Copyrighted by

Justin V. Stanchfield

1998

justinvs@geocities.com

ANSDAR'S TALE

The road Ansdar Koryak stumbled down scarcely deserved the name. Two ruts, washed deep, winding off the rain slick mountain side. He lost his footing in the wet clay, and would have fallen had it not been for the long walking staff he had, of late, taken to using. He regained his footing, resting a moment above the ruined valley, trying to ignore the ache and stiffness in his left ankle.

"You think this is as pointless as I do, don't you boy?"

The hungry black dog cocked his head, staring at Ansdar with matted eyes.

"Come here, I won't hurt you." Ansdar extended his arm slowly towards the matted stray that had followed him the better part of the morning. "What's your name, huh? Guess you're wondering what happened too."

Ansdar straightened, setting off again, step, drag, step. The ankle refused to give quarter, the old wound slowing his progress. He laughed softly. "My pension is acting up today. Always does in a storm, I suppose. Could have been worse, hey? At least I've got a spare ankle."

The dog wagged his curled tail in a weak arc above his haunches, but refused to come nearer than the staff might possibly reach..

"Ah, I suppose you've heard them all before." Ansdar stared out over the landscape. A thick cloud, the color of a day old bruise hung low, hiding the TK mountains. Grey dust covered everything, covered the trees and the rocks and the newly sprouted grass. The dust the fire mountain had belched for a week straight was taking it's toll. Even the puddles had a dull grey patina spread over them, rippling in the light breeze. He sniffed the air. It was pregnant with rain, dank as an old tavern rag.

"Come on, boy. Let's get off this forsaken mountain before anything worse can happen."

#

Si'Kalli farmstead was gone, buried beneath the mud and silt and new fallen ash. Same as Forscu, and Malda. Same as his own newly acquired homestead. An image flashed through his mind of a girls white corpse sticking through the mud in the tumbled ruins of his own shack. He shuddered, shoving the thought away until he could no longer recall her face. It was a trick he'd learned long ago.

Ansdar hobbled along the edge of the mudslide, boots sodden, sinking a thumbs depth into the wet earth with every step. Here and there a wall still stood, an empty shell, the thatching swept away. Uprooted trees and the corpses of bloated livestock stuck up through the grey ooze, swarming with flies.

The old dog growled, hackles raised, his floppy ears lifting.

"What do you hear, boy?" Ansdar stared with the dog looked, wary as a raven. Twenty years a'soldiering had given him, if nothing else, a keen sense of self-preservation. He squinted, frowning as he listened for anything above the lapping of the mud swollen stream. "Come on, let's see what it is."

Ansdar crept away from the water, keeping to the scrub timber and underbrush that had survived the flood. The river made a sharp bend, rounding a steep, bare faced bluff. Cautious as a stag at dusk, he slid through the willow thicket, spreading the spindly branches to peer at the clearing beyond. The dog inched next to him, close on his heels, finally trusting the man in the tattered brown tunic more than the unknown beyond. Ansdar reached down to quiet the nervous animal.

"I don't believe it." Ansdar broke out of the thicket, striding fast as he dare over the muddy turf. "What a pair of fools."

A hundred paces stream-ward, an exhausted bay horse struggled, mired in the mud. A small woman wrapped in a dark cloak perched on his withers, while a wiry man tugged on the halter, waist deep in the cold water, cursing in TK language. The horse strained against the lead rope, sinking deeper onto his flank as the water rushed up around him.

"Get her off that horse before you drown them both!" Ansdar broke into a stiff legged jog across the flood plain. The river slipped it's icy tongue against his legs as he waded outward. He swore under his breath as the water rolled over the tops of his knee high boots. "You damn fools, what are you doing crossing a mud hole like this?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" The man was hardly more than a boy, sandy haired with a wispy beard, neatly trimmed. His clothes, though filthy with mud and dirty water, were of an expensive cut. A dark handled dagger hung from his broad, tooled belt.

Ansdar stabbed his walking stick into the mud and leaned against the current. He reached up and swung the woman off the horses back. She gasped as the river swallowed her past her thighs. Though short, she was surprisingly heavy. A round bulge beneath her blue riding gown told the story. "Sorry, m'lass, but you'll have to step off a bit."

"What are you doing?" The man/boy asked, panting from exertion.

"I'm saving your horse, that's what." Ansdar pulled his own dagger free. The short, chipped blade slipped under the saddles cinch. He sawed through the thick leather band. "His rear foot's hung up in the saddle. Don't you know anything?"

The saddle slipped to the side and splashed into the water. A ripple washed around it, tumbling it downstream. Flailing, the horse lurched free of the mud, it's eyes white-rimmed and wild. Ears back and snorting the animal twisted, dragging itself out of the strong current. The young man glared at Ansdar. He jerked the horse towards the stream edge, gathering the woman to him as he passed. Ansdar followed, his feet icy and numb. He trudged towards a low knoll to drain his boots and wait for the pair to make the first move.

He didn't have long to wait.

The lanky youth stomped toward him, a scowl contorting his otherwise handsome features. He wore neither hat nor cowl, leaving his close cap of hair rustling like feathers in the rising wind. Ansdar sank to the ground, knees pulled up, his staff within easy reach. The boy's face was red, his eyes narrowed.

"You owe me a saddle."

The dog slunk closer to Ansdar, growling at the intrusion.

"Call your dog off, old man."

Ansdar patted the skinny mongrel. "The dog isn't mine. He does as he pleases."

"So do you, apparently." The boy's accent poked through his anger, the vowels stretched far enough to prove him no native of Karandis. "You owe me a saddle."

"Your saddle's out there still. Go fetch it."

"You old bastard." The boy stepped closer, his movements telegraphing the poorly timed kick he was preparing to deliver. Ansdar gave him no chance, snatching up his staff and swinging it in a whip-fast arc. The hard oak whacked the boy above the ankle, toppling him. His backside slapped the cold, damp earth. Faster than seemed possible, Ansdar was on his feet, the staff resting light in his grip, pointed with obvious menace at the startled youth's chest.

"Now, my bold fellow." Ansdar straightened, planting the staff again in the springtime turf. He wiped away a strand of long, grey hair dangling in his eyes. "Shall we dispense with the pleasantries?"

To his credit, the boy sat upright, wiping his hands on the soft leather of his ruined breeches. He glared upwards, never once acknowledging the pain the saplings bite must have delivered. "If you've come to rob me, you've done a poor job. Everything I had left is washing downstream with my saddle."

"Rob you?" Ansdar asked. "Is that what you take me for, a common thief? What's your name boy?"

"Nasgil. Nasgil mag Dren."

"Dren? Your father sits on the Andokarst council?" TK

"My uncle." Nasgil lifted himself up, wincing as he placed weight on his ankle. "Why?"

Ansdar relaxed. The boy had taken the warning to heart. The fight was out of him, for now. "If you're bound for the 'karst lands, you're on the wrong road."

Nasgil snorted. "What road? The pass is closed. There isn't a bridge or a ferry within a days walk out of this mud-hell."

"So you chose to ford the Kurn TK at flood? You're either brave or a fool. What were you thinking, traveling alone with a pregnant woman, and at this season?"

Nasgil crossed his arms. "The others were lost when the mud came." He stepped to the side, gingerly testing his leg. "And I'm getting tired of your questions, old man."

"Ansdar Koryak. That's my name."

"Well then, Ansdar Koryak, I hope you drown in the mud." The boy turned, limping towards the river. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a saddle to find."

The drizzle began again, sifting out of the sky, tiny drops washing the volcanic ash in dirty rivulets from the stones and grass. Ansdar grumbled, wishing he could ignore the agitated Nasgil. Instead, he hobbled toward the river, leaving his cloak and boots under a scraggly tree. Cold mud slithered between his toes.

"I'm more fool than he is." He paused beside the brown water.

Agitated as he was, he didn't notice the girl's approach. "Sir?"

Ansdar spun, startled out of his skin. He was getting old when mere girls could slip in unseen.. The girl watched him through eyes so brown they seemed black. She had a child's voice, a lilting sing-song that seemed out of place against her woman's form. A simple braid tied back her chestnut hair, a few loose strands drifting in the breeze. "He needs help." She stared at the ground. "We need help."

"I've noticed." Ansdar stepped into the water. The cold seemed a hundredfold worse than the first time. "Keep an eye on the dog. I can't vouch for him not to bite." To his annoyance, the animal was sitting placidly at the girls feet, wagging his tail as happy as if he'd found a fire and a soft blanket instead of the hem of a muddy dress.

