“Get some cloth for bandages, if you can,” said Paks. She thought Canna looked worse than she had that morning.
“Yes, and another tinderbox, if you see one,” added Canna.
“I’ll see what I can find.” After another careful look both ways, Saben darted across the road into the trees on the far side. Paks could see him skirting the clearing, coming in behind one of the huts. He disappeared. After a long wait, she saw him come back toward the trees, then turn back to the huts again. This time he was gone even longer. Then she could see him again, edging along the clearing toward the road, with a pack slung over one shoulder and a bundle in his arms.
Once across the road, he handed the bundle to Paks and urged them back into the trees. “Wait until you see what I found.”
“Hush,” said Canna. “We’re too close.” They walked on until the road was completely hidden, then sat down.
Paks unrolled the bundle, Saben’s cloak wrapped around a number of things: three round loaves of brown bread, half a small cheese, six apples, a small padded sack of lumpy objects—“Careful,” said Saben. “Those are eggs.”—onions, a few redroots, several strips of pale linen, a small stoneware crock with a pungent smell, and a short-bladed knife.
Saben was pulling other finds from the worn leather pack he’d found: strips of half-roasted beef, another cheese, and a roll of cord. “They’d hacked the cow up with their swords,” he said. “Some was bones with meat on, and some just strips of meat, so I took these. We could get more without it being noticed, I think, but I couldn’t carry more, and didn’t want to take too long. It must have been baking day; bread was rolling all over the hut floors. I took what had rolled under things. There was a barrel of apples; we can get more easily. Not so many cheeses, unless they’re stored somewhere else. I didn’t look in the barn. The eggs were under a bed; I felt them when I reached for bread.”
Canna smiled. “Saben, you found a treasure. I don’t know about going back—but now we’ll eat. Let’s see—we’ll share a half-loaf of bread, and one of those big strips of meat, and have an apple each. More than that, and we’ll be slow and sleepy.”
Paks and Saben sighed at that, but by the time they’d eaten what Canna allowed, Paks felt much better. Not satisfied, but better.
“Let’s see your shoulder,” she said, when she had swallowed the last bit of bread. “These strips will be softer than that old sack. And I think this stuff in the crock is for wounds, isn’t it?”
Canna sniffed at it. “It smells like what the surgeons use, yes.” Paks unwound her hasty bandage of the day before, and Canna slipped off her tunic, wincing. The folded sack, blood-stained, was firmly stuck to the wound. Paks poured some of her water over it.
“Brr. That’s cold,” said Canna.
“I thought that would loosen it.”
“It may, but it’s cold.” Paks worked as gently as she could, and finally got the sack off. Underneath, Canna’s shoulder was swollen, red, and warm to touch. “It’s—tender,” said Canna, as Paks probed it. “Is it going bad?”
“I can’t tell. It’s red, and it feels different. Maybe just swollen. Here—I’m going to try this stuff.” Paks smeared some of the gray-green sticky gunk in the crock over the wound. “How’s that?”
“It stings a little. Not bad.”
“Maybe I should have washed it first. If we had hot water—”
“No, that’s all right. Just tie it up, and we’ll hope for the best.”
Paks folded the soft linen into a pad, then bound it on as she had before, this time with the softer linen strips. “Now you can put your tunic over it,” she said. “Maybe that will be more comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Canna. She was pale and sweating.
“What about another trip to the farm, Canna?” asked Saben. “This won’t last long, and we may not have such a good chance again.”
“We’ve got to travel light—”
“I know, but a week’s march—”
“Let’s see what we’ve got now. Enough bread for a couple of days, with this meat. Cut it in hunks like this, Saben—” Canna showed the size. “I don’t know how that cheese will travel, but we can wrap it. Those redroots will have to be cooked, but they’ll keep. You’re right—we could use more. But it’s getting late—”
“Less likely to be seen, then. I’ll be careful.”
Canna looked uncertain. “I—wish I knew—”
Paks felt a vague uneasiness. “I think we should get farther away.”
“You’ll think differently when we’re hungry the day after tomorrow,” said Saben.
