But he’d promised …
As he stood in the darkness of the forest he realized that it was dark here under the trees, too dark to find his way, and the moon wasn’t going to be high enough to show him the way to where he’d left the horses for several hours.
Great. Now I do have to go back. Honey-cakes and a lantern …
He looked back at the clearing, and for a moment had the unsettling impression that one of the lights was swelling like a frog about to sing. Then he realized that it was moving. Away from the party. Moving toward him.
Kellen slithered behind the nearest big tree and waited.
Merana came walking slowly down the trail, placing each hoof slowly and carefully. She had a basket over one arm, and was holding a lantern high over her head and talking to herself in a loud whisper.
“Idalia said he’d be out here somewhere. Kellen? Are you here? Kellen?” She held the lantern down near the ground and peered at it, looking for footprints that weren’t there, then straightened, and peered at the trees on either side of the path.
“Kellen?” she called in a louder voice. “Are you here? Kellen?”
When Kellen didn’t immediately answer, Merana took another couple of hesitant steps down the path, then stopped, fidgeting and whispering to herself again. “She must have been wrong. Why would he be wandering around alone when he could be snuggled under a blanket and a cart with a nice warm willing—”
Kellen decided he didn’t want to hear any more, and stepped out from behind the tree. Merana squeaked, and for a moment he thought she was going to rear up like a startled horse.
“Kellen?” she said out loud. “What are you doing here? You gave me such a fright!”
“Sorry,” Kellen said. He couldn’t exactly say what he was doing out here, because he didn’t really know himself. “Idalia sent you to look for me?”
“Uh-huh.” Merana nodded. “She packed a basket for you, with a warm cloak and everything. Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the rest of the dancing and all?” she added pleadingly, switching her tail so that the bells braided into it jingled. “I’ve—we’ve hardly gotten warmed up.”
He shrugged. “Guess not. It’s a great party, though.”
“The best,” Merana said eagerly. “Almost as fine as Harvest Home—though I don’t know as anybody’s going to be doing much celebrating of that this year,” she added, with a hint of that dark mood that seemed to be underlying everything at the festivities. She set down the basket and held out the lantern. Kellen took it.
“Won’t you need it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I can make my way back by the lights, fear you not. Well, I guess this is good-bye, then. A kiss for luck?” she added hopefully.
Kellen took a step back, shaking his head apologetically.
“I was right then,” Merana said with satisfaction. “It is a Wild Magic thing! Oh, don’t worry—I won’t tell. I can keep my mouth shut when I ought. And don’t you worry about Cormo, either—Haneida and I have him all settled between us.”
“Good,” Kellen said, and meant it. “You take care of him. He needs—somebody to boss him around and make it stick, I guess. If he gets that, he just might turn out all right.”
“He might.” Merana’s spirit of mischief must have fought clear at that moment, for she added saucily, “Still, it’s too bad you aren’t coming back to the party. You’ll miss the rest of the dancing—and other things besides.”
She turned away, and with a last flirt of her tail, trotted back quickly toward the lights and the music.
It’s the “other things” I’m worried about, I guess, Kellen thought doubtfully.
He set down the lantern, and investigated the basket. A warm cloak was folded on the top—not necessary just now, but if he was going to be spending most of the night out in the woods, it might be later. And beneath it, a selection of delicacies from the feast, including a generous number of honey-cakes and several patties of maple sugar.
Thank you, Idalia.
Kellen picked up the lantern and the basket and went to find the animals and Shalkan.
“I wondered how long it would take you to figure things out,” the unicorn said when he arrived.
“You could have told me,” Kellen grumbled, setting the basket down and hooking the lantern over the stub of a branch. The horse and the mule dozed placidly nearby.
“You might have said that the girls would be”—he felt himself blushing—“well, frisky. Especially Merana.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Shalkan asked. “This was an easy one, and I was nearby to warn you if necessary. There may be others that aren’t as obvious, and I might not be around for them.”
