“It does not seem to me,” the archbishop said, “that running in the woods is a great qualification…”
“But it would be,” said Duncan. “We’d be traveling in a wilderness.”
“This Conrad,” said Duncan’s father, “is a brawny man, about seven feet and almost twenty stone of muscle. Quick as a cat. Half animal. He bears unquestioning allegiance to Duncan; he would die for him, I’m sure. He carries a club, a huge oaken club…”
“A club!” the archbishop groaned.
“He’s handy with it,” said Duncan. “I’d put him with that club of his up against a dozen swordsmen and I’d give you odds on Conrad and his club.”
“It would not be too bad a choice,” Duncan’s father said. “The two of them would move quietly and swiftly. If they need defend themselves, they’d be capable.”
“Daniel and Tiny to go along with us,” said Duncan.
Duncan’s father saw the archbishop’s lifted eyebrows. “Daniel is a war-horse,” he explained, “trained to battle. He is the equal of three men. Tiny is a great mastiff. He is trained for war as well.”
3
Cedric left them well before dawn, after guiding them to a patch of thick woodland where they spent the remainder of the night. Shortly after dawn, Conrad awakened Duncan and they breakfasted on cheese and bread, unwilling to light a fire. Then they set out again.
The weather had improved. The wind had shifted and died down. The clouds were gone and the sun was warm.
They traveled through a lonely land, largely covered by woods, with deep glens and faery dells running through the woodlands. Occasionally they came across small farms where the buildings had been burned, with the ripe grain standing unharvested. Except for a few ravens that flew silently, as if awed to silence by the country they were passing over, and an occasional startled rabbit that came popping out of one thicket and ran toward another, they saw no life. About the whole country there was a sense of peacefulness and wellbeing, and this was strange, for this was the Desolated Land.
Some hours later they were traveling up a steep slope through a woods. The trees began thinning out and the woods came to an end. Ahead of them lay a barren, rocky ridge.
“You stay here,” Conrad said to Duncan. “I’ll go ahead and scout.”
Duncan stood beside Daniel and watched the big man go swiftly up the hill, keeping well down, heading for a rocky outcrop that thrust above the ridge. Daniel rubbed a soft muzzle against Duncan’s shoulder, whickering softly.
“Quiet, Daniel,” Duncan said.
Tiny sat a few feet ahead of them, ears sharp-pricked and bent forward. Beauty moved over to stand on the other side of Duncan, who reached out a hand and stroked her neck.
The silence wore on to a breaking point, but it did not break. There was no sound, no movement. Not even a leaf was rustling. Conrad had disappeared among the rocks. The afternoon wore on.
Daniel flicked his ears, again rubbed his muzzle against Duncan’s shoulder. This time he did not whicker.
Conrad reappeared, stretched out full length, slithering, snakelike, over the rocks. Once he was clear of the ridge, he came swiftly down the slope.
“Two things I saw,” he said.
Duncan waited, saying nothing. Sometimes one had to wait for Conrad.
“There is a village down below us,” Conrad finally said. “Black and burned. Except for the church. It is stone and could not burn. No one stirring. Nothing there.”
He stopped and then said, “I do not like it. I think we should go around.”
“You said you saw two things.”
“Down the valley. There were men on horses going down the valley, far beyond the village.”
“Men?”
“I think I saw the Reaver at the head of them. Far off, but I think I recognized him. There were thirty men or more.”
“You think they’re after us?” asked Duncan.
“Why else should they be here?”
“At least we know where they are,” said Duncan, “and they don’t know where we are. They’re ahead of us. I’m surprised. I hadn’t thought they’d follow. Revenge can get expensive in a place like this.”
“Not revenge,” said Conrad. “They want Daniel and Tiny.”
“You think that’s why they’re here?”
“A war-horse and a war-dog would be very good to have.”
“I suppose so. They might have trouble getting them. Those two would not change masters willingly.”
“Now what do we do?”
“Damned if I know,” said Duncan. “They were heading south?”
“South, and west, too. A little west. The way the valley runs.”
“We’d better swing east, then. Go around the village and widen the distance from them.”
“They are some distance off. Still more distance would be better.” Tiny rose to his feet, swinging around to the left, a growl deep in his throat.
“The dog has something,” Duncan said.
“A man,” said Conrad. “That’s his man growl.”
“How can you know?”
“I know all his talk,” said Conrad.
Duncan swiveled around to stare in the direction Tiny was looking. He could see nothing. No sign anything was there.
“My friend,” Duncan said, conversationally, “I’d come out if I were you. I’d hate to have to send the dog in after you.”
Nothing happened for a moment. Then some bushes stirred and a man came out of them. Tiny started forward.
“Leave him be,” said Conrad to the dog.
The man was tall and cadaverous. He wore a shabby brown robe that reached to his ankles. A cowl was bunched about his shoulders. In his right hand he carried a long and knobby staff, in his left he clutched a fistful of plants. The skin clung so tightly to his skull that the bones showed through. His beard was skimpy.
He said to them, “I’m Andrew, the hermit. I had meant not to interfere with you. So, catching sight of you, I hid from sight of you. I was out to hunt for greens, a mess of pottage for my supper. You wouldn’t have some cheese, perchance, would you?”
“We have cheese,” growled Conrad.
“I dream of cheese,” said Andrew, the hermit. “I wake up at night and find I am thinking of a bit of cheese. It has been a long time since I have had the taste of cheese.”
“In that case,” said Duncan, “we’ll be glad to give you some. Why don’t you, Conrad, take that sack off Beauty.”
“Nay, wait a moment,” objected Andrew. “No need to do it now. You be travelers, are you not?”
“You can see we are,” said Conrad, not too pleasantly.
“In that case,” said Andrew, “why not spend the night with me. I’m fair famished for the sight of human faces and the sound of human tongue. There’s Ghost, of course, but talking with him is little like talking with someone in the flesh.”
“Ghost?” asked Duncan.
“Aye, a ghost. A very honest ghost. And quite a decent one. Not given to the rattling of chains or moaning in the night. He’s shared my cell with me since the day that he was hanged. The Harriers done it to him.”
“The Harriers, of course,” said Duncan. “Would you tell us how you escaped the Harriers.”
“I hid in my cell,” said Andrew. “It really is a cave and it’s not as small and cramped and miserable as a proper cell should be. I fear I am not a proper hermit. I do not go in for the mortifications of the flesh as the more successful hermits do. I dug the cave first to cell-like proportions, as I understood I was supposed to, but over the years I have enlarged it until it’s spacious and fairly comfortable. There’s plenty of room for you. It’s hidden quite away. You’ll be secure from all observation, as I would imagine most travelers in a place like this naturally would want to be. The evening’s coming on and you must soon seek camp and you can’t find a better place than this cell of mine.”