Canna looked from one to another. “I—I say no, Saben. We’ll go on. We shouldn’t take chances we don’t have to; the ones we must take are bad enough.”
Saben shrugged. “Whatever you say; you’re the commander. Here—let me see what I can fit in this pack.” The bread, cheese, onions, and redroots disappeared into the pack. They stuffed their pouches with the pieces of meat, and Paks tucked the eggs inside her tunic. Saben took the crock of ointment, and Canna stuck the knife in her boot. They filled their flasks at the little creek that flowed eastward from the farm into the woods.
“We should go as far as we can while we have light,” said Canna. “I think it will be safe enough to stay near the road, but if you see anything—even a woodcutter or herder—drop and get out of sight. And be as quiet as possible.”
At first Paks led the way, but Canna was clearly tiring. After the third time Paks found herself far ahead, she suggested that Canna lead. The dark woman nodded without speaking. Paks and Saben moved out to flank her, and they went on in the growing dusk.
Chapter Sixteen
The ground was gently rolling, each low ridge less steep than the one before it, as the land subsided from the mountains to the north. Darkness seemed to flow up out of the hollows as light faded from the gray sky. They had no idea how far they had come. Paks was thinking of nothing in particular when she realized that she had lost Canna in the gloom. She stopped and peered into the woods. An owl called from somewhere behind her. She shivered, listening for any sound of her friends. The owl called again, the last hoot sounding odd. It must be Saben, she thought, and hooted in reply. A short hoot answered her; she moved toward the sound quickly. She missed them in a thicket. Saben’s voice nearly startled her into a scream.
“What happened?” she asked when she got her voice back.
“It’s your long legs,” said Saben. “You distanced us again, and Canna fell, trying to hurry.”
“I’m all right,” said Canna. Her voice was strained. “But it’s too dark to walk safely in these trees.”
“Nothing’s on the road,” said Paks. “Nobody travels this late—couldn’t we use it for a few miles?” Out of the dark a hand squeezed her arm as Saben spoke.
“I’m legweary,” he said. “We’ll do better for a rest.”
“Paks, I—don’t think I can go farther tonight,” said Canna. “Even on the road.”
“Let’s see if we can find a good place to sleep, then.” Paks peered around, but could hardly see two trees away for the gloom.
“This will do,” said Saben. The hand on her arm tightened and released. “You didn’t see us.”
“Mmm. You’re right. Hope it doesn’t rain, though.” Canna, Paks saw, had already slumped to the ground. She herself, though still hungry, was too keyed up to feel tired.
“You had first watch last night, Paks,” said Saben. “I’ll take it; I’m sore but not sleepy.”
Paks felt the same but did not argue. “Canna, are you warm enough?”
“I—can’t get this cloak—wrapped, somehow.”
“Let me help.” Paks helped Canna sit up and untangle the cloak. “What did you hurt when you fell?”
“Nothing. It jarred me. I’m all right.”
“We’ll hope so.” Paks doubted it, but there wasn’t anything to do. “Would you rather have a back rest or front rest? I want to keep warm.”
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br /> “Back, if you’re giving choices.”
Paks rolled herself into her cloak and lay behind Canna. “Don’t eat all the bread while we sleep,” she told Saben, who chuckled.
“Ha. And here I thought you’d forgotten it.” She heard a rustle and saw a shape moving in the darkness as Saben took a position between them and the road. She thought she was not sleepy, but Saben’s hand on her arm woke her much later to a cold night, not so damp as the one before.
“I can’t keep my eyes open,” he murmured. “No trouble so far.” Paks stretched and unrolled herself while Saben lay down in the warm spot she’d made.
She rubbed her face hard with her hands to wake up, and took a swallow of water from her flask. No trouble so far. How long would that last? She felt her stomach clench on nothing, and thought about the meat in her pouch. No. She drank again. Canna was right about that—they had to space the food out. She thought of her father’s tale about the famine when he was a boy, the year the wolves came. We tried to eat the grass, he’d said. Her stomach growled. Don’t think about food. We have food, but not for now. She looked up to see if the stars were out, but could see only blackness. In that cold, hungry darkness, for the first time she doubted that they would reach the Duke. She forced herself to think. Tomorrow—tomorrow we’ll get to the crossroad. Unless Canna—no, surely she’s all right. I wish we could go on ahead. They must take the short way, if they’re going to Rotengre. We could stay safely ahead if we knew.
