She was wondering how they would know if the column was still going south when they heard horsemen to their right: they could see nothing. All that morning, as a weak sun struggled through clouds, they moved with hardly a pause. Paks found it harder and harder to keep up. Near noon they reached the southern edge of the unbroken woods, and Canna waved them to a sheltered hollow.
Paks slumped onto the leaves and wished she didn’t have to move. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them to see Canna and Saben watching her. She forced a grin. “I’m just sore. It’s not as bad as yours, Canna; I’ll be better tomorrow.”
“Let’s have an apple,” said Canna. Saben opened the pack and passed them around. “Paks, we need you. We need all of us. We’ll slow if we have to—”
Paks shook her head. “No. You said getting to the Duke was more important than anything. I’ll keep up, or you’ll go on. After all, once they’ve passed I’ll be safe enough.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Canna. “After yesterday—if we can possibly stay together, we should. At least for now. The column’s not ahead of us.”
“Speaking of the column,” said Saben. “I think I’ll crawl up there—” he nodded at the treeline, “—and have a look. Maybe I can spot them.”
Canna nodded, and he moved away. Beyond the trees was rough pasture; they could see his head outlined against the tawny grass. Presently he came back.
“They’re there,” he said. “The column and sweeps both. Very impressive. They were still coming in sight when I came back. Want to take a look?”
“I will. Paks, you stay here and rest.” Paks wanted to protest, but felt more like lying still. She fell into a doze while they were gone, and woke with Canna’s hand on her arm.
“Paks. Wake up. They’re moving south, and the prisoners are with them. We think at least sixty prisoners, both ours and Halverics. I’m not sure how many troops, but there are ten wagons and several score horse.”
“Did the whole column pass?”
“Yes. They may be trying to reach the second crossroad by nightfall. I wish I knew how far that was.”
“Then we’d better go. I feel better.”
“Good. Saben and I think we’ve found enough cover for the next stretch.” Canna helped her up. Paks tried to convince herself that she would feel better moving, and they started again.
Out from under the trees, with the sun’s disk showing through the clouds, it was easy to keep their heading. Luckily the fields were edged with strips of woodland or hedge, and all through the afternoon they were able to keep up with the column while staying well hidden. The mounted sweeps never came as close as they had; Canna worried more about being spotted by a herder or farmer who might tell the tale.
By late afternoon the column reached the second crossroad, where the road from Dwarfwatch crossed the great Guild League road. The three fugitives had gained on it, now even with its middle. They could see the head of the column swing left, onto the direct route for Rotengre. They could also see the mounted patrols that moved out along all the roads to screen its passage. They dared not risk moving forward before dark.
“It’s not lost time, exactly,” said Saben. “Now we know how many of them, and what equipment—”
“Too many,” said Canna. “Over three hundred foot and a hundred horse. If the whole Company was here, it wouldn’t be an easy fight.”
“At least he’s obvious,” said Paks. “A force that size will be seen—someone’s bound to tell the Duke even if we fail.”
“Don’t forget those farmers—he may be killing everyone he sees.”
“Come on, Canna; he can’t kill everyone on the road between here and Rotengre. Traders come this way, and—”
“Saben, from what I’ve heard of him, he’ll kill anyone who stands in his way.”
They had turned east across the fields, and come to the caravan road well beyond the patrol’s position. Besides, they had seen the riders turn back. Even so, they took no chances. Canna scouted the road, and they crossed one by one, as before. The night was cold and clearer than the day had been; the stars gave just enough light for them to walk on open ground. They went on until they saw the fires of the encamped column.
“Here,” said Canna, stopping them in a little triangular wood. “This will do. Paks, how’s your side?”
Paks leaned against a tree. She felt that if she sat down she would never make it back up. “Stiff,” she said finally. “A night’s rest will help.”
Canna handed around a meager measure of the remaining meat and bread. They had eaten it almost before they tasted it. “It has to last,” said Canna. “I don’t know where we can get any more—we’ll do better spacing it out—” She did not sound convinced. Paks clenched her jaw to keep from asking for more. She knew Canna was right, but her belly disagreed. Saben gave a gusty sigh out of the darkness.
“My old grandmother used to tell me, when I wouldn’t stop begging for sweets on market day, that someday I’d want ’em worse than I did then, and because I’d begged I wouldn’t have any. What I don’t understand is how the food would be here now if I hadn’t begged then. Do you suppose there’s some magic—?”
Paks found herself chuckling. “Only if learning not to ask meant learning not to want. It’s an idea, though: things you want and don’t ask for coming when you need them.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” said Saben. “So much the worse. Canna, if we wait until the column has passed that village, can we go and buy food?”
“No. I expect Siniava will have spies there.”
“What a suspicious old crow,” grumbled Saben.
“If he weren’t, he wouldn’t be that powerful. I’ll take first watch tonight, Saben; you and Paks get to sleep.”
Paks was tired, but her side hurt so that she found it hard to get comfortable. She would have sworn the ground was covered with cobbles, yet Saben was snoring lightly in minutes. She tried rolling onto her back. Her legs stuck out into the cold. Her stomach growled loudly, and she found herself thinking of stew, and hot bread, and roast mutton—I’m as bad as Saben at the market, she thought. She turned on her left side. At last she fell asleep, to be wakened by Saben on a clear frosty dawn.
As they chewed their scant breakfast, trying to make it last, they watched the distant fields. The sun rose and glinted on the enemy helmets as they assembled. Thin streams of smoke from their fires rose straight into an unclouded sky, to bend southward above the trees. The column began to move. Suddenly a puff of blacker smoke billowed up, then another and another. In a minute they could see the red leaping flames.
“They’re torching the village,” said Canna. “I daresay they’ve killed the villagers, or taken them prisoner.” They watched as yet another billow of smoke stained the sky. Paks thought of the friendly folk who had waved at them on their way north.
“Why burn it?” she asked.
Canna shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know. To hide the murders as wildfire? Who can imagine what that filth would be thinking.”
As the tail of the column disappeared, they set off across the fields, angling toward the burning village. They could see the dry grass near the huts burning, flames spreading toward stubbled fields and woods beyond. A light breeze came with the morning, moving the fire south, a pall of smoke with it. Soon they were up with the smoke, paralleling the fire. The smoke set them coughing. Paks felt a stabbing pain when she coughed. She was uneasily aware of the flames creeping along the ground or rising in crackling leaps when they found more fuel than stubble. But the wind never strengthened nor shifted direction, and soon they had passed the fire by.