“So I’m supposed to consider this a learning experience?” Kellen asked, spreading the cloak on the ground and beginning to unpack the basket.
“Are those honey-cakes I smell?” Shalkan responded eagerly.
IT was very late—or very early—by the time that Kellen, carrying the empty basket and leading the two animals on their halters, returned to the clearing. The chill had turned to cold, but he’d been more than warm enough in the cloak. He was young enough to think a night without sleep to be a grand prelude to a long day’s ride, and in fact he’d even dozed for a few hours before Shalkan had nudged him awake. It was still dark, but it would be dawn in an hour or two, and he knew that Idalia wanted to be on the road as soon as there was light to see by. There was a hint of fog in the air, and a suggestion that in a day or two, there might be rain.
The canopies and garlands were all still there—they, like the cabin itself, would be removed over the coming days and taken elsewhere. The clearing was quiet, if not silent, and far from empty; though most of the partyers had gone home or off to nearby villages there were still a few late revelers remaining, sitting and lying in twos and threes and fours, some sleeping, some talking together in quiet contented tones.
Kellen stopped to tie the animals to a tree, then walked into the clearing. Almost at the cabin door, Kellen passed a tangle of sleeping fauns. They smelled strongly of mead, and some kind soul had rolled them into a cloak. As he watched they squirmed over one another, as blissfully indifferent to their surroundings as a basketful of puppies.
He turned and walked into the cabin.
Just as he suspected, Idalia was already up and dressed, but in clothes he’d never seen before. Gone was the woodland ranger dressed in beaded buckskin, horn, and feathers: the boots and tunic, cloak and breeks Idalia wore now would have looked unremarkable anywhere from the High Reaches to the gates of Armethalieh herself: sturdy wool cloth, dyed with indigo and butternut, sturdy leather riding boots with hard soles and stacked heels to hold the stirrups, with a wide felt hat to shade her eyes and face from wind and weather … Idalia looked like a stranger.
She glanced over at his entrance, and saw his startlement, and smiled crookedly. “Quite a different look for me, isn’t it? There’s a set for you, too. It’s what they wear in the High Hills; that Mountain Trader I bought Prettyfoot from felt guilty about his good fortune and threw in a few trade gifts, and then I did a little tailoring. We have a lot of territory to ride through, and we won’t stand out as much this way. The boots I ordered in Merryvale; when you’re running, it’s always a good idea to have boots you can trust. Go ahead; I’ll start getting the beasties ready.”
She picked up an armful of saddlepads and blankets and walked out. Kellen went on into the empty room that had once been the bedroom.
The shutters were closed and pegged now, and the room seemed close and airless, but a fat candle stuck in a wall sconce gave sufficient light for Kellen to see what he was doing. A similar set of traveling clothes were laid out for him: cloak and gloves, too.
After spending so many sennights in supple buckskin, wool and homespun were scratchy and harsh against his skin, and the new clothes itched. Kellen sighed, stamping his feet into the boots. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to get used to them after wea
ring moccasins for so long.
But at last he was dressed, and there was no more point to delaying. He even spared a moment to wish for a mirror to see himself in, though he knew all he’d get would be a shock.
He pushed aside the deerskin curtain and stepped back out into the main room, his new cloak folded over one arm. Idalia thrust a comb into his hand.
“Comb your hair out, and braid it, or tie it back. You won’t want to be combing knots and twigs and heaven knows what else out of it at the end of the day,” she said, brushing past him to get at Coalwind’s saddle and bridle.
Kellen started in on his hair, and discovered to his dismay that there were knots and twigs in it now. But he managed to drag the comb all the way through it at least once, and then discovered that in one of the pockets of his new breeks was a long leather tie-band, ornamented with some of Idalia’s careful beadwork. So they wouldn’t be leaving the Wildwood completely behind! He looped it around his unruly hair, then picked up the heavy wooden packsaddle, and followed Idalia outside.