She hardly noticed when the light began to grow. All at once, it seemed, she could see her hands and arms, and the two dark shapes stretched out below. She yawned and stretched, wondering if she’d dozed awhile. The light gave no color yet. She nudged Saben with her toe; he gave a sort of gasping snort and sat up.
“What?”
“Dawn. We should be going soon.” Canna had not wakened. They both looked at her. “Do you think she’ll be all right?” asked Paks softly.
Saben frowned. “Not all right. But it wasn’t a deep wound—I think—”
“We need her.”
“Yes, but we’re no surgeons.”
“I wonder if that—Effa said St. Gird healed people. Canna’s a Girdsman. Maybe he’ll heal her.”
“If he does. But if he can, why not just do it? Already?”
“I don’t know. I never heard of Gird back home—”
“What about Gird?” Canna had wakened. She grimaced as she moved, then forced a smile. “Don’t look so worried; I’m fine.”
“We wondered if Gird would heal you,” said Paks.
Canna looked surprised. “How did you know—you aren’t a Girdsman! It takes a Marshal or a paladin to heal, though.”
Saben looked stubborn. “If it takes a Marshal or a paladin, what has it got to do with Gird?”
“Saben, you drink water, but when you carry it from the river, you have to have a bucket to put it in. I don’t know what kind of power it is that Gird wields, but it must come through a Marshal or paladin.”
“So a prayer wouldn’t work?” asked Paks.
“No. A prayer for courage, or strength in battle—and it can’t hurt to pray for good fortune—but not healing.”
“We could try,” said Paks. Canna stared at her.
“What are you, a paladin in disguise? You aren’t even a Girdsman.”
“No, that’s true. But we need you to be well and strong.”
“I’m—oh, all right. If you want to. It can’t do any harm.”
“But I don’t know how,” said Paks. “You’ll have to tell me what to say.”
“Paks, I don’t know. I’m no Marshal, and Gird knows I’m no paladin, either.” She paused for breath. “Here—” She fumbled at her neck for the chain that held her medallion. “You’ll need this. Hold it. Then say what you want, in the name of St. Gird.
Paks took the metal crescent and held it a moment, thinking. Then she laid it on Canna’s shoulder, over the bandaged wound. She looked at Saben, who looked back, quirking an eyebrow.
“St. Gird,” she began. “Please heal this wound. This is Canna, who is your follower, and she was hurt by an arrow. We are trying to escape to tell our Duke of the Honeycat’s treachery, and we need Canna’s help. In—in the name of Gird—I mean, St. Gird.”
“Ouch!” said Canna. “What did you poke it for?”
“I didn’t,” said Paks. “I just laid your symbol on it; I didn’t push. What happened?”
“It must have been a cramp, then. That hurt. It’s easing now. It seems—I can breathe a little easier.”
“But it still hurts?”
“Yes, but the sharp pain is gone—whatever it was. Don’t worry, Paks. I didn’t expect a cure.”
“I suppose not.” She handed back the medallion and turned to the pack. “What can we have for breakfast?”
“Bread. We’ll try that half-cheese, too.” They divided the small cheese and each took a slice of bread from the half a loaf left the night before. That took the edge off their hunger, though Paks felt she could have eaten much more. Saben managed to fit the eggs into the pack this time. “Let’s go,” said Canna abruptly. Paks and Saben looked at her, surprised, but rose at once.
The morning was still and gray, with a murkiness between the trees that was not quite fog. They stayed close to the road, but Canna would not let them walk in it, fearing a forward patrol. They walked in silence, three dark shadows among the black tree-trunks. Canna set a better pace than the evening before. When she finally called a halt, they moved away from the road and stretched out under a large cedar.
