The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

fit.

      ‘How’s the shoulder?’

      ‘Stiff,’ he answered as he moved it experimentally. ‘But better than I thought it would be.’

      Roo looked around. ‘There’s no hut, no kiln, no Gert, no nothing.’

      Erik said, ‘And what are these?’ He pointed to the two blankets and bundles on the ground.

      ‘Someone was taking great pains to see we don’t freeze in the night, and they’ve given us clean clothing.’

      Erik suddenly looked at the clothing he was wearing, and then pulled away his tunic and sniffed. ‘I should smell like a horse after a day in the field, but I don’t. And this shirt feels clean.’

      Roo examined his own clothing. ‘You don’t suppose old Gert gave us a bath?’ He found fear rising up rather than humor.

      Erik shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Then he glanced around. ‘It’s about nine of the clock from the angle of the sun, so this day is a quarter over. We’d better get moving again; I don’t know why the soldiers didn’t find us in the hut, but they’ll come back and check again, I’m certain.’

      ‘Check your bundle,’ said Roo. ‘See what’s in it.’

      Erik did as he was bidden and found his was packed much the same as Roo’s: fresh shirt and trousers, underdrawers, and stockings. Also there was a small loaf of hard bread, and a note.

      He unrolled the tiny parchment and read aloud: ‘You lads are safe for the time being. Make straight for Krondor and Barret’s Coffee Shop, Erik. You are now in our debt, Gert’s and mine. Miranda.’

      Roo shook his head. ‘Running from the King’s justice and now we’re in debt to a pair of witches.’

      ‘Witches?’

      ‘What else do you think?’ said Roo, looking as if a demon were about to leap up from the earth and snatch him to hell. He glanced around, the color gone from his face. ‘Look at that! That’s the same low ridge we had to come down to reach the hut! There was a hut, and a kiln – now there’s no sign that anyone has ever been here.’ He walked over to where the kiln had been. ‘There’s no soot, no ashes. Even if you moved the bloody damn thing, you couldn’t clean up this much.’ He got down on one knee. ‘There’s got to be something!’ His voice was growing loud, as if he was becoming angry at discovering the hut and kiln missing. ‘Damn it, Erik! Someone stripped us, bathed us, cleaned our clothing, and dressed us again, and we never woke up. What else could it be but magic!’ He rose and went over to Erik. He put his hands on his friend’s arms, and said, ‘We’re trapped by a debt to two evil black witches.’ His voice continued to get louder, and Erik realized anger was quickly turning into hysteria.

      ‘Easy,’ said Erik as he placed his hands on Roo’s shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. Moving to where the kiln had been, he looked quickly around. ‘There’s nothing left to show we were ever here, that’s for certain.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Gert was no beauty, but I don’t remember anything about her that smacked of evil, Roo.’

      ‘No one that ugly could be good, believe me,’ said Roo, his tone showing he was obviously not reassured by Erik’s judgment.

      Erik smiled. ‘It’s a mystery and it makes my flesh crawl, too, but we were not harmed and I seen no way anyone, witch or not, could force us to serve without our consent. I know little of this, but the priests claim you can only enter the service of dark powers willingly. I’ll not be obliged for a favor unasked for, should the price be a black deed.’

      ‘Fine, you can sound like a litigation solicitor all you wish while demons are carrying you off to the Seven Lower Hells, but I’m making straight for a temple when we reach Krondor and asking for protection!’

      Erik shook Roo gently by the arm. ‘Take a breath and let’s be off. If you’re right, and we need protection, we still must reach Krondor first. They may think it likely we’re striking for the Vale of Dreams, but that patrol last night means they’re looking everywhere.’

      Roo bent down to pick up the bundle and blanket, and as he folded the blanket, he noticed something. ‘Erik?’

      ‘Yes, Roo.’

      ‘See that dog dung over there?’

      Erik looked over, partly amused, and said, ‘What about it?’

      ‘I noticed that last night when I went out to talk to Gert, but look at it now.’

      Erik knelt and saw the dried droppings. ‘These are days old.’ He started searching around and found a place where one of the horses had also relieved himself not too far away. ‘Three or four days, from the look of it,’ he said after causing the horse dung to fall apart with a touch of his boot toe.

      ‘We slept three or four days?’

      ‘From the look of it,’ Erik repeated.

      ‘Can we leave now?’

      Erik smiled, but there was no humor in it. He picked up his blanket, folded it, and tucked it inside the bundle. Then he swung it over his shoulder, saying, ‘I think we’d best do so.’

      Roo gathered together his new bundle, shoved the blanket inside in a haphazard fashion, and swung it over his back. Without another word, the two lads headed west.

      Erik held up his hand. They had been traveling for three days, moving steadily westward through the woodland north of the King’s Highway. They avoided the occasional farm they encountered and lived off wild berries and the bread they had found in their bundles. Hard and chewy, it nevertheless provided surprising nourishment and kept them going. Erik’s shoulder was healing rapidly, far sooner than either young man thought possible.

      They spoke little, fearing discovery, and fearing also to delve into the mystery of the charcoal burner’s hut. It had been the second day after leaving that they realized that both Gert and Miranda had known their names without either young man’s having mentioned them.

      Toward sundown, a distant voice cried out, a wordless sound of pain. Erik and Roo exchanged glances and moved away from the narrow path they had followed.

      Whispering, Roo said, ‘What’s that?’

      ‘Someone’s hurt,’ said Erik, his voice as low as his friend’s.

      ‘What should we do?’

      ‘Avoid trouble,’ answered Erik. ‘That may be miles away. Sound carries funny out here.’ Neither of them had been too far from their hometown as boys, so there was always some background sound of civilization, no matter how faintly heard: a voice calling across the vineyards, the sound of a wagon caravan moving down the distant King’s Highway, a woman singing while she washed clothing in a stream.

      These woodlands were hardly wild, having been heavily forested over the years for lumber, but they were infrequently traveled and were therefore dangerous. Other lawbreakers besides Erik and Roo were likely to be hiding in the forest.

      Erik and Roo moved along at a slow pace, reluctant to rush into danger. Near sunset they found a man lying on his back below a tree, a crossbow bolt in his chest. His eyes were rolled back into his head and his skin was cold.

      Roo said, ‘It’s funny.’

      ‘What’s funny?’

      He looked at Erik. ‘We killed Stefan, but I never got a good look at him. This is the first dead man I’ve had a chance to look at.’

      ‘Tyndal was the first for me,’ said Erik. ‘Who do you think this is?’

      ‘Was, you mean,’ said Roo. ‘Soldier of some sort.’ He indicated the sword held in loose fingers, and the small round shield still on the left arm. A simple conical helm with a bar-nasal lay a short distance away, having rolled off his head when the man fell.

      Roo said, ‘There might be something useful here.’