The day was already appreciably lighter than when he’d gone in, but the world was still the ghostly no-color of false dawn. Out in the forest, wisps of fog drifted among the trees, like spirits. Idalia had led both animals up to the door while he’d been dressing. She’d just finished tightening Coalwind’s girths, and Kellen set the packsaddle on the ground and held the mare steady while Idalia soothed her into accepting the bit and bridle. Coalwind was fascinated by Idalia’s trader hat, and kept trying to seize it and pull it off Idalia’s head; Idalia finally let her have it for an instant, taking it back once the last buckle was tight.
“There you are, my girl. I’m afraid you’ll be less frisky by the end of the day.” She sighed. “Of course, so will I.”
“Me too,” Kellen offered. “It’s not like either of us have done a lot of riding lately.”
“True enough,” his sister replied. “Maybe there’ll be a village inn up the road; Greenpoint is supposed to be about a day’s ride from here. If we’re lucky, we’ll sleep indoors tonight, but we can’t count on doing that very often.”
He nodded, but he couldn’t help thinking: And maybe less often the closer it gets to the time that the City is planning on sending in their flunkies. Travelers wouldn’t exactly be welcome at that point, when more and more fugitives would be on the road. And any one of them might be a City spy.
Idalia tethered the mare once more, and turned to help Kellen with the packsaddle. Prettyfoot accepted it with good grace; the mule was an experienced campaigner, and was used to early-morning departures.
Once both animals were tacked up, Idalia and Kellen made several more trips back and forth into the cabin to load the mule with their supplies. Kellen’s discarded buckskins joined Idalia’s in the pack reserved for last-minute things; they might well need them again sometime. Idalia tied everything in place with a speed and efficiency that led Kellen to believe that she’d done this before.
“It’s easy enough, really,” she said when she caught him looking. “You’ll learn it yourself, with time. Balance the weight evenly from side to side for the beast’s sake, also make sure that there’s nothing that can dig or press or gall; just as if you were carrying the load yourself—and just as if you were carrying the load yourself, don’t ask them to carry beyond their strength. A mule won’t do it, and a donkey can carry a pack bigger than it is, but a horse will try for you until it kills itself. Heavier to the front than the back, just as you would want the weight higher than lower in your own pack. Make sure nothing can shift or crumple. Put the things you’ll need on the way where you can get at them without unpacking everything. Make the whole easy to load and unload fast. All it takes is common sense and a little experience. You’ve got the one, and you’ll have plenty of opportunity to get the other.”
At last the packing was done, and Idalia went back inside one last time to see if they’d missed anything. She came out with two steaming wooden cups, and a second hat tucked under her arm.
“Hot cider to wake us up—we’ll stop in a few hours for a better breakfast—and your hat. Now you can be a proper Mountain Trader.”
Kellen took the hat and placed it on his head. It was thick felt, dyed a deep green to match his clothes—the only other time he’d seen such fabric was in the winter boots some of the City laborers wore—and quite the most outlandish item he’d ever seen. It had two long dangling leather cords that could apparently be used to tie the hat upon the head, so that despite its enormous brim—quite as wide as a cartwheel, in Kellen’s untutored opinion—it could not be blown off. It was like wearing one of those round sunshades that fine ladies of the City carried on sticks to protect their lily-white complexions from the sun.
It was rather dashing, actually.
Kellen decided he liked it.
Hat in place, Kellen drank the cider—quickly, before it cooled. He set the cup down on the doorstep, realizing with a pang that it was all real. They were leaving here, now, and they were never coming back.
“Let’s go,” Idalia whispered; there was a harsh tone in her voice that startled him, and he turned to peer at her.
He could see by her face that she was trying hard to be calm, not to give in to the same sense of loss that he felt. She swung quickly up into the mare’s saddle and started off. Kellen walked behind, leading the mule.