"He'll be fine," she replied. "I have a way with animals."

"I'm sure you do." Ansdar scowled, fighting the current, his bad ankle stiff and awkward in the frigid water. Out he slogged, anxious to find the saddle and return to shore. Nasgil's face was pale by the time he reached him, his lips turning blue.

"It has to be here," he said, teeth chattering. "It can't have drifted so far."

"Forget it." Ansdar slipped on a rock, falling up to his crotch. He gasped at the shock. "The saddle's gone. Get to the bank before you drown."

"Why should you care?"

"I don't." Ansdar glanced shoreward. "But your woman does. Leave it."

"But..."

Ansdar waded toward the rivers edge. "Suit yourself, boy. I'll not waste another breath on it." Ansdar was numb by the time he staggered out of the swollen river. He slumped to the ground. Fire shot through his feet as he tried to massage life back into them. Three paces away, Nasgil did the same, biting back tears.

"My father will kill me sure, this time."

The girl arrived. She spread her own cloak over Nasgil's back. He shrugged it away. "Selera, leave me be. I'm no child!"

Ansdar shook his head. "You'd starve to death in a land of plenty, boy." He crawled to his feet, leaning heavily on the staff. "I wish you both luck. You're going to need it."

His own ragged cloak seemed an eternity away. He whistled for the dog. "Come on."

The animal slunk to the ground. Ansdar whistled again. Reluctantly, the shaggy creature followed, stopped, then moved back to Selera's hem. Angry at the stray and madder at himself for letting it show, Ansdar stomped away.

#

Cold left his fingers clumsy, thick sausage-shaped clubs sprouted from his callused palms. He struggled with the damp kindling, the knife and steel surrendering the occasional spark only to watch it die against the pulpy wood.

"Damn the day." Ansdar was shaking now. Though hardly past midday, the rain and the sullen wind let no warmth enter his soaked boots and leggings. He shoved the knife once more down the steel's edge. A handful of cherry red sparks met his efforts. Gentle as a mother, he lifted the kindling in his cupped hands and blew, soft but steady, until it seemed his lungs might shatter. A thin curl of white smoke sifted up. Ansdar took a breath, then blew the tiny flame to life. Not since the Winter Siege had he been so in need of a fire.

"Sir?"

Ansdar spun, his newly kindled flame, for the moment, forgotten. The girl, Selera, stood in the lee of a gnarled elm, hands clasped in front of her swollen stomach. The dog was with her, wagging his tail. "What do you want?"

She hesitated. "Do you know anything about horses?" she asked. Her eyes fell to th ground. This was costing her much. "Ours seems to be lamed... Sir."

"My name is Ansdar, not sir." He dropped a handful of twigs on the fire. Flames licked at them, snapping merrily. "Can you tend a fire?"

"Of course."

It took effort to stand. His knees were stiff, wooden things. "Don't let this die." He trundled away, smoke following him, taunting him with thoughts of warmth. Nearer the river, not far from where he had left them, Nasgil was 'tending' the horse, circling round and round the poor beast, swatting him on the rump.

"Stop, boy! That animal's in pain."

The boy glared. "You are an apothecary as well a vagabond, then?"

"Watch your tongue or I'll teach you better." Ansdar stepped carefully to the geldings side, running his hands in a smooth swath down the horses flank until he held the rear leg just above the fetlock. He strained, lifting the leg. The animal flinched, jerking his hoof back to the ground. Again, Ansdar lifted the leg. The tendons were warm under his fingers, swollen and tender.

"And what is your decision?" Nasgil crossed his arms, eyes shot full of challenge.

"Your horse is stifled." Ansdar wiped his hands on his tunic. "That means he's stretched the muscles in his hind legs."

"I know what stifled means." Nasgil said. "I've spent my life with horses."

"Then you should have known better." Ansdar retrieved his staff. "Your woman is tending a fire. Come dry yourself before you freeze."

"I'm fine."

"Suit yourself. Your woman and I will be waiting if you ever lose that sullen streak."

Nasgil snatched up the horses halter rope, dragging the crippled animal faster than he deserved. "I'll not leave Selera to your care." He hauled past him. "And she's my wife, not my woman."

Ansdar let the boy walk past, happy to have him in the lead where he could be watched. He was just brash enough to pick a quarrel, and by Ansdar's reckoning, quick enough to strike a blow or three before experience might prevail. Smoke drifted on the wind, mixing with the gritty, ash laced rain leaking from the leaden sky. His back protesting in agony, he stooped for a wind-fallen branch, dragging it under his arm toward Selera and the fire roaring at her feet.

#

"Will this rain never end?"

Selera smiled, a shy lift of her broad lips. She seemed left ill at ease by the increasingly longer bouts of silence as the trio huddled around the fire pit. The simple lean-to they had hurriedly thrown together from old logs and boughs did little to hold back the drizzle, though it did at least shed the wind. A brief flirtation with blue skies and fair winds had passed all too brief before sunset, the rain coming back with vengeance.

Ansdar studied the girl. Twilight was kind to her, the dancing fire softening the contours of her face. She was young, younger than he had first suspected, a mere girl thrust too soon into womanhood. Her face was too square to be called beautiful, her nose too wide to ever be regal. Yet, her eyes were deep and warm, filled with a gentle intelligence that made the old soldier wonder how she had ever become entangled with the surly Nasgil.

"Come morning," he told her. "I suspect this weather should pass."

"Fine good it does us." Nasgil snapped a branch in two, tossing it carelessly on the fire. Sparks broke free, jumping skyward only to die before striking the ground. "The roads are still gone. We'll gain no time tomorrow... rain or dry."

Ansdar shrugged. "The road keeps it's own time, hey? You'll make Andokarst when you make it."

"What sort of answer is that?"

"The only one that matters." Ansdar looked the boy in the eye. "Why should you care when you arrive. All things being the same, I'd say being alive after the last day counts harder than your journey marks."

"It matters." Nasgil turned away.

"It's important that the child be born in Andokarst." Selera said. After a pause she added, "It is a family matter."

Nasgil shot her a look full of anger, but held his tongue. He turned again to the flames, hunched forward, fingers clenching and unclenching, cat style. Seen in profile, his was a face that belonged on a coin. A straight patrician nose, thin lips set above a jaw almost too fine to be a mans. His eyes burned, embarrassed with his young bride.

"Don't worry," Ansdar found himself somehow disconcerted with the couple's bickering. "There's plenty of time before the birth."

"You know such things?" she asked.

"A bit."

"Then," Selera's face seemed to brighten. "You are married, ser' Koryak?"

A shudder ran through him, the sort his gram always said you felt when a spirit stepped in your boots. He stirred the fire with a slender branch. "I was. She died in the flood."

Her face went pale. "Forgive me."

Nasgil stiffened. "I'm sorry. I apologize for my wife's untoward questions, ser'."

Ansdar laughed, an empty, hollow sound. "Never apologize for someone else. We make enough mistakes on our own." He smiled, hoping she would notice. "Besides, she meant no harm. How could she know."

Selara sat unmoving, only her fingers weaving in and out of each other in a frantic, systemized dance. She spoke, mouthing a quiet liturgy. "The River washes all."

"And none may stay Her flow." Ansdar finished the prayer.

Her eyes opened wider. She smiled. "Glory of the heavens unto thee."

"You follow Lith'" Nasgil asked, doubt crossing his face.

Ansdar shook his head. "No, but I served a commander who once did." He shuddered again. He reached inside his dirty tunic, lifting out the tiny bronze charm he had been given as protection such a short time before. "So did my wife."

"What was her name?" Selara asked.

"Her name was Tavda'lesh. But everyone knew her as Vada."

"I will pray for her crossing." Selara's eyes seemed so earnest, so without guile, Ansdar couldn't help but smile.

"She would have liked that."

A lonely howl cut through the evening, a low, unmistakable cry. The dog huddled nearer to Selara as the wolves echoes died away. Ansdar pulled his thread-bare cloak tighter round his shoulders and lay down on his side, head cradled on his forearm. "If I were you, I'd get some rest. Daylight comes soon enough."

The wolf was answered by another, the two voices blending with the wind. Nasgil stoked the flame higher. "Shouldn't one of us hold watch?"

Ansdar let his eyes close. "Watch against who? Get some rest, boy. We're all that's out here tonight." Behind them, tied to the tree, the horse stamped, nervous at the predator smell. "At least all that walks on two legs."

