With a deep breath, she entered, and Mala gave a start, her eyes flitting to the back of the shop. "Welcome, m'lady," she said loudly. "I'm just putting a few stitches in the last pair of leggings. Only a moment I'll be. You can try those on for size while you wait."
Catrin pulled the jacket on, and it was a good fit. From the corner of her vision, she saw a figure dart out the back of the shop-the cobbler, she presumed. The boots were ready for her on the counter, and she quickly put them on. The fit was remarkably good, and she complimented his work.
"The man has a gift," Mala said without a hint of a smile, and again she glanced at the back of the shop.
"I cannot wait any longer. I must be going. I'll take those as they are," Catrin said, and she jumped as the cobbler returned. The shopkeeper just continued to sew. The two exchanged a glance, and Catrin nearly bolted.
"Ah, yes. 'Boots. Two days.' I see you've tried 'em on. How do they fit?" the cobbler asked.
"They fit just fine. Thank you. I really must be going now. You can keep that pair if they are not yet finished," Catrin said, grabbing what was ready and turning to leave.
"No. That won't do. Here. These are finished now," the woman said, and she gave Catrin a sack to carry everything in. Catrin thanked her as she backed toward the door. Though there was no visible sign of danger, she ran all the way back to where Benjin waited.
"I'm not certain, but I think someone is coming after us."
"Let's go," Benjin said, and they were soon moving as fast as they could, given their burdens. Heading north and west, they hoped to intercept Madra, but as the sun was sinking low on the horizon, there was no sign of the army.
With a growing gap between themselves and town, Catrin began to feel safer, but she did not relax completely. The snap of a branch in the distance brought her to full attention, and she scanned the nearby trees. Nothing moved.
"I'll watch what lies ahead," Benjin said. "You keep your eyes on the road behind us and the trees. If we're attacked, let the horse go and follow me to the trees. Got it?"
"Got it," she replied, holding on as he urged their horse for more speed.
Just as shadows covered the land, they came, swift as the wind, as if sprung from the abyss. One moment Catrin was watching the trees, the next she was ducking under a whistling blade. Benjin was not as quick, and he cried out. Two shadowy silhouettes passed them and spun around, preparing to make another charge. Catrin quickly turned to Benjin. He was holding his side, and there was blood on his shirt, but his other hand was steady and gripping a sword. He made no move toward the trees. Wishing she'd brought her staff, Catrin opened herself to the power and prepared to fight.
When the riders approached again, Catrin was ready. Using all her senses, she cast out about her, searching for energy sources. The air was filled with raw energy, but most of it was disorganized; positively charged particles simply canceled out nearby negatively charged particles. Catrin knew, though, that she could extend her field of influence and gather like particles to build up a massive charge. Then, just as she could blow out a candle by expelling air from her lungs, she could use the air to conduct her gathered charge. With her hands held high, she hurtled a bolt of energy at one rider. Like lightning, it arced from her fingers and struck with a crack. The charging horse leaped sideways, crashing into Catrin and knocking her from the cart. She hit the ground only a breath before her attacker. He remained mostly still, his leather armor blistered and smoking.
As she pulled herself up, she heard Benjin grunt as he, too, was thrown from the cart. The man she'd unhorsed was getting up, and her use of power had left her trembling. Unsure if she could deliver another blow without passing out, she ran toward him and, doing as she'd seen Benjin teach Chase, delivered a powerful kick to the startled man's jaw. His head jerked sideways, and he crumpled to the ground.
Behind her, Catrin heard hooves approaching at high speed, and she turned to see the other rider bearing back down on Benjin. After dropping his sword, Benjin drew his belt knife and threw. It sailed, end over end, and the handle struck the rider in the face with a solid thunk. Benjin unhorsed him as he passed, and he hit the ground with a thud and a sickening crunch. He was dead when Catrin and Benjin reached him. Catrin's kick had left the other man unconscious and bleeding.
"How badly are you hurt?" Catrin asked.
"He nicked me a couple of times, but I'll be fine. I just have to keep my right arm down to stop the bleeding. Can you catch the horses?"
"I think so," Catrin said, her legs still trembling. "What do we do with him?"
"Leave him," Benjin said, wincing. "Catch the horses and get me to the camp. I need stitches, and I can't do this one myself."
The three horses were surprisingly easy to catch, and the two the men had been riding-both fillies-seemed very familiar with one another, giving Catrin no trouble. After tying them to a tree, she gathered what had fallen from the wagon and reloaded it; then she helped Benjin into the seat. With his free hand, he held a lead line that Catrin hooked to the fillies' halters, and Catrin drove the wagon, trying to avoid the many ruts and obstacles along the way.
Eventually, the light of the campfires led them to the army, and they were greeted by the sentries' swords.
"Hold!"
"It's Benjin and Catrin returned and wounded," Benjin barked, and a host of people rushed to assist them. Madra insisted on stitching Benjin's side herself, saying it was worse than he'd made it out to be. Meanwhile, Catrin told their tale to the crowd of expectant faces around her.
The addition of two fine horses to their stock and the wagon full of food were received with wonder, and this act seemed to finally break down the barrier of fear between these people and Catrin. Those who had shied away from her glance some weeks ago now gathered around her.
"This is taking too long," Jensen said as he watched the second new building take shape. "Half of us are going to freeze t'death if we don't do something."
"That's exactly what the Masters are hoping for, I think," Wendel said. Still weak from his wounds, he was overwhelmed by frustration. If he were fit to walk, he would have already found the underground lake. Now he had to look to Jensen and the others to do most everything for him. He felt of no use at all.
The men from the Greatland proved to be quite skilled; Martik, in particular, had an excellent mind for practical building techniques. His skills were useless, though, without materials. Wendel and many others despised the idea of clear-cutting forestlands; they were simply too precious. Individual trees were being selected and cut down in a way that left the forest intact, but the process consumed equally precious time.
"We may be able to use rock," Martik said.
"Might be able to quarry it," Jensen said, "but moving it'll be tough."
"We have seven horses?" Martik asked.
"Six that are sound," Wendel said.
"I have some ideas about ways to move very heavy things," Martik said. "I could get the rock moved. Perhaps we should settle near a good quarry site?"
"How much weight do you reckon you could move?" Wendel asked.
"With six horses and ten men, I could drag a warship up here."
"Come with me," Wendel said. "I have an idea."
As dawn cast long shadows across the camp, most were just rising, but the sound of pounding hooves brought many to attention. Madra and another rider had been out scouting, and they were racing back. A crowd gathered, and people scrambled to secure Madra's mount as she dismounted before the filly even stopped.