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By Root 1476 0

with the morning's gossip. Men and women rushed about, tending to business and speaking to each other only in terse, sharp words, when they bothered to speak at all. Dozens of villagers were busily shoring up the walls of the palisade, nailing crossbars into place and caulking every narrow crack with thick, reddish clay. Others were building rows of wooden booths on both sides of the main street, and the din of their pounding hammers filled the morning air. Still others were laying out goods of their own for sale: woolen blankets and skeins of undyed yarn, simple pottery, dried fish and game, wheels of cheese, pots of honey and barrels of mead. These activities were clearly those of a village preparing for a spring market, but there was none of the joyful anticipation that would have marked such preparations in Rashemen. The atmosphere here would have been more appropriate to a people besieged.

"Where is this place, and what is it called?" Fyodor asked curiously. "You must forgive me, but I have wandered far and have lost my bearings."

The guard gave him a sharp glance. "Village is called Trollbridge, and it's a half day's travel from nowhere on every side. Trade routes and rivers everywhere, and us •mack dab in the center of it all, like the itch you can't quite reach on the middle of your back," he grumbled.

"Trade routes?" Fyodor prodded.

To the north of us is Evermoor Way, the travel road what goes from Tribor up to Silverymoon. Just beyond is River Dessarin. Dead Horse Ford crosses over the Ironford Path, what cuts up to the Calling Horns hunting lodge. Where'd you come in from?"

The forest."

It was the best answer Fyodor could give, and apparently it was a good one. The one man's eyebrows flew upward, ami he nodded, visibly impressed.

"Ain't many men can travel alone through the High Bbrest. I thought them stories about berserkers got kinda tall, but getting out o' that place alive takes more than what most men have got. And it's no wonder you're feeling turned around. A man can wander a lifetime in that forest and never find his way out."

Although the names of the roads and rivers meant nothing to him, Fyodor had heard of the High Forest. It was a deep, magical woodland, incredibly ancient and vast, and it lay many hundreds of miles from his homeland. This knowledge was staggering, but he accepted it as he did most things: with fatalistic calm and an eye toward what needed doing.

"I would be grateful if you can tell me where I might buy supplies," he said.

The guard puckered his lips thoughtfully as he eyed Fyodor's heavy sword. "It'll be three, mebbe fours days before the caravan comes in," he said casually. "Might be you can stay on until then? We got work to be done, if you'd care to sign on for a few days' pledged hire."

It was on the tip of Fyodor's tongue to ask why the man thought he might be needed. The townsfolk worked at a frantic pace; at this rate, the booths would be finished by highsun. And why, for that matter, would he be required to sign a pledge to remain for the agreed-upon time? Was not a man's word good enough for these grim-faced villagers?

"A meal, then," Fyodor asked, sidestepping the guard's question. "Does Trollbridge have an inn?"

The guard's eyes took on a hard glint. "So you'll be staying. Good, that's very good." He hailed a passerby, a tall, rangy man who wore a stained linen coat and a dour expression. "You, Tosker! Take this man over to the Steaming Kettle and tell Saida to treat him well."

The man pulled up and looked Fyodor over. His eyes took note of the young man's weapons, measured the width of his shoulders. "You a sellsword?"

"Sir, I am not."

That was all Fyodor cared to say on the matter, and more than he could say in a civil tone. In Rashemen, warriors fought only when they must. It was no small thing, the taking of life, and the young warrior had nothing but contempt for those who killed for profit.

"Oh. Well, come along anyway," the man said grudgingly.

Fyodor followed his reluctant guide down a narrow side street to the inn. Not at all like the cozy, homelike