Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Chapter Four (old)

Wren

I led Arthus straight into the brush along a narrow deer trail that wound back in the direction of the Leaping Hart. We followed it for about a mile before encountering exactly what I was hoping for, a stream. The banks were steep. The horses had to be coaxed to step down into the swift water, but I was thrilled to note the rocky streambed. I led Brone off in the direction of the village where Tourth supposedly had lived before taking service.

“Where are we going?” Arthus demanded from behind as his horse plunked along behind Brone.

I shifted in my seat to get a look at him as Brone continued his placid walk.

“At the moment we are trying to lose Roark.”

“Walking in stream is the oldest trick in the book. All he has to do is send someone in each direction until he finds where we exit the water.”

I didn’t bother explaining my plan to him. He would see soon enough what my plan was. “Just stay in the stream until I tell you.”

We traveled in silence for about a mile until I spotted what I was seeking. I signaled for Arthus to stop. “Stay here and watch closely because I am going to ask you to do the same.”

“I don’t understand,” he protested.

“Watch and you will.”

I led Brone out of the stream and up the muddy bank. His hooves sank into the soft dirt and then came up with a satisfying squelch. In moments, he crossed the short distance to there the dirt grew hard, baked by the sun, and then into the chaos of scattered debris that commonly covered the forest floor. I cautiously guided him away from the tender young trees. Once we were about twenty feet into the woods, I turned him. Choosing a different path, I guided him back into the stream, this time over the gravel only a few yards down stream.

“Now you go,” I instructed. “Follow my course exactly and be careful not to break any twigs or branches.” I glanced over to see if he had any questions and found him staring at me in appreciation.

“You mean for them to think we have left the stream here.”

I nodded. “I do intend that, but if you do not get moving, they will reach us before we can put some distance between us and the ruse.”

Nodding, he moved to obey. However, as he returned, safely on the gravel, he stopped and faced me. “Can you teach me what you know about hunting?”

I simply stared at him a moment. A grown man at least five years my senior was asking me for tips on tracking. It wasn’t exactly something that happened every day. Usually men discounted my skill with sly remarks or derogatory comments. The open admiration in his gaze made me uncomfortable. I was quickly coming to the decision that I preferred the usual to the unusual.

“Does a magician explain his work?” I was referring to the players and sensationalists that traveled the roads.

He looked puzzled for a moment. I didn’t wait for him to figure it out. Turning Brone southeast, I heeled him into a steady walk. Soon I heard the splashing steps of Arthus’ mount following my lead. He didn’t mention it again. In fact, he didn’t speak until the stream broadened into a small river and Brone began the climb up a shallow rocky bank.

“Now are you going to tell me where we are headed?” he asked.

“The village where Tourth lived before he enlisted with Lord Forgtrey.”

He was silent for a moment, but I knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Why? It is doubtful that he is hiding there.”

“Everyone comes from somewhere and had parents,” I pointed out.

I could feel his frown. “You are looking for family connections?”

“No, I am looking for any connections. Runners run with a purpose. Tourth will have a purpose.”

“And once you discover that, you will know where he is running. Makes sense.”

I bit back a sarcastic reply. Someone was coming down the trail ahead making a great deal of noise.

Arthus heard it too. His head tilted to the side as he listened, dark eyes peering into the late afternoon shadows. “What is it? A boar?”

“A boar wouldn’t follow the trail. It is too open.”

My hand hovered above my dagger, but I hesitated. Angry shouts filled the woods carried on the wind from farther up the trail. I reached for my sword instead. It slipped free of its sheath as a bedraggled figure stumbled into view.

Her steps were hurried, but random. Wavering with each footfall, she looked about to collapse. “Help me.” Crumpling onto her hands and knees, she crawled forward breathing heavily. Each labored gasp contorted her bony shoulders. Lifting a haunted face with dark-rimed eyes, she looked up at me, gasping. “They will kill me.” She drew a shallow breath that shook her whole being. “I cannot run anymore.”

Arthus dismounted and crossed to her side. “Why are they chasing you?” he asked. His sword was drawn.

Leaving him to find out what the story was, I moved to confront whoever was pursuing her.

We didn’t have to wait long. A brawny man tore through the last of the bushes with a cry of “Witch.” With fire in his eyes and a club in his hand, he clearly meant harm. The others, appearing behind him, looked no less intent.

“There is no witch here,” I informed him.

