“Good fortune!” she cried, raising her arm.
They lifted their own arms in reply, and went on.
“It is all very well to wish us good fortune now,” complained Jasmine as they threaded their way through the apple trees. “A few moments ago she was threatening to have us stung to death by her bees. And she did not offer to return our money.”
Barda shrugged. “Who knows what troubles she has suffered? Perhaps she is right to be suspicious of strangers. Except for the bees she seems all alone here.”
“She spoke of a ‘quota’ that had to be filled,” Lief said slowly, as they reached the end of the orchard and let themselves through a gate that led to a winding, tree-lined track. “It sounds as though she has to grow a certain number of apples.”
“Or make something from them,” said Barda. He closed the gate behind them and nodded towards a sign fixed to the old wood.
“Queen Bee Cider was a drink much prized among the guards and acrobats when I was at the palace in Del,” Barda went on. “It gave extra strength to anyone who drank it. It seems that it is made here — by our friend back there, who is no doubt Queen Bee herself.”
Lief sighed. “I wish that she had given us a glass or two before sending us on our way.”
Indeed, all of them were tired and in low spirits as they trudged along the track, talking in low voices. They knew that their next goal must be the Shifting Sands. But how they were to reach it was a mystery.
In all their minds was the thought that they had no money, no food, no blankets, no packs — nothing but the map Lief’s father had drawn for him, their weapons, and the ragged clothes on their backs.
And the Belt of Deltora, Lief reminded himself. But the Belt, for all its power, for all that three stones now glimmered in their places along its length, could not fill their bellies or shelter them from the weather.
“The opal gives glimpses of the future,” said Jasmine, after a moment. “Surely it can tell us what is ahead?”
But Lief was unwilling to touch the opal. His vision of the Shifting Sands still haunted him. He had no wish to experience it again.
“We do not need to see into the future to know that we need help,” he said, staring straight ahead. “We need supplies and a safe place to rest for a while. Let us think only of that for now.”
He expected Jasmine to argue, but when he glanced at her he saw that she had stopped listening to him and was concentrating on something else.
“I hear carts and the sound of feet,” she announced finally. “Voices, too. There is a larger road ahead.”
Sure enough, in a few more minutes the winding trail met a broad, straight highway. Cautiously they looked both ways along its length. A horse-drawn cart was approaching from the right with several men and women walking beside it.
“It seems there are others going our way,” muttered Barda. “They look harmless enough. But still it might be wise to wait until they have passed. We cannot afford too many questions until we are well away from here.”
They crouched among the trees and watched while the cart came closer. It was worn and rickety, and the horse that pulled it was old and plodding. But the people — those walking beside it as well as those who jolted along inside — were talking and laughing with one another as though all was well with the world.
Lief heard the name “Rithmere” repeated several times as the cart passed by. It was clear that Rithmere was a town, and that the people were looking forward to reaching it. His spirits rose.
“There must be a festival or fair being held in this Rithmere place,” he whispered.
“A festival in these days?” grunted Barda. “I cannot believe it. But still, if Rithmere is to the left along this road, it is on our way to the Shifting Sands. And a town is what we need — the larger the better.”
“Why?” hissed Jasmine, who far preferred the open countryside.
“In a town we can lose ourselves in the crowd and earn money for new supplies. Or beg for it.”
“Beg?” exclaimed Lief, horrified.
Barda glanced at him, a grim smile tweaking the corner of his mouth. “There are times when pride must be put aside in a good cause,” he said.
Lief mumbled an apology. How could he have forgotten that Barda had spent years disguised as a beggar in Del?
When the cart was well past, the companions crept out from the trees and began to follow it. They had not gone far before Lief saw something lying on the ground.
It was a notice. Curious, he picked it up:
Lief showed the notice to Barda and Jasmine. His heart was thudding with excitement.
“Here is our answer!” he said. “Here is our chance to earn the money we need, and more. We will enter the Games. And we will win!”
Days later, when Rithmere was at last in sight, Lief was not feeling so hopeful. The way had been long and weary, and he was very hungry. Berries growing at the side of the road were the only food the companions had been able to find, and they were few. Travellers who had passed along the highway before them had almost stripped the bushes bare.
The longer they had walked, the more crowded the highway had become. Many other people were moving towards Rithmere. Some were as ill-prepared for the journey as Lief, Barda, and Jasmine. Their clothes were tattered and they had little or nothing to eat. A few, famished and exhausted, fell by the roadside in despair.
The companions managed to keep moving, stopping often for rests. They spoke to their fellow travellers as little as possible. Though they were feeling safer concealed in a crowd, they still felt it wise to avoid questions about where they had come from.
They kept their ears open, however, and quickly learned that the Games had been held every year for the past ten years. Their fame had grown and spread — now hopeful contestants came from everywhere to seek their fortune at Rithmere. The friends also learned, to their relief, that Grey Guards were seldom seen in the town while the Games were in progress.
“They know better than to interfere with something the people like so much,” Lief heard a tall, red-haired woman say to her companion, a giant of a man whose muscles bulged through his ragged shirt as he bent to tighten the laces of his boot.
The man nodded. “A thousand gold coins,” he muttered. “Or even a hundred! Think of the difference it would make to us — and to all at home.” He finished tying his lace, straightened, and gritted his teeth as he stared at the city ahead. “This year we will be finalists at least, Joanna. I feel it.”
“You have never been stronger, Orwen,” the woman agreed affectionately. “And I, too, have a good chance. Last year I was not watchful enough. I let that vixen Brianne of Lees trip me. It will not happen again.”
Orwen put his great arm around her shoulders. “You cannot blame yourself for losing to Brianne. After all, she went on to become Champion. She is a great fighter. And think how hard the people of Lees worked to prepare her.”
“She was treated like a queen, they say,” said Joanna bitterly. “Extra food, no duties except her training. Her people thought she would be their salvation. And what did she do? Ran off with the money as soon as she had it in her hand. Can you believe it?”
“Of course,” the man said grimly. “A thousand gold pieces is a great fortune, Joanna. Very few Games Champions return to their old homes after their win. Most do not want to share their wealth, so they hurry away with it to start a new life elsewhere.”
“But you would never do that, Orwen,” Joanna protested fiercely. “And neither would I. I would never leave my people in poverty while I could help them. I would rather throw myself into the Shifting Sands.”