Canna swung right, back toward the south road, cutting the corner. They had covered what Paks guessed to be half that distance when they began to hear shouts, the clatter of horses, and the rumble of wagons from their right. Suddenly a thrashing and crackling of undergrowth broke out behind. They dropped where they were. Thudding hooves pounded nearer; Paks could hear the jingle and creak of tack and armor. This time the mounted men were silent. They were spaced in easy sight of one another, passing on either side of the fugitives. Paks saw the hooves of one horse churning the leaves scarcely a length from her face. As the horse cantered on, she saw that the rider had a chain-mail shirt under a yellow surcoat, and a flat helmet with a brim. He had a sword at his side, and a short-thonged whip thrust into his belt behind.
When the hoofbeats died away, Canna urged them up and led them back east. “We know how far out he sends the sweeps, now,” she said. “But without seeing the column, we don’t know if these were the forward or the flank.”
“At least we know he’s going south,” said Paks.
“How about one of us going in for a closer look?” asked Saben.
Canna frowned. “It’ll be dangerous. I think we can do better. We’ll climb the next hill on our side, and take a look from a distance. As long as we stay outside the sweeps—” They walked on, more quickly, in case another patrol was riding behind. The ground rose under their feet; again they were in the evergreens of a north slope. They toiled upward, panting. Paks felt the pack of food dragging at her shoulder, and wished they could stop and eat. They heard more noise from the road. A mounting excitement seized all three of them; they began to hurry up the slope, eager to see the enemy column at last.
Paks, shouldering her way through thick pines and cedars, thought only of how they hid her. When she broke into the cleared space on the hilltop, a pace or so ahead of Canna and Saben, she found herself face to face with one of the mounted men. He had turned toward the noise she’d made; as she came in sight he grinned and lifted his reins.
“So there is something here besides rabbits, eh?” He turned in the saddle, taking a breath. Paks shrugged the pack off her shoulder and threw it at him. His horse shied, and he nearly fell. “Why, you—” he began, drawing his sword. Paks had her dagger out and charged the horse, which snorted and backed. He jerked the reins and spurred. She dodged to his unarmed side and jumped to grab his arm. The horse jumped sideways as he overbalanced, and he slid out of the saddle on top of her, swordarm flailing. Paks was stunned by the fall under him. With a snort, the horse clattered off into the trees. Paks struggled to catch her breath and squirm free. Canna and Saben appeared and jerked him aside; Canna had a knife in his throat before he could make a sound.
“Now we’re in trouble!” Canna gave Paks a hand up. “Get that pack, Saben. Come on!” She led them down the east side of the hill as fast as they could go, slipping in the leaves. Paks was so shaken that she had trouble keeping her balance. At the foot of the hill, Canna would not let them rest, but set off southward at a brisk pace. “I should have thought,” she said sometime later. “They’ll have a lookout on every hill. Especially now.”
“Surely they’ve—found him—by now,” said Paks. She couldn’t seem to get her breath.
“I hope not. It depends how they set it up. If they were stationed at intervals, to wait for the column to pass, they won’t know until it does—or until his horse wanders back to the road.”
“It won’t,” said Saben.
“What—”
“You didn’t see. I was behind you—I caught the reins, and tied it.”
Paks looked at him. “That was quick thinking.”
“Very good, Saben,” said Canna. “I didn’t think of the horse until afterwards. You were lucky not to be trampled.”
“We were all lucky,” he said soberly. “Paks stopped him calling an alarm—”
“Yes. When I saw you throw that pack,” said Canna, “I thought we were lost.”
“You’re right that we must stick together, Canna. One alone couldn’t have made it through that.”
They walked on in silence for a space, keeping to the low ground and swinging east of the low hills they met. Some time in the afternoon, they heard several horn signals far behind, but they did not know what it meant. They only knew they had to keep going. As light began to wane behind the clouds, Paks asked, “Do you think they’ll camp for the night, or march through?”
“I think they’ll camp. I wish I knew the road better. Somewhere between here and the next crossroad we come out of the trees.” Canna sighed. She had slowed the pace; they were all legweary.
“I’m worried about keeping up,” said Paks. “We should be faster, just the three of us, but we’re having to cover more ground. Once it’s open, it’ll be worse. What if they distance us and take a turn we don’t see?”
“We’ll ask someone. I don’t think they will, though.”
They went on until the light was almost gone, and they were stumbling with weariness. When they finally stopped in a hazel thicket, they were all exhausted and hungry. Paks had been struggling with a sharp pain in her side where she’d fallen on rocks under the horseman. Now it was worse.
“I wish we could have a fire,” she said. “Those eggs—”
“We’ll eat them raw,” said Canna. “We can’t risk a fire.” She dug into the pack. Two eggs had broken, but five remained.
“You can have my share,” said Paks. The thought of raw eggs revolted her.
“They’re good. Don’t waste ’em.”
“I’m not. You eat them.” Paks took a scrap of meat from her pouch. Canna looked at her.
“Paks, I should have asked—were you hurt?”
“Just bruised, I think, from the rocks. It catches when I take a deep breath. How’s your shoulder?”
“It hurts a little, but not like yesterday. I should have remembered that the day after is worse than the day something happens. Here’s some bread.”
Paks took a slice. “We ought to change the bandages, and put on more ointment—”
“It’s too dark,” said Saben. “We can’t see what we’re eating.”
“In the morning,” said Canna. “We’ll look at your bruises, too.”
They settled into uneasy sleep. Saben took the first watch. When Paks woke in the early dawn, she found that Canna had taken the second. She started to sit up and bit back a groan. She was stiff from head to heel, and her right side throbbed. Canna insisted on seeing the damage.
“I thought so,” she said. “A fine lot of bruises and a bad scrape—hand me that pot, Saben—and maybe a broken rib or two.” Paks winced as Canna spread the ointment. It stung like nettles. “Don’t move—you’ll have your turn next,” said Canna. But Canna’s wound was clearly healing: no longer an angry red. Canna twisted her head to look. “That’s much better,” she said. “It’s just a little sore this morning.” She gave Paks a long look. “Maybe you did do something with that prayer.”
Paks ducked her head. “It’s not healed completely, Canna. And we put ointment on it.”
Canna looked at their food. “We’ll eat the cheese—and some bread. That leaves—umm. We’ll be out again by day after tomorrow. Well, no help for it.” After that scant meal, they were ready. Paks needed Saben’s help to stand, and found walking difficult.