#

The clouds parted before dawn, shredding like a moth-eaten blanket. The air chilled, a thin veneer of ice forming on the rocks and logs around them. Shivering, Ansdar tossed wood on the glowing coal bed, blowing the flames awake. The wet branches snapped and crackled as they were engulfed. He huddled close, ignoring the smoke, grateful for the warmth. The old dog sidled next to him.

"Ah, now you want to be friends again."

The animal sank to the ground. Ansdar stroked the dog's tangled fur as he watched the first glow of day-break spread. He heard someone cough.

"Selera?"

The girl sat up, her teeth chattering.

"Come sit by the fire, girl, before you die of the chills." He scooted back, leaving ample room for her to squeeze in.

"Thank you, ser' Koryak." She sat awkwardly, arms pulled tight against her body.

Ansdar reached across and spread her cloak over her back, covering her like he would a child. "Call me Ansdar. ser' Koryak is a gentleman's name." He smiled for her benefit. "And I'm certainly not one of those."

"You've been nothing but gentle with us, 'ser." She rocked slowly back and forth, as if the movement might warm her. "Thank you."

"I've done nothing out of the ordinary."

She hunched closer to the flames. "When I asked if you were married, I had no idea you were a widower." She stared deeper into the flame. "I am sorry."

A single bright star hung over the brightening horizon. Dawn was nearer than it seemed. Ansdar spread his hands above the fire, stretching his fingers wide. "You meant well. " An icy gust pushed through the sodden camp, fanning the flame.

"You must have loved her a great deal." Selera said.

For a moment, he couldn't answer. Perhaps it was the smoke. "We'd been married less than a year. She came with the farm I purchased." He shrugged. "Does that seem harsh?"

Selara said nothing.

"I suppose I must seem a barbarous old coot to your young eyes. But if I'm nothing else, I am a truthful sort." He smiled, patting his stiff leg. "When I gave up soldiering, I decided it was time to become landed. Veda's father was old. He'd lost four strong sons and had no one left but his daughter to care a damn for. He wanted to know she and the farm would be in good hands." He stared at the star, his voice faltering. "Seems he was wrong on both counts."

"I've asked too much."

He shook his head. "No. When you've lead a life like mine, talking about the dead comes natural as breathing."

Absently, she rubbed her swollen stomach, cradling the life kicking her deep within. Beneath the lean-to, Nasgil snorted, curling himself into a tight ball. Selara looked at him a moment, smiling, before turning again towards the warmth. "Was she pretty?"

"No, she was plain. Not half so pretty as you."

Selara blushed, tipping her face further forward. She pulled the dog close to her leg. The animal groaned with pleasure at the attention.

"But, she was good, and kind." He made sure she could see him grin. "She had a way with animals herself."

A burst of sound shattered the stillness, a fluttering explosion in the pine grove behind the camp. Ansdar jumped to his feet, nearly losing his balance before he could plant his walking stick. Alert as any hound, he followed the flock of grouse with his eyes, taking careful note which tree they landed in.

"Trouble?" Selara asked, alarmed.

Ansdar was already on the move. "Breakfast."

#

The dark branches hung low with moisture, glistening drops of icy water ready to drench the unwary passerby. Ansdar passed carefully beneath, crouching low to avoid them. The ground was soft, last years grass a pliant carpet under his boots. He left nothing to chance, staying upwind, stalking silently toward a towering fur tree. The limbs were gnarled like arthritic's hands praying for mercy. The grouse were well hidden, five of them, gray blobs of ruffled feathers perched high, unsuspecting. Ansdar spotted a thick stick, a two-hands in length, solid enough to bring down his quarry.

A deep breath, steady now, steady. He had been nine years old the first time he'd knocked a bird dead from a tree, and he had seldom missed since. Carefully he aimed, flinging the stick end over end. It whistled as it sped through the chill air. One of the grouse fluttered to the ground, stunned. The other's burst from the branches, beating their stubby wings frantically toward the next tree. Ansdar watched where they lit before retrieving his first catch. He wrung the birds neck, shocked as always at the smooth warmth of the dying creature. He retrieved his walking stick and crept forward.

"Thank you Nerith for the stupidity of birds," Ansdar whispered, grinning, as if the goddess of the hunt might actually be awake on so frosty a morning. He let the grouse settle a moment before advancing. The tree was dying, red-needled and sparse, offering little cover. The first bird had been a challenge. The next would be simple in comparison. Slow as winter snow he drew back his arm, every nerve intent on his target.

A rock whizzed over his head, thwacked the tree high against the trunk, then fell uselessly to earth. The grouse flew off their high perch, winging sunward, the noise shattering the dawn. Ansdar spun, furious at the lost chance.

Nasgil stood ten paces away.

"What in the name of Hanna's sandals are you doing!" Ansdar flung his throwing stick to the ground.

Nasgil's fists clenched. "I was hunting, same as yourself." He pointed at the single grouse tucked by it's neck under Ansdar's belt. "Did you think one scrawny bird would feed us all?"

"You worthless fool! I'd have bagged them all if you hadn't scattered the wretched things to the ends of the world!"

"I've had enough of you, old man!"

"Old? I'll show you old!"

Ansdar swung his walking stick in a wild, unguided swath, missing Nasgil with feet to spare. Startled, the boy jumped back, dipping fast to gather a handful of small stones. He threw, one after another. The third caught Ansdar square on the forehead.

Vision blurring, Ansdar staggered backwards, rage filling his mind. He swung again, feinting this time to drive Nasgil back a pace before he jabbed the staff, butt first, into the other's stomach. Nasgil let out a whoof and toppled to the ground. Angry past words, Ansdar raised the staff over Nasgil's head.

The boy recovered fast, rolling over the muddy earth, scrambling to his shaky feet. His hand swung to the daggers sheath hanging from his belt.

Ansdar coiled to strike, gritting his teeth. He spit his words like poison. "If you so much as touch that knife, I'll take your head off with it."

Nasgil crouched lower, his hand wavering above the ornate hilt. His fingers twitched. Ansdar's staff drew back like a spear, readied to deliver a lethal jab.

"Hello?"

Salera's voice bounced round the glade.

"'ser Koryuk? Nasgil?" she shouted again. "Hello?"

Ansdar let the staffs tip drop. A truce. "Your woman has impeccable timing."

Nasgil straightened, though his hand still hung low, ready to grab the dagger should need arise. His words spurted out in gasps. "You leave her alone. Understand?" His eyes burned with unadulterated rage. "Alone!"

Ansdar spun on a heel and stomped away, too mad for words. Loose duff and leaves flew with every footfall. The old dog came slinking out to greet him. Salera had built the fire into a blaze, and now stood with her back to it, soaking in the heat. She tilted her head, smiling as if she hadn't heard the battle waged a scant forty steps away.

"Is everything all right, 'ser Koryuk?"

Ansdar glared at Nasgil, just now breaking clear of the tangled tree line. The old horse, still tied to the tree, farted as if on cue. "Things couldn't be better." He never slowed his pace, making fast for the river's edge. He cleaned the bird, tearing out great handfuls of feathers, throwing his anger at the poor birds carcass.

Finished, he washed the grouse, then, as an afterthought, washed the blood from his hands. He splashed his face, the cold water drizzling down his neck, drenching the thick patch of hair beneath his tunic. His face felt rough, stubbled, undoubtably dirty. Three short days ago he had been clean-shaven, his long hair combed and tied, every inch the respectable farmer. Now, he imagined himself less presentable than either the dog or the horse, and most likely, less useful.

His anger drained away. Ansdar gathered up the single bird and limped back to the camp. The sun broke over the horizon, golden light warming the air for the first time since the mountain had erupted. He gave the grouse to Salera.

"Such as it is," he said.

"J'Pell graces us with her bounty." The girl touched her left hand to her forehead before she would touch the bird. She had smoothed out a section of the fire, leaving a bed of coals glowing red. A forked branch was planted in the ground, ready to receive the spitted bird. The aroma of the roasting flesh, blood dripping into the fire, was overpowering. Even Selera's stomach growled in anticipation. The dog drooled, staring over his paws at the meager prize.

Nasgil refused to speak, turning away like a sullen child every time Ansdar tried to breach the awkward silence. Selara, for her part, chattered like a squirrel, keeping up an unending stream of unrelated stories and anecdotes, scarcely pausing for breath.

"Selara," Nasgil finally broke his resolve. "For the love of Lith, be still. Let us at least enjoy the morning."

She blushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I annoyed you, my heart."

