'I thought as much. At least, my guts did. So it's up to poor old Kegan to feed this lot, is it?'
'You're as supple with words as most thieves are with their fingers, Kegan,' said Torquil. 'We're in no shape to outrun the local law even if we had the time to lead them a merry chase. I blush to confess it but we must resort to legal means of feeding ourselves.'
'How do you expect me to manage this miracle?' Kegan asked curiously. 'I'm no wise man. That one's gone up the mountain to seek his death. Better you'd thought to have him feed us first. Starving men make poor mourners.'
'You're not using your head, man. A common enough occurrence when tired and hungry. Think! Doesn't one of your wives live in a village near here? You and I have traveled close by this giant wood before.'
Kegan became a study in concentration. 'Let me see. Lona. No, she moved with her family down to the Hyrwyn River country. Pity. Such a gentle, sweet girl, gifted with such superb—'
'Don't drift, man. You're not that hungry, but we all will be soon if you don't use your head.'
'Sorry.' Kegan gave them an apologetic smile and concentrated again. 'There's Imrone, but she's in Uvghern, and that's leagues from here.'
Colwyn leaned close to Torquil, whispering. 'How many wives does he have? Or is he boasting for my benefit?'
Torquil pursed his lips. 'Kegan is not one of those men who need to boast. He is quiet and most reluctant to discuss the subject. I think it embarrasses him. As to your question of wives, I believe the total stands at seven or eight at last count. They come and go and sometimes 'tis difficult for the poor fellow to remember which ones he's married to and which he's only courting.
'I recall one time in Mulleen Towne when he spent an entire evening charming this beautiful if drunken lass, only to discover the next morning that he'd married her the previous year.'
'She must have been furious.'
'Not really. She'd forgotten that she'd married him, so ignorance in this instance became the mother of romance and they enjoyed a fine reunion. Kegan's a traveling man, you see.'
Colwyn nodded, forcing himself to repress a smile. 'He covers a lot of ground.'
'Aye,' agreed Torquil, with a touch of envy in his tone, 'and that's not all.'
'Merith!' Kegan said suddenly. 'She lives in Torunj, a village crowding the northern flank of this forest.'
Torquil looked satisfied, glanced briefly at Colwyn as if to say 'I told you so,' and spoke to Kegan: 'I'm sure she's beautiful and charming, but can she cook?'
Kegan struggled to remember. 'As I recall it's not her strongest point.'
'Well, just have her bring provisions .' He looked past his companion. 'His Magnificence has told me he can cook. We'll soon see.'
'When did he lay claim to that particular talent?' Colwyn wondered. 'I never heard him say anything about it.'
'You've been fortunate to lead us, Colwyn, while I've been stuck back in the pack with him whose mouth is half as big as his face. Aye, he said he could cook, along with being master of half a dozen other abilities. Too many to pack into so slight a frame, if you ask me, but perhaps this claim was a little less of a lie than the rest.' He turned and strolled back to confront the resting Ergo.
'You once told me that you could cook, befriender of small children.'
'And so I can.'
'Well then, O genius of giblets, your hour has arrived. You will be given the chance to make magic with a cauldron.'
Ergo looked surprised, then downright pleased. 'You're bringing me a deer. Ah, tenderloin of venison! Hank steak roasts. We will eat like kings.'
'Not likely,' Torquil informed him. 'More like serfs.
Oatmeal and, if we're fortunate, some small game. Maybe; some vegetables if the Slayers haven't burned all the fields hereabouts.'
'Food for crows!' Ergo's initial enthusiasm dimmed quickly.
'True.. .in the hands of an ordinary man. But you, O wizard of the spatula, surely you can make small game taste like venison? Any fool can cook a deer, but it would take a true genius to make table-gold from cellar-lead. You can perform this simple bit of magic. Or can you?'
Ergo was aware that Torquil's gaze wasn't the only one focused on him. Kegan was watching from his position behind the bandit chief and Oswyn looked on interestedly from his resting place. Titch's eyes were wide and even Colwyn looked intrigued.
With such an audience he could hardly turn down the challenge. He drew himself up. 'If I choose, bumpkin, I can make your boot taste like venison. Fetch me wood for a fire. Good dry wood, no green branches, and plenty of loose bark, cleansed of insects. And whatever fragrant leaves you can glean from the forest floor.'
Torquil grinned, genuflected mockingly. 'As you wish, Magnificence.'
Ergo talked to himself as he inspected the campsite. 'Now then; fire there, beneath that small tree. I can hang the game from a stick set between those two branches and that root. Back the root with some rocks and we'll have a good place for baking potatoes. Then put the—' He broke off, staring. Titch and Rell were heading off into the woods. He chased after them.
'Wait! Where are you going, you mismatched mongrels? I need your help.'
Titch turned and spoke firmly. 'We have things of our own to attend to. Important things.'
'More important than helping me with dinner?' Titch nodded. 'Well then, dinner will have to wait. I will come with you.'
'No,' Rell told him. 'You have a lot of work to do, preparing the fire and then our food. How can you think of leaving with so many depending on your work?'
'My work can wait and so can the meal.' He frowned at mem. 'What are you two up to?'
'Our own business,' Rell replied with maddening indifference. 'Nothing that need concern you.'
'Is that the way to treat a companion? I thought we were friends, Rell.'
'We are. But you can't come.' He looked down, put a hand on Titch's head and tousled the boy's hair. 'Come, little one, we have important work to do.'
They strolled off together, Rell bending low so Titch could whisper in his ear. Try as he might, Ergo couldn't escape the feeling that they were talking about him.
All right, let them gossip. He angrily turned back toward camp. Friends who whisper about a man behind his back are no friends at all. He kicked at the ground.
'Some friends. Never trust a boy whose main desire in life is to care for some dirty mutt, nor a man who looks at life through a keyhole.'
Maybe they'd be late for the meal. In that case they'd miss the unique feast he would prepare. That would show 'em. He began clearing the site for the fire, planning in his mind a meal fit for the palate of the most discerning gourmet. It did not trouble him that he was likely to be half a hundred ingredients shy of the means to concoct such a supper, and it served to keep his mind from the mystery his erstwhile Mends had embarked upon.
'I know they were back here somewhere,' Titch was muttering as he led the cyclops deeper into the forest. The moon was rising and it barely shed enough light to show the way through the massive trees. But Titch wasn't relying on mere light to guide him. Living all his life with the seer had taught him to use all his senses. Now his nose began to twitch as they penetrated still darker woods.
'I hope you're right about this, boy.' Rell brushed a thorny branch aside. 'Otherwise we're going to look like a grand pair of fools when we return.'
'I was sure of it, Rell. I couldn't mistake—' He stopped and pointed. 'There, you see!'
Rell moved forward, took a moment to gaze in awe at the sight before them before reaching back to pat the boy on the head. 'I ask forgiveness for doubting you, Titch. You may be small in stature but you've the senses of a wolf.'
'The seer used to say I was a little like a wolf cub.' Thoughts of the seer made him sad, and he hurried to turn his mind to more pleasant thoughts. Never linger over past misfortunes, the old man had always told him. The past is dead. Only the future lives on,
'Boost me up,' he ordered Rell. The cyclops knelt and picked him up in one hand, held him high.
