“We’ll pose as Thayvians,” Wynter began, noting that Brenna seemed to be calming down a little. “Centaurs walk freely in the streets of Thay, and humans are the dominant race. We’ll have no trouble.”
“And?” Brenna was curious.
“Then we listen for rumors, study the current political situation, and gather as much information as we can about this Red Wizard Maligor or any other Red Wizard who might make trouble against Aglarond. The more we learn, the better the Harpers can deal with any threat.”
“That’s it? Just gather information?” The sorceress’s ire was rising again. “I thought we were going to do something.”
“Getting information is doing something,” Wynter countered. “The Harpers can’t act in force unless we know what we’re up against.”
“And you think posing as Thayvians will get us that information?” Brenna returned.
“Yes,” the centaur stated. “We haven’t been able to learn much from outside Thay. Inside the country, posing as Thayvians, it should be another matter. Of course,” he added softly, “spying is dangerous. If we’re found out, we’ll likely be put to death.”
The sorceress dug into her pocket to retrieve her gold hair clasp and began picking the dirt out of it with her long fingernails. “I know it’s dangerous, but I’m doing it for my home country.” She glanced at the druid. “Look, Galvin, you don’t really have a home. I mean, you live in the woods. It’s not like feeling you’re a part of a country. When it comes right down to it, you’re only responsible for yourself. But when you live around people, as I do, you feel responsibility toward them.”
“I have a home,” Galvin said tersely. He propped himself up on his elbows and frowned at Brenna. Standing up, he brushed the dirt from his tunic. His home was the wilderness of Faerûn, and he considered himself the protector of the animals who lived in it.
“Fine. You have a home.” Brenna ignored the centaur’s gentle nudge, not sensing when to quit. “It’s just that my home has lots of people—people who may be in grave danger.” She paused to blow her hair away from her eyes. Several stubborn strands stuck to her sweat-stained forehead and she had to move them aside with her hand.
“Our country’s history is wrapped up with the Red Wizards. We’ve battled them on and off for decades.” She paused again, this time to untwine a braid and take another deep breath. Galvin had her started, and she wasn’t going to stop until she finished her say or passed out from exhaustion.
“In the past when we’ve fought the wizards’ forces, like in the battles of Singing Sands or Brokenheads, we were able to defeat them, but our casualties were high. Our ruler, the Simbul, doesn’t want another war. Or if we must fight, she wants to know it’s coming so we can be prepared.”
The druid turned his back to Brenna and resumed his course along the riverbank. The centaur bent at the waist and extended a hand to help the councilwoman up. This time she took it.
“We’re not making good enough time to reach the First Escarpment today,” Wynter said. “We’ll probably travel another couple of hours, then camp for the evening.”
“We can make it. I’ll walk faster,” she volunteered, although she knew she had pushed herself hard already and would have trouble keeping up with only one boot.
The trio, with Brenna in the rear, continued along the bank. Close to the river, ancient willows, one with a trunk nearly as thick as Galvin was tall, dug their roots into the earth to drink thirstily from the river. Their long, whiplike branches danced in the breeze and swept the ground. Galvin carefully moved a few branches aside and disappeared under the largest willow’s umbrellalike canopy.
Dozens of small yellow parrots perched in the giant tree chittered excitedly. When Wynter and Brenna passed through the willow branches and emerged on the other side of the tree, they saw two of the birds sitting on the druid’s shoulder. Galvin was several yards ahead, and he appeared to be talking to them. Wynter moved quietly toward the druid, but Brenna kept her distance.
She stared at Galvin as he chittered back at the birds. Finally curiosity got the better of her, and she took a step forward, her bare foot landing on a sharp rock. “Ouch!” she gasped, balancing herself on her booted foot. Standing on one leg, she pulled the other up in front of her, turning the bottom of her foot up so she could inspect it. Dirt clung to her heel and the ball of her foot, and blood flowed from a gash just behind her toes.
Some distance ahead, out of hearing distance, the centaur and druid conversed, oblivious to Brenna’s discomfort.
“I don’t want to get too close to Thay’s border tonight anyway. We should camp a ways back from it,” Wynter said. “At least one of the wizards uses patrols of undead.”
Galvin shivered at the thought. “I prefer to deal with living creatures.” He nodded in Brenna’s direction and added, “But I’m not sure about that one.”
“Good thing she’s too far away to hear you,” the centaur replied. “She’s spunky, though. She’ll make it. I just don’t think she’s used to this much walking. Maybe I should keep an eye on her.”
“Are you coming?” Galvin yelled back to Brenna as the birds flew from his shoulder.
Brenna wiped the blood from the bottom of her foot with the hem of her dress and limped to catch up. The centaur fell back and matched Brenna’s stride. He noticed she paused every few steps. She had pulled up the hem of her skirt and held it in her right hand, leaving her legs exposed from the knees down. It made for faster hiking, but her legs and one bare foot were getting scratched by the weeds and bushes.
“He’s mad at me,” she sputtered. “And he’s just walking fast to humiliate me.” Brenna watched Galvin, noticing that he took long steps and didn’t look down at the ground. Chipmunks, rabbits, and other small creatures accepted his presence, not bothering to run at his approach. But when she and the centaur came near the animals, they scattered into the dense foliage. The land reminded her of rain forests she had read about in Aglarond’s libraries, and she suspected she would have enjoyed the scenery under different circumstances.
“If he likes animals so much, why does he have anything to do with the Harpers or anybody else?” She winced as a branch of a thorn bush grazed her calf, leaving a pink welt. Hiking with one booted foot and one bare foot was decidedly awkward. Bending over, she pulled her other boot free and hurried to keep pace with Wynter.
“The Harpers needed someone with his talents. He’s been with them for quite a number of years, helping them with various problems in and around Thesk, Aglarond, Yuirwood, and the coast. He was even involved with the godswar a while ago.”
Brenna lowered her voice so the druid couldn’t hear. “What’s so special about Galvin that the Harpers wanted him?”
The centaur frowned. “Remember, he’s a druid, what some people call a nature priest. He has talents neither you nor I could fathom. And with the Harpers, he puts those talents to good use. Listen, it’s simple. The Harpers are a diverse group of people. The organization’s strength lies in its diversity. I didn’t hear you asking me why I’m with them. I would think that to you I’d be more out of place in the Harpers than Galvin.”
“No … you’re different. You’re …” For once, she was at an impasse for words.
“I’m Galvin’s friend,” Wynter finished. “He brought me into the Harpers.” The centaur explained that several years ago a group of bandits were raiding farms. It was just after the farmers had taken their crops to market and had been paid in gold coins. The centaur’s farm was among those hit, and he helped Galvin catch the thieves. After that, Wynter joined the Harpers. “I’ve no regrets,” he concluded. “I still find time to tend my farm between Harper missions. And when I’m away, well, at least it gives the weeds an opportunity to grow.”