He was grinning. “Quite sure, Viks'n? It'll mean a couple of hard rides and no sleep all night."
"Quite sure!"
"Thargian patrols may catch us and kill us."
"You don't believe that or you wouldn't be going!"
He chuckled and gave her one of his rare, wonderful smiles that always lit up the world. “Come, then.” He gestured at Dosh. “Help this traveling disaster clean up, will you, Viks'n?” He jumped off the bench and disappeared out the door, leaving the two men staring after him in disbelief.
"What's this Viks'n he calls you?” Dosh demanded.
"Just a pet name."
Golbfish shrugged. “In classical Joalian, ‘viksen’ means ‘courage.’”
Dosh said, “Oh."
Ysian had not known that and felt pleased. D'ward had told her it was the name of a small animal with red hair, and her hair was not red. It was dark auburn.
39
AS THEY CREPT OUT OF THE CAMP, D'WARD TOOK YSIAN'S HAND. She thought progress! Then she decided he was just being protective again, babying her. The only time he had ever touched her was when they had been crossing Lemodwater, escaping from the city. His strength on that occasion had impressed her a lot, but she would not agree that he was necessarily more surefooted in darkness and rough terrain just because he was a man. Not without a demonstration, anyway.
And this could never be a truly romantic stroll, since Trumb had risen, three-quarters full above the branches. His eerie green light made people look like corpses, definitely not romantic. Eltiana's rosy glow was the moonlight for lovers. Besides, Dosh was there too, leading the way. He was moving like a corpse, or at least a half-dead person, and ought to be in bed. So not romantic. More like goose-pimply and exciting. Nevertheless, she let D'ward continue to hold her hand, squeezing his fingers discriminatingly from time to time.
They avoided the sentries’ notice—which annoyed D'ward a lot. Then Dosh said he had better go ahead in case of accidents, and in a minute she had D'ward to herself.
"Are you being romantic or just baby-sistering me again?"
He released her hand. “Sorry."
"Sorry for what? You really are the most maddening man!"
His eyes and teeth showed bright in the moonlight. “Now what have I done?"
"It's what you don't do that bothers me! It is very insulting for a woman to find herself ignored like this when she has made her inclinations perfectly clear!"
"With the knife, you mean? Oh, I certainly understood the message. I have never been so scared in my life!"
"That was before I got to know you. Why don't you even kiss me?"
He sighed. “I've told you, Ysian. I am promised to another. You're a sweet kid and—"
"I am not a kid!"
"And rarely sweet?"
"Exceedingly sweet. Try me."
"I ought to put you over my knee and spank you."
"Promise to take my pants off first?"
"Ysian! You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I am ashamed of myself. I've tried everything I know—” At that point she tripped and almost fell. D'ward did not even try to catch her.
It was humiliating.
After twenty minutes or so, they came to a bridge over a stream. A voice from the shadows up ahead demanded, “Password?"
"Flower of shame,” Dosh replied. “Captain Ksargirk?"
"Yes, sir."
"There are three of us. You take this man. And the, er, boy can go behind Tsuggig. I'll ride with Progyurg."
"His mount is only a five-year-old, sir. Better to—"
"That's an order!"
"Whatever you say, sir."
Ysian grinned to herself, wondering if D'ward noticed how much Dosh enjoyed flaunting his authority; the Thargian certainly had.
A chance to ride a moa had seemed like a big adventure. Moas were big—she had never realized just how big. More Thargians led the steeds in from the darkness. The long necks seemed to stretch halfway up to Trumb, and the saddles were higher than the men's heads, even D'ward's! How was she ever going to get up there? More important, when and how would she come down?
The lancers began hauling on reins, some of them lifting themselves right off the ground and hanging there. The moas snickered complaint, then one by one reluctantly folded their huge legs and sat.
"Ready, boy?” the Captain asked Ysian. “Hold on for your life, now!"
"Er, me? Ready for what?"
The nearest lancer vaulted into his saddle and at the same moment Ksargirk Captain and another man lifted Ysian bodily and more or less threw her at his back. She flung her arms around him and the moa went mad. It leaped straight up into the sky, while the other men cleared rapidly out of the way. It came down and went up again. It shrilled and brayed, kicked and cavorted. She clung grimly to the rider, her face pressed hard against his tunic. She clung so hard she wondered he could breathe, and yet she was bounced madly for what felt like several hours. Sometimes she came down on the moa's hairy rump, sometimes on the edge of the saddle, which hurt. Her legs flapped up and down like wings. Tsuggig cursed a stream of guttural Thargian that she could not understand and the moa ignored. She heard a few cries of pain from Dosh—he really ought not to be doing this in his condition! D'ward made no noise, but soon the whole night seemed to be full of bucking, rampaging moas. Oh, poor Dosh!
All nine moas made a fuss at being mounted, but the three with passengers were by far the worst. The other six calmed down after a few token leaps. Her lancer was the last to bring his mount under control, perhaps because it was the biggest, perhaps because both Dosh and D'ward weighed so much more than she did. When it began to behave itself, tired by its antics, he was given his lance, which one of the other men had been holding for him. Then Ksargirk Captain shouted an order, and the troop set off along the road. Streaked off along the road! Never had Ysian traveled so fast in her life. The moa seemed to cover eight or ten feet in a stride, but its gait was amazingly smooth. Hedges and trees went hurtling past, a blur in the night. The wind blew cold on her face, and although the saddle was too small for two, she soon decided that she was enjoying herself after all.
Clouds had covered most of the green moon when the weary moas strode into the grounds of the monastery. Two elderly monks were waiting with lanterns at the door of the temple, and one of them wore a golden chain, so he must be the abbot. Ksargirk Captain reined in at the steps, and then sprang nimbly from his moa's back. He made a very graceful landing, and saluted the abbot. A lancer dismounted the same way and took the captain's reins. Ysian looked down at the ground thoughtfully.
Tsuggig Lancer twisted around to peer at her. He was older than she had realized, clean shaven in Thargian fashion, but not really ugly. “You're no boy!” He had not spoken a word to her until then.
"I wasn't the last time I looked."
He made a growly sound, and then chuckled. “If you were when you got on, then you might not be now. But you did good. My pleasure. Can you get down without help?"
"Of course.” Ysian pushed herself off and slid spryly down ... down...
Her legs buckled under her and she fell flat on her back, banging her head on the gravel. Bother! The moa shrilled mockingly and shifted its hooves as if readying a kick. She scrambled up and moved to a safe distance to dust herself off, feeling oddly shaky. The ground seemed too close, as though her legs had shrunk, and much of the rest of her felt as if she had been flogged by the public executioner. D'ward had already dismounted and gone to help Dosh. She took a hard look at the forbidding figure of the old abbot and decided he might not approve of women in his monastery. She had better remain a boy.