The woman isn't a Gypsy or a Free Bard, she told her uneasy conscience. We don't owe her anything. We're doing our best for her, but how can we do anything until and unless we find her? We can't; and that's it.
Except that both she and Jonny knew Padrik's demon was a fraud, his accusations completely groundless. They'd had the proof at the time, and they hadn't done anything to stop him. Robin had been in an even better position to do so than Jonny; she had, after all, been among the Patsonos. She could have done something to disrupt the illusion, or drugged the chief participants' wine, or_
Or something. I probably would have gotten caught, but I could have done something. She bit into the flaky crust of the pie, pensively, licking a bit of gravy from her fingers, as the horses plodded up the slope of yet another hill. The fleeting, fragile beauty these hills had held only a few short weeks ago was gone now; the trees were bare, gray skeletons in the thin sunlight; the grasses sere and brown. Only the evergreens provided a spot of color, and even their greens seemed washed-over with a thin film of gray dust. She wore her coat and a thick knitted sweater, woolen mittens, and a knitted hood, and still she was cold. She wondered how Harperus was faring, and T'fyrr. The winged Haspur hadn't seemed equipped to take the cold.
Then again, neither do hawks and falcons, and they do all right. Unless the hard weather came early, there wouldn't be any real snow yet for weeks, but by the time it came, the ground would be as unyielding as stone, and the ponds frozen over. She made soothing sounds at the horses, and longed for summer. Or at least, a good, weathertight room somewhere, with a big, cozy bed and a fireplace.
And hot meat-pies and wine. Or a great roast of beef, nicely rare, and fresh bread. Or a roast goose with stuffing, or better still, a duck, and yams. And while she was wishing, why not servants to wait upon her, and comfits and cream, and_
She shook her head at her own folly.
Uphill, and down; uphill and down. The horses plodded onward in resignation while the sun westered, and the trees cast ever-lengthening blue shadows across the road. The air grew perceptibly chillier.
Finally the little door behind her slid back, and Kestrel poked his tousled head out. He blinked at the light. 'Are w-we th-there yet? Or c-close? How l-long d-did I s-sleep?' he asked, yawning.
'We've been there and gone. It's late afternoon,' she told him. 'I got supplies at the inn, but you were so tired you slept right through it all. We're on the road to Carthell Abbey, and I expect to get there about sunset at the rate the horses are going. There's no sign of Orlina Woolwright, though, and no one at the inn saw her.'
Kestrel frowned. 'Th-there might n-not b-be,' he said, 'if sh-she's b-bespelled, sh-she m-might n-not s-stop for anything. If sh-she p-passed the inn at n-night_'
'Of course!' Gwyna replied, disgusted with herself. 'She would have passed the inn last night, about midnight, if she just kept walking.'
'N-no reason n-not to,' Jonny pointed out. 'If sh-she's under a s-spell, she w-won't b-be able t-to s-stop, even if she f-feels t-tired, and l-last n-night was a f-full m-moon. Plenty of l-light t-to walk by. N-not likely she'd f-fall off the r-road.'
He crawled out over the sill, and into the seat beside her. He'd fallen asleep coat and all, and looked rumpled head to toe.
'How l-long t-till s-sunset?' he asked.
She squinted at the sun. 'Three hours,' she said. 'Roughly. Want a pie?'
She pulled a pie out of the sack under her seat; it was cold now, and not as tasty as it had been when it was warm, but the pies were still good even cold, and far, far better than the bannocks they'd eaten last night. And he must be ravenous.
Jonny took it with a nod of thanks, not quite snatching it, and devoured it in a few moments. She handed him another, and took one herself.
So, this time we make a plan first, and stick to it. A plan we can both agree on. 'How are we going to approach the Abbey?' she wanted to know. 'The last time they weren't very friendly to us, and I don't think that's going to change. But if that's where Padrik sent Orlina Woolwright, she'll probably be inside. Or at least they should know where she is.'
'I've b-been th-thinking about th-that,' Kestrel replied, around a mouthful of pie. 'I have a p-p-plan. If y-you l- like it t-too, that is.'
She grinned; they must have been thinking identical thoughts. 'Just so it's better than one of my plans!' she teased. 'Going in there in disguise as a Brother, for instance, is probably not a good idea. The last thing I need to do is have to rescue you from an Abbot who thinks you're one of his novices_or have him discover that I'm not a boy!'
'I'd th-thought of th-that,' he admitted. 'It w-would s-serve you r-right, after all, t-to b-be on the other s-side of th-the w-w-worry!'
