“Hey, where am I going to sleep?”
Gray closed his eyes and ignored Stinson. The sun was just setting, but he was tired of walking in the sand and knew he’d sleep all night soundly while he recovered. His calves and thighs would be sore in the morning.
A hand shook him awake. Gray opened his eyes. He rolled from the shallow cave and came to his feet, knife in his hand. The stars were out. The night was cold and brittle, but no danger made itself obvious. Stinson stood to one side, scared or confused.
Gray hissed, ready to defend against whatever danger presented itself. “What is it?”
“I was wondering what we’re going to eat. It’s way past time for dinner, and you’re just sleeping.”
Two deep breaths partially calmed the excitement and fear as it turned to disgust. He said, “Did you bring any food?”
“You’re in charge. Remember?”
The attitude again. Despite the dim light, Gray could picture the sneer on Stinson’s face. A dozen angry retorts sprang to mind. But Stinson always had a quicker reply, so he said nothing as he reached for his blanket and crawled back into his shelter.
“I said I’m hungry!”
Without turning over to see the outline of Stinson, and without raising his voice, Gray said, “If you wake me again tonight you will be eating your front teeth for a meal. If you don’t believe me, say one more word.”
Fool! Gray had regretted the words almost before they escaped. Now he would have to try and back them up, but Stinson was half a head taller and weighed much more. He was a mean fighter. But instead of a challenge, he heard Stinson settle down and eventually go to sleep.
The incident kept Gray awake. He had stood up to Stinson in a way that was unexpected, and Stinson had backed down. That was reassuring. What was not, was that the idiot seemed to have come on a trip intending to last several days but had brought no food with him. The newest watchers of the family knew better than that. Also, he had emptied his water bottles, his life depending on a trickle of water flowing between two stones in the middle of the drylands.
One poor choice after another. Deadly choices. Gray could share his food with him, but he had anticipated the hard travel so packed light, including minimal food to save weight. Still, he could share, but the real problem that worried Gray was, what other stupid mistakes would Stinson make tomorrow? Or the day after.
The soft, regular sounds of Stinson’s breathing assured Gray he was asleep and would not wake him again. But now Gray was too awake and too angry to sleep. Carefully, he slipped from the cave and rolled his blanket. Making sure his water bottles were full, he filled himself by drinking directly from the seep until he could hold no more. He gathered his staff in one hand and walked slowly to the east, then veered a little south where the lay of the land presented the easier route.
When Stinson woke in the morning, he’d realize that he didn’t know where Gray had gone. He wouldn’t know the route to Fleming and he’d have no option but to return home. Problem solved.
Turning to more immediate problems, the triad was out there, ahead. He didn’t want to stumble upon them in the pre-dawn darkness, but he knew they should be almost a half day’s walk from him if they maintained the pace he’d seen from the watchtower. But you can never be sure, and the triad was probably tired and thirsty. He should find a sign of their passing in late morning, but it might come sooner.
The travel was slow. He didn’t need to twist an ankle or trip in the low light, and the moon was only a sliver that had set long ago. His eyes adjusted to the meager light provided by more stars than a hundred men could count, but he placed one foot in front of the other until he grew sleepy.
Men do not like sleeping in the open, he mused. Even a small tree or shrub makes them feel less exposed, although in truth any animal searching to make a meal of a man wouldn’t care. But a shrub appeared out of the darkness, and he spread his blanket under it and almost instantly fell into a deep, and restful sleep.
Scurrying sounds woke him, just after sunrise. A small desert mouse darted near him, unafraid and less than wary. The creature sat on two hind legs peering at his face an arm-length away, twitching its nose at him. Gray lay still and watched, amused. He carefully reached for his bag of food and pulled two nuts and a dried grape. He tossed them near the mouse.
The mouse shied away, but then relented and investigated. A nibble and they were best friends. The food was soon hauled away and hidden, and the mouse was back for more. He let a few more morsels fall from his fingertips, wondering how feeding a mouse felt so right when he refused to feed one of his own the night before.
Reluctantly, he left the mouse and started walking while the air was cool. The land became coarse; sharp volcanic rock covered it with a thin layer of sand. While the footing was easier, it was also more treacherous. Solid rock protruded from the depths of the sand, causing trips and near falls. His eyes were on where he placed his feet as much as on what lay ahead.
Depending on the speed of the triad, their direction, and when their water gave out, he might locate them at any time. His direction cut across the drylands at an angle, ensuring he would cross their path at some point. He found it sooner than expected.
Long furrows showed where feet had dragged instead of lifting. He soon found others. They were the tracks of men almost dead of thirst and weakness. Instead of walking behind the tracks and perhaps stumbling into them, where one of them might let loose an arrow, he ascertained their direction and moved off to one side.
Gray watched to his right, knowing that he’d discover them before long. It took longer than expected. Near mid-morning, he caught the glint of the sun on metal. He moved closer, using rocks, shrubs, and rises in the ground to hide behind as he moved closer. He slowly approached a wide pool of sand and found the three lying together in the direct sunlight, not even trying to shelter themselves under the meager shade available from nearby greasewood.
They were the king’s men wearing the king’s colors. A triad. All wore armbands proudly telling of their unit, and they carried the king’s short bows favored by archers for rapid shooting. Their dress was tan uniforms, sturdy enough to last for years of service.
Gray approached them slowly, seeing that one watched him from limpid eyes, but didn’t reach for a weapon. A second man, half-raised an arm before it fell back to the sand. The third was dead.
Quickly the weapons were removed by Gray and tossed aside. Then he took one man by the neck of his shirt and dragged him to the only shade nearby. He returned and pulled the second to share the same shade. He pulled the stopper from his water bottle and drank half the contents in full view of four begging eyes.
“Either of you want the rest of this?” he shook the jar to let them know what it contained.
The first man mouthed, “Yes.” But no sound came forth.
The second held out a shaking hand.
Gray paused, then knelt beside them and asked, “Which of you wants this water jar? I’ll give it to the one who is willing to talk to me.”
“Ah,” the first grunted, his eyes saying he’d tell all.
The second let his arm fall to the ground as a brief expression of hate crossed his face. His head fell limply to one side and his eyes closed. Gray held the water closer to the first man and then pulled it away. “You’ll talk to me if I give you this? Answer all my questions?”