Ansdar looked away so they couldn't see the grin spreading over his face. Until this moment, he hadn't fully appreciated how young the couple truly was. They were children, pretending to be grown, making up the rules as need arose. A lonely lump gathered in his stomach, a fleeting regret. He passed it off as hunger.

"I think the bird is done." Ansdar lifted the grouse by the spit and set it upon one of the firestones. "Shall we?"

Nasgil reached for his dagger to divide the portions. He caught Ansdar's eyes and paused. He actually smiled. "With your permission?"

"By all means," Ansdar said, grin spreading wider.

Salera smiled and said nothing. She brushed back a loose strand of hair then eased herself to the ground, mindful to stay up wind of the smoke. She reached down and patted the dog on his broad, shaggy head.

The dog simply stared at the grouse.

#

The sunlit reprieve was brief. By mid-day the storms had once more gathered, chilling the damp air. The trail was poor, rutted and slick to the foot. Selera and the lame horse slowed progress further, dropping the pace to a plodding handful of miles. The stringy grouse had done little to drive off the hunger, and by noon Ansdar's legs were weak, his head light. He'd made a thousand marches like this, usually on an empty stomach. He would survive. But he worried about the girl.

She sat, her back against a tree, her face pale and drawn. Ansdar took Nasgil aside. "I think we should make camp here."

"Here? We're still close enough to spit at last night's camp."

Ansdar glanced at Selera. "She needs rest. We all need food. Unless you want to eat the horse or the dog, we need to go hunting."

Nasgil frowned. "I have to get to Andokarst before week's end."

"Is it more important than your wife? Or the child she carries?"

"To my father? Yes."

Ansdar scratched at the stubble under his chin. "Nasgil, listen to me. I don't know you, and I wouldn't know your father if he stepped on my foot. But, I know one thing." He nodded towards Selera. "What you have sitting under that tree over there is a damn sight more important than your father's opinion. Ask a man who learned his lessons hard."

Nasgil stared at the ground. "I'll tell Selera."

"Good. Why don't you kindle a fire while I see about scarring up something to eat."

The boy looked stunned. "I'm going with you."

"Now why would you do that?" Ansdar said. "Somebody needs stay with the girl. This is wild country, in case you haven't noticed."

Nasgil's eyes narrowed, his cheeks drawing inward. This was a matter of pride. "We won't be gone but a while. I've hunted too, I'll thank you."

Ansdar sighed. "Suit yourself. But, we build the fire first. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

It took more time than expected to start another fire, and Ansdar half-hoped Nasgil's enthusiasm for hunting might have waned. No luck. He stood like a puppy at the edge of the shelter he had cobbled together of rocks and broken log. It would serve little more than to trap the rain and insure a wet and miserable night, but he had seemed so proud of the lean-to Ansdar couldn't find it in his heart to say as much.

"Make sure the horse is tied," Ansdar said at length. "I'm ready."

Nasgil nodded. "Selera, keep the fire. We won't be long."

"We hope," Ansdar added.

Selera smiled, saying nothing. She huddled close to the flame, shivering, as if every ounce of her strength had been spent. Fatigue was taking it's toll on all of them, but on her more than most.

"If anyone comes, disappear into the trees, you understand?" Ansdar took his knife from its simple sheath. He pressed it into her cold hands. "This isn't much, but it might give a loner a bit of a pause." He straightened, and without another word, hobbled into the timber. Nasgil fell into step behind him.

Ansdar walked fast as he could, ignoring the stiffness in his ankle and the empty in his belly. He wanted desperately to outpace the younger Nasgil, but with little success. As the terrain steepened, Ansdar ran short of breath, his legs burning with the effort. His wet boots slid in the loose shale and rain-slick turf. Finally, at the top of a low, densely wooded ridge, he paused.

Nasgil was scarcely panting. "What is it? Did you see something?"

Ansdar shook his head, not wanting to speak for fear of revealing how badly out of breath he was. He pointed along the ridge line. "We'll follow this a while and see if we might cut a track."

"What are we hunting, anyhow?"

Ansdar blinked, surprised at the question. "Anything we might catch. And the sooner we find it, the better." He leaned hard against his walking stick. "I wish we had a bow. Stick and rocks are hardly what I would choose if given a choice."

Nasgil actually smiled. "Thank Lith. I was afraid for a moment you intended to bag our prey with bare hands."

"Might come down to it." Ansdar took a deep breath. "Shall we?"

Travel was easier along the ridge. The two men skirted in and out of the scrubby trees lining the crest, alert for sign of game. A tiny stream, little more than a marshy trickle, ran through the narrow valley at the bottom of the ridge. Though they had crossed several sets of day old tracks, they saw nothing worth pursuing. Suddenly, Nasgil pointed towards the tree lined stream.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

As reply, Nasgil started down the ridge, slipping lower, keeping the wind at his face. He stopped and knealt beside a set of tracks so fresh they were dark-edged, the cloven prints sharp and deep. He motioned towards a thick clump of briar.

Ansdar stared at the pig tracks and smiled. He crouched lower. "Did you see him?"

Nasgil nodded. "A small boar. I think he's still down there."

They stepped softly, aware of every sound. A thin rain began to fall, masking their approach. Something in the briar shuffled, rattling the barren branches. A trail led inside the tangled undergrowth, a gaping tunnel into the prickly heart of the brush. Ansdar hand signaled Nasgil to wait near the hole as he searched for something to bring the boar down with. He pried a sharp pointed piece of slate, almost too heavy too lift, free of the stream bed and gave it Nasgil.

"Be careful," he mouthed. He poised his staff above the briar, ready to prod the wild pig from his lair.

Nasgil tensed, the rock held just above his head, ready to strike the moment the animal rushed out. He glanced at Ansdar and nodded. The staff plunged into the tangled bushes, stabbing through again and again. The tip struck something soft. A loud, angry grunt answered his effort. He jabbed again.

The boar exploded out of the opening, squealing in rage. Nasgil swung the rock down, striking the pig in its tusked snout. The animal squealed louder and spun, searching for its attacker. Nasgil retreated, stumbling as he grabbed for his dagger. The pig snapped viciously at his unprotected shin.

Ansdar leapt forward and jabbed the pig in the ribs. Again, the animal turned, rushing towards the new source of pain. Ansdar hit it again in the face, and again, falling backwards with every strike. A protruding root snagged his bad ankle, throwing him off balance. Inertia carried him towards the ground. Enraged the boar charged straight for him.

The movement became a blur. Ansdar threw his hands in front of his face, his staff knocked away. The wild hog smashed into his stomach, hitting him like a battering ram, pinning him. He saw the razor sharp tusks, felt the creatures hot breath against his chest. Something hot and red sprayed across his face, blinding him.

The hog, toppled, rose to its feet and howled in pain. It spun, snapping at the jagged wound Nasgil's dagger had slashed through it's ribs. Ansdar scrambled up, terrified, searching for his staff. Nasgil moved in an easy arc around the dying boar, ready for another charge. Together, one to either side, they kept the boar hemmed in until it collapsed.

Nasgil grinned. "I think I liked your bird hunt better."

"Truth be known," Ansdar said, wiping the blood from his face. "So did I."

It seemed a thousand miles back to camp, a plodding march down the steep hillside. Ansdar hadn't realized how far they had actually traveled, and now, taking turns carrying the boar over their shoulders, he began seeing the trails end around every corner. The gutted pig wasn't heavy, but it was slick and awkward, throwing his balance off. Camp couldn't be too near for his liking. He paused to catch his breath.

Nasgil took the boar and slung it over his shoulder. "How much farther do you think it is?"

"Not far, and a good thing at that. Sunset's coming."

Nasgil nodded. The shadows had grown long, blending the greenss and browns into an amorphous grey. They started off again, picking up the pace as the terrain began to level. The trees were changing, giving way from pine to elms and ash, and then to willow. Camp couldn't be far. A flight of screeching crows broke out of the brush, rising like black darts into the sullen sky.

Ansdar held up his hand. "Did you hear that?"

"What? Those birds?"

"No. Listen." Ansdar cocked his head, straining to hear. The muffled barking was unmistakable. "Come on. Something's at the camp."

Nasgil fell behind, panting under the load. "Stay the pace, will you?"

"Leave the damned pig!" Ansdar shouted without turning. The dog's urgent bark was louder, shattering the twilight. Running now, his bad leg dragging, he broke out of the timber. Nasgil, still carrying the boar, stumbled next to him. The fire was burning bright, clusters of sparks jumping skyward. Selera stood close, wrapped in the light and curling smoke, the dagger held in front of her swollen stomach, more talisman than weapon. The old dog stood at her heel, neck bristled, barking wildly as the two men approached.