“She is a witch.” His face contorted with rage and his voice shook. Spitting in the woman’s direction, he glared at her with glassy eyes.

“She hexed my cow and now she won’t give me milk,” a woman to the right cried.

“She gave my daughter the evil eye and now she is deathly ill,” called a farmer off to the left.

The crowd, now thirty strong and armed with pitchforks and sickles, began shouting offenses at random. I caught snatches of accusations about everything from warts to infertility. Glancing back at the trembling young woman now standing behind Arthus’ protective sword, I doubted she could be to blame for even half of what they were yelling. Superstition had a way of latching on to the unfortunate or the unusual. I had gathered enough of it myself over the years to know.

I raised my sword arm and shouted for silence. The skill of being heard over my siblings’ arguments came in handy occasionally. The leader and many of the front group lowered their voices and looked at me.

“What is it ya business anyway,” the leader sneered. “We is free land farmers and tradesmen. What are you, a road gypsy?”

Ignoring his question, I scanned the crowd as they turned their attention to me. They were eager for blood and they didn’t care whose. I was more likely to hold my own than the girl; so, I shifted their attention to me. “Are you of the village Lornwyn?”

A farmer to the left of the leader spat in the dirt. “What’s it to ya?” Rustling in the back of the mob signaled the ascent of someone up one of the trees. I prayed it wasn’t an archer and continued.

“We come looking for someone who knows the swordsman Tourth Mynth.”

My words caused an instant disturbance. “What are ya looking for?” The blacksmith eyed me suspiciously.

“Information.”

He eyed me with a shrewd look. Greed glinted in his eyes. The spitting farmer moved forward to speak, but the blacksmith lifted his cudgel to stop him. With a swift look down my body, he said, “I am sure we can come to an arrangement. What do you offer in return?”

“Don’t listen to him,” a female voice called out from the left. “The witch is who you want. She is the only one who has seen Tourth since the murder.”

I tried to spot the source of the voice in the crowd, but whoever it was disappeared out of sight.

“The woman speaks only the half truth,” the farmer said. “The witch-child is touched in the head; being the sister of the hexed Mynth family done it to her.”

“Shut yur yap, Tac.” The blacksmith shoved his club against the farmer’s stomach.

As Tac struggled to gain his breath, I intervened with a proposition. “I will take her then. It will solve both of our problems at once.”

“Only if you pay for her,” the blacksmith responded.

A new murmur rose in the group behind him. He had crossed a line. I couldn’t understand it, but I knew it when I saw it. These people only moments ago had been pursuing the woman with murder in their eyes and hands eager for blood because of a whole list of false misdemeanors. Now, they shied at the thought of selling the object of their hatred to me and ridding themselves of the problem for a profit.

“You can have her,” a new arrival spoke. He stepped forward from behind Tac, who was still rubbing his bruised middle. The effect on the crowd was instantaneous. They shuffled in confusion like a child caught with his hand in the jam. Beneath a mop of snow white hair, the stranger’s roughhewn face spoke of wisdom and age. He met my measuring gaze with an equally discerning one. “She will be safer with you. She is Tourth’s sister and only living relation. Take care of her.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the blacksmith leader beat me to it.

“But…” The blacksmith silenced himself as the old man turned his steely gaze on him.

“Bratch, you should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed.” The crowd disbursed before our eyes, slinking off into the shadows of the rapidly setting sun.

The stranger frowned up at the bulky man half his age. “Return to your forge, Bratch, and be thankful I am not throwing you out on your ear for this.” Bratch slunk off without a word. If he owned a tail, it would have been between his legs.

“I am sorry about this.” My gaze met the old man’s. “Katraina, are you alright?”

The young woman rose to her feet with a definite wobble. Arthus reached out a hand to steady her. “I shall live, Drothiarn” she replied.

“Am I to understand correctly that you two seek Tourth?” Drothiarn asked Arthus.

“We do.”

“Fine,” he replied with a nod before addressing Katraina. “They will take you to Tourth. Tell him that he was foolish to leave you behind and that you can never return. Bratch is an idiot, but an idiot with a give for persuasion. You come this way again and your life will be worth nothing. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded and before I could find my tongue again, Brothiarn was gone. I turned to look at the new addition to the party and hoped that she was stronger than she presented to the eye.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthus

Katraina was beautiful. Don’t misunderstand; Wren was beautiful too, but in a wild, confident, strong way. She wasn’t afraid and all she needed from me was a strong sword arm to cover her back. Katraina needed more.

