The Robin And The Kestrel

Spell-struck, that was what he said. As if something had just thrown a spell over her, and had taken over her body, mind, and will.

If Padrik really didn't care if she returned or not, casting a spell on her mind to make her keep walking until she reached Carthell Abbey would be no great problem. What would it matter if she walked herself into exhaustion and collapse? What would it matter to him if she walked over a cliff? Why should he care? Any misfortune that befell her would clearly be the will of God.

So the least he had done, probably, was to make certain she would walk straight to the Abbey with no pause for rest. For a moment, Robin felt guilty again_they hadn't done anything to stop Padrik, and they could probably have used Bardic Magic to cancel the spell on that token. Had they stood by and condemned an old woman to death-by-exhaustion?

Maybe not; when she made that speech, she didn't look very frail to me. She's a Master in the Weaver's Guild; that's a lot of hauling, walking, lifting... even for a Master with a shop full of apprentices. She could be more fit than I had thought.

She could, in fact, have the reserves to walk a full day and a night without collapsing. And if that was the case_she would be a full day ahead of them by now!

Robin sighed with resignation, her guilt lost in a moment of self-pity. Last night had not been very comfortable, and she had been hoping to intercept the woman and enjoy a good rest at the inn. But this meant no warm bed in the inn tonight, and no supper cooked by someone else. Only a brief stop to properly re-provision the wagon_

At inn prices. She winced. While she was hardly parsimonious, a Gypsy was never happy without a bargain. There were few bargains to be had at inns as remote as this one.

So. It had to be done. Once they had restocked, they could go on, and hope to catch Orlina before she actually reached the Abbey.

And try to figure out what sort of spell they have on her, and how to break it, she realized, as the horses mounted the final hill and quickened their pace, with the inn in clear sight. They knew what was up there! Otherwise, if we don't break it, she's going to keep right on walking to the Abbey, no matter what we do.

The innkeeper was very happy to see them again; as she pulled the horses into the dusty yard in front of the door, he came out himself, beaming a cheerful greeting in the thin winter sunlight. 'Well, my travelers!' he called out. 'You return! And did you prosper in Gradford?'

'Ai,' Robin said, sadly, and made a long face, as she halted the horses. 'Everywhere one turns, there are hard times, and everyone is a thief. How can any honest craftsman prosper in times like these?'

'How, indeed.' The innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron, and made a mock-sober face himself. 'The times are hard. But you have come to stay, surely _'

His face truly fell when she shook her head; with custom already thin along here, the coming of winter must be hitting him hard. 'No,' she replied regretfully, 'but we will have to reprovision here. We will need everything; horse-feed, oil, charcoal, food_we are down to nothing but a handful of meal and a few cups of oats. And I don't suppose your cook has any of those little meat pies that keep so well_?'

His expression regained its former look of cheer. 'Why, he made a batch this very morning! And for you, of course, my prices on provisions will be so tiny, I shall make no profit at all!'

'I'm sure,' she told him dryly, then settled down for a serious bargaining session.

Jonny slept all through the stop; he didn't even wake up when she entered the wagon to store everything she had bought, nor when the innkeeper's workhands clambered atop the wagon to store waterproofed sacks of charcoal up on the roof. The horses might not have gotten their warm stable, but she did see that they each got a good feed of grain, and bought more to store under the wagon. Their profits for their God-Stars paid for all of it; would, in fact, have paid for it all three times over. But she wept and wailed and claimed that the innkeeper was cheating her; he blustered and moaned, and swore she was robbing him, and in the end, they both smiled and shook hands, satisfied.

He had been able to unload some stocks that he clearly wasn't going to need this winter, and she was at least as satisfied as she was ever likely to get, buying provisions at an inn set out in the middle of nowhere.

The innkeeper hadn't seen anyone even remotely resembling the description of Orlina Woolwright, neither walking nor riding. None of his stablehands and servants had, either, and Robin wondered then if they had gone off chasing a phantom. Still, she reminded herself that their main reason for leaving hadn't been to run off to her rescue_it had been to escape while they still could! If they couldn't find her, they couldn't help her, and there was no getting around it.

But as Robin set the horses on the road again, reins in one hand, meat-pie in the other, that rationalization felt rather flat.