The Prodigal Troll Part 3

"It is not so bad as it once was," Yvon said.

"It is bad enough. For your warning, many, many, many thanks!" She said it three times as she walked away, drawing the attention of the G.o.ds, who would surely squabble and bring someone trouble. The herder tapped the strays with her staff, driving them toward the main herd. If there was trouble, it didn't seem likely to fall on her.

Yvon leaned on his walking stick, unsure which direction to go next.

Jaye puffed his cheeks out until his face grew red. Xaragitte patted his back until he burped up a tiny mouthful of milk. She wiped the curds off her shoulder and smeared her palm on her skirt.

"Why did you warn her of the lions?" she demanded from Yvon. Her voice was cold and distant as the mountaintops.

He rubbed his hand over the empty place where his warrior's braid had hung. Without it, he felt like a mammut without a trunk.

"Lord Ambit would not have sworn loyalty unless the Baron stationed a garrison of men there to enforce it," he said. "So the herder probably saved our lives. She certainly prevented our capture. By the G.o.ds of war and justice, I owed her news of equal value."

"May the G.o.ddess rot them, may the lions kill them all," she said bitterly, though it was unwise to wish ill in Bwnte's name. Xaragitte sniffled. "Where do we go now?"

"I was just asking myself the same question. We'll have to go to Lady Eleuate's castle."

"That's back in the direction we've just come. Farther!"

"Yes, but there's nowhere else to go. Claye is formally betrothed to her daughter." And it would mean perhaps another week of travel together for the two-or three-of them.

Xaragitte nodded. Slowly, but she nodded. "How will we make our way there, with the Baron's army in the valley?"

Yvon stroked his beard. "We'll join the train of the army, just another family traveling from one part of the valley to another."

"We can't do that."

"Why not? No one knows us; no one should recognize us. And they're marching in the direction we wish to go."

"But they-"

"And they have food and drink down there." She'd eaten the very last of their supplies yesterday: dogmeat, Gruethrist's hounds, butchered at siege's end. Yvon's stomach was a rawhide knot of hunger. "Is this not so?"

"Yes." She hissed the word, like an accusation. "But they would have starved us all."

"Then it's only fitting they should feed us now." Yes, he liked the idea even more. He stared down the slope at the army. They'd have food there, and he might not even need to steal- A knife pressed into his ribs. He froze. "Wait!"

"Why? You mean to betray us." Her voice trembled, but the knife did not. The tip dug harder into his side.

He said nothing. He remained still. Even the branches of the trees were still. Sunlight trickled through them like water leaking from cupped hands, to disappear as quickly as his best-made plan. Yvon waited, motionless, until he heard her draw breath to speak again.

In that split second, he spun and caught her hand at the base. She held the knife with her thumb and forefinger; the blade was slender, sharp. He buried his thumb in her wrist, and twisted. She gasped, dropping the weapon and wrapping her arm protectively around Claye, who hung in his sling. But she stood her ground, and stared Yvon in the eye.

"Why'd you do that?" he shouted.

"Lady Gruethrist warned me, she said you were fickle, like every other man, ruled by your emotions. And then all your bellyaching in the woods, and your excuses, and the delays, and being scared by two boys-you would have killed them too-and murdering that-"

"Stop."

11 -murdering that poor boy of a knight!"

"Stop!"

She fell silent and tried to tug her arm free.

Yvon held tight until his knuckles blanched. He leaned in close as if he meant to kiss her. "I'm bound to serve Lord Gruethrist, as wedding binds him to serve your lady, and he means to defend both her t.i.tle and claim to the valley against the whims of the Empress and Baron Culufre's forces. When we join Gruethrist in the high country, I'll give him exact numbers of those forces and some intelligence of their intentions. Because we took a slight risk today."

"a.s.suming he escapes."

"He'll escape."

She pulled her arm away again. This time he let go. "If you betray me," she said, "or bring harm to this child, I'll see Bwnte feast on your festering carca.s.s."

Her distrust slashed deeper than her little knife could ever cut. He pointed to the men and animals milling below them. "The Baron's soldiers don't know who we are-the chief herder just met us and didn't care. We'll be refugees, like all the other landless women-"

"I'm not landless."

Only because she served Lady Gruethrist; only because Lady Gruethrist had promised to reward her with a grant of land for nursemaiding Claye.

They stared grimly at each other.

The baby strained, lifting his head to peer quizzically at Yvon. His tiny fist batted the air. "Ma-ma!"

Yvon looked away first, bending to s.n.a.t.c.h up her knife. It was well balanced, sharp, easy to conceal. Perfect for close stabbing. He flipped it, so that the blade pointed toward himself, and handed it to her hiltfirst. "Lady, I will treat this child as though he were yours, in your own home, until we deliver him safely back to his mother or her family."