"Selera!" Nasgil finally let the dead boar slide off his shoulder, real worry driving him forward in a hot sprint. "What's wrong?"

"I heard something." The girls voice was high, clipped with fear.

Nasgil scurried around the edge of the camp, searching the darkening ground for sign of intrusion. After a half dozen circuits, he threw his arms in the air. "Must have been an animal. Probably a skunk, eh?"

"Don't be so sure." Ansdar knelt over a set of indistinct footprints hidden behind a thick cluster of brush. They were long and narrow, ill-defined in the spongy turf, but undeniably fresh. "These are no skunk tracks, lad. Have a look."

"Boot tracks? Here?" The boys eyes widened. "What do we do?"

Ansdar shrugged. "We cook that pig."

"But, someone's out there. Shouldn't we try to find them?"

"I imagine they'll find us without our having to go a'searching for them. Come on, let's get back with Selera. 'Tis going to be a long night."

#

The night passed slowly, like the storms driving one after another through the high mountain valley. They ate, stripping the roasting meat as it browned, filling their bellies only to doze and then cut away more. The meat was bland, with neither salt nor spice, yet Ansdar could seldom remember a better feast.

Rain fell, tiny droplets more fog than water, shoved sideways by the unceasing wind. The fire snapped and roared, devouring the dwindling wood pile. Selera spoke little through the evening, remaining so quiet that before moon-rise Nasgil was actually prompting the girl with needless questions. Ansdar let the pair babble, smiling and nodding, telling old stories he'd heard a thousand times around other sleepless fires. He tried to be calm for their sakes, though his eyes narrowed with every shadow, the hair on his neck raising each time the wind slapped one branch against another. If he slept at all, it was too short to notice.

Dawn found them already awake, waiting on the light. Silently, they chewed on strips of tough pork, wrapping what was left in a crude sack made out of the animal's hide. Selera was stiff and shivering. Nasgil pressed his hand against her forehead.

"You're fevered."

"I'm fine," she lied. Her voice was thick, the words clipped by the congestion in her throat. "Tis the smoke from the fire, that's all."

Nasgil glanced at Ansdar. "Can she not ride? It seems, this morning, the horse's leg is sound."

Ansdar chewed a bone, tossing it at last to the dog. "Aye, the horse seems stronger. Still..." He came closer to Selera. "She would be better walking the fever out of her joints. A good sweat is what she needs." He smiled. "Trust me on this."

Selera pulled her cloak tighter around herself, her teeth chattering. "He's right. Can we be on our way?"

Nasgil was unsatisfied. "How far until we're out of these blasted bottom-lands? I've never been so sick of trees in all my life." He untied the horse, coiling the lead rope through his cold fingers. "Shouldn't we reach the main road today?"

"With luck," Ansdar said. He kicked dirt over the fire. Ashes scattered, the wood hissing. "I know of a village not far from here. No more than three hours good walking. Perhaps we can join a caravan there."

"If any caravans are left," Nasgil muttered.

"Aye," Ansdar said. "If any are left."

They moved out, keeping as wide as they could of every tree and outcrop. Thoughts of ambush occupied Ansdar's mind, his soldiers instincts wide awake. Birds leapt now and then skyward, and once, near the streams edge, a doe, still with last season's fawn, splashed into the silty water. The sun, for its part, seemed tardy, a dull shield hung on a seamless grey wall.

"Is it more rain today?" Nasgil asked, sniffing the air. "I've never seen a sky this color."

"Aye." The air was gritty, thick with ash. Ansdar turned a slow arc around, gazing at the heavens. "I'm guessing 'tis more of the smoke settling out from the fire hills."

Selera wiped sweat from her forehead. The morning was cool yet, not warm enough to dry the grass, yet she had thrown back her cloak, welcoming the breeze. Her face was ashen, her eyes surrounded by heavy, dark shadows. "Is it true what they say? That the mountain burns and hurls rocks out it's throat?" She clutched her belly protectively. "They say its roar is the scream of a great black beast forever trapped beneath the ground. They say you can smell its breath, that it's the stink of death itself."

Nasgil laughed. "You shouldn't listen to barbarian tales. Our babe will be born with grey hair."

Ansdar chuckled. "True enough though. I've been to the fire hills." He leaned against his walking stick, resting his aching heel. "I saw no beasts, nor rocks flung in the air, but the smell was everywhere. Like a smithy's forge, but stronger." The old dog skittered past, nose to the ground. "Places were, gods above and below if I'm lying, you could see the steam pissing out long cracks in the ground."

The dust was settling again, finer than mid-winter snow, tinting their cloaks and hair the color of a mid-summer drought. Even the gelding's broad back was soon covered by the light-grey ash. The sky darkened as the sun climbed, an eerie stillness sinking over the countryside. The stream had broadened into a true river, the banks better equipped to hold the flood. Rocky slopes were giving way to rolling hills as the valley widened.

"This village of yours?" Nasgil asked. "How mach farther?"

"Not far." Ansdar assured him for the fourth time in a mile. "We'll be there long before noon."

Selera put her arm around Nasgil, leaning hard against his arrow straight body. "Can we rest? Just for a moment? I fear I might lose my breakfast, else wise."

"The baby?" Nasgil paled. "Selera, tell me, is the baby coming?"

She shook her head. "No. 'Tis the air... isn't it 'ser Ansdar? That's what is making my head ache so."

Ansdar laid his palm across her brow. "I'd say 'tis the fever, not the vapors." He glanced around. The dog was still happily mousing through the flattened grass, careless as a pup. It was a good sign they weren't being shadowed. "We'll rest a bit."

Nasgil shifted foot to foot. "But this village, if it's as close as you say, why not rest there? Surely someone there will grant us credit enough for rooms and a meal, yes?"

"Boy, what kind of village do think this may be?" Ansdar laughed at the shocked expression on Nasgil's face. Even after this many days, the youth's unshaven face seemed boyish. "Unless it's sprung up considerably since the winter, Torpid's Crossing is little more than a handful of farmers huts scattered round an ox-mill. Any man who'd give you credit there is no man to trust with it, that much I grant you." Pleasant memories of women in cheap, gaudy dresses flowed like spring wine through his thoughts. Torpid's Crossing had been a favorite haunt during his soldiering days. He settled to a nearby log, brushing away the dust with a sleeve. "What point is there in your hurry, Nasgil? We'll be in Karandis soon enough. Tomorrow, or the day after."

Nasgil remained on his feet, shuffling about, his mouth turned down. "Karandis? You may call Karandis home, but we've barely begun once we've hit the high road."

"Why is haste so important? Lith's muddy bottom, lad! What will a few days matter one way or another?"

Nasgil stared at the sullen, purple sky, refusing to answer.

Selera sighed. "It is important, 'ser Koryak. If our child is to be acknowledged by the family, then he must be born within the walls of Andokarst."

Ansdar spit. "Fools. I've always known Andokarst was full of the breed, but now you've proven it."

"Mind your tongue, old man." Nasgil's blue eyes burned. "I'll not here my city drug round about by a... a Karandan thief!"

Selera rose to her feet, swaying for balance. "Please, may we be on the march again? I feel better now, thank you." She let her dark eyes find Ansdar's. "Please?"

Ansdar took a deep breath. "Aye then, for your sake, m'lass, we'll be on the move." He shot Nasgil a look sharper than spear-points. He kicked a rock out of his path and started down the trail. "No matter what the reason."

#

The trail swung away from the river, turning back into the foothills. Atop a long, rocky spine, the trio paused. Warm wind swept across the narrow ridge. It rustled the baggy legs of Ansdar's breeches, flapping against him like two ragged banners. He looked down the slope, scrutinizing the valley below. A twisting stream, nearly as wide as the river itself, wound through thickets, dumping at last into the main tributary near the mouth of steep-banked canyon.

"Torpid's Crossing lies just beyond those trees." He pointed toward the convergence. "We can still reach it before mid-day if we hurry."

"I don't see any village?" Nasgil squinted, as if it might help him see through the heavy forest. He glanced back at Selera. She stood, the dog at her foot, swaying slightly in the strong wind. Her hair was unbound, fluttering around her ashen face. "Are you sure we might not have taken the wrong path?"

"Nay, we're on the trail, lad. Follow the stream and you can hardly go wrong." Ansdar saw the concern in the boy's face. "We could rest a bit at the foot of this hill, out of the wind, eh? Casz'dal knows, there precious little worth hurrying for at the Crossing."

