for miles. A willow tree wept in one corner forming a natural barrier against the snow falling
gently from the sky. The clouds were iron grey like an old bruise.
Tashi accepted Gordoc's help to dismount. "I'll go and bathe my leg," she said, limping out of the clearing, carrying with her a broad strip of cloth.
"Don't go far!" warned Ramil.
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"I won't--I can't," she called over her shoulder.
Together Ramil and Gordoc gathered some dead branches littering the space beneath the
willow and began to build a fire. The horses stood patiently under the tree, cropping the meager
winter grass that poked through the thin layer of snow. The blue roan shook his mane. Ramil
looked up.
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"What's the matter, Thunder?" he asked the horse. He'd given the stallion that name because
his coat reminded Ramil of a stormy sky.
The stallion shifted his hooves, his twitching muscles betraying that he was nervous about
something.
"I think there might be trouble," the Prince told Gordoc in a low voice. "Which way did Tashi go?"
Before the giant could answer, there was a shout from the eastern edge of the clearing. Five
men leapt out of the rushes, whooping and wielding pikes.
Ramil dived for his sword, still on the saddle, but was knocked back by a blow from the butt of a
pike held by a tall red-haired man. He tumbled to the ground, a boot pressed to his throat.
Gordoc was roaring with fury, hemmed in by four men prodding him with the points of their
weapons like a wild bear baited by huntsmen.
"What are you doing in our lands?" demanded the red-haired leader. He and his fellow bandits were dressed in strange clothes, muddy brown and green like the landscape, allowing them to
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creep up unseen upon their prey.
"They must be spies!" snarled a swarthy man, jabbing Gordoc in the stomach.
"Those horses--and the saddles--that's imperial gear," announced a third, jerking his head at the two stallions.
"Speak!" barked the leader.
Ramil struggled onto his knees, nursing his chest where he had been struck.
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"We stole them," he said, taking a guess that the Spearthrower's men were not welcome in this company.
"They lie," said the swarthy one. "They smell of Fergox and his thugs.
They've got this far. We'll have to kill them or they'll take back news of us to the occupier."
"I fear you are right. Sorry, lads, but we live in dangerous times and it is better to be safe than sorry." The leader drew a knife from his belt and yanked Ramil back by the hair, exposing his
throat to the blade.
Just then a stone sailed out of the rushes close to the river bank, hitting the red-haired man
square on the forehead. He was felled like a tree put to the axe. A second stone followed,
striking the swarthy man in the back. He yelled and sprang round, giving Gordoc a chance to
grab him in a crushing hug. Ramil scrambled to his feet and drew his sword. Tashi limped out
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into the open, her cloth sling weighed down with another missile. The three remaining men
retreated, holding their pikes out in front of them.
Ramil grinned at her in amazement. "I thought you didn't fight," he said, circling round to stand beside her.
"I don't fight for the Warmonger, but I'll fight for my friends," she replied, swinging her sling with intent. "You learn a thing or two as a goat girl."
"Thank the Mother for that." Ramil turned his attention back to the red-haired man who was
coming round. He placed the point of his sword at the man's throat.
"Now, let's start again, shall we?" he said politely. "We're not from Fergox--
not in the sense you mean. In fact, we are even less anxious than you to meet with his
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spies or his soldiers. We were just intending to make a peaceful camp and go on our way before
you rudely interrupted us. Now it seems only fair that you tell us who you are and why you felt
obliged to slit our throats without giving us a fair hearing?"
The red-haired man groaned and sat up. He then noticed the girl with her long fair hair and
immediately cringed away.
"The witch!" he cried, touching two fingers to his forehead to ward off evil.
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Tashi felt a flash of annoyance. "Let's not start all that again!" she said tartly.
"I'm not a witch. I'm just a foreigner with different colored hair who speaks another language. I didn't strike you down with a spell. I hit you with a stone picked up from the riverbank. You
should know because you can feel the lump it left on your thick skull!"
The man shuffled back a pace on all fours. "But you escaped from Felixholt by witchcraft, they
say."
"I escaped thanks to the cunning and strength of my friends and a bit of play-acting on my part."
She walked off to the edge of the clearing in disgust. "I hate Easterners," she muttered to the horses, burying her head in Thunder's mane.
Ramil smiled at the haughty back of the Princess Taoshira, relieved that she had regained some
of her spirit. "But at least you will believe us when we say we do not wish to place ourselves in Fergox's tender loving care again as we've taken so much trouble to escape. Now you know who
we are, tell us who you are."
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The red-haired leader raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm Melletin Fernson. You've
run into a patrol of the Fenland Resistance."
"Resistance? To the occupation by Holt?"
"That's right. The last unconquered corner. Fergox does not yet hold sway over this part of
Brigard, though he likes to claim it is all his. We only cling on here because he doesn't know too
much about us. That's why we were going to silence you."
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Ramil let the euphemism for killing him pass. There would be time enough to settle that score if
things went well. He lowered his sword. "Then, friend Melletin, we are on the same side. I am
Prince Ramil ac Burinholt, this is the Blue Crescent Princess you've heard about, and the giant
there squeezing that unpleasant fellow to death is our loyal friend, Gordoc Ironfist. Hey,
Gordoc!" Ramil called. "You'd better let him go."
The swarthy man dropped to the ground, gasping for air.
"Now the niceties of introductions are over, perhaps you would be so kind as to conduct us to
some shelter. The lady here has been wounded and could do with a proper healer, if you know
one." Ramil held out a hand to pull Melletin to his feet.
Melletin rubbed his forehead. "She's not the only one. I can take you to our camp. But I'm afraid we cannot offer luxuries fitted to a prince."
"My friend, last night I slept in a boat, the night before that in a hovel, so I'm sure whatever you have will be an improvement."
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Following in the footsteps of Melletin and his band, Ramil and Gordoc led the horses with Tashi
mounted on Thunder. They travelled deeper into the Fens. It was easy to see how the resistance
might be able to survive out in these wilds. No army could march through on this boggy ground
in formation and it would be relatively easy to pick off the enemy's forces in swift raids from the
rushes. Hundreds of men could simply be made to disappear and no one would ever know their
fate. Even the Spearthrower's favorite subduing tactic of slash and burn would not work here
where there was more water than fuel for fires.