Kerowyn's Ride

For a moment, it looked as though Daren was going to protest—he frowned and started to pull away from her. But evidently he was at the end of his resources; he gave in as she tugged at him, and they both stumbled through the downpour to the shelter of the overhang.

It was a lot drier in the little cave than she had thought, and the cave itself was larger than she had estimated. As she crawled on hands and knees into the hollow, feeling her way with her left, dry sand gritted under her probing. Dry, relatively clean sand; there didn’t seem to be anything in here but a pile of dry leaves blown into the back. No snakes, for instance—and mercifully few rocks. There was enough room for both of them to get completely out of the weather if they squeezed in tightly enough, and the leaves cushioned them from the worst rough edges of the rock wall. Without being asked, Daren pulled off his soggy cloak and draped it over both of them. Shamed a little, she squeezed some of the water out of her outer sweater and handed it to him—wet wool stretched, and he managed to get it on over his tunic.

Her prediction of coming darkness proved true; within moments after they took shelter, it was impossible to see anything out beyond the mouth of the cave. For that matter, it was impossible to see anything in the cave.

“At least we don’t have to worry about bears or wolves or anything,” Daren said after a long silence. Both of them had finally stopped shivering, even though Kero doubted that either of them was really warm. She thought, with a longing so sharp that it hurt, of hot tea and her hot bath, and a fire in the fireplace in her room. This isn’t fair. I wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for him playing the fool. I wouldn’t be bruised and battered if he’d had any sense.

Still, being surly wasn’t going to accomplish anything. And if he decided she was insulting him and left in a huff, she’d freeze. Together their bodies were keeping the little hollow of their shelter tolerable. By herself she’d shiver herself to pieces. “You think we’re safe because nothing with any sense would be out in this rain?” Kero asked. “You’re probably right. Unless there’s any truth in the stories about water-demons—and I doubt either of us would be of much interest to a water-demon.”

“Not even water-demons are going to stumble around in this,” Daren replied, his voice dull and dispirited. “Dear gods, I hurt. Even my hair hurts.”

“I know what you mean,” Kero told him, glumly. “The colder I get, the stiffer my bruises get.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “You know, we could have handled this better.”

“You mean you—” He stopped himself. “I guess you’re right. We. I just—I never thought you were serious about all of this. And I didn’t think there was any way you could keep up with me. You’re a girl. “

“So? Half of the mercs Grandmother hired for the Keep are girls,” Kero retorted curtly. “Half of the mercs that put your father on his throne were girls. His sister, the Captain of the Sunhawks, was a girl. I’d have thought it would have occurred to you by now that being a girl doesn’t mean your mind is dead, or that you can’t handle anything more dangerous than a needle.”

“You’re going to become a mercenary?” His voice spiraled up and broke on the high note. “But—why?”

“Because I have to keep myself fed and clothed somehow, your highness,” she said sourly. “Nobody’s going to give me anything. My father was a common merc himself before he married my mother, and Grandmother’s the only family I’ve got besides my brother. I’m not going to live out my life on her charity or as the old maiden aunt if I can help it. I’ve seen too many old maiden aunts, taking care of every chore the wife finds inconvenient. And I really don’t have any interest in selling anything other than my sword.”

She thought by his coughing fit, followed by an embarrassed silence, that she’d made him blush.

Finally he cleared his throat, and asked, “Just exactly what are you? You speak like a noble, but you dress like a peasant half the time—a male peasant, at that.”

“That’s because dressing like a peasant is a lot smarter than you think in conditions like this ‘hound and hare’ game,” she pointed out, shifting a little to ease an ache in her hip. “The grays and browns blend right into the forest. And you can’t fight in skirts and tight bodices. Or hunt, or ride, or do much of anything besides look attractive. You’d discover, if you ever bothered to look closer, that a lot of the peasants working in the fields that you think are men and boys are actually women.”

“They are?” Evidently this had never occurred to him.

“How in hell are you supposed to swing a scythe with a skirt in the way?” she asked him. “You’d have your skirt in ribbons! As for us, we were supposed to be thinking ‘enemy territory,’ right? So I was dressed like a peasant, hard to see, and if anyone did see me, they might not think I was anything dangerous. And I was warm, might I add; peasants know how to dress for bad weather. And there you are in a bright red cloak, in the middle of a dead forest. I suspect we’d have been tagged for that alone.”

“Oh.” He sounded gratifyingly chagrined.

“So you just found out for yourself how well those hunting leathers of yours keep you warm in the rain,” she persisted. “You didn’t pay any attention to the weather this morning, you didn’t ask Tarma about it either, did you? I’ve never once heard you ask what the weather was going to be like when we were going to be out all day. It’s been unseasonably good since you arrived, if you want to know the truth.”

“You could have told me,” he replied sullenly.