"I'll be fine." Selera lifted her face. "I promise. I'd rather press on a bit if it meant four walls around me for a change."

Ansdar nodded. "Then, let's be on our way. This wind has me worried. I'd hate to be caught in the open if there be thunderstorms coming."

The valley floor was marshy, dank with fungus and last seasons leaves, slowly decaying into peat. The change in terrain matched the change in the weather. They had dropped far enough out of the mountains to feel the difference in the air. Springtime was in bloom here, the trees in bud, sporting leaves so new they still curled around themselves. Even the ash, thick only a few miles behind, seemed a memory here. The horse lagged behind them, ears flattened against the wind, long head dipping in time with his footsteps. He pulled against the lead rope, nostrils flared.

"Come on, damn you." Nasgil gave the rope a sharp yank. "What's wrong with the fool creature this time?"

Ansdar frowned, trying to taste the wind. "I don't know. Whatever it is, the dog smells it too." He knelt by the shaggy animal, stroking his neck. The dog shuddered at the contact, but didn't move. He swung his long snout at Ansdar, a nervous glance. Ansdar straightened.

"Nasgil," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the trees ahead. "Put Selera on the horse and give her the reigns."

"But, why?" Selera's eyes grew wide.

"Can you ride him bareback? Can you?"

She nodded.

"Good then. Nasgil, help her up." Ansdar walked a few paces ahead, his staff gripped tight, a poor weapon against an invisible foe. "If I say go, you spin and run him fast as you dare back the way we came, understand?"

"Aye, 'ser Koryak," Selera, with Nasgil's help, settled ponderously onto the gelding's back.. "But, why?"

"Do as he says, Selera." Nasgil put the reins into her hand, and wrapped the lead rope around the horses neck lest he stumble over it. "Please, just do whatever he tells you."

Forward they went, Ansdar in the lead, the dog darting back and forth. Nasgil stayed near Selera, his hand hovering over his dagger. The trail widened until it was indeed a road, deep rutted grooves worn into the black soil by endless carts and wagons. Branches swayed, the wind moaning through them like the pipes of hell. A new odor rode over the damp springtime scents, a harsh counterpoint to the earthy scent of rotting leaves and new sprung grass.

"Do you smell that?" Nasgil asked.

"Aye."

They rounded another corner, breaking out of the trees into a small clearing. The smell of burnt grass and old wood was overpowering. A tiny cluster of low, scorched walls greeted them, the thatched roofs burned away. An ox lay bloated in the villages commons, clouds of flies swarming around it. A body lay in the doorway of the nearest shack. A woman's body.

"Tak'ara save us." Selera covered her face with her hand. A foul odor clung to the air, a rancid pork smell, thick and greasy. Her left hand, still full of reins, twisted automatically through a silent prayer.

Nasgil bolted ahead. Ansdar grabbed him by the shoulder. "Easy, lad. Stay with the girl. Whoever did this is most likely gone." He brushed away the flies buzzing around his face. "If we're lucky, that is. Come on." He eased around the shacks, every nerve alive. Every shadow was a sword, every rustling branch an arrow through his ribs. Nasgil stayed with Selera, pacing to and fro in front of the nervous horse. In the road, long, shuffling footprints led away from the destruction. Dark stains, blood no doubt, had clotted in the roadway dust. Ansdar glanced over his shoulder, just to be sure they were safe. One burnt hovel remained to inspect.

It had been the tallest building in the village, a long, two story blockhouse with thick plastered walls and a staircase on the outside leading to the tiny rooms nestled on the upper floor. More than once in his long ago, Ansdar had followed some aging prostitute up those stairs. Now, they lay in a charred heap beside the burnt-out tavern. The door, to his surprise, still hung on it's iron hinges. He pressed against it. It fell inwards, kicking up a sooty cloud.

"What was that?" Nasgil called across the commons.

"Nothing," Ansdar peered cautiously inside. "Nothing at all." He circled the perimeter, finally satisfied that no one lurked in the shadows. Something banged in the wind, the plank doors of the tavern's privy slapping into the rough door jams. He stepped closer.

Flies buzzed around him, their squat black bodies rising off the gray wooden walls of the crude outhouse. Soft as a child's kiss, Ansdar swung the door open.

A woman lay crumpled inside, her dead eyes sunken deep into her bloated face. What few clothes she had on were blood-stained and ripped. A thin slash under her ribs told the story. She had come inside the outhouse to die, seeking shelter as her blood spilled out the agonizing wound. Her lips were blue, peeled back from blackened gums. A fly crawled across her neck, stopping to clean its filthy face. Ansdar stared at the corpse, the remains of breakfast threatening to explode out his throat. Not even the stink from the open privy holes could mask the smell of death.

Thoughts of another corpse filled Ansdar's mind. His wife, her face covered with foul mud until she seemed a statue, a painted thing that could never have held a drop of life, rose unbidden. The two bodies mixed in his mind, Veda's and this nameless whore, both shouting at him, calling his name. Retching, he sank to his knees, heaving until his belly was empty. The world around him spun. He grabbed the edge of the door. A sliver bit into his palm, jabbing deep beneath his callused palm. The pain seemed a relief. In his life he had seen a thousand corpses, smelled the sticky blood beneath them rotting in the sun, but never like this. The woman's dead eyes stared at him, accused him, taunted him. 'You should have been there for her,' the lifeless throat moaned. 'The only thing in a godless world that ever loved you and you let her die in the mud.'

A hand clutched Ansdar's shoulder. Blindly, he swung around, lashing out with his bleeding fist. Nasgil stepped backwards, avoiding the clumsy strike. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the body slumped against the privy walls.

"Gods, what's happened here?"

Ansdar staggered upright, blind fear pushing him forward. He retrieved his staff, his hand a cold, dead extension at the end of his lead-weight arm. "Get Selera," he mumbled.

"Answer me, man! What is this about?"

Ansdar turned away. He wiped the vomit from his chin, his belly on fire, the acid in his throat choking him. He stomped don the road "Get the girl. Do you understand?"

Nasgil nodded, already on the move. "Aye. But what of this? This is insane. Has Karandis gone to war? "

Ansdar paused in the middle of the narrow road. He leaned on his staff, starring at the tracks leading down-river. "This wasn't the work of any army. Look at those tracks." Nasgil knelt, tracing the indistinct marks with a finger. Ansdar laughed, a hollow, sour sound. "Those are tracks of women and children bound one to another. Slavers, boy! Slavers!"

Nasgil frowned. His face turned white. "There's no slaving in these parts. Why should there be? This is civilized country."

"If there are mines to be worked, there are slaves to be found. Trust me."

"Lith wash us all." The boy stared down the tree-lined road. "What do we do?"

"We get away from here and keep to the shadows until these tracks veer away. This is a fight we avoid." The wind shifted, carrying the thick stench of the dead ox with it. Ansdar shifted the weight off his bad ankle. The hair on his neck bristled. "Nasgil, there's one other thing you need to know."

"Aye?"

Ansdar le his gaze swing round what was left of the village. Smoldering ash heaps had kicked back to flame with the rising wind. Selera still sat upon the horse, her cloak drawn tight around herself. Ansdar squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive out the accusing eyes watching him from the slaughtered woman's face.

"Listen boy, who ever did this, they enjoyed it. I've met the kind before. If it comes to it, you take the girl and run. No questions. Get her away and don't look back. Can you do that, boy? Can you be man enough to run like a rabbit?"

"Yes, if it comes to that, but..."

Ansdar cut him off. "It may well come to that. Now, gather up your woman, and let's be gone. I've sen all of this I care to."

#

Nightfall found them at the edge of a meadow, bright spring grass poking through last season's matted, brown duff. The horse was again favoring it injured leg. So was Ansdar. He pointed across the wide clearing. "There's a lost farmstead over there, beside the spring. No house left, but the barn still has a roof above it."

Nasgil glanced up at Selera, wrapped tight in her cloak upon the gelding's back Ever since the village she had been lethargic and grim. "Aye, the sooner we make camp, the better."

The girl swung her head savagely. "No!" It was the first word she had spoken in hours. "Not here. Let us be further down the road. We can travel all night if we have to, but not here." She shuddered. "I still smell that town upon the wind."

The sun dipped below the tree line, long shadows racing eastward. Ansdar stepped beside the horse. "Lass, this is as far as we go tonight. It's safe here." He smiled, trying to convince himself as much as Selera. "I promise."

