“How does nobody know this is here?” Cathy asked softly. I knew what she meant; the journey was arduous, but not unreasonably so, and with a paradise like this at the other end the path should’ve been well-worn by now. Hell, Poy Sippi was only three days’ hike away. But the trail we followed showed no sign of recent traffic.
“I guess there’s no chance we’re in the wrong place,” I suggested.
“I can read a damn map,” she fired back.
“But there’s no roads, no trails, no smoke from fires.” The implication was plain: however beautiful, the valley appeared to be uninhabited.
“We’re in the right place, according to the map,” Cathy insisted. Her fists clenched in frustration. “But so help me Goddess, if there’s no one here-”
I pointed. “Look. Someone’s here.”
A human figure appeared at the top of the nearest hill and descended the grassy slope. Something about its vaguely awkward movement held my gaze until suddenly I realized what I saw. “It’s a kid. A little girl.”
The distance made it hard to guess her age, but the way she flounced down the hill implied she was about five. She had long dark hair decorated with multicolored ribbons, and her dress seemed too big for her. Cathy and I both scanned the surrounding hills and forests, but saw no other people.
“She’s all dressed up,” Cathy said. “You think she’s lost?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“We can’t just let her run around loose, she’ll get hurt.”
“Let’s just watch a while,” I said guardedly.
Without warning, a herd of horses topped the same hill and bore rapidly down on the little girl. They were huge, wild animals, with no sign of the sleekness brought on by domestication. At the front of the herd, clearly its leader, ran a snow-white beast I assumed was a stallion. I estimated about two dozen of them, and the sound of their passage over the soft ground reached us like thunder heard beneath a thick blanket.
Cathy and I both started forward, and simultaneously caught ourselves. We were several minutes away, at least; rescue was out of the question. The herd was on the child in seconds, swarming over her in a rumbling wave of hooves and snorts. “Son of a bitch,” Cathy muttered, expressing our mutual frustration.
The horses turned at the bottom of the hill, ran along the flat, narrow gully and vanished. The soft grass bore the marks where they’d torn divots from the earth. My eye backtracked their passage, looking for the trampled corpse of-
The little girl stood intact, upright and happily twirling right where she’d been before the horses appeared.
“You see that?” Cathy asked, her voice soft with disbelief. “They missed her. They all missed her. What are the chances?”
I shook my head. “I’d give a year’s pay for that kind of luck, though.”
People appeared at the top of the hill. Even at this distance we heard the cheers and applause. Everyone crowded around the child as if she’d accomplished some miracle, which from our vantage point was certainly true. The adults were from a variety of races, and wore colorful clothes like you’d see at a festival. It was the wrong time of year for the harvest, and late for a spring fertility dance, but there was no doubt they were ready to celebrate. One woman scooped the girl in her arms and kissed her like only a mother would. The people disappeared back down the opposite side of the hill, the little girl perched on the woman’s shoulders, everyone still cheering. No one even glanced in our direction.
As the noise faded, I said, “ That was weird. Were you expecting this?”
Cathy shook her head. “No way. I assumed I’d find Epona Gray alone.”
“Well… I suppose it’s possible they have nothing to do with her.”
She glanced skeptically at me. “You wanna bet?”
I didn’t. We picked our way down the rocks to the tree line, and eventually emerged onto the crest over which the crowd had disappeared. And we saw where they went.
A small village, hidden by the hills until you were right on top of it, awaited us. A dozen homes and some obvious common buildings circled a large central well. Each structure was in a similar style, bordered by either a small livestock pen or household garden. Neat stone paths connected them. In fact, the whole vista was so damn neat it raised hackles on my neck, because it was completely empty.
“Where is everybody?” Cathy asked.
The valley forest bordered the far side of the village, and a dark opening indicated a wide trail into it. The grass appeared trampled in that direction, as if many people had entered the woods. “Must’ve gone in there.”
“ All of them?”
“Maybe.”
“Then we can at least go down and look around,” she said, and started forward.
I grabbed her arm. “Hold on. This whole thing is creepy. We’re outnumbered, on unfamiliar turf and not even sure who we’re looking for. That’s not the best time to be caught snooping. I think we should just sit down here and wait for them to come to us.”
She glared at me, then down at my hand, until I released her. “I know it’s weird,” she agreed. “That’s why I want to get this over with and get out of here. But you have a point.” I could tell admitting it was difficult for her.
So we sat on the top of the hill, clearly silhouetted against the sky. We both kept one eye out for the rampaging wild horses, but they did not reappear. I also belatedly noticed that none of the livestock pens held anything larger than a goat; nor, I realized, could they. Even taking into account the odd ceremony we’d witnessed with the child, it seemed strange that an isolated settlement would allow a herd of such monumentally useful animals to run wild.
Hey, I thought. That’s it. It wasn’t a near-accident, it was a ceremony. But what did it signify?
The sun passed midday and descended, blinding us since the village lay to our west. Cathy yawned and stretched out flat with her arm over her eyes. “Wake me if anything happens,” she muttered, then began to snore. A big butterfly landed on her knee, basked there for a while, then flew off.
At last, near sundown, the people we’d seen earlier emerged from the forest trail. It was a bastard to see through the glare, but they appeared to have returned from a community picnic or party. Many of them seemed a little drunk, young couples walked arm in arm, and fathers carried weary children. Most reached their homes without even glancing in our direction, but at last, one very tall man pointed at us. Several others joined him, and finally a dark-haired woman strode out of one of the houses. She looked in our direction, listened to something the tall man said, then started up the slope toward us. The tall man followed.
I lightly kicked Cathy. “We’re on.”
She awoke instantly. We stood, drew our visible weapons and placed them on the ground at our feet. Cathy stepped slightly in front and crossed her arms. “I’ll do the talking,” she said. “You just look mean and keep your eyes open.” That was fine with me; I could watch more closely if I didn’t have to be charming.
The woman was in her late thirties, dressed in a low-cut purple gown. Festive flowers dotted her straight, thick hair. She had a strong face, and when she got close enough, called out neutrally, “Hello.”
“Hi,” Cathy said as they stopped before us. “We have a package to deliver. We’re looking for an Epona Gray.”
“Then lucky for you we have one.” She smiled, and the seriousness melted. I got no bad vibes from her at all; although she bore an unmistakable air of authority, she seemed earthy, self-assured and, at heart, kind.
The tall man, however, was a whole different story. He stood over six and a half feet, wore his hair military-short and had the knack of watching without appearing to be. His arms were bare and, like mine, bore a network of fine pink scars from sword cuts. We both knew fellow soldiers when we saw them.
He nudged my sword with his foot. “Zuberbuhler Warmonger with a weight-balanced hilt. Big knife for a delivery boy.”
Nothing clever came to mind, so I let it go. Cathy said, “He’s just hired muscle, tough guy. There’s no need for a pissing contest.”