The Gold Falcon. Katharine Kerr

Neb could tell, however, it continued to run east towards safety. Around noon, the forest thinned out along a stream, where they found a few more berries and a patch of wood sorrel they could graze like deer. Then it was back on the road to stumble along, exhausted. Neb began to lose hope, but the sprites fluttered ahead of them, and the yellow gnome kept beckoning them onward.

      Towards sunset, Neb saw thin tendrils of pale blue smoke drifting far ahead. He froze and grabbed Clae’s arm.

      ‘Back into the trees,’ he whispered.

      Clae took a deep breath and fought back tears. ‘Do we have to go back to the forest? I’m all scratched up from the thistles and suchlike.’

      The yellow gnome hopped up and down, shaking its head.

      ‘We can’t stay on the road,’ Neb said.

      ‘Oh, please?’

      The gnome nodded a violent yes.

      ‘Very well.’ Neb gave in to both of them. ‘We’ll stick to the road for a bit.’

      ‘My thanks,’ Clae said. ‘I’m so tired.’

      The gnome smiled, then turned and danced along the road, leading the way. In about a quarter of a mile, off to the left of the road, the forest gave way to another clearing. In the tall grass two horses grazed at tether, a slender grey like a lady’s palfrey and a stocky dun packhorse. Beyond them the plume of smoke rose up. Neb hesitated, trying to decide whether to run or go forward. The wind shifted, bringing with it the smell of soda bread, baking on a griddle. Clae whimpered.

      ‘All right, we’ll go on,’ Neb said. ‘But carefully now. If I tell you to run, you head for the forest.’

      A few yards more brought them close enough to hear a man singing, a pleasant tenor voice that picked up snatches of songs, then idly dropped them again.

      ‘No Horsekin would sing like that,’ Neb said.

      The yellow gnome grinned and nodded his agreement.

      Another turn of the road brought them to a camp and its owner. He was hunkering down beside the fire and baking bread on an iron griddle. On the tall side, but slender as a lad, he had hair so pale that it looked like moonlight and a face so handsome that it was almost girlish. He wore a shirt that once had been splendid, but now the bands of red and purple embroidery were worn and threadbare, and the yellow stain of old linen spread across the shoulders and back. His trousers, blue brigga cut from once-fine wool, were faded, stained, and patched here and there – a rough-looking fellow, but the gnomes rushed into his camp without a trace of fear. He stood up and looked around, saw Neb and Clae, and mugged amazement.

      ‘What’s all this?’ he said. ‘Come over here, you two! You look half-starved and scared to death. What’s happened?’

      ‘Raiders,’ Neb stammered. ‘Horsekin burned my uncle’s farm and the village. Me and my brother got away.’

      ‘By the gods! You’re safe now – I swear it. You’ve got naught to fear from me.’

      The yellow gnome grinned, leapt into the air, and vanished. As the two boys walked over, the stranger knelt again at the fire, where an iron griddle balanced on rocks. Clae sat down nearby with a grunt of exhaustion, his eyes fixed on the soda bread, but Neb stood for a moment, looking around him. Scattered by the fire were saddlebags and pack panniers stuffed with gear and provisions.

      ‘I’m Neb and this is Clae,’ Neb said. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

      ‘Well, you may call me Salamander,’ the stranger said. ‘My real name is so long that no one can ever say it properly. As to what I’m doing, I’m having dinner. Come join me.’

      Shamelessly Neb and Clae wolfed down chunks of warm bread. Salamander rummaged through saddlebags of fine pale leather, found some cheese wrapped in clean cloth, and cut them slices with a dagger. While they ate the cheese, he bustled around, getting out a small sack of flour, a silver spoon, a little wooden box of the precious soda and a water-skin. He knelt down to mix up another batch of bread, kneading it in an iron pot, then slapped it into a thin cake right on the griddle with his oddly long and slender fingers.

      ‘Now, you two had best settle your stomachs before you eat anything more,’ he said. ‘You’ll only get sick if you eat too much after starving.’

      ‘True spoken,’ Neb said. ‘Oh ye gods, my thanks. May the gods give you every happiness in life for this.’

      ‘Nicely spoken, lad.’ Salamander looked up, glancing his way.

      His eyes were grey, a common colour in this part of the country, and a perfectly ordinary shape, but all at once Neb couldn’t look away from them. I know him, he thought. I’ve met him – I couldn’t have met him. Salamander tilted his head to one side and returned the stare, then sat back on his heels, his smile gone. Neb could have sworn that Salamander recognized him as well. The silence held until Salamander looked away.

      ‘Tell me about the raid,’ he said abruptly. ‘Where are you from?’

      ‘The last farm on the Great West Road,’ Neb said, ‘but we’ve not lived there long. When our mam died, we had to go live with our uncle. Before that we lived in Trev Hael. My da was a scribe, but he died, too. Before Mam, I mean.’

      ‘Last year, was it? I heard that there was some sort of powerful illness in your town. An inflammation of the bowels, is what I heard, with fever.’

      ‘It was, and a terrible bad fever, too. I had a touch of it, but Da died of it, and our little sister did, too. Mam wore herself out, I think, nursing them, and then this spring, when it was so damp and chill –’ Neb felt tears welling in his voice.

      ‘You don’t need to say more,’ Salamander said. ‘That’s a sad thing all round. How old are you, lad? Do you know?’

      ‘I do. Da always kept count. I’m sixteen, and my brother is eight.’

      ‘Sixteen, is it? Huh.’ Salamander seemed to be counting something out in his mind. ‘I’m surprised your father didn’t marry you off years ago.’

      ‘It wasn’t for want of trying. He and the town matchmaker just never seemed to find the right lass.’

      ‘Ah, I see.’ Salamander pointed and smiled. ‘Look, your brother’s asleep.’

      Clae had curled up right on the ground, and indeed he was asleep, open-mouthed and limp.

      ‘Just as well,’ Neb said. ‘He’ll not have to listen to the tale this way.’

      Neb told the story of their last day on the farm and their escape as clearly as he could. When he rambled to a stop, Salamander said nothing for a long moment. He looked sad, and so deeply weary that Neb wondered how he could ever have thought him young.

      ‘What made you go look at the waterfall?’ Salamander asked.

      ‘Oh, just a whim.’

      The yellow gnome materialized, gave Neb a sour look, then climbed into his lap like a cat. Salamander pointed to the gnome with his cooking spoon.

      ‘It’s more likely he warned you,’ Salamander said. ‘He led you here, after all.’

      Neb found he couldn’t speak. Someone else with the Sight! He’d always hoped for such. The irony of the bitter circumstances in which he’d had his hope fulfilled struck him hard.

      ‘Did anyone see you up on the cliff?’ Salamander went on.

      ‘I think so. Two Horsekin rode our way, but they were too far away for me to see if they were pointing at us or suchlike. We ran into the forest and hid.’ Neb paused, remembering. ‘I thought I heard voices, but the waterfall was so loud, it was hard to tell. There was a scream, too. It almost sounded like someone fell off the cliff.’

      The yellow gnome began to clap its hands and dance in a little circle.

      ‘Here!’