He straightened, tottered through a break in the trees. "They came from more north, changed their minds, hooked this way. That's why we haven't seen them before. Are they going the same place we are?"
"Couldn't tell you, bucko," chortled the man. "I don't know where we're going meself. Me name's Morven, by the way. Thirty years on the water, I was, until the sight of blue made me puke. So I hauled anchor and tacked inland, signed on with this scurvy wizard and his bully-dogs. What are you called?"
"Gull." He shook the man's bony hand. Morven had gray in his curly hair and beard. His face was wrinkled as a crab's from squinting into wind and sun. Dressed in a faded blue shirt and white breeches and sandals on crooked feet, he reminded Gull of old Wolftooth, the only man in White Ridge to have traveled.
Another squint. "Gull like a sea gull?"
"Yes. One landed on our threshold the day I was born. First and last ever seen in our village."
"Then you're fated to go to sea one day."
"Perhaps," Gull shrugged. "I don't guess the gods' intentions. They do as they will with us. I can't even guess my employer's intentions, other than keeping his livestock happy."
"Keepin' anythin' happy's enough for one man. And that includes wives. I ought to know. I've had thirteen."
Gull grinned. "Is that why you're so far inland?"
The grin shot back. "Let's say I shear clear o' seaports and let be. Come. We'll give old Puckerbutt the bad news."
They walked toward the wagon train. "Puckerbutt?"
"Tow's clerk, the pinchpenny, the nipcheese. Him as pays us, when he remembers."
"We'll see he remembers, won't we?"
"Oh, aye. But he'll never love givin' out money. Any more than Kem's going to kiss you for splitting his ear." He chuckled anew. "By the Lance of Ages, I'd give a month's pay to see it again! The look on his face! Hey, Puckerbutt! Haul your fat arse down here!"
Even Towser left his wagon to inspect the mysterious tracks. He decided there was nothing for it but to continue trending northwest, try to find a parallel track if possible.
And as the train got under way again, Gull suddenly knew their destination.
Northwest.
Where one moon ago, a shooting star, rocketing from the heavens, had crashed, shaking the earth and setting the forest ablaze.
A portent of doom-and so it had proved for White Ridge.
What would that mean when Gull and Greensleeves got there?
Gull lay on his side and stared at the dying fire. He was exhausted, yet he couldn't sleep.
Past midnight of the busiest day of his life, he'd only just crawled into his bedroll under the chuck wagon. He'd stowed Greensleeves in the chuck wagon with Felda, the cook, but had opted to sleep outside, where he could monitor the stock, rise quickly if wolves or bears came skulking. Toward that end, he'd hung his longbow and quiver and double-bitted axe in the axles. Then he'd collapsed on his bedroll.
And brooded on where he was.
Miles from his valley, farther than he'd ever journeyed. And every turn of these wheels carried him and Greensleeves farther away. Gull had never been homesick before, because he'd never been away from home.
Now he wondered, Would it have been so bad if he and Greensleeves had died with the rest? Would all his family be together then, in some better place?
A hiss. "Gull!"
He started at the rustle behind him, flipped quickly, and reached up for his axe.
A whiff of perfume, a slim hand pressing his mouth, then nimble fingers tugged his blanket roll open, and Lily slipped inside. Her white powdered face was ruddy by the light of dying embers, her feet cold, her body warm. Giggling, she planted painted lips on his and kissed greedily.
"We can be together if we're quiet!" she whispered. "You needn't pay me. No one will know. I'll grant your every desire!"
Blood thundered in Gull's skull like a hammer on an anvil. Lily pressed close, chewed on his lips, groped under his kilt.
"Wait!" Stunned by the surprise, his mind still far off in White Ridge, Gull grabbed her wrists.
Thinking he teased, Lily ducked and bit him on the nipple. She was drawing a reaction from under his kilt, but he tugged her hands away.
Red lips pouted. "What? Is there something else you prefer? I know all sorts of ways-"
"Hush up-honey." He'd almost said "child." She'd seen worlds more than he, yet she was so young and perky he felt like her big brother. "I don't want…"
Her confusion was turning to anger. "Men never know what they want! That's why they come to us! I can-"
"Heavens above! Would you listen?" His thoughts jumbled. Part of him knew what it wanted, but he plowed on. "It's not you, Lily. You're very pretty and very sweet. It's me. I'm…"
She waited, used to it. Finally he blurted, "I'm still in mourning. Being with you would be-too much happiness too soon. It'd dishonor the memory of my village, and my family. Do you understand?"
Leaning back, she studied his face, shook her berib-boned hair. "I don't… That's… Never has a man given me that excuse. Too tired, or too much drink. But never…" She was baffled, and Gull felt a sudden rush of sympathy for her. She offered affection the only way she knew how, and he'd rebuffed her.
Yet an old saying of his mother's came to Gull's mind. "A simple hug shows more love than all the loving in the world."
And thoughts of his lost home only made him sad.
Suddenly he hugged her close, her head against his breast. Perfume wafted from Lily's dark hair. "Just let me hold you a while, please?"
Gently, carefully, she hugged him back. Finally she understood, for she was lonely and homesick too. "You're a strange man, Gull, but a good one-Ouch!"
Lily bleated, then screamed. Ripped from his arms, she was hauled by her hair from under the wagon.
"What the…? Out of the way, alley cat!" grated a voice. "I'm here to kill your boyfriend!"
CHAPTER 8
Kem, the scarred bodyguard. Staging a sneak attack.
He must have grabbed for Gull's hair, not knowing Lily was alongside him.
Too bad he guessed wrong, thought Gull.
Dragged half-out, Lily kept screaming. Gull reached past her, clamped Kern's hairy wrist, braced his free hand against a wheel -and yanked with all his might.
A curse and thud told Kern's face had struck the side of the wagon. He let Lily go. A veteran of drunken brawls, she melted away under the back axles.
Still cursing, pinned by one wrist, Kem ducked and swiped with his free hand. Probably it held a knife, Gull figured. He tossed the wrist, and Kem swore as he missed slicing Gull's arm.
Kicking, the woodcutter rolled out from under the wagon toward the firepit. He wore only his leather kilt. Firelight glistened on his sweaty, scarred body. He cast around for nonlethal weaponry: cordwood, dirt, iron cookware, tack hung on the wagon. Plenty.
Kem sailed around the end of the wagon, shuffled to a fighting stance, that long dagger gleaming in his fist. "This is where we part company, Gullshit!"
Gull crooked his fingers. "You have to get close to hurt me, Lop-ear. Afraid?"
With a growl, the bodyguard lunged. Gull hopped to the side, snaked a full feed bag off its hook on the wagon, swung it at his enemy's head. Kem dodged the heavy bag, but lost his chance to thrust with the blade. Gull chucked the bag in the man's face, jumped in close, and smashed his fist on the the thug's wrist, numbing it. The dagger stabbed dirt.
Yet Kem knew how to fight, while Gull had only his brute strength. Kem let the weapon lie, slapped at Gull's crotch. The woodcutter swerved his hips, swerved back to mash the hand against the wagon. In too close, he snapped his right forearm up, clopped Kem under the chin. Locked, they breathed each other's sweat, ground hair off each other's bodies.