It might have been some last spell of the Wild Magic, or simple kindness on the part of those revelers who remained, but no one called after them to wish them a final good-bye.
THEY headed along the path away from the clearing and into the Wildwood in silence as the sky continued to lighten and the morning birds started the dawnchorus. Fog still lingered in hollows and low-lying ravines, but it was dissipating. When Kellen looked up through gaps in the trees to the hills, he saw sunlight gilding the tops of them, and the sky was a pleasant blue dotted with white, puffy clouds.
Eventually Shalkan would join up with them, and Kellen hoped it would be soon: his new boots didn’t hurt yet, but that didn’t mean he wanted to walk any great distance in them.
The cabin was long out-of-sight, and they were past the farthest point Kellen had ever been to on this road, when Idalia reined in.
“I thought he’d be here by now,” she said, in tones of faint puzzlement. “I know I’m, well, hardly a unicorn’s usual traveling companion, shall we say, but he did say it would be all right.”
Kellen looked around, as puzzled as she was, and finally caught a glimpse of white through the trees behind them. He knew that furtive shape; knew it well, but why was it lagging so far behind?
“He’s following us,” Kellen announced in mingled tones of amusement and disgust. He handed Idalia the mule’s lead-rope and walked back the way they’d come.
Shalkan stepped daintily out onto the trail and regarded Kellen with narrowed eyes. The unicorn’s long equine face was not particularly well designed to convey emotion, but Kellen had never had any particular trouble sensing Shalkan’s moods, nor did he now.
Shalkan was irritated.
But at what? What had Kellen done to deserve that look?
Finally the unicorn snorted. “No hat,” Shalkan said flatly, staring at Kellen’s head in disgust.
Kellen reached up, slowly, and touched the brim. He’d forgotten he was wearing it, actually, but Shalkan seemed to have taken a complete and irrational dislike to it. To a hat?
“It keeps the rain off,” Kellen said.
Shalkan put his ears back and switched his long tufted tail. “It isn’t raining. And it is an abomination,” the unicorn said crossly. “Either get rid of it—or walk.”
Kellen looked helplessly back at Idalia. She shrugged, and held out her hand for the hat; he could tell she was having a hard time keeping her face composed. Grumbling under his breath, Kellen unknotted the chinstring and walked back to pass the hat to Idalia, who tied it on the back of her saddle, her face carefully expressionless.
What does he think he is, a fas
hion critic?
Hatless, Kellen went back down the trail to “acquire his mount.”
He was still without proper saddle or tack for the unicorn, and so was riding Shalkan bareback, but so long as they didn’t have to run for their lives, he ought to be able to manage not to fall off. The unicorn’s fur was still as slick and slippery as ever, but he did his best to balance carefully and not give Shalkan any further cause for complaint. After a moment though, he thought he could guess the real source of the unicorn’s bad temper. Shalkan was twitching under him as if he were being defiled by sting-flies. The hat had nothing to do with it.
Shalkan might have agreed to travel with Idalia. He might agree there was a very good reason to do so. But the unicorn was a creature of magic, bound by magic’s laws. Just because something was necessary didn’t mean you had to like it.
He began to have a bit more sympathy for his friend. Apparently the hat was only an excuse for an exercise of irritation, and a way to vent some of it.
Poor Shalkan; Kellen wondered what it felt like. Was it like a rash you couldn’t scratch? Or a headache? Or that twitchy feeling he got in his legs when he’d been awake too long and couldn’t lie down yet? Or all of them?
“You ride on ahead,” Kellen called. Idalia looked back, nodded with understanding, and nudged Coalwind with her heels, increasing the distance between them.
Shalkan sighed, stretching his neck out very long and shaking his head. He also stopped twitching. Idalia was still in sight, and if anything attacked either of them, the other could get there quickly enough, but this arrangement was going to make it rather difficult to have a conversation, other than with Shalkan.
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