I supported her as Wren looked her over. Despite the difference in their heights, Katraina had at least four inches more than Wren, the bounty huntress was in control.

“Katraina Mynth, I am Wren Romany.”

Katraina’s pale, blue eyes widened. “Tourth has spoken of you.”

For the first time since I had met her, Wren looked surprised. It didn’t stop her though. “This is Arthus Heaton, my…” She paused and turned to raise an eyebrow at me as the corner of her mouth twitched. “He is my bodyguard. It is a long story, which we will tell you later. Right now we need to find a place to make camp for the night. Once we are settled, I will see what I can do about getting you clothing and a hair cut. What would you like for dinner hare or squirrel?”

I looked at her a little stunned. It was the longest speech I had heard come from Wren’s lips. Katraina looked surprised as well, but she recovered quickly.

“Hare, please. I have eaten more squirrel than I care to ever eat again.”

“Can you ride?”

“Yes, my brother taught me.”

“Good.” Wren whistled to Brone, who had taken the opportunity to graze nearby. He came at a trot and stopped before her with a toss of his head. “This is Brone. You will ride with me.”

Mounting quickly, Wren waited as I handed our new companion up to her. The young woman’s ribs poked from beneath her skin. I could feel every one as I lifted her up. She settled behind Wren with her arms about Wren’s waist. A sudden flare of anger ripped through me. How could the villagers done something so horrendous to helpless young woman. If it was the last thing I would do, I was going to fatten her up.

Wren led the way, but instead of heading back toward the stream, she headed north, making her own trail through the woods until we stumbled upon a small clearing haunted by the sound of running water.

“We will camp here tonight. Arthus, you are in charge of dinner. Katraina and I will set up camp. Leave your gear.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but when I met Wren’s eyes I realized her plan. She wanted to give Katraina the privacy she needed to clean up. Being the only male in the party, I would make that awkward, especially since Wren had made it clear that she knew how to handle Katraina. Confident in the fact that Wren could defend them in case of danger, I dropped the camping gear to the ground and unpacked my bow and arrow. We were going to have a feast tonight, as many hare as I could kill in two hours. I rode off into the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wren

“You needn’t fear Arthus,” I said suddenly into the silence.

A roaring blaze kept back the growing chill to the air and the fingers of darkness slowly encroaching our small clearing. All of the gear was unpacked. I had packed my extra blanket and found Arthus’ among his things. Between them and the fire, Kat would be warm tonight. My shirts were too small, but one of Arthus’ extra shirts and my leggings covered her lithe frame better than the ragged think she called a dress. So, clean, dry, warm and chewing on some of my dried venison, she was much better off than when we found her. I couldn’t help smiling when she looked over at me with much the same expression Aquila always used when I was stating the obvious.

“I don’t fear him.” Her voice was soft and feminine, much like Daelia’s with a lilting quality that always lingered under Ilara’s. I would bet my best hunting knife she was a singer too.

“Good because he is harmless.” I shifted the logs with a long stick and looked over at her. “You needn’t fear me either. I won’t hurt you. You remind me too much of my sisters.”

She brightened slightly at that. “You have sisters?”

“Yes, four.”

“I always wanted sisters, but Mother never had any more children after me. Then she died…” Her voice faded into the spark laden night with the smoke. “I am sorry,” she said, hiding her face in her tattered hair. It hung if limp hunks around her shoulders as though someone had taken a knife to it. “Their death always seems so fresh at night. Now with Tourth gone, it all seems so quiet and lonely without them and him.”

Leaning back on my heels, I watched her face. Despite the hunger hollows and her deep set eyes so like her brothers, her face was well formed and even what many would consider pretty. The only life in it at the moment was the glitter of her eyes as the firelight danced across her features.

There was little I could do to comfort her. I had grown up in silence. Yes, I had fond memories of my siblings and our loose companionships, but silence had been the one to soothe my soul and calm my spirit. In the solitude I sought Deus and His presence. I possessed no clear memories of my parents, only impressions. I remember thinking that my mother was beautiful and my father strong. Beyond that, I had only the tales my older siblings had told me in the deep shadows outside of Duard’s presence. What did I have to offer to scarred young woman with her thoughts full of the parents he had known well enough to love? I didn’t know; so, I offered the only thing I could think of.

“If you come over here, I can cut your hair properly.”

