Lily yawned, scooted sideways, pillowed her head on Gull's thigh. "You talk of men. He's a wizard. Not like us. He toys with things, or studies them. A box of stinkpots, books, little clockwork engines. He's even got a box of seashells such as a child gathers on the beach. And charms and leaves and fairy dust and such. Yet I don't think much is valuable. He doesn't keep it neat, just pokes things back in holes-they fall off the shelves and crash on his table. It wouldn't disturb him to lose the whole wagon, I don't think…" She was nodding off, but suddenly opened a mascaraed eye. "No, there is one precious thing. His grimoire."
"Grim-what?"
"Grimoire. His book of magic. Chained to his belt."
"Oh, that. It's full of magic spells? Does that mean if I read some-if I could read-I could do magic?"
She shook her head on his leathered thigh. "No. From the little I've seen, it's just sketches he's made. I think they remind him of spells he already knows. The way Cook has pictures on her drawer of spices."
"Ah. Oh, well, I don't want to perform magic anyway. I'd feel foolish in a striped gown."
She giggled and patted his knee. "No, your talents lie elsewhere."
"How would you know?" Gull shifted the reins and mussed her hair, making her squeal. "So far you've only suffered my kisses."
Tsking, she sat up to primp with hairpins. "A woman knows."
"Woman!" Gull teased. "You barely put curves in your clothing!"
"I'm eighteen, grandfather! And I've seen and done more than you have!"
"I imagine." Gull clucked at his mules. "They'll make good stories thirty years from now, when you're a fat grandmother."
"I hope so." She sighed suddenly. "But what decent man will wed a whore?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Would you marry a whore?"
Gull looked at her sidelong, thinking she teased again, but she was serious. "No, she'd have to give up whoring. And know how to cook. Mine's terrible."
Lily closed her hand around his on the reins. "The other dancing girls are jealous, you know, because I get you to myself."
"Well, tell them they're not missing much." He was suddenly angry with himself. Lily was so sweet, so considerate, yet he couldn't give her his full attention while his mind was still an emotional turmoil. Changing the subject, he asked, "So, we travel just so Towser can scribble in a book?"
Lily frowned at him, unsure what he thought, then shook her head. "No, we travel so he can gather mana. From what I understand, all lands have magic, some more than others. By crossing the country, Towser gathers its energy. He uses it to learn things, and to battle other wizards."
Gull tsked, "Why not to help people?"
A shrug. The girl peered at the sky. "It'll rain soon. Few men are like you, Gull. There's a city in the west called Estark, one of the places of power, I've heard, where the wizards have their own strange way of making magic. Once a year they joust in a tournament, sometimes to the death. The winner goes off with a supreme sorcerer, a Walker who descends like a god. The whole city exists to conjure magic, and make bets on who'll win the tournaments. Scouts canvass the countryside and find any potential magic users. As if the Domains were just a farm, with the wizards in control and the rest of us cattle."
Gull snorted. "This is one bull who won't go gently to slaughter."
Lily fixed him with aged eyes. "But you work for a wizard. As I do."
"True," sighed the woodcutter. The wagon jolted over a rock and he slapped the reins. "Easy, there! My father used to say the gods love nothing more than to make a man violate an oath."
"Oath? You swore an oath?"
"Aye. To kill any wizard I met. And look at me now."
Angry again, with himself and everything else, he said no more.
Later on, Oles, the quiet one on scout, waved him to walk ahead. Gull handed Lily the reins and hopped down.
The bodyguard stood at line with hemlocks. Through their lacy branches, Gull saw the forest floor turned to cedars and bog. He groaned.
"Like this all across the northwest," muttered Oles. He had shaggy hair and a brushy mustache, a sheepskin vest and baggy pants. He swatted a fly from his ear. "I'd say impassable. Towser won't agree. He'll stay buttoned in his wagon while we get ate."
Gull swatted flies and midges that buzzed hungry from the bog. "What about due west?"
"Boggier. Sank to my knees." He pointed where mud had dried on his pants.
"North?" Talking to Oles shortened his speech too.
"Uphill. Dry, but you couldn't squeeze through. Big trees."
Gull swatted and swore. "What the hell-Oh. Greensleeves."
His sister materialized from the hemlocks, making no more rustle than a deer. She carried something long and saggy and gray. Another badger. Oles stared at the small girl clutching a wild animal to her bosom.
Gull caressed his sister's head. "You're lucky, you can't get lost. You're always lost. Or else never so."
Greensleeves burbled in her questioning tone. She looked at the wagons and the tree-choked bog, cooed like a dove.
" 'Fraid so." Gull was just thinking aloud. "We'll be days dropping trees for a corduroy road-eh?"
Tugging at his hand, Greensleeves pointed north.
Her brother said, "No, hon. The trees are too big."
Dangling by its fat belly, the badger kicked. The girl scooched and it slunk into the brush. But before it disappeared, Gull noticed its ear was notched, as if gnawed.
He jerked to a halt, almost pulling his sister over. "Hey! That badger-"
Wait now, thought Gull. She'd found a badger days ago, with a notched ear, but had let it go. Was this the same beast? Miles farther on? Badgers didn't walk miles: they stayed within their territory. Could it have followed them? For leagues? Nonsense. Then… had Greensleeves carried it all this way? No. Hidden it in the chuck wagon? Not possible. How then…?
But Greensleeves tugged, and he had to follow. He was curious, too. She was rarely this insistent, unless there was a wounded animal she couldn't lift. She dragged him into the brush. A trail, only a foot wide, meandered through less-dense patches: a deer trail. Tufts of white belly hair, winter coats shedding, showed on snags. Greensleeves walked upright, but Gull had to hunch.
"Whatever it is, let's not go far, Greenie. I need to cut trees…"
Stepping between two forked oaks, they were suddenly in the clear.
They stood in a ravine like many they'd already passed, the sides lined with the scrub oak and bracken. But a sandy floor, rain-washed smooth, sloped gently upward. The only obstacles were rocks they could lever up. Gull pushed past his sister and climbed the slope, bad knee aching. Topping the ravine, he found big trees with open space between. He could see at least a half mile.
Rocks scrunched behind. Oles had followed, cradling his crossbow. "Hunh. Missed this gap. She should scout."
"Aye," said Gull. He stared at his sister, who'd pried up a rock to tickle a red salamander. "Perhaps she should."
Using Greensleeves's shortcut, they widened the deer trail and traversed the ravine in two days. On solid ground again, they made good progress for a half dozen days.
Though the others had no clue, Gull guessed they neared their goal. One day he was sure.
He smelled it.
A tang floated on the northern breeze, a wet reek like an old campfire. Only greater, and bitter, as if the earth had burned too.
As it had.
They saw the first marks far to their right. The scout, Chad, who hated to talk to Gull, simply pointed and walked away.
Gull only nodded. He'd been right.
A long dark triangle had marred the forest. The ground was blackened, the tree trunks scorched, the leaves withered and brown. The bottom of the triangle pointed northwest, whence the wind had lifted and tossed some fire. They trekked through more greenery, found another burned slash.
And finally came to where the forest fire had raged.