She took the knife, holding it toward him for a second, then slipped it back into the sheath concealed in a fold of her dress. She rubbed the back of her hand across dry lips, scowling at him one last time as she started to walk.

He went quickly ahead. Last winter seemed closer and warmer than she did at that moment.

The hills sloped down to a broad flat plain of fertile land that bracketed an unpredictable river. Two bare-limbed scouts jogged away from the main camp. Yvon waved his walking stick at them. They lifted their spears in answer and kept on going. Sometimes it was easiest to hide right out in the open.

Xaragitte did not speak to him, but she sang to Claye. It was the old rhyme.

Yvon led them alongside the army, toward the rear. He counted nearly a hundred braided knights, men like himself, trained in all the arts of war. At least four hundred foot soldiers accompanied them, men like he had been when he first served Lord Gruethrist on the western plains. Another five to six hundred men followed also-servants, baggage carriers, herders, mammut handlers. Half this force, added to the besiegers, could subdue all of Gruethrist's men with ease. There was no choice of meeting them in a direct battle.

Twenty mammuts! Yvon's legs wobbled again. Only the Empress's consort fielded more than that. A hundred times that many cattle milled between the hills and the army. Together, the mammuts and cattle would strip the season's infant pastures bare, devouring or crushing every green thing in their path. The Baron could conquer Gruethrist or simply starve him.

The usual stragglers chased the rearguard: landless women with children, motherless children with dogs, ragged misfit families herding sheep and goats, gangs of barely adolescent boys who'd left home to join the men-all the types that an army attracted the way dogs drew fleas.

But it was a good mixed crop, with some faces and clothing that would be at home among the peasant villages, some in the capital of the empire, and some in the western mountains where Yvon came from. Yvon, Xaragitte, and Claye would easily fit in. No one noticed a few more carrots in a stew.

Claye giggled and squealed, and tried to pull himself out of the sling. Xaragitte tickled him. He kicked, and laughed even harder as they fell in behind, neither among the other stragglers nor apart from them. Families usually kept to themselves in an army's train, ashamed of their poverty, hoping to claim land in a new territory and start over. A boy, bone-thin with matted hair, trotted along near Yvon, sizing them up for either handouts or theft. Yvon scowled until he ran off, then cringed at the memory of tagging along the same way, lonely, hungry, and desperate. It was like being trailed by a shadow of his youth.

"Will we walk at this pace all day?" asked Xaragitte, shifting Claye's sling to the other side. Her hair hung limp over her face. Her eyes were dark, and sunken.

Yvon looked at the sky, the sun just showing over the eastern ridge. "Maybe. If so, we'll reach the castle tonight."

"But it took us three days to come this far!"

Fatigue also nipped at his heels. "I know." He thought of the temple priestess. They'd have to find some way across the river without being stopped at the bridge. "We'll have to be very careful."

Claye squirmed and tried to pull himself over Xaragitte's shoulder. She tugged him down again. "We can't let anyone recognize Claye."

"Don't use his name, then! We can't let anyone recognize us either."

From over their shoulders: "You!"

Xaragitte shied at the sound of the high-pitched voice. Yvon continued walking.

"You-old man!" The chief herder ran to intercept them. She couldn't have been a eunuch long, Yvon thought: she still had too much energy. Her grin was broad and genuine. "Greetings, greetings, greetings! I thought it was you, the old man afraid of lions."

Yvon tensed. Did the herder intend a double meaning? Baron Culufre's emblem was the dagger-toothed lion-had she discovered that Yvon was one of Gruethrist's men already? "I'm just a simple farm-husband, fearing for another's livestock."

"Yes, yes, yes. The Baron intended to pasture the herds in that direction, away from the village. But I conveyed to him your timely, welcome warning. Now he will send hunters up there in advance. We did not come prepared for such a wilderness as this, I tell you. We owe you many thanks."

"None at all." Yvon walked faster.

The herder fell in step beside them and politely avoided looking at Xaragitte. "You're here because you've accepted my offer, yes? The Baron generously rewards all those who serve him, and you have served him well already."

"No, we simply happen to be going this way. It was news I was happy to share, as a lady gives water to a stranger who comes knocking at her door."

"Is there anything at all I can do to help you?"

Yvon's footsteps faltered, stopped. He glanced over at Xaragitte. "There is one small favor."

The herder's smile grew wider. "Name yourself, then name your favor!"

"You honor us, to ask our names," Yvon said, politely including Xaragitte. He recalled the shepherd boys from the day before-neither their accents nor appearance would match those names, but Yvon didn't expect a n.o.ble eunuch from the Imperial City to catch that. "I am Bran. I accompany my niece, Pwylla."

The herder's expression grew grave and she stopped walking, indicating to Yvon and Xaragitte that they must do the same. "Please, continue."