The barn was little more than a shell, the chinking long gone between the logs. A musty odor, rodent warrens and dried rabbit droppings, filled the air, dancing thick as the dust motes. The horse stood near the open feed-bunk, staring out, his tail swishing now and then, scattering more dust and the smoke from the new kindled fire. The dog huddled close to Selera, head on its paws, now and then rising to sniff the chill air. Ansdar turned the last of the boar they had brought with them on its spit.

"This will be done soon enough," he said.

"You're welcome to my share," Selera mumbled.

Ansdar sighed. "You've never seen a battle before, have you."

She starred at the fire.

Nasgil stepped through the doorway where he had been standing for almost an hour, his eyes searching the shadows outside. The wind ruffled his hair. It made him seem a wild thing, not at all the well-groomed boy who had set out on the road for Andokarst a handful of days before. "Is that what you call battle, Ansdar? Is it? The reek of slaughter?"

Ansdar stoked the flames. "Aye, that's what I call it." His voice was weary, sadder than the wind whistling through the walls. "No matter the brave swords swung, 'tis the same come morning. Woman and cattle left to rot in the sun."

The dog leapt to his feet, growling.

Ansdar rushed to the door. He jostled Nasgil aside. "Have you seen anything?"

"No."

Both men stared out at the forest rimming the meadow. The night was full now, black and crowded with menace. The dog slunk back toward the fire. Ansdar followed him, hunkering down beside the small, rock-lined pit. "Come, boy, eat while it's hot."

Nasgil remained stubbornly at the barn door. "Would you stop calling me that?"

"Calling you what?"

"Boy."

Ansdar chuckled. "A thousand pardons. When you've reached my age, everyone seems a boy." He pulled the sizzling chunk of meat off the fire, juggling the hot spit from hand to hand. "Come and eat."

Nasgil finally stepped inside and stood near the fire, soaking in the heat. "To hear you, I might think you a thousand years old."

"There are nights when I feel it." Ansdar grinned. "Boy."

Nasgil shook his head and laughed. "All right, old man. You win. Let us see if age has improved your cooking skills."

#

Night passed slowly, time hanging like the frost forming on the grass outside. By dawn the travelers were awake, anxious to be on the move again. Even Selera seemed better with the first rays of morning sun. The color had returned to her cheeks, and she moved easier, despite her pregnancy. Nasgil was actually whistling as he bridled the horse.

"Damn but my fingers are cold." He blew on them, trying to warm them.

"It'll be hot soon enough," Ansdar said. He kicked out the tiny fire they had rekindled. It had done little but fill the rotting barn with smoke, stinging their eyes more than providing any heat. "I'll warrant we'll be wishing for shade 'ere we reach Karandis."

"Are we that close, 'ser?" Selera asked.

Ansdar nodded. "Aye. Tomorrow should see us there. Today, if we make good progress."

"Then, let us waste no more time here." She stepped outside, rounding the corner to relieve herself before setting out. Ansdar and Nasgil waited, both watching the forest. A flock of blackbirds broke from the branches, squawking boldly as they flitted through the air.

"Are we being followed?" Nasgil's voice was low, his expression earnest.

"I'm not sure." Ansdar sighed. "I wish I did." Selera came back, straightening her dress as best she could. Nasgil offered his hand, but the girl shook her head.

"I'll walk a bit, if it's permitted?" She smiled.

"Aye." Ansdar picked up his walking stick, which he had leaned against the wall. "I'd rather walk the chill out of my bones myself." They started off, rejoining the trail near the river. As the sun climbed, their travel improved. The trail was smoother now, packed tight by uncounted feet. By mid-morning it was, as Ansdar had predicted, hot. A small stream, the bed lined with bright gravels, cut in front of them.

"Ah, stop a bit," Ansdar said. "Let's have a drink. Might be the only drink of something beside river water we'll have for miles to come."

They drank, resting a moment before continuing. The horse sucked at the stream as if he meant to drink it dry. Suddenly, his head came up, water dripping off his muzzle. His long ears twitched back and forth.

Behind them, deep in the underbrush, a twig snapped.

The dog barked, his hackles raised. He darted forward, growling at the bushes.

"Get her on the horse," Ansdar ordered. "Now."

"Did you see something?" Nasgil pushed Selera onto the gilding's back. "Did you?"

Ansdar said nothing. He moved ahead, his staff in front of him, and stepped into the trees. Nasgil rushed to join him.

"No!" he snapped. "Get back there with your wife."

"What did you see?"

Ansdar stared around him, trying to peer through the thick copse. Nothing moved beyond the gently swaying branches. Wordless, he turned back to the trail. Selera shifted on the horse, trying to find a comfortable position. Wisely, she stayed quiet. Nasgil picked up the lead rope, and they moved out. They hadn't gone fifty paces when the trees in front of them exploded in movement.

"Get her out of here!" Ansdar's heart pounded. "Get here out of here now!" He moved forward, trying to stay calm while Nasgil sent his wife galloping in the other direction. The men were rough, dressed in course, dirty tunics and breeches, their floppy boots caked with mud. Long, dark cloaks hung nearly to the ground despite the morning's heat.

"Hanna walk with you," Ansdar called out, a typical enough greeting in these parts.

"And you," replied the tallest of the four, a black bearded man, long hair bound loosely behind broad shoulders. As he approached, Ansdar saw his cloak was untied and ready to be dropped if it came to a fight. He was almost certain by now it would.

Ansdar planted his staff in front of him and leaned against it. He had exaggerated his limp, moving in slow, clumsy steps, and now he forced himself to smile like a naive pilgrim on the way to some shrine. "Can I help you, friends?"

"We need food," the bearded stranger said without pretense. His accent was thick, the vowels stretched in the style of the western cities. He crossed his thick arms. "Whatever you can spare."

"We have none."

"Then, we'll take the horse," a stocky man in a filthy brown tunic said. His front teeth were broken, leaving the words to whistle through the jagged gap.

"What horse would that be, friend?" Ansdar asked, still playing the fool.

"The one the lass with the swollen belly went slipping away on," the first stranger said. "We're not unreasonable men. Give us what we ask, and we'll leave you and your friends be."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we'll take the horse anyway."

The stocky man was speaking to the others in a western dialect Ansdar wasn't familiar with. He understood enough to know the attack was near. He shifted his grip on his staff. Movement at his shoulder startled him. He jumped to the side, nearly knocking Nasgil below the knees with the heavy walking stick.

"Damn you boy!" Ansdar split his attention between Nasgil and the brigands. "Where's Selera?"

"She safe." Nasgil's hand hovered above his dagger. "I told her to swim the horse across the river."

The four men advanced. Ansdar could actually smell them, a strong mix of unwashed bodies and smoke. They spread apart as they walked, trying to flank and surround Nasgil and he. Ansdar raised his staff, holding it near the center. He shifted his weight back and forth, hoping to take out at least one of the attackers in the first parry. The men moved easily, their bodies sideways to their movement to present smaller targets. They reached for the swords and cudgels hidden beneath their rough garments.

"It's not too late," the tall bandit said. "Throw down your weapons, and we'll let you live."

"If you want it, come here," Ansdar pivoted on his good leg. "I'll be happy to drop it in your lap."

The attack was swift, a flurry of arms and legs and flapping cloth. Ansdar swung his staff, feinted, then drove the butt into the nearest bandit's stomach. The man stumbled, but didn't fall. Gap tooth dived in, a thick wooden club in his left hand. He slashed at Ansdar's shoulder. Ansdar jumped back, dodging the strike by the narrowest of margins. His bad ankle was stiff and unresponsive, threatening to give out.

Nasgil darted in, lightening fast, lunging low towards the bandit. The man screamed as the dagger penetrated his broad stomach. Ansdar brought his staff down on the man's skull. He toppled like a slaughtered ox.

"Nasgil! Behind you."

The boy spun. The tall attacker held a short sword, a tarnished, poorly made blade, but he held it like a professional. He jabbed once, slashed and jabbed again. Nasgil retreated with each strike, giving up ground to the more experienced fighter. He feinted, hoping to draw the man's attention, but the robber would have none of it. He drove in again and again, his blows well timed and powerful. Ansdar saw a red line appear above the boy's wrist where the swords edge had cut across.

Ansdar saw an opening. He jumped forward, his staff drawn back. He drove the but into the bearded man's jaw. His head snapped back. Ansdar struck again, once to the throat, another to the forehead. The tall man slumped to the ground. Nasgil, his arm bleeding heavily, rushed forward. He didn't see the third bandit step in from the side.

