“Which you did,” Matt agreed. “Risk death, I mean. Well, I’m glad they didn’t find you until you found us.” He rolled up his blankets. “Come on, folks. Leave the dead and take the horses. We don’t want to be here when their comrades get back.”
Sergeant Brock led them through the darkened woods, Sir Orizhan and Rosamund walking side by side, talking in low tones, updating each other on what had been happening. Matt, though, walked backward, sweeping away their tracks and reciting,
He thought they must have gone a thousand feet when he looked up and saw, by patches of moonlight sifted through leaves, a tall and long-limbed shape a hundred feet away, backing toward him and gesturing with its loosely jointed arms.
CHAPTER 18
Matt’s lips thinned; he could just imagine the kind of verse Buckeye was casting, one that would leave a taint of magic so strong that the least sensitive hound in the sorcerer’s kennel would smell it a mile away. His eyes narrowed and he chanted,
With satisfaction, he watched as the rubber-limbed figure seemed to move along the side of the trail, then farther and farther away from it. The last Matt saw of him, he was backing away far to the left, still gesturing and presumably chanting, as Matt backed up straight, reciting his masking verse over and over again.
Rosamund insisted on helping them pitch their new camp— it seemed she had learned something about living in the field when Sir Orizhan had taken her along with the princelings on childhood expeditions. Certainly she knew how to lay and light a fire that gave off remarkably little smoke. Sergeant Brock was scandalized at the thought of a princess doing menial tasks, though, and insisted on cooking the meal, so she busied herself in cutting boughs and making pallets.
Dinner consisted of equal amounts of stew and the inside story of the civil war, at least as much of it as Rosamund had heard. By the time she was done, they were all ready to sleep, and Sir Orizhan insisted on taking first watch, sitting on a rock and beaming down at his sleeping ward. Watching his face, Matt could see he wasn’t in love with the princess, but that she was obviously filling the place in his heart of the daughter he had never had. He went to sleep on that thought.
He woke up to a howling racket, but one far away. Everyone else bolted upright, too, and Sir Orizhan, on his feet, hissed, “What can that bedlam be, Lord Wizard?”
“The hunters and their hound,” Matt told him, just as the howl-baying turned to a high-pitched yelping that faded into the distance, followed by the shouts and howls of thoroughly spooked human beings. Something hooted derisively as it faded after them, yowling and clamoring with the voices of a dozen beasts.
“The hound followed the most prominent trail of magic it found,” Matt explained, “which led it to a very surprised bauchan who is now also very angry. Hopefully, he’ll satisfy that anger by chasing them, and by the time he runs out of gas, he should be too far away to make it back to us by morning.”
“What is a bauchan?” Princess Rosamund asked, and Matt lay back down while Sir Orizhan was explaining. When he was done, she said, “It seems a most helpful beast.”
“Only by accident,” Matt assured her, “this time, at least.”
As it turned out, they were a lot closer to the coast than they’d thought. The second day saw them into a fishing village, with half the afternoon left to find a boat. The fishermen were just coming in, tying up their vessels at the long dock, and Matt went from one to another, asking for passage to Erin. Everyone he asked turned away, avoiding his eyes, shaking heads and muttering. He found out why when he approached the oldest sailor there.
“Erin?” The grizzled fellow eyed the gold coin in Mart’s hand with longing. “I’d be happy enough to take you there, but the king’s men came riding by yesterday and told us anyone who carried strangers across the water would die a slow and lingering death.”
“Oh, did they?” Matt felt the bottom of his stomach go out. “Uh, I don’t suppose there’s any chance of swimming, is there?”
The old fisherman showed yellowed stubs of teeth in a grin. “Not likely, my lad. There’s a legend of a giant named Finn MacCumhail crossing once, but he waded.”
“Not MacCool at all,” Matt grumbled. “Anyone have a boat for sale?”
“For enough gold? Aye, if they didn’t stop to think what the soldiers would do once they found out.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Matt sighed. He turned away—and found an old woman in a tattered robe sitting on a piling, staring at him with wild eyes from an emaciated face framed by long, tangled hair that was blowing in the wind. Matt stopped and swallowed. “Uh—who’s that old dame sitting there staring at me?”
“Who, Old Meg?” The fisherman looked up, and his face showed pity. “Oh, don’t let her trouble you, lad. The sea took her betrothed fifty years ago, and she comes down to watch every evening in hopes that she’ll see his boat come in, and him step off it. If she troubles you, you’ve but to tell her your name and home, and she’ll let you pass without another word.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Matt went on down the dock, eyes on his own people—but as he passed Old Meg, a scrawny hand shot out and caught his arm with a grip so strong he almost cried out. Instead he said, “Uh, lady—could you go a little easier on the haberdashery?”
“Well, at least he knows a lady born when he sees one,” Old Meg said, gratified. “Do you wish to cross the water, lad?”
“Cross the … ?” Matt stared; it wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Well… yes!”
“To Erin, is it?”
“It is.” Conscience stirred. “But the king’s men said not to take anyone.”
“King’s men!” Old Meg said with scorn. “What need to fear the soldiers of so weak a man? His grandfather Talorc, now—there was a king!”
Matt looked more closely at her, deciding she might be older than she looked. “I wouldn’t want you helping us just to have your life cut short.”
“There’s not that much of it left, lad,” she assured him. “I’ve a boat—not so big a one, but large enough to take you and those three friends of yours, and sound enough to take me out to catch my dinner every day. Will you sail with me or not?”
“Yes!” Matt said “See you at first light tomorrow.” He fished out the piece of gold again.
“I’ll have none of your coin,” Old Meg said sharply. “What I’ll do, I’ll do for the rightful king, not for pay—and you won’t meet me any time but now.” She hopped down off the piling. “If you want to sail with me, you come at once or not at all!”
Matt gulped “A night crossing in a small boat?”
“Who was only now worrying about the soldiers?” Old Meg returned “Will you come, or not?”
“We’ll come!”
Matt followed her down the dock to his companions and made the introductions. Rosamund stared into the old woman’s eyes and shivered. Old Meg only smiled at her and nodded slowly, but all she said was, “You’ll do,” and turned away, striding down the beach so fast Matt had to hurry to keep up with her.