“That’s the other reason we didn’t take horses,” Matt explained. “It’s really quite comfortable, once you get used to it—his vertebrae make natural saddles, and it’s a lot faster than walking.”
With obvious effort, knight and sergeant screwed up their courage and stepped forward.
They climbed down much more stiffly, when the sun had fallen near the horizon and Stegoman landed by a small grove of trees. Sergeant Brock virtually fell off, and kissed the ground while he was down. Then he shoved himself to his feet, groaning. “How long will it take to become used to this manner of riding, Lord Wizard?”
“You’ll feel fine once you get over this first set of aches.” Matt took off his pack and pulled out a bottle. “Better rub your legs with this, or we’ll have to lift you out of your blanket roll tomorrow.”
“I thank you,” Brock said, taking the bottle, then turned to bow to Stegoman. “I thank you, too, great beast, for carrying me this day.”
“My thanks also,” Sir Orizhan said, also bowing.
“I was pleased to have your company,” Stegoman said gravely, “and honored by the presence of men of such courage.”
“Yes, you were really very good about not looking down,” Matt said, “and you got used to it very quickly, both of you. It’ll be better tomorrow, Sergeant—I’ll bet you won’t turn green at all. You might even be able to eat lunch.”
“And what is the matter with being green?” Stegoman intoned.
“It’s not easy,” Matt explained. “About eating, though. I’d better light a fire and get a kettle going.”
“And I will seek a stray cow,” Stegoman said. “You will pay the farmer in the morning?”
“Of course,” Matt said. “Airline food always was overpriced. See you when you’re finished with the entree.”
“I shall return when I have fed,” Stegoman assured. His wings boomed wide; he ran across the field and launched into the air. Matt watched him go, feeling reassured—with a dragon apt to stop back any time, neither of his two companions was apt to try anything against him. Not that he suspected they would, of course—they had the same goal he had, after all—but it never hurt to be careful.
Sir Orizhan watched Stegoman climb into the evening sky. “I cannot believe I actually rode upon his back!”
“I can,” Sergeant Brock groaned. He had already stripped off his leggins and was busy rubbing the ointment into very sore muscles.
“Not feeling stiff?” Matt asked Sir Orizhan.
“It is not much different from riding a horse,” the knight told him. “I only needed to accustom myself to the fear of heights, and the—” He glanced at Sergeant Brock and lowered his voice.”—and to the sudden and unexpected ups and downs of it.”
“That does take getting used to,” Matt admitted. “In fact, I have a breakfast menu that should help a bit.”
“That root you gave us to chew?”
“Hey, it helped, didn’t it? But we’d better see about getting that fire going, or we won’t get dinner, let alone breakfast.”
Stegoman had dropped them in a pasture at the edge of a small patch of woods. They turned to explore the grove with no one suggesting it—they all felt the need to investigate. After all, there might be an enemy hiding in it, a bandit or other outlaw. They stepped into the shadow under the canopy of leaves, and all cried out in surprise.
“A cabin!” Matt cried.
“A cottage, at least.” Sir Orizhan frowned at Matt. “What is a ‘cabin’?”
“A cottage by any other name. Hasn’t been used in a while, has it?”
That was obvious at a glance. The thatch was moldy and patchy, missing in several places, and the windows and doorway gaped empty. The shutters hung at an angle, leather hinges broken, or lay beneath the window. The door was gone completely, probably chopped up for firewood. The area around the little house was clear, but only because the shadow of the trees was too deep for anything to grow.
“It will give us shelter for the night, though,” the knight said. “Come, let us rid the place of any unwelcome dwellers.”
He advanced, sword out, ready for anything from badgers to bears. Matt and Brock drew and followed.
They didn’t need their blades, though. The cabin was a single large room, empty except for the refuse of years. Bears obviously had lived there in the past, or some sort of carnivore, and lesser woodland creatures had been there before or since. A pallet of musty straw lay against one wall, but there were, of course, no blankets. There was no other furniture. Like the door, it had been chopped and burned by other travelers who had used the abandoned cottage for a night’s shelter. The ashes in the fireplace were old, though, and crumbled to a bed of soot.
“Empty, but filthy.” Sergeant Brock sheathed his sword. “I’ll find a dry branch and some green leaves for a broom.”
“I shall gather firewood,” Sir Orizhan said.
“You’ve got all the tinder you need right here.” Matt nodded at the moldy pallet. “I’ll gather up the bones and toss them out.”
They went, each to his own task. Matt hauled a double armful of cow and deer bones out to the edge of the trees. When he came back, he found all the old straw stuffed into the fireplace, and three pallets of fresh straw in its place. He was pleasantly surprised, and wondered which of his companions had managed the trick while he was out. Then he pulled his leather camp bucket out of his pack and set off to find a stream.
There was enough dry wood under the trees so that they had a fire burning brightly before it was dark. Dinner was stewed jerky and toasted journeybread. As it cooked, Matt said, “It was really nice of you to bring in fresh straw.”
Neither man answered, but each glanced at the other, obviously waiting.
Matt frowned. “Okay. Who brought it?”
“I thought it was one of you,” Sergeant Brock said.
“And I thought one of you two had done it,” Sir Orizhan said, very confused.
Matt felt his personal alarm bell ringing all the way up his spine. In this universe, unexplained phenomena usually wound up being explained by magic. What magus was trailing them—and why did whoever it was want him to know about it?
But he couldn’t let his companions know, of course. He didn’t need to have them staying awake all night waiting for the spell to fall. “Guess I must have wished too hard.” He stabbed a piece of jerky with his dagger and offered it to Sir Orizhan. “Think that’s tender enough?”
It was, and the aroma from the stewpot had revived Sergeant Brock’s appetite, sort of. As they ate, Sir Orizhan asked, “How shall we find the trail of this murderer, Lord Wizard?”
“I’ll be using what spells I can,” Matt said, “but I think he magicked himself back to Bretanglia, and so far, all my own charms can do is verify that.” His enchanted compass needle had pointed north. “At the moment, I’m trying to find him from another direction—by figuring out who else was in on the conspiracy to kill the prince, and hoping they’ll lead us to our assassin.”
Sir Orizhan frowned. “But I thought you knew of only the one murderer—the footpad who went out the window, and whom you chased and fought.”
“He denied it,” Matt said, “though he would, of course. That means I have to prove it.”
“If he slew the prince by casting a spell, proving will be difficult,” Sergeant Brock pointed out.
“Right. As it is now, I can’t even make a convincing case that he had a reason to do it.”
“To draw Merovence into war!” Sir Orizhan exclaimed.
“Well, he did challenge me to try to keep us out of it,” Matt admitted, “but that might be only one part of an overall strategy. Could be he was just a hired hand—and if he’s something more, what is he?”
Sir Orizhan stared at Sergeant Brock and Sergeant Brock stared at him. Then both stared back at Matt.