Another flash caught Ansdar surprised. Crushing pain shot through his shoulder. He turned, undefended, in time to see the blur of a cudgel swinging down. The second blow smashed into his temple. He lost his balance, his vision fading even as he fell. As he hit the spongy ground, the last thing he saw was Nasgil driven to his knees by the two remaining attackers, his dagger tumbling from his injured hand as the heavy blows rained down.

Darkness closing around him, Ansdar heard the boy screaming in pain and rage.

#

He vomited in his sleep, the wracking spasms pulling Ansdar from the haze in his brain. His mouth was coated in a bitter, sticky film. He tried to push himself off the wet earth with his arms, but his injured shoulder gave out, toppling him again into the mud. For the longest time he lay still, afraid to try again, just hoping the hurt and the mud would go away.

The sun climbed higher. Though the air was muggy, Ansdar shivered uncontrollably. He curled his knees against his chest and waited to die. A soft hand pried his shaking arm away from his face. He was too weak too fight the insistent pressure.

"Ser Koryak?"

The voice seemed distant to him, an imagined thing. He tried to shut it out.

"Ansdar, wake up. Please."

He rolled over, eyes squeezed tight against the light. He saw a face, pale skin surrounded by straight brown hair. The girl's eyes were red, her nose wet and dripping. She wiped his face, blotting the vomit with her sleeve. Confused memories of his dead wife floated through his thoughts.

"Vada?" He slurred so badly he couldn't recognize his own voice. "Vada, you're alive?"

Selera continued to clean him, helping him to a sitting position. "Ansdar, it's me. Selera. Please, where is Nasgil?"

More memories returned. A pale youth beaten to the ground. Flashes of metal and wood against unprotected flesh. Red droplets scattering like rain off a rock.

"He's dead," Ansdar said at last.

"No." Her voice broke. "No, he's not. Where's his body? Please, 'ser Koryak. Where's his body?" Ansdar twisted around, trying to focus his eyes. A dark form lay nearby, propped against a fallen log. He pointed.

"S'over there."

The girl shook her head. "That isn't Nasgil."

Ansdar stumbled to his feet. He was dizzy, listing to the side. He walked towards the body, every step a task in itself. Somewhere along the way he realized his boots were gone. His bad ankle drug behind him, leaving a furrowed track running towards the lifeless shape at the edge of the clearing. The body was curled tight in rigor, a filthy, blood-stained cloak wrapped around it. The dead man's boots were also missing. Ansdar nudged the corpse. It was already stiff and cold, the wound in the dead man's stomach covered by a sodden patch of his tunic soaked through with blood and gastric acids.

Selera stared down at the dirty, bearded corpse, his face webbed by pockmarks and old scars. Whoever he had been, he was not Selera's husband. Her lip quivered, but her eyes burned with rage. For a moment, Ansdar thought she might kick the dead thing. "They left him here to die. They just propped him up and walked away."

A thick, black fly lit on the dead man's face. "You saw it happen?"

Selera nodded. "Nasgil told me to swim the river, but the horse balked. I hid in the bushes until it was over." Her eyes filled with tears. "Ansdar, where is my husband?"

He shivered, fighting to hold what little was left in his cramping stomach. "We have to leave." He shuffled away from the body, wandering towards the trail. He could see the horse tied to a tree not thirty paces beyond. It seemed an impossible distance. Selera caught him, spinning him around by the arm. He shook her hand away.

"Ansdar, where did they take Nasgil?"

"We have to go," he repeated, over and over, as if the repetition might somehow blunt the agony in his skull. "We have to go."

She followed, saying nothing. The horse shied at their approach, smelling the blood on Ansdar's clothes. The dog skulked away, his neck-hairs bristled, and slipped next to Selera. He was as wild and wary as the first day he had followed Ansdar down the ash-covered mountainside.

"Get on."

"I can walk," Selera said.

"No. We have to move fast." Ansdar tried to force her onto the gelding's back, but he was too weak. Selera twisted away, letting him fall forward. The horse shied, nearly stepping on him as he fought to regain his balance. "Listen to me! We have to go."

Selera's jaws clenched in time with her breathing. "Not until I find my husband."

Ansdar hurt to much to argue. He was rapidly losing the battle to stay on his feet, the blow to his skull more serious than the ache in his shoulder. He threw his arm around the horses neck, clinging like a drowning man. "Listen to me... He is dead. We have to go."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then he's a slave, and it's the same thing." Ansdar let go of the horse and shuffled into the trees. He leaned against a wide oak, relieving himself, not caring if Selera saw him pissing or not. He coughed, sour yellow bile rising once more. His own staff gone, so he picked up a twisted length of fallen branch and leaned against it, hobbling like a leper back to Selera. "We have to go. Please."

She was crying, her shoulders heaving. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, shielding the child still in her womb. "I can't leave. Not without my husband."

Ansdar had trouble forming his thoughts into words. "If you love him, save yourself and your child." The nausea was passing. He stood a little straighter, desperate to reason with the grief-stricken girl. "Selera, I know what it means to lose. But you go on. You don't have a choice."

"Don't tell me about loss. You told me yourself you never loved her. I don't think you could love anything."

Ansdar's arm raised as if to strike her. Instead, he grabbed her by the collar and shoved her towards the horse. "Get on."

Startled by Ansdar's rough treatment, she mounted the horse, using a nearby stump for a step. Ansdar grabbed the rope, and leaning against his makeshift staff, started down the trail towards Karandis.

#

Resting frequently, the pair made slow progress despite the trails gradual improvement. It had been years since Ansdar had been beaten so badly, and his body ached to sleep. At dusk they stopped beside a narrow stream and curled beneath a low hanging tree, both too weary to kindle a fire. The girl sat in silence, looking over her shoulder every few moments. When she looked at Ansdar at all, it was a look filled with hatred. He tried to ignore her, hoping to sleep. But each time he closed his eyes, he saw again Nasgil being beaten into the mud.

Three hours after nightfall the moon rose, a nebulous patch of light through the hazy sky.

"Let's move." Ansdar said, climbing to his legs.

"In the dark?"

"Yes... in the dark."

The dog ran ahead, sniffing the shadows. The light was poor, but it was enough, barely enough, to travel by. They walked until both were too cold and weary to take another step. As the first glow of dawn seeped into the night's hem, they stopped beneath another tree and dozed until morning was in full.

Still ignoring each other, they set out again. Within two hours the forest at last gave way to the plains surrounding Karandis. Foot traffic and the occasional cart increased as they neared the city. The passerbys eyed them with suspicion, but said nothing. Many of the people they met seemed as ragged and tattered as they were, other refugees of the fire-mountain. By the time they reached the Kedo-Makril, the standing stones known as the Seven Sisters, it was apparent the city would be brimming with hungry, desperate people clamoring for what little help the impoverished city might offer.

"Wait here," Ansdar told Selera. He tied the lame horse to a sagging hitching post outside the city gates. "I'm going to find a caravan heading for Andokarst."

She shrugged. "If you wish."

"Selera..." Ansdar turned away, the hurt in her young eyes more painful than the ache in his head. He felt stronger, the concussion slowly releasing its grip. He hunted among the caravans and teamsters, stopping now and then to inquire if any were willing to add Selera to their numbers. By the time he had located a family of wool buyers packing for a return to Andokarst, he had almost convinced himself he was doing the right thing.

"Selera? Can you be ready within the hour?"

"I'm ready now," she replied sullenly. "It takes little time to pack nothing."

He stared at the sky. "Selera, I am sorry for what happened. But what is done is done. I can't make the sun run backwards."

"Of course not."

"Selera..."

"Would you show me to the caravan. I'm anxious to be away."

Angry at the world, Ansdar led her through the markets and tents, retracing his steps towards the waiting caravan. The air was rich with the warm smell of horses and manure, oxen and unwashed humans. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore her accusations any more than he could ignore the memory of Nasgil's fall. He stopped, taking the girl by the shoulders. He held her at arms length, forcing her to look at him.

"Selera... I'm going back."

"Back where?" She asked.

Ansdar sighed. "I'm going back to find Nasgil. That's what you want, isn't it?" He let his arms drop. "Though I hold little hope for finding him alive."

The shock in her eyes was overwhelming. New tears sheened in the noonday sun."Why?"

"I don't really know why." He smiled. "Now, you better get aboard that caravan train. It may be your only hope of reaching Andokarst before the baby comes."

She started towards the wool buyers in their bright tunics and breeches, the dog on her heels. Half way there she turned. "Thank you, 'ser Koryak."

He nodded, and walked away. He had a long journey ahead.