Doust's smile was as wryly crooked as it was sudden. "And we're going to establish the truth with certainty on this matter how, exactly? Turn around and ask him? When his reply may well be arrows or spears down our throats?"
Pennae gave him a mocking smile and waggled all the curled fingers of her left hand, back outermost, in Doust's direction, in the latest fashionable rude gesture that meant, to state its message most politely, "Right back at you, stonehead!"
"It may astonish you to learn, Holiest Ornament of Tymora," she replied, "that one or perhaps two personages of Faerun have, in the days before this one, given some thought to situations similar to this one. It may even stagger you to learn that some of them have proposed solutions-and bids fair to stun you into mutely blinking insensibility to grasp that I have heard of, and myself understood, their proposals. To whit: I hereby suggest that all of us turn norrh off the Ride, the moment we're not seeing thick forest beside us, into the wild countryside."
Semoor frowned. "Right into the jaws of the waiting wolves, outlaws-or worse."
Pennae arched a brow in his direction. "I thought we were adventurers," she said, in a precise imitation of his voice at its most mocking.
"He's the priest of Tymora, not me!" Semoor snapped, jerking a thumb at Doust.
"Enough," Islif said. "Florin?"
The ranger stared back at his fellow Knights thoughtfully. Then his eyes flashed in a decision made, and he nodded at the trees flanking the north side of the Ride.
"Pennae's right," he said. "We look for the first way into the wilds that won't lame our horses, and take it. Seeking a place where we can hide and watch the road. I'd like a word or three with Ornrion Dahauntul, with whatever magic we can mount that tells us when he's speaking truth and when he's not. I think we need to know why we're being followed."
"Who's using us this time, and why?" Pennae murmured.
Florin's answering word and nod were equally grim. "Precisely."
"I believe that's a break in the trees, ahead there," Semoor said, pointing.
"So who's waiting there to feather us with arrows, d'you think?" Doust asked, crouching a little lower in his saddle.
Islif shook her head. "There may be archers hereabouts, but not there. I've been watching birds fly in and out of it. Unconcernedly lighring on a branch, soft-calling their kind, then hopping to the next."
Pennae, in the lead, nodded agreement. "Yon's an old road, by the looks of it. Overgrown but wide enough for wagons, for all the tall weeds, and-"
She held up a hand to signal a halt, swung down from her saddle as smoothly and swiftly as any stream eel ever eluded a snatching hand, and stalked forward, crouching low.
Florin pointed at Jhessail and then at Pennae, indicating she should watch over the thief's advance. Islif was already waving at the priests to keep eyes out east and south, as she swung around to peer back along the Ride behind them.
Pennae turned and came back to them. "A very old road but used recently by lots of horses, some oxen, and wagons. Mules, before that. Doust, get down off that beast, and come with me."
The quietest of the Knights blinked at her and then looked at Florin, who nodded.
Doust sighed. "Tymora be with me," he muttered and swung himself awkwardly down, almost falling from his horse.
Wincing at the stiffness riding had given his thighs, he stumbled after Pennae, who shot out a hand to catch hold of his nearest elbow, dragged him to a halt, and with a glare and some wordless miming, indicated he should try to move as stealthily as she was.
Doust rolled his eyes, kissed the holy symbol of Tymora he wore around his neck, grinned at her, and attempted stealth. The result made Pennae roll her eyes.
"Follow about a dozen strides behind me," she whispered. "Quiet is better than haste, but keep me in sight. If I'm attacked, yell for everyone to come running."
Without another word or looking for his nod, she turned away, sank down into a wary crouch, and set off through the tall grass with no more sound than faint whispers.
Doust watched her go, thinking she looked remarkably like just another tree-shadow. She very soon became hard to see, blending into the dark trunks of stunted trees and the gloomy shadows under leafy boughs. Without thinking overmuch, just trying to keep the curvaceous thief in sight, he followed her.
Grass and dead, brittle-dry shrub branches crackled under his boots, and he was startled by something dark rising up right beside his face.
Before Doust could turn his head, whatever it was bit the lobe of his ear gently-and then caught hold of his wrist when he instinctively flung up his hand to strike whatever was biting him away.
"Stay right here," Pennae breathed into the ear she'd nipped. "Don't move at all. Not at all. Until I come back for you."
Eyes fixed on his, she sank down to her knees, vanishing into the tall grass as if the ground were swallowing her, and… was gone. The priest of Tymora stood alone, staring around uncertainly, with the faintest of breezes ghosting past his throbbing ear.
Until Pennae rose up out of the grass again right in front of him, looming up dark and sinuous and sending him stumbling back on his heels with a startled "Eeep!" that made her grin like a satisfied vixen.
Without a word she stepped around Doust and back out into the road to rejoin the rest of the Knights, leaving the priest to scramble after her.
He did so, murmuring a heartfelt prayer to Tymora to keep all of their skins intact in the days ahead. Ears included.
Chapter 5
Hiding behind our Lady For in every blood fray we fight And every exploit shady We're nay so bad as priests so bright Who daily hide behind "Our Lady"
The road leads to a hollow much used as a caravan camp, if I'm not mistaken," Pennae told her fellow Knights. "Old fire rings, stumps of trees that have been felled, dried, and burned as firewood, and a little creek that's been churned into mud by the hooves of horses and draft oxen. Out the back of the camp glade, the trail goes on, deeper into the forest, but it's really overgrown. No one has used it for a very long time."
"So this is our way off the Ride?" Florin asked quietly. At Pennae's nod he swung down from his saddle, waved to the rest of the Knights to follow, and started to lead his horse into the trees. Everyone followed, Pennae quickly capturing the reins of Doust's mount with her own.
By the time the Ornament of Tymora reached the hollow, Jhessail and Florin were heading back past him, out to the Ride to watch for Dauntless. At the sight of Pennae and Doust, Semoor beckoned and called, "Help me hobble our-"
Pennae let go of her fistful of reins, sprinted to him almost as fast as a speeding arrow, and caught hold of his chin.
"Idiot of Lathander," she hissed into his face, "shut up. Shouts and raised voices carry far. We're none of us deaf. Yet. Dauntless could be just the other side of yon duskwood, hmm? Stop trying to be a grand-voiced priest bellowing to impress folk in the next kingdom, and start being an adventurer. Talk only when you must, say as few words as possible, and say them quietly. Dolt."
"I love you, too," Semoor muttered as she let go of his jaw and strode past him. "Hey, don't you hobble horses?"
"I've work yet to do," she hissed, swiveling at the hips to answer him without slowing, then turning smoothly back to face forward again as she plunged into the deep woods at the back of the clearing. Once more she sank into a crouch and became a silent, flitting shadow, scouting along the overgrown continuation of the trail.