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Wheeeee…eeeeee…

“I know it’s not a warm stable, but it is decent water.” Standing upstream from Gairloch, I smelled the water, licked it from my hands, felt it with my mind. Nothing—just good cold water. So I drank some, scooping it up with my hands, while trying not to slip off the brown grass-tuft where I squatted. Then, after wiping my face on my sleeve, I filled the canteen and replaced it in its holder.

Justen—where was he?

I grabbed for the staff, then eased up the incline to the rest area.

The gray wizard was nowhere to be seen, but a man in a soldier’s vest and a chain-mail shirt appeared from behind the mound of collapsed thatch, a plate skullcap secured with leather thongs. His sword was unsheathed and pointed in my direction.

“Another pilgrim…” His voice was raspy, his brown beard scraggly, and his step measured.

I could have outrun him, even to Gairloch, but I didn’t know where Justen was and who might be with the soldier, and whether they might have a crossbow, a longbow, or a rifle. So I took an even hold on the staff, arranged my feet, and waited.

“What do you want?” I asked. It seemed like a fair question, even to a maniac with a glint in his eye and a sword in his hand.

“Just your horse and your money.”

“That’s a bit much.”

“Damned pilgrim. You’re all alike.”

Whssttt!

I let the first stroke pass by.

Whhsttt!

Thunk! Even I was surprised at how unskillful he was, at watching his sword fly onto the hard clay.

I waited to see if he would go for the sword on the ground or the knife at his belt.

His eyes darted from mine to the staff and to the sword and back. Then he sighed. “Quarter?”

I nodded.

Click.

I ducked and turned.

Swish. The blade of the heavier man nipped the edge of my cloak, and I wished I had discarded it as I staggered sideways.

Thunk.

Clank. His foot skidded on something, and he stepped back.

I used the instant to duck out of my cloak, regaining a balanced stance and concentrating on the unshaven and grizzled veteran before me. His eyes were bloodshot, but his hands seemed steady enough.

His blade dipped, then turned.

I did not move, watching eyes and edge simultaneously.

He stepped back and sheathed the sword. “Damned wizards. Begging your pardon, ser, but I didn’t know which kind you were.”

I tried not to let the confusion show as I looked from the one, who was trying to stand on a very sore leg, to the older man who watched us both.

Both soldiers’ leather vests had two irregular light patches on the shoulders, with two small holes within the lighter colored space. Wing-like insignia had recently been removed.

Their chain-mail shirts scarcely qualified as armor, except to protect against spent arrows and weak slashes, but their swords had been serviceable enough.

Neither one bore the taint of chaos. Neither did they exactly radiate order. Which left the possibility of unpleasant mercenaries running out on their contracts and turning bandit. I wished Justen were around, but the gray wizard seemed to have vanished.

“Wizard problems?” I asked. “Just wizard problems?” I added.

The older man, mostly gray-haired although he did not look much older than Justen, spat onto the road. The younger looked at the sword lying on the frozen clay.

“You can get it, if it stays in the scabbard.” I did not relax my control of the staff until he sheathed the sword. “You still have to explain why I shouldn’t do something unpleasant to you.”

“Ha! Begging your pardon, young wizard, but you can’t.” The older soldier spat again and looked toward Gairloch, who had edged backwards, but otherwise made not a sound.

“That’s not quite true, friend.” I smiled pleasantly. “I cannot do anything destructive, but what if I were to decide that with each unpleasant act you do, your nose would grow a thumb? Or that you would begin to grow again?”

“What…?” asked the one I had disarmed, looking toward me, then toward his companion.

The older man swallowed. “You’re young to do that.”

I smiled again. “I don’t know if I’d necessarily