She looked up, peering through a dark ragged fall of brown almost the same shade of her brother’s. “I would like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Chapter Three (old)

Arthus

She bolted her door. I followed her up the stairs and waited to hear at least that. With the silence she had given me in return for my warning, I worried that she wouldn’t take the basic precautions just to spite me. Satisfied that she was safe as she could be for tonight, I retreated to my own room across the hall.

The small room was the cheapest in the inn. The moment I stepped inside, I knew why. With barely enough standing room to undress without knocking one’s elbows on the walls, the room held only a cot and a rickety looking wash table. The chipped pitcher and dented tin basin had seen better days, but they served their purpose. Removing my belt, I wrapped it around my sword, kicked off my boots, and lay down on the cot. I pulled the heavy blankets over my legs and tucked the blade at my side so I could draw it without hindrance. Then I lay my head on the pillow and let myself sleep with half an ear listening for anything happening beyond my door.

The night passed relatively uneventfully. A drunken patron was escorted past by one of the innkeeper’s heavies and later a sneak thief tried doors up and down both sides of the hallway. I was tempted to scare him straight by greeting him with a drawn blade, but thought better of it with Wren Romany sleeping across the way. I didn’t want her knowing that I was watching her until the right time. If she as good as her reputation, it was certain she would disappear if she knew I was following her. Without care, I would find her tracking me rather than the reverse.

She rose before dawn the next morning. I woke to the sound of her shutting her door behind her. Whipping back the covers, I grabbed my boots. Pausing only to splash some freezing water on my face and gird on my belt, I crept from my room, boots in hand and followed her.

I caught up with her at the stables. Apparently, she had made previous arrangements for her chestnut stallion was tacked and waiting outside the doors. The stable hand came out to greet her as she checked the saddlebags. I settled on the doorstep to put on my boots.

“I half expected to see you last night, lady,” the boy drawled. His speech was slow and languid as though there was nothing in the world that needed rushing. “A whole host of bounty hunters left a few hours after sundown. I figure they were hunting a bounty and you would want your horse.”

“You should know by now, Jac, I rarely change my plans for that kind of thing.”

“Yah, I reckoned that eventually.”

“Did you saddle Brone up before you reckoned that?” she asked as she tightened the girth.

“Naw,” Jac grinned. “Those hunters kept me busy until I reckoned it all out. I didn’t disturb him.”

I assumed that Brone was the stallion watching Romany check the stirrups. A hearty, healthy animal, his coat shone glossy with care and he seemed quiet tempered like his mistress. With wise eyes he turned to regard the stable boy and huffed at him for attention. The boy willingly complied. Stepping to stand beside him, he rubbed his nose. “Ya be good for yar mistress now. Keep her well.” Brone nickered in response.

“Take care of yourself, Jac.” Romany wrapped the reins around her gloved hand and then mounted in one flawless movement. Sitting the horse with the ease of one born to the saddle, she urged the beast forward and out of the yard and onto the road heading west.

I waited until she was out of sight before approaching the stable boy for my own horse. Trader, a Caerdennian stallion, wasn’t much to look at, but I would trust him with my life. Our partnership went back to my soldiering days. He had saved my skin more times than I could count. When Jac brought him out, he whinnied at the sight of me and stamped his feet, eager for adventure.

“Thanks, lad,” I said as I claimed Trader’s reins. “I would tip you, but I don’t have any money on me.”

“That is fine.” He favored me with a grin. “Good journey to you.”

I nodded my thanks and trotted out of the inn’s yard in the same direction as the elusive Romany woman. Something in my gut told me that she was heading for trouble and I wanted to get to her before it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wren

As soon as we cleared the outlying farms of the town, Shea, Gavin, and Elsu began circling above me. They cried for me to stop, but the distance from town wasn’t great enough. Falcons were common enough in these parts, but three of them circling and then landing in the same place would be enough to catch the attention of almost every hunter within a mile or so radius.

Ignoring their calls, I trained my thoughts on the trail. According to the information, Tourth Mynth was last located in Itrany in the south. Then, his trail disappeared. The bumbling horde of trackers most likely also hurried off toward Itrany to pick up the trail there. However, that would not be where I began. Mynth wouldn’t run without purpose and direction. He was a thinking man.

