They didn't know exactly when dawn came, because in the middle of the night it started to rain again. They splashed along through puddles and under dripping branches, once more soaked to the skin, stopping only to check their bearings. Fortunately they'd passed through a rocky gorge before the light went, and Rhodina said that as long as they kept going downhill after that they wouldn't get lost. Blade knew that didn't guarantee they would find Riddart's farm in time to do any good, but said nothing, Rhodina was only on her feet by sheer willpower. Blade suspected that she might have asked to be left behind long since, if she'd thought either man would listen to her. Knowing they'd never leave her, she was determined to keep going until she literally dropped dead in her tracks.
Before that happened, Blade swore, they were either going to find Riddart's farm or rob another man's for proper food, clothing, and a riding mule for Rhodina. She deserved more-such as being clothed in silk and waited on hand and foot for a year. But that would be enough to keep her alive until either they found friends or their enemies found them.
Slowly the night gave way to a dreary, damp dawn. The coming of what passed for daylight didn't do much to lift their spirits. That only came when Rhodina recognized a yellow barn with a narrow cart track winding away behind it.
«That's Old Wuga's Stead,» she said. «Riddart's another hour down the road.»
They moved on, grimly putting one foot in front of another. At last they came to a point where the track widened into a road, and a hundred yards beyond it a point where another road joined it. Rhodina looked down at the hoofprints and fresh horse droppings, and burst into tears.
It did look bad. A large force of horsemen had come out of the side road and moved off toward Riddart's farm. From the droppings, they'd come by no more than an hour ago. Who were they, and what were they doing at the farm?
There were — two encouraging facts. There was no smoke visible ahead, and the prints were those of shod horses. The mounts of the Maghri weren't shod. The riders might not be friends, but at least they weren't the enemy Blade now feared the most.
The three now moved forward like a patrol advancing into enemy territory and expecting an ambush at any moment. A mile short of Riddart's farm they left the road entirely and cut across country, using the cover of the woods until they were nearly at the farm. It was bounded by a low wall of piled field stone, and beyond the wall Blade could see broad fields of partly harvested grain. The chimney of the house was smoking heavily, but otherwise Blade saw no signs of unusual activity. All the farm buildings seemed to be undamaged, which was definitely a good sign.
Both Khraishamo and Blade made it clear to Rhodina that she was going to sit down, rest, and wait while they took a closer look at the farm. Then the two men crept out of the trees, and through the standing grain. They came to the edge of the grain and stared at the farm across a broad stretch of bare, black muddy ground.
Then they heard an angry shout. «There they are, the bastards!» Six riders spurred their horses out from behind the farm buildings toward the field.
Chapter 20
Blade's first instinct was to turn and dive into whatever cover the standing grain offered. Then he realized this would be futile. The horsemen could easily ride them down even in the grain, or circle around and get between them and the forest. There was also the possibility of a lucky shot with their bows.
Then Blade realized that the horsemen were neither Maghri nor Goharan soldiers. They wore the same sort of farmers' and small merchants' clothing he'd been seeing since he landed. All of them had bows, but only one of them had a sword. The others had woodsman's axes or short throwing spears with barbed heads. Rebels?
Blade stood up, waved his arms, held up empty hands, and shouted, «Ho! Hold your fire! We're friends to Riddart and to free Mythor!»
Two of the men reined in their horses and nocked arrows, then the others did the same. Blade wondered if he'd made a mistake that might be his last. Then Khraishamo rose and strode forward to stand beside Blade, roaring at the top of his lungs: «You fools! This is the Man from the Future, Richard Blade of England! Kill him, and nothing will save you from the fury of his people!»
Khraishamo's Sarumi accent was still thick enough so that Blade wasn't entirely sure the riders understood all the words. However, they did understand the anger in his voice and recognized him as a Sarumi. Seeing one of the Pirate Folk in human company this far inland was unusual enough to make them hold their arrows out of sheer curiosity.
Blade used the moment's pause to look at the men again. Yes, they were definitely local men, on the stocky, ugly little horses the Goharans used for back-country riding. Then he spoke.
«I am the Man from the Future, as Khraishamo says. I want to speak to Riddart.»
«Riddart's dead,» said a gray-haired man in the middle. He looked at his comrades. «I'm his brother Gribbon. Any of you ever hear of a-Man from the Future?»
Most shook their heads, but one rider nodded slowly. «Think I did. Heard a story on the waterfront, last time I was in town. Man came out o' the air, onto a ship. Blue Swallow, I think. Fought a bunch of Bloodskins, then went up north to the City.»
Blade smiled. «That's exactly how it happened. I'm the man, and this is Khraishamo, the Sarumi chief I captured in the battle. He can tell you-«
«We'll not hear any damned Bloodskin!» said one man, and others nodded. Khraishamo muttered angrily, until Blade gripped his arm and whispered in his ear.
«Easy, friend. It's not worth a fight and getting killed, at least until we know who these people are.»
Blade himself was rapidly getting into the mood to pick a fight with somebody, so he sympathized with Khraishamo's anger. Ever since he'd fallen into Kloret's hands, he'd been jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, then back again. Now he'd tramped miles in search of friends, to find only a mystery he didn't like. If these people didn't turn out to be rebels, he and his friends might not see another sunrise. Neither would some of the men facing him.
«All right,» said Gribbon. «I give the orders here now. You come on in, both of you, and we'll see what's what.»
«We've got a third one back in the woods,» said Blade. «A woman, a friend of Riddart's. Can I bring her in?»
The man nodded and pointed to three of his riders. «Go with him. Shoot if he gives you a wrong look or isn't telling the truth.» The three men rode toward Blade, who turned and started plodding back toward the forest without waiting for them. He found that it was as hard to lift his feet as if they'd been encased in lead boots.
Blade felt considerably better a few hours later. The hospitality Gribbon showed even to strangers was respectable, almost generous. It was far ahead of anything Blade, Khraishamo, or Rhodina had enjoyed since reaching Shell Island.
They were given stew, bread, dried fruit, and ale-all they could eat and drink. It took more than storms or wars to make a Goharan forget his hospitality to guests. Then they had baths, with hot water and strong-smelling gritty soap, and put on clean clothing.
After that they were separated. Two of the servant girls led Rhodina off to a bed in their quarters, while armed men led Blade and Khraishamo to a store room. The room was more than half filled with sacks of grain and sides of smoked meat. Blade also recalled that he'd seen other well-filled store rooms and sheds around the farm. Gribbon's people had laid in far more food than they could ever use themselves, probably far more than they'd produced themselves.