Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [163]
"At once, Exalted One," Torm said with sarcastic sweetness. "Mind you don't forget any of your baggage. I'll see if our late friends were carrying anything of value with them."
Rathan nodded in the light of the dying fire. "Mind more don't come upon thee while ye're slavering and giggling over the gold. See to the campfire, will ye?"
In quiet haste, they gathered their gear and led their mounts and mules into the night. Westward Narm and Shandril followed Rathan, pace by careful pace, over rolling ground.
Torm caught them up before long. "The fire's scattered and out. I can find no one else following, but listen sharp everyone."
"It seems I'll be doing that the rest of my life,"
Shandril said in a bitter whisper.
Torm put his head close to hers. The faint light of Selune caught his teeth as he grinned. "You might even get used to it. Who knows?"
"Who indeed," she replied, pulling a reluctant Shield up an uneven slope in the dark.
"Not much farther now" Rathan said soothingly from up ahead. Loose stones clacked underfoot, and then Rathan said in quiet satisfaction, "Here. This place will do."
Shandril fell into sleep as if it were a great black pit, and she never stopped falling. She awoke with the smell of frying boar in her nostrils. Narm had just kissed her. Shandril murmured contentment and embraced him sleepily as she stretched. He smelled good.
Close at hand, a merry voice said, "Works like a charm, it does. Can I try it? Shandril, will you go back to sleep for a moment?"
Shandril sighed. "Torm, do you never stop?"
"Not until I'm dead, good lady. Irritating I may be, but Tm never dull."
"Aye," Rathan rumbled. "Thou art many things, but never dull."
"Fair morning to you both," Shandril laughed.
"Well met, lady," Rathan answered her. "Thy dawnfry awaits thee… simple fare, I fear, but enough to ride on. We were not bothered again in the night, but ye had best watch sharp today. It will not be long before those bodies are found."
Narm looked around at the grassy hills. "Where exactly are we?"
"West of the road, in the hills west of Featherdale,"
Rathan supplied. "Turn about. Do ye see that gray shadow-like smoke-on the horizon? That is Arch Wood. Between here and there lies an old, broad valley with no river to speak of anymore. That's Tasseldale. I would not go down into the valley.
Though it's a pleasant place, indeed, with many fine shops and friendly folk, it is also full of people ye want to avoid. Nay, keep to the heights along the valley's northern edge.
"There, ye'll meet with no more than a shepherd or two and perhaps a Mairshar patrol. Tell them-they police the dale and always ride twelve strong-that ye're from Highmoon, going home, Shandril, with this mage ye met in Hillsfar. Call thyself 'Gothal,' or something, Narm. Stick to the truth about Gorstag and the inn, lady, and ye'll fare the better. Give no information to any others until ye meet with the elves of Deepingdale."
"Elves?" Shandril asked, astonished.
"Aye, elves. Don't ye know anything of Deepingdale, where ye grew up?" Rathan's voice was incredulous.
"No," Shandril told him. "Only the inn. I saw half-Elven, under arms, when I left with the company, but no elves."
"I see. Know ye that the present Lord of Highmoon is the half-Elven hero of battles Theremen Ulath, just so ye don't say the wrong thing." The burly cleric rose and pulled on his helm. "Now eat. The day grows old."
They ate, and soon the time came when all was ready, and Rathan sighed and said heavily, "Well, the time has borne. We must leave ye."
He turned on his heel to look southwest. "One day's ride should take ye to the west end of Tasseldale, in the Dun Hills. That's one camp. Keep a watch-sleeping together's for indoors. Peace, Torm, no jests now. Another day's careful riding west-just keep Arch Wood to the left of ye, whatever else ye come upon-will bring thee to Deepingdale. Ye can press