I had met him once, two months ago outside Lord Forgtrey’s stables. He had admired Brone, something most men did not do. My horse wasn’t a remarkable color, size, or distinctive in any of the flashy ways that young lordlings liked. However he was a solid, well-trained war horse. Mynth approached him with appreciation and affection. Brone invited his touch, something that was exceedingly rare, and Mynth commented on his lines.

“He is handsome.” He stroked Brone’s neck. “He is built for endurance, the perfect horse for a traveler.” The lordling stood tall and well muscled next to the horse. Something about him reminded me of Taerith. Maybe it was his quiet manner. That was where the resemblance stopped. Mynth had an athletic grace about his movements. He didn’t train so that he could hold a sword like the Lord’s son, Kale, and the other young men. Instead, he trained to a warrior. It was a role that I could never envision Taerith filling, my oldest brother, Aiden, maybe, but not thoughtful Taerith.

I nodded, but he didn’t see it. My stallion completely engrossed his attention. “His name is Brone,” I offered.

Then he turned to look at me for the first time. Dark, shaggy hair fell into his grey eyes as he assessed me with an ironic half smile. “How imaginative, tagging him with his color.”

“It fit him and he liked it.”

He lifted a brow. “You liked it, did you?” he asked the horse. Brone tossed his head and eyed him. “And your name?” He looked over at me again.

“Wren.”

This time he smiled. “Again a name that fits. Nice to meet you, Wren, rider of Brone.” He offered me a calloused hand. “Tourth Mynth.”

Accepting his handshake, my own hand was engulfed in a firm grip up to the wrist. His hands were made for holding a sword.

Just then, someone called his name and he left with a bow.

As I reviewed my memories, I was certain that he was going to be a worthy opponent. Though, I wasn’t sure he should be my opponent. Perhaps it was the way he bonded with Brone. My horse didn’t give his trust to just anyone. Or maybe it was the honesty in his eyes and manner. Something wasn’t right when I envisioned him killing the lordling, Kale.

Brone sidestepped nervously bringing me out of my thoughts with the sudden cry of Elsu from above. Brone whinnied and then huffed noisily. He was trying to tell me something. My senses instantly sharpened and I looked around.

The early morning forest was unusually still. It could have been my own passage through its depths that caused the uncharacteristic stillness, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the cause. Drawing Brone to a halt, I listened.

After three minutes, the falcons descended around me with a flutter of wings. Elsu landed on my shoulder, Shea disappeared into the top of a nearby tree, and Gavin glided down into a hopping landing in the middle of the trail. I could feel them all watching me as I continued to hold Brone motionless and listened. The forest sounds returned, rustling and scampering. A boar passed by on the left with a grunt. Brone twitched impatiently, taking a step before I hushed him again with a hand on his neck. That was when I heard it. The silence behind was interrupted with a distant whinny. Brone’s ears perked at the sound.

I was being followed, but who could it be. Arthus Heaton’s warning from the night before slipped though my thoughts. Regardless of whether or not it was Roark or Heaton on my trail, I wasn’t about to let them follow me all the way to Mynth.

Dismounting, I retrieved my bow and quiver from among the gear on Brone’s back. A large clump of hawthorne bushes provided the perfect blind for hiding him from the trail. Then, I retreated to a sturdy oak that overlooked the small clearing and offered a limb at a perfect angle and distance from the path. I had just reached my perch when the rustle of the horse’s hooves stirring the underbrush became audible.

Shea and Elsu took the clue from my unusual behavior and joined me silently. They perched side by side on the branch over my head. Meanwhile, Gavin settled himself in the exact center of the worn rut of brown against the green mossy forest floor and began to preen. I whistled to him, but he ignored me and continued his hygiene routine. His ruffled white feathers stood out sharply against the backdrop of rich green and earthy brown.

So much for surprise. I tightened the bow string, slipped a shaft from my quiver, and steadied myself against the trunk of the tree. The arrow was notched to the string, but I didn't have time to draw it back before a scruffy-looking black and gray stallion emerged from the trees. On its back, a roughly dressed man with a familiar face regarded Gavin with curiosity.

“And who are you?” Arthus asked.

Gavin continued to straighten his feathers. Above my head, Elsu croaked out a conversational cry and Arthus whipped his head in our direction. Before he found my face, I had the bow drawn and the arrow pointed at his chest.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me?” he asked curiously. There was no fear in his eyes as he surveyed my features. “I assume that he is yours,” he said, pointing to Gavin.

Mentally noting with surprise that he knew that the falcon on the ground was a male, I frowned down at him. “Why are you following me?”

