With spare rope from the wagon, Ashinji secured a bag, also filled with supplies, to the back of the chestnut gelding he and Seijon were to ride then quickly mounted. He reached down and grasped Seijon’s wrist then helped the boy to scramble up behind him.
For a few moments, no one spoke. High in the canopy of the stately old oak, birdsong filled the branches with sweet, piping notes. A tiny butterfly, the color of the summer sky, alighted on the back of Magnes’ hand and clung there, its wings opening and closing in languid sweeps.
Perhaps this is an omen that everything will turn out for the best , he thought.
The butterfly fluttered away. Magnes turned to look back at Fadili and the sight of his young friend lying senseless on the road tore a groan from Magnes’ lips. “Gods…We can’t leave him like this!”
“We have no choice. We’ve done all we can to protect him. We must go now.” Gran’s implacable tone left no room for dissent.
“May Eskleipas always hold you in His hands, Brother. I’m sorry.” Magnes wiped his streaming eyes with trembling fingers.
“May the One keep him safe,” Ashinji added. “Which way, my friend?”
“Northeast, cross-country. We should reach Amsara in about two weeks, that is, if we don’t run into any trouble. There’s a smaller road that parallels this one, but I’m not quite sure how far we’ll have to ride overland until we find it. Since the army isn’t going that way, we shouldn’t encounter any patrols.”
“Our only hope now is speed,” Ashinji commented, tugging on his ear and glancing over his shoulder. “We haven’t time to conceal our trail, so we’ll have to outrun our pursuers.”
“Let us pray these horses are up to the task,” Gran responded.
“They’ll have to be,” Ashinji replied, his voice grim. “Lead the way, Magnes.”
Together, the little band of fugitives turned their horses’ noses eastward.
At sunset, they reached the secondary road and turned north once again. They rode hard until moonrise, then stopped and sheltered in an abandoned barn for the remainder of the night. At first light, they pushed on.
They rode now through rolling grasslands dotted with small stands of oak and solitary chestnut trees, populated by sheep and brown-spotted cattle. Isolated farmsteads appeared in little valleys or on windswept hilltops then fell away behind as they pressed onward. It soon became obvious their meager supplies would not last much more than a few days. Finding food in this sparsely settled land would be extremely difficult with no weapons for hunting, and they dared not stop openly at any of the farms along the way. The only alternative was the use of Gran’s magic.
“At the next farmstead we come to, I’ll cast glamours on us,” the old mage said.
Shortly after midday, they spotted a small, thatch-roofed farmhouse standing in a little hollow about a hundred paces off the road. A stand of laurel trees across the road provided a convenient place of concealment where Ashinji and Seijon could wait with the horses.
Even after she had explained and had cast the glamour, Magnes still couldn’t believe his eyes. In Gran’s place, an old human woman with iron gray hair and dark brown eyes stood before him.
“By the way you’re gaping at me, I can guess my glamour is convincing,” Gran sniffed as she tied a scrap of cloth over her head for a scarf. “Now, hold still while I disguise you.” Magnes held his breath as he waited, his eyes riveted on Gran’s every move. A slight wave of vertigo, a burst of tingling along his limbs, and then…
“Ha! You’d fool your own mother, young man,” the old mage commented wryly.
“What do I look like? Tell me!” Magnes demanded.
Ashinji stifled a guffaw behind his hand. Seijon gaped like a startled bird.
“You’ve got a shiny bald head and a big black beard,” the boy squeaked. “You look like a pirate!”
“You do look a bit, uh, frightening,” Ashinji agreed, his wiry body shaking with mirth. “You could pass for a pirate. I think.”
“Oh, don’t listen to them,” Gran grumbled. “You don’t look like yourself and that’s all that matters.”
Magnes found himself laughing as well and it felt good, in spite, or maybe because of, the danger they faced.
As Ashinji and Seijon led the horses deeper into the sheltering trees, Magnes and Gran approached the house along a gravel-strewn footpath. They moved cautiously, expecting at any moment to be challenged by dogs, but the yard remained quiet.
“Halloo!” Magnes called out. “Anyone at home?” He and Gran waited in silence for a few heartbeats before he tried again, louder this time.
“Halloooo!”
After several more moments of silence, Magnes looked at Gran and said, “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”
“No, there is someone here,” Gran replied. “I can sense… her . I’m not sure why she doesn’t come out, unless…no, no. I sense no fear. I think she must not be able to hear us for some reason.”
“Let’s go look inside.” Magnes crossed the yard in several quick strides to the door then pushed it open. He stuck his head in and looked around. A rough-hewn oak table and two chairs stood at the center of the room. The only other furniture consisted of a cupboard against the far wall and two more finely crafted chairs beside the unlit hearth. Natural light entering from two small windows and the open door provided the only illumination.
“No one in here,” he called out. He entered and stood, hands on hips, puzzled; then, it occurred to him why Gran could feel the presence of a person here, but yet, the farmhouse appeared deserted. “There must be a root cellar and that’s where the owner is,” he speculated.
Gran entered the room and looked around. “The woman must be hard of hearing, then,” she said. “Let’s get what we need and go.”
In the area that served as the cottage’s kitchen, they found eggs, cheese, butter, bread, turnips, a seed cake, and a large clay urn buried in the floor, filled with beer. A brace of freshly killed chickens hung from the ceiling. They took all of the eggs, a single loaf, one small round of cheese and one chicken. Magnes fished around in his pouch for a few silver coins to leave as payment.
“What’s this, then!”
Slowly, Magnes and Gran turned to face their unwilling host.
The farmwife stood blocking the open doorway, a small club in one upraised fist, a plump matron ready for battle. Magnes, though flushed with consternation, could also not help but feel amused. He took a single step forward, hands folded in supplication.
“Please, missus,” he said. “Me old mam an’ me was just travellin’ by on our way back home, an’ we was runnin’ outta food. We saw yer farm and I did call out but no one answered.”
“So, you thought you’d just come on in and help yourselves, is that it?” the woman replied, voice sharp with sarcasm. Magnes ducked his head as if ashamed, and in truth, he was, a bit.
“I’m real sorry, missus,” he murmured. “But we was goin’ to pay. Me mam and me ain’t thieves.” The woman sniffed and slowly, the club sank to her side.
“Huh, well. Can’t let it get about that I refused aid to them what’s in need,” she huffed.
Especially when there’s money in it for you , Magnes thought. He produced two silver sols and held them out on the palm of his hand. The woman scooped the coins up and promptly secreted them away within the folds of her skirt. She flashed a gap-toothed grin.
“P’raps yer old mam would like a mug of beer before you move on,” she offered, her suspicion transformed into solicitousness by the power of money. Magnes opened his mouth to politely refuse, but before he could speak, Gran stepped forward and tapped the woman on the forehead with her forefinger.
Magnes gaped in surprise as the woman’s eyes grew as round as saucers. Her fat lips stretched wide to scream, but instead, she gurgled, then went rigid.