"Nothing." She scrambled down the slope. "The road's down here," she said. "Which way?"
"Left."
"Away from the castle," she said. "See? At least you've got sense enough to walk away from a fight." She stopped to look intently at his face. "And don't get your macho image bent out of shape-I'm not calling you a coward."
"No, but you hit pretty close to home," Rick said.
"How's that?"
He told her how he had chosen track instead of football. "And don't tell me how sensible it was," he said. "I know it was sensible, but it bothers me."
2
The road was excellent. It reminded Rick of the old Roman roads he'd seen in Europe; cobblestones placed over enough rock fill to prevent settling. From the wear on the stones, the road had been there a long time, centuries at least. Unlike Roman roads, though, this one wound through the low hills and trees. Roman military roads had been unfailingly straight no matter what obstacles were in the way.
The trees and underbrush were strange, but they didn't seem particularly alien; no stranger than Africa had been when he first went there. There were no birds – at least he'd seen none -but twice he saw flying squirrels. At least, he thought, they look like the pictures of flying foxes in my old schoolbooks. I never saw a real one on Earth.
Gwen walked beside him, still keeping her distance.
"You decided to come with me. Do you have any-" Rick cut himself off and lowered his voice. "There's someone behind us," he said. They looked back to the last bend but saw nothing. Rick motioned Gwen off the road and into the trees. They took shelter in the underbrush. Rick held the rifle in readiness. Whoever was coming was making no attempt to be silent; footsteps clattered on the cobblestones.
Corporal Mason came around the bend. He stopped and looked ahead, then very carefully slung his rifle and held out his empty hands. "Cap'n," he called.
"In here," Rick said.
"Yes, sir. Figured you'd hear me comin'. Just didn't want to get shot."
Rick led Gwen back to the road. He slung his rifle, but made certain the strap on the shoulder-holstered pistol was released. "What brings you here?"
"About a dozen of us volunteered to come off with you, but Parsons and Elliot wouldn't let 'em. Elliot said it was all right for one of us, so we cut cards for it, and here I am."
"Flattering," Rick said. And, he thought, just possibly believable. It was also believable that Parsons had sent someone to finish him off. Parsons was a careful man.
Parsons might do that, but Mason wouldn't take that job. There were some who might, but not Mason. Rick suddenly realized that he was glad to see the plucky little corporal. At least he had one friend to watch his back in this strange place. "Welcome aboard," Rick said. "But you might want to explain-"
Mason spat in the dirt. "Parsons is a Foreign Legion type," he said. "The Legion uses up men. I've known some mercs who put in five with the Legion, and no thanks."
"Is Parsons likely to be looking for you as a deserter?" Rick asked.
"It's possible," Mason admitted. "It was Elliot said it was all right to take off, but maybe he didn't ask Parsons first."
"And probably didn't tell him later," Rick added. Another complication. "We'd better watch our backs."
"More reasons than one," Mason said. "There might be some others want out of Parsons's chickenshit outfit."
"Maybe we should wait and see," Gwen said. "But-" she looked thoughtful. "You wouldn't want too many."
"Why?"
She shook her head. "Woman's intuition-"
"Bat puckey. You've hinted a couple of times that you know things I don't. Isn't it time to let me in on the secret?"
"No. It's not time." Gwen was very serious.
"When will it be?"
"I don't know. But I do point out that as long as the men might run away to join you, you'll be a threat to Parsons."
"So I hide from him-"
"It's not that," she said. "Look, you won't kill him from ambush. But if he decides to kill you, you won't even know until he's done it. The only way you'll be safe from him is if he doesn't know where you are."
It made sense. It didn't sound very manly, but it made sense. Rick said so.
"There's another thing," she said.
"Yeah?"
"If the Shalnuksi traders learn where you are, they'll tell Parsons-"
"That's what really concerns you, isn't it?" Rick asked. "You don't want the Galactics to find you. Why?"
"Does it matter? You won't be trading with them. You can't possibly manage to grow those drugs alone-"
"Drugs?"
"I'll explain later. Rick, you won't be trading with them. It's certainly better for us if Parsons can't find us. All I'm suggesting is that we don't call attention to ourselves. Get out of this part of the country, and don't leave traces of where we've gone. Doesn't that make sense?"
"I suppose-"
"That's all I'm asking."
"It's enough. We don't even know where we're going. For that matter, we'll be out of rations soon enough. I saw what might have been a deer-"
"It probably was. There were a lot of Earth animals released here."
"Damn it, you're doing it again! What else do you know that might save our lives?"
She didn't answer.
They rounded another bend. There was a crossroads marked by a small thatch-roofed shelter whose roof drained into a stone cistern and watering trough. The side road was dirt, heavily rutted with cart tracks and the prints of shod horses, but deserted at the moment.
Mason inspected the cistern. Leaves floated on top of the water. "We trust this stuff?" he asked.
"We'll have to eventually, and we'll want to start drinking local water while we're still pumped up with gamma globulins and the other shots we got-but I think we can wait a day or so until we've got a permanent base. Got purification tablets?"
"Yeah. I'll use them. Hand me your canteen."
They filled the canteens while Rick thought about their situation. The main road would have more traffic, but it would also be easier going. Not far down the side road he could see patches of water and mud.
"Horses comin'," Mason said. He pointed back the way they came.
"Off the road," Rick ordered. He led them into the trees beyond the crossroads.
There was a click as Mason released the safety on his H amp;K battle rifle. "They're slowin' down," he said softly.
"If they don't want trouble, we don't," Rick said. Two horses came into view. One carried an elderly man in yellow robes. There was a blue circle with a stylized thunderbolt across it sewn to the breast of the robe. The other horse was ridden double. The rider in front wore kilts and an iron cap, and carried a short sword slung at his left side. The other was cloaked and hooded. They stopped at the crossroads, and the other robed man swung down easily and led his mount to the watering trough, first pausing to bow to the stone heap.
The other two dismounted.
Gwen stared interestedly. "Notice the reverent gesture," she whispered. "Hermes. Guide of the Dead. He was originally a god of crossroads. Evidently he hasn't lost that function here."
The second rider threw back the hood and removed the cloak. Mason gave a nearly inaudible whistle. "That's a looker!" he whispered.
Rick gestured for silence. Mason was right. The girl was young-about twenty, Rick would guess, with long raven-black hair. Even at this distance her eyes were startlingly blue. She had a classic Scandinavian shape to her face, and the woolen frock she wore would have brought a high price at Magnin's. Only the kilted rider seemed armed, and Rick examined his weapons carefully. A leather case was fastened to the saddle; from its shape, it probably held a longbow. Otherwise there were no missile weapons. The man's sword was quite short. He also carried a dagger about the size of Rick's Gerber Mark II combat knife.