“For your protection.”

“I already told you that I don’t need protection.”

“I am not the only one on your trail. Roark’s men have been on my tail all morning. I am easier to track than you, but you were traceable.”

My stomach tightened at the mention of Roark. “I haven’t been trying to be invisible,” I pointed out.

“I figured as much since I have had no problem keeping up.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to lower that?” He jutted a chin toward the bow. “I don’t mind trusting your tracking skills, but your ability to hold that taut much longer is another thing.”

I lowered the bow and replaced the arrow in my quiver. I could hold a taut bowstring for much longer than that, but I wasn’t about to brag to this man. Looking him over, something nagged me.

“Why are you so set on coming with me?”

“You need me.”

I stared at him. He didn’t strike me as pompous, confident, perhaps overly confident, but not pompous. “I am not really a damsel in distress,” I pointed out as I sat down on the branch and regarded him seriously

“You are now on Roark’s hate list and he will stop at nothing to bring down those he hates. You are going to need someone to watch your back while you do your work.”

“So you are going to protect me all by yourself?” Then a memory of our meeting with Roark sparked a thought. “I got the impression that you and Roark were already on shaky ground.”

He shrugged. “Right now I am just an annoyance. Of course, if I show up with you again and prevent his getting to you, I might move up a notch to irritant.”

“Then why am I already at hate level?”

“You publicly defied and humiliated him and your gender makes the slight unforgivable.”

It made sense. “I concede that Roark is most likely after my skin. That leaves the question of you. What skill do you have to offer that I do not already have?” I crossed my arms.

“I bring a second sword, another pair of eyes to watch for attack, a male presence to discourage questions, and my skills as an ex-soldier.”

“Mercenary?”

“No, native. I had more of an aptitude for the sword than the plow.”

I watched his face. “And what would you get in return?”

“Food and what you feel is fitting wages for my services when you get the bounty.”

Fair enough. He wasn’t asking for much. He seemed like a decent enough man and from what I knew of Roark, I was going to need any help I could get whether I wanted it or not. Deus had put me in this situation. It was my place to do the best I could with what He had given me.

“Here are the rules. You sleep on the other side of the campfire. You make a move that I find offensive and I will not be held responsible for the consequences. We share all camping duties fifty-fifty and you treat me with the respect you would treat a male employer.” I hooked the slackened bow over my left shoulder and Elsu fluttered over and landed on my other. His claws dug into the leather of my jerkin. “Also, don’t bother the falcons. They can take off your finger if they wanted.”

His dark gaze turned to Gavin, who was still sitting in the middle of the trail. “The rules sound reasonable. Do we have a contract?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthus

She drove a hard bargain. I watched her climb down from the tree silently and swiftly. The black falcon with the golden eyes regarded me curiously from its perch on the branch she had left.

“What are their names?” I asked as she led her horse out into the open again.

“Elsu is the black. The brown in the tree over there is Shea and the thickskulled white is Gavin.” She then frowned at the white and said, “You know better than to do that.”

Gavin cocked his head and looked back at her placidly.

“And your horse?” I asked as she turned her attention to it.

“Brone.” Trader took a step or two forward at my urging. Wren was occupied with the task of adjusting the load on Brone’s back. Watching her work with the flaps, I noted her quick movements and her size. Up until now I had only seen her at a distance, or while sitting at a table. But as she stood next to Brone’s saddle, I suddenly realized that she was perhaps only slightly over five feet tall. Either through the force of her personality or her confident handling of masculine matters, I had been thinking of her as taller.

“Where are we going?” I asked as she swung up into the saddle and brought Brone around to face west.

“First, we are going to lose Roark’s men. How far back are they?” Brone began following the trail again.

“About a half hour behind now.”

“How good are you at barrel riding?”

I looked at the back of her head. What did the training exercise for young riders have to do with losing a tail? “I handled it well,” I replied, which was true. “Why?”

“That is exactly the skill you are going to need over the next few hours. Now follow me and try to have your horse stay in Brone’s tracks as exactly as you can manage. Do you understand?” She regarded me with golden eyes flecked with brown and a hidden smile on her lips. It looked like whatever she had planned was going to be fun.

I nodded.

“Good. Then we are off.” She took the lead and then suddenly in the middle of a straight away, she turned to the left and she and Brone dove into the brush at the side of the road. Wondering at her sanity, Trader and I followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano