Ultimately they had treated him more kindly than his family ever had, and when they wished him a safe journey, he knew they actually meant it.
Doctor Frost walked him to the gate. 'I have enjoyed our all-too-brief association, Captain Strake. I very much look forward to your return.'
'You and your family have been wonderful. I hope I have not been a burden.'
'Nonsense, sir, it has been a delight.' Frost drew a small book from his coat pocket. 'I know you don't want extra weight on your trip, but I thought you might find this intriguing.'
The tiny volume had