Yvon swallowed. "We've been afoot these four days, and I have no more food to gift her with, to my great shame. If you would be kind enough to provide my niece with a bite to eat, I will say prayers to Verlogh for you at the festival of justice."

The eunuch lifted the carved horn to her lips and blew several short notes. When she was done, she lowered the horn and thrust out her hands. The intimate gesture surprised Yvon. He hesitated, then tucked his walking stick under his arm, extending his own hands. They gripped each other's wrists.

"Well met, Bran. My name is Sebius. We cannot permit our new but beloved friends to venture so long afoot with neither sustenance nor drink."

Two young, muddy boys, one dark-skinned and the other fair, ran up to Sebius. Others hurried over, but too late. She waved them off. The herder whispered her commands, and the two took off running in different directions.

Xaragitte looked questioningly at Yvon, who made no response at all. She shifted Claye to her other hip and pulled the sweat-damp hair away from her face.

"Aha," Sebius said, noticing the gesture. "The G.o.ddess Bwnte herself did not have tresses so red, nor skin as pale and freckled, when she walked disguised across the plains of Maedatup with her newborn son."

A smile quirked across Xaragitte's lips. That resemblance was one of the chief reasons she'd been selected as nursemaid. Yvon felt worse and worse about this chance encounter. Three G.o.ds watching them.

"Have you ever seen the mammuts before?" Sebius asked.

"I have, a few times," Yvon answered, leaving off that he hated the beasts. There were only three things in the world he hated and feared, and war mammuts were one.

"And you, m'lady Pwylla-you will not be offended if I address you so familiarly?"

"N-no," Xaragitte answered. "I am honored."

"Ah! Have you ever seen the mammuts before?"

"No, never."

Sebius clapped her hands together. "Today, you shall not only see one, you shall be conveyed like a princess upon one's back. It is my little gift to you, to ease your journey."

"You do us too much honor," Yvon protested.

"Not at all! For all I know, she is the G.o.ddess Bwnte, come in disguise once more, and I have a duty to help her."

Xaragitte smiled at her. "Usually, men flatter me with that comparison when they seek the blessings of the G.o.ddess herself."

"I am beyond reproach in that regard," the eunuch said, and they both laughed. "So it is agreed, then, yes?"

Yvon wanted her to say no. A short time ago, she'd tried to stab him for suggesting they join the train of the army. Now she was ready to ride one of the Baron's mammuts. But the presence of the eunuch rea.s.sured her-she'd worked side by side with Kepit in Lady Gruethrist's service. She glanced at Yvon, her eyes as hard as steel.

"We would love to ride on a mammut," she told Sebius. She tickled Claye beneath his chin. "Wouldn't we, darling?"

Yvon's heart stopped in his throat as he half expected her to call the baby by his true name. Anyone who heard the name Claye would think of Gruethrist.

At that moment, the first of the boys returned leading a mammut, a small beast, only ten feet tall and clearly old, no longer a fighting mammut. The red fur fell off in clumps, the way it always did in spring. Bra.s.s k.n.o.bs covered the sawed-off tusks. Ropes girded about its waist held a bundle on its back. The handler was a slight lad not much older than the errand boys, which meant it was a trusted animal. But the s.h.a.ggy beasts were too unpredictable, Yvon thought, no matter what their age or use.

Sebius gestured to the handler, who clicked his teeth and gave a command with his feet behind the creature's ears. The mammut knelt to the ground.

"This is Lady Pwylla," Sebius explained. "You will carry her today and ease her journey. Treat her as if she were the G.o.ddess herself."

"It is my exquisite privilege, Lady," the handler said. Large ears stood out on either side of his head, twitching like a mammut's. "You may ride up here, seated on the Baron's tent."

"I'll take the child," Yvon said, holding out his hands. At least he could protect the heir.

Sebius tapped her heart. "Oh, no, no, no. No child in swaddling should be separated from his loving mother. The babe shall be perfectly safe."

"Oh, yes," the handler added. "The babe will be perfectly safe up here. Giruma is a very gentle mammut."

"I'll keep him with me," Xaragitte said firmly. "He may soon be hungry again." She turned her back on Yvon.

He went to boost her up and so did Sebius. With one helping her on either side, she climbed onto the kneeling mammut's back and settled on the cushion of the pack it carried. When the animal stood again, she smiled nervously.

"Onward," Sebius told the mammut handler. "We have very far to go today."

"Be careful," Yvon said, walking beside the beast, but Xaragitte did not look at him.

Sebius matched steps with Yvon, speaking in a low voice. "I must see to the strays-the other strays." She laughed, and although he didn't like being referred to as a stray, Yvon smiled in reply. "But later you will walk with me, yes, and tell me all you know about the valley. Yes?"

"My knowledge is a drop of water in a broad river."