Caramon's eyes narrowed, then he shook his head, his helm glinting. "No," he told her. "You're staying here."
"It's not for her either, sir." Uwen stepped forward. "I volunteered to go with you."
"Eh?" Caramon gave the boy a hard look; Uwen lowered his gaze, his cheeks going red. "This isn't like scaring off some goblins who've been stealing your cattle, lad. Most folk who go into Darken Wood don't come out again."
"Darling," Tika said. "A word with you?"
She led him to the kitchen, leaving Uwen flushed and silent behind them. "He insisted," she said when they were beyond the boy's hearing. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. I think he's sweet on Dez."
"Sweet Reorx," Caramon swore. "Does she even know he exists?"
"Well, he did save her from falling yesterday."
Caramon grunted, unconvinced.
"If you tell him no, he'll follow you anyway," Tika said.
Caramon studied Uwen. Solace was probably the farthest the boy ever been from his family's farm. And shouldn't he be going back there, now that the fair was over? Better that than bumbling after Dezra. He was likely to get himself killed.
Still, it didn't look like any of that mattered. Tika was right; even if he left without the boy, he'd turn around later today and see Uwen walking behind him. Better to begin the journey as friends. "All right," he said, raising his voice. "He can come."
The boy's face shone like a lantern. Caramon winced, and Tika hid a sudden grin.
"Well, then," Caramon said finally, gathering his gear again. "We'd best be off. Grab the food, Uwen, and-"
The door banged open. Caramon and Tika both looked at it, vainly hoping to see Dezra standing there. They were disappointed.
"Hey, big guy!" Borlos beamed.
He tromped into the tavern, lute slung over his shoulder. Clemen and Osier came in with him, and headed to their table by the kitchen. Clemen started shuffling cards as soon as he sat. Borlos stopped halfway across the room, however, looking at the pouches on the bar.
"Going somewhere, big guy?" he asked. "Looks like you're packed for a trip."
"We're going to Darken Wood," Uwen declared. "A centaur kidnapped Dezra. We're gonna rescue her."
"Really?" Borlos asked, nodding. The comers of his mouth twitched.
"Oh no," Caramon muttered. "Please don't smile."
The bard grinned. "A little adventure then, eh?" he asked. "To rescue the damsel fair. I know a song or three of the sort." He patted his lute.
"Bor!" called Clemen, riffling the deck. "We're setting up for a game of Blind Dwarf. Grab a seat."
"Not today, thanks," Borlos said. "Bigger things afoot. Don't want to miss an adventure, you know. I'll play when I get back."
"Get b-" Caramon started, then closed his mouth, scowling. It was the same with Borlos as with Uwen-he'd trail along, and nothing Caramon said would sway him.
The bard was even more of a problem, though. At least the farmboy was young and strong; Borlos was short and skinny, and at somewhere around forty winters he was past his prime. Still, he'd fought both the Knights of Takhisis and the hordes of Chaos ten years ago. At the least, he'd be good company.
"Fine," Caramon said at last. "You can come too."
"Great," Borlos answered, doffing his cap. "Maybe there'll even be a ballad in this, eh?"
We can only hope, Caramon thought wryly. "Dear," he said, "I think you'd better-"
Tika, however, was a step ahead. She'd already gone to the larder to pack more food. Shrugging, Caramon grabbed an empty waterskin and went to fill it with his spring brew.
They got horses from the stables, quick steeds Caramon kept to sell to travelers who needed fresh mounts. Uwen swung astride his easily, saddle creaking, but Borlos was a another story. He fumbled about with one foot in the stirrup while his horse twitched its ears in irritation. In the end, it took a boost from Caramon to get him up.
Caramon surveyed his companions and tried not to sigh. "You both might need armor," he said, gathering his horse's reins. "Boiled leather, at the least. I don't suppose either of you has a weapon?"
Uwen shook his head.
"I've got this," Borlos said. He drew a stiletto from his belt. Its narrow blade glinted in the sun.
"That won't do," Caramon said. "We'll find something simple-an axe or a hammer, or something. Can either of you pay?"
"I have some silver," Uwen declared.
Caramon turned to Borlos.
"Sorry, big guy," the bard said blithely. "I'm in debt to Clem and Osier a fair bit of steel just now. I'll have to owe you."
"Ah," Caramon declared without surprise. He eyed the both of them one last time, then trudged toward the smithy. This was going to be quite the adventure, all right.
8
Dezra felt like death on a platter.
She'd still been drunk at dawn, when she stole her gear and rode out on Trephas's back. That was long past now, and sobriety wasn't being friendly. Her stomach kept trying to climb up her throat; her head wanted to hatch. Trephas wasn't being very considerate, either. He kept at a canter along the winding Haven Road, bouncing her mercilessly with every step.
Finally, as the sun began to wester, she could take no more. "Stop," she moaned. "Now."
Trephas glanced at her, then halted and knelt in the road. She slid off his back and stumbled over to lean, wheezing, against a mossy boulder. Trephas pulled some flat bread and black olives from his pack and ate. He chuckled. "Ah, yes," he said. "I've heard thy kind get terrible sick from too much drink. A… hangover, is that word?"
Last night, his arrogance had seemed charming; now it rankled her. Blithely, he pulled out a wineskin and took a long swig. "I wouldn't know the feeling," he said. "It's never happened to me before."
That, Dezra thought as she rubbed her throbbing temples, was not fair.
She looked around blearily. The Haven Road was busy most spring days, but this was the day after a festival. There were no travelers to be seen. Ahead on the left loomed a tall mountain, its cleft top shaped like a pair of giant, beseeching hands.
"There's Prayer's Eye Peak," she said. "There should be a path to it up ahead."
"There is." Trephas clenched his jaw, pawing the ground. "We shan't use it, though."
"What?" Dezra returned. "Prayer's Eye Peak's the only pass into Darken Wood around here. If we don't take it, we'll have to go miles out of the way."
The centaur's eyes narrowed, lingering on the cleft mountain. "Even so," he said.
Dezra shook her head. "You're going to have to say more than that. I don't know how it is with your people, but I'm not some… filly you can order around without-"
"Whist!" Trephas hissed, holding up a hand.
"Whist?" Dezra exclaimed. "Who uses words like 'whist' any more?"
"Be still!"
The centaur's sharp tone silenced her. She touched her sword as he reached over his shoulder and pulled out his bow. He slid an arrow out of his quiver and notched it on the string. It tapped nervously against the bow-stave.
Dezra glanced about, searching for whatever trouble Trephas sensed. For a moment all was silent, save the moan of the wind and the soft tap-tap-tap of the centaur's arrow. Then, faintly, she heard something ahead: the thud of hoofbeats, the rattle of harnesses.
Trephas's tail twitched edgily. "Mount up," he hissed. "We must ride before the trap is set."
Dezra caught her breath, then lunged toward the centaur and climbed onto his back. She almost slid off the other side, then caught her arms about his waist to right herself.
Trephas's reflexes were quicker than any horse's. One moment he was standing still, the next he was halfway to a gallop and gaming speed. Startled, Dezra nearly lost her grip, and clutched him even tighter. Her heels pounded his flanks, spurring him on.