Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [115]
Otho made a sputtering noise, but Mic nodded, agreeing with the leader. Rhodry felt like kneeling at Garin’s feet and singing his praise like a bard.
“How much farther to this farm?” he said instead. “I don’t mind admitting that this mile or two’s been a humbling experience.”
“Then it was worth somewhat, eh?” Otho said with a grin. “Not far now, lad. Just keep putting one tender elven foot in front of the other, and you’ll get there, sure enough.”
Rhodry said nothing, but the silence cost him.
Fortunately the farm turned out to be reasonably close by. While Otho haggled for the mule, Rhodry sat down in the muck and swarming flies with his back against the cow barn and fell straight asleep. The sun was a fair bit lower when Mic shook him awake.
“Time to get on the road again,” the young dwarf said.“We’ve finally got the mule loaded up the way Uncle Otho likes.”
Walking without a fifty-weight of gear and pack turned out to be a good bit easier, but even so, every muscle in Rhodry’s legs ached by the time they were among the wild hills. He was honestly taken aback by how thoroughly his body had shaped itself to ride horses, by how unfit he was to travel any distance on his own two feet. The surprise turned him stubborn, and he forced himself onward, refusing to ask for a rest even when Garin glanced his way as if offering him the chance. As the road dwindled to a goat track, the pace slowed anyway, because they had to pick their way through rocks and brambles. When they paused to rest, Garin cut Rhodry’s old sheepskin into strips and tied them round the mule’s pasterns.
“This wretched mule is going to make it hard to travel at night,” Otho growled. “I wish we’d never acquired the thing.”
“Hold your tongue,” Garin said. “Killing the man you’re trying to repay is no way to settle a debt, and that’s that.”
Otho snorted once, then devoted himself to his bread and cheese. Rhodry wondered all over again where Garin’s obvious authority had its roots; he’d never heard of the Mountain People having gwerbrets and lords, but there was no doubt that Garin expected to be obeyed tike one. About average height for a dwarf, broad in the shoulders, narrow in the hips, with the dark, full growth of beard so prized by the men of his people, he stood with authority as well as spoke with it.
When they started off again, in the fading twilight, Garin took over leading the mule. By walking a bit ahead of it and kicking the bigger rocks and obstacles out of its way, he managed to keep them all moving for some hours after dark, but they were traveling much slower than any of the dwarves liked. When they made their camp, in a little valley between two hills, Garin and Otho walked a ways away from the others and stood squabbling in their own language for a long time.
“They’re arguing about whether it’s safe to travel during the day,” Mic said. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. One thing, though. It’ll be a fair bit easier to use this bow I’ve been carrying in the daylight. I can’t see as far or as finely in the dark.”
Mic trotted off to add this piece of information to the argument among the rocks. Rhodry unstrapped the baldric, placed the bow and the quiver beside his blankets, and sat down next to them to untie the bindings and pull off his boots. Garin had stressed the importance of airing out one’s boots and keeping one’s feet dry on these long marches. After he was done, Rhodry lay down, planning on a mere moment’s rest, but he fell asleep, too tired even to eat. He did wake once, when the dwarves began tramping round the camp and spreading out their own blankets, but drifted off again straightaway. Yet in his dreams he felt eyes watching him, dragon eyes, human eyes, and he kept hearing a peculiar screech or cry that came from too great a distance for him to identify it. From one particular dream of a ruined city he woke just after dawn and found himself in a cold sweat.
All round him