Saben wiggled his shoulders. “Ugh. That pack—the straps are too short. He must have been a skinny man.”
“I’ll take it next,” offered Paks.
“You’re not a skinny man.”
“No, but it’ll get the cramps out of your shoulders.”
“I wish I’d found a weapon,” he grumbled. “A bow, or a sword—”
“We’re better without it,” said Canna.
“How so?”
“If you’d found one, you’d be tempted to fight, wouldn’t you? You’d want to kill one of their scouts to get still more weapons—then free the prisoners—” Saben was blushing, now, and Canna nodded before going on. “There’s not a weapon in the world, Saben, that would let you take on that force single-handed and survive. Our job is to get word to the Duke. For that we need wit, not blades.”
“Yes, Canna. But think how much fun—”
“If we get to the Duke,” said Canna grimly, “we can have all the fun we want—with weapons he’ll give us.” Saben subsided. Paks wondered again if it was as bad as Canna seemed to think.
“When the column does come,” she asked, “how are we going to move with it without being seen? The woods don’t last all the way to Rotengre.”
“You would ask that. I’ve been trying to remember what the country is like. We can use any trees—hedges—and if it’s dry, they’ll raise a cloud; we can stay far off and still be sure where they are. But it’s going to be hard.”
“I was thinking—surely they’ll take the short way, east of Sorellin. Why can’t we just go straight for the Duke?”
“We can’t be sure. Siniava has a name for being indirect.”
“You mean he might go around in a circle, or something—?”
“Yes. Find a weak spot in the siege lines, and try to break it there.”
“But then what does he want prisoners for? They’ll only get in the way.”
“I don’t know. Some wickedness.” Canna took a swallow of water. “I wish I knew how close we were to the crossroad.”
“Why?” asked Paks. “We’ll find it if we stay near the road.”
“If I were the Honeycat,” said Canna slowly, “I’d have someone posted at the crossroads.”
“But we’re well ahead of the forward patrols,” said Saben.
“That’s exactly what I’d want stragglers to think,” replied Canna. “If someone got through the sweeps and patrols, the
y’d think they were safe, and they’d be careless. Besides, suppose the Duke sent a courier for some reason—Siniava would have to stop that. So I think we can expect trouble—at every crossroad, and every place a messenger or straggler would be tempted to use the road. Probably disguised as traders, or brigands, or something, to keep the peasants from gossiping too much.”
“How do we get around them, then?” asked Paks.
Canna shrugged. “They don’t know that anyone’s coming. We do. And we expect them. We’ll move very quietly, and watch very carefully, and not set foot on the road.”
After a scant ration of bread, they set off again. Canna forbade any talking until they cleared the crossroad, and they moved as quietly as they could. The road wound back and forth around low rounded hummocks; Paks found it hard to keep an even distance from it.
From far behind came a long low horn call. They stopped and looked at each other. In such cold air, a horn would carry a great distance. Three short blasts of a higher-pitched horn came from the road ahead. This sounded closer than the other, but distance was impossible to judge. Canna nodded at the other two and grinned. She gestured them still farther from the road, and forward. Paks felt her heart begin to pound, drumming in her ears so that she could hardly hear. This would be the real test, getting past the guard at the crossroad. She looked at Canna, who was still moving strongly, and stumbled over a briar. Calm down, she told herself. Saben and Canna gave her a warning glance and went on.
As the road began a curve right, Canna signalled a halt. She beckoned them close, then murmured in their ears. “I think they’re on top of the rise ahead—see how open the woods look up there? They could see the road and the woods both. We’ll swing around the far side of the hill. Be careful. No stumbling about.” Paks blushed.
They turned left along the slope, climbing no higher. As they moved away from the road, the woods thickened, and undergrowth screened them. They could not see more than a few yards uphill. More evergreens cloaked the northern slope. It was easy to walk quietly on the fallen needles, and they moved faster. Still, several hours of tense and tedious work brought them only to the eastern end of that hill, and a low saddle between it and the next rise to the east. As they came up the saddle, the trees thinned again.
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