. Keeping low, they hastily slipped over the outer edge and dropped to the grass twenty feet below.
They could not take time to catch their breath after the impact. They ran, panting, to the copse where, they hoped, the horses waited. No alarm followed them; the gray dusk of dawn had served to hide them from sight. Arun welcomed his master with a joyful snort, and Alfie had not so much as pulled his tether. Both youths thankfully took saddle.
“My sword,” said Hal. “It was in the blanketroll."
“I know,” Hal replied tensely. “They stuck it there when they were casting lots for it. But it's not there now."
Alan gaped. “It could not have fallen,” he protested at last, “or not without my hearing it.... I never thought to secure it, in my hurry."
Hal said no more. Silently the pair turned their horses and drifted away like ghosts in the morning fog. They picked their way with care, keeping woodland between themselves and Whitewater. But once they were out of sight of the town, they touched heels to their horses and galloped toward the Forest.
“Did you get your herbs?” Alan asked, suddenly remembering Corin.
Hal only shook his head, looking grim. But when they clattered into the camp, before the sun was well up, they found it deserted. Some hunks of raw meat sat in Hal's kettle near the ashes of the fire, and the deer bones lay strewn where Alan had left them. Nothing else was there.
“Where is the smith who was sick enough to die?” Alan wondered aloud.
“He and his son can't have gone far,” Hal said crossly. “Hide that offal—nay, I'll do it. Have a look around."
“Why?” Alan picked up the kettle. “We can't help them any more than we have already."
“Because the young rascal has my sword, Alan! Find them!"
But Corin and his father were nowhere nearby. Several circles told Alan that. He rejoined Hal, smarting inwardly because of the loss of the sword.
“There were traces near the ford,” he reported evenly.
“They've gone north then, as the boy said. All right, let us be after them.” Hal vaulted onto Arundel, but Alan stood still.
“Better to go westward, into the Forest,” he argued. “The lordsmen will be hot after us, and we'll be easy game on the open Waste."
Hal leaned on his saddle, staring at his comrade. “You are right,” he said softly, “but nevertheless I must go after my sword."
“How do you know that Corin has it?” Alan cried, furious because he suspected the boy himself. “Anyway, you have a weapon. You cannot go poking around, hunting that boy, when half the castle will be out after us! Are you mad?"
“Perhaps.” Hal smiled a crooked smile. “I have sometimes wondered. Even so, I must go north.” He turned away. “Are you coming?"
“Why not?” snapped Alan. With this new challenge, his mood had swung like a pendulum from frightened to reckless. Still, he spoke bitterly. “I have already courted death a dozen times since I last slept, for your sake. Once more is of small importance."
Hal keenly felt the justice of the reproach, and bit his lip to stop the stinging of his eyes. He stiffened his back and sent Arundel down the twisting path to the Ford of Romany. Alan and Alfie followed close behind. The horses edged their way across the treacherous ford, snorting, then plunged wide-eyed up the opposite bank.
Within a few furlongs, the Forest dwindled into patches of stunted trees, and then into true Waste, where only sparse grass and occasional bushes grew. There was poor tracking on this stony turf, and no sign of Corin and his father. Also, Alan had not overestimated the danger of pursuit. He and Hal had not been riding an hour before they were seen. With a shout, six patrollers were after them. But Arundel and Alfie were swift. They sped off toward the west, and by midday not a lordsman was in sight behind them.
Still, Hal and Alan did not dare to stop until they had reached the sheltering Forest. All day they galloped over the high, rocky plain and said no word. Alan, though not easily angered, was stubborn in his wrath. His face had gone as stony as the Waste, and Hal glanced at him and kept silence. Even when the blue-green mass of the Forest welcomed them in the distance, they gave no sign.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1979 by Nancy Springer
ISBN 978-1-4976-1134-4
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The White Hart (The Book of Isle 1) Page 20
