“Because if he has to go with someone, he’ll feel safer with me, and he’ll make me feel better if not safer.”
“Ordinarily not. But you’re right. I’ve allowed each party five coins in supplies. Any others must come from your own hus. I wish I had better news.”
“I’ll manage. Who’ll watch our hus?”
“Someone will, I promise. I know you have no mother or sister, Riga. Hurry to Arwen and leave as soon as you can. She has your directions.”
“Yes, Mistress.” She bowed to both and left.
It was exciting and scary. Guiding wasn’t like war. However, two youths going into hostile territory made her guts twist. She might be trained as a warrior, but everyone understood that women guarded the hus and family. They were defenders, not campaigners, except in emergencies.
Erki was waiting, his gear a jumbled heap as usual.
“Erki, neaten that up and move your helm before someone steps in it!” she commanded. Not only that, but it would rust if left on the damp ground.
“I forgot!” he said. “Did you see me beat Sammi?” He grabbed his stuff quickly.
“No, but good. He’s a stone larger than you. Did Father see you?”
“Yes, he’s off on a ride.”
“We’re going, too, by ourselves. You have to do as I say.”
“I’ll try! Where are we going?” He almost jumped in glee. The boy never held still.
“We’re guiding refugees and I’m not sure yet. You’ll do more than try, too. This is real.”
“I’ll pack Trausti, then,” he said.
“Excellent idea. Keep a list.”
“Yes, Riga.” He took off at a sprint. He’d do that well, she knew. He was bright if impetuous, very much “boy.”
She headed for the river and bounded down the floating dock to check on their current workers. Most of them were off riding, too, with boys and old men shifting cargo from a barge to a lighter. The whole town was responding, and fast.
At their hus, she decided the fire was low enough to ignore, then fastened the place down for a trip or storm. Window shutters, back door, hang everything on hooks or shelves away from walls and floor, valuables into a chest in a stone hole under a bench. Then pack light. Blessi was a small horse and wouldn’t take more than Riga’s weight in cargo. Eir would manage more, since Erki was smaller. Trausti would have only supplies.
Erki could pack well, sometimes too well. She caught him stuffing extra clothes into the pack saddle.
“Good idea, but too much weight,” she said. “One change is all. We’ll have to hope to air out.”
“I already checked and oiled their hooves,” he said.
“Good,” she agreed. “I’ll be back. Get finished, please.”
She hurried down the planked timber street to Arwen’s warehouse. “Auntie” was good to all of them. She usually found a way to sneak some treats to the children.
“Auntie Arwen, I’m here for supplies,” she said as she walked through the open door. The plank-built store was nothing but shelves, neat stacks and crates inside. Traders weren’t impressed by pretty presentations.
“Good morning, Riga. You, too? All our fighters are called, even youth. It worries me.”
“I need some supplies. Is there spare?”
“Not much. The Corl came first, then others. It seems all who will be left are children, the old, some craftspeople. Even the smiths and tanners have their armor and bows.” She pointed at her own panoply. Her blades and armor were well-worn and patinaed with decades of use. Her age had slowed her, but she was still capable. Riga had beaten her once. Arwen had then spanked her buttocks with the flat, to keep her modest.
“That’s why I’m called, then,” Riga decided. It wasn’t flattering to be needed rather than wanted. “I’ve packed us down to ten stone of essentials, with water.”
“Do you have your stuffed bear?” Arwen asked with a faint smile.
Riga blushed, because she did. Mother had made it for her long ago. She said nothing.
“Oh, child, take the toy. It weighs little, and if it offers comfort, it hurts nothing. You can’t take a cat or dog.”
“I’d like to take signal birds.”
“So would everyone. I have two left, both young and not the best.”
“They’ll fit right in, then,” Riga said in self-deprecating humor.
“You plan better than half the men in camp, girl. A dozen I saw without gloves. ‘Just a couple of days,’ they said. Aye, and it’ll be cool those days, and colder at night.”
“I’ll need extra travel rations, in case of delay. We won’t have time for hunting.”
“That I have. Thrice-baked biscuits, hard cheese, honeyed nuts, and smoked meat. It’ll bind up your guts, but you won’t be hungry. Or rather, you’ll have to be to eat it.” Arwen dragged two prepared bundles over.
“I’m told I’m too picky about my food, anyway. This might help my reputation.”
“Only so long as you don’t come back half-starved,” she chuckled.
“That would be my brother.” Erki was finicky beyond belief. Meat and bread were all he would eat, given the chance.
“Ah, I’ll talk to him before you leave. I’ll fix that.”
“Do you have any shooting stars?” she asked.
“One per party. Your colors are purple and green, yes?” She turned and mixed powders and stalk, tamped the end, and sealed it with wax. “Though it’ll only help if there’s someone nearby.”
Shortly, Trausti had a camp pack with food, the birds and shooting star, three large water jugs, the sundries. Their riding horses were trimmed to move fast. If it came to that, poor Trausti was in trouble.
Riga wore her sword high on her side; a brace of javelins and a spear rode up behind her with her bow-case and a capped quiver of arrows. She wore a large knife at her belt, a small one in her boot. A broad round shield, iron bossed, covered the pack over Blessi’s rump; the edges of her mail and bedding peeked out, with her helm mounted atop.
Her fighting clothes were masculine, a thigh-length tunic and trews. The heavy cloth was a luxuriant, comfortable weave that would stop the whipping wind. Her family might have money, but they didn’t waste it, so the clothes were repaired and patched, multiply over knees and elbows. Her boots were calf high and well worn, hard enough for riding, soft enough for walking or fighting. She hoped the dull fabric made her look a bit worn and experienced.
Erki only looked like a boy. He carried a sword with bone and wood fittings, the scabbard carved with beasts and tipped in bronze. He had no spear, just a bow, and only the one knife. His garb, like hers, was fine but well worn. Eir was a pony at best, but Erki handled him surely.
An hour later they were riding, leading Trausti behind them at a fast walk. They each had a pannier of oats to supplement forage. The horses weren’t the massive chargers of warrior lords, but sturdy beasts used to skirmish and short rations, not to mention shipboard travel.
Riga kept glancing at her map. It wouldn’t make things move faster, but it was a nervous habit. She’d never gotten lost, though, so she didn’t plan to change.
“There’s Acabarrin,” Erki said, peering over. “Why do the refugees have to leave?”
She sighed. She wasn’t sure of the politics herself, certainly not enough to explain them to another child. She hated the subject, but her father was the town teacher. He insisted relations between countries and groups were the key to trade, war, even happiness. She thought he exaggerated on the latter.
“You’ve heard of Miklamar. He wants their land.”
“Why doesn’t he just trade? Ships come from the Black Kingdoms, all over the seas. Why waste money on a long campaign?”
She sighed. The boy was right, and wiser than some adults.
“He doesn’t think that way,” she said. “No, I don’t know why,” she added, before he could ask. “He wants everything.”
“The way I used to take all the biscuits and make you come and get them? Because I was afraid of running out?”
“That could be,” she agreed. It very well could be. “That would make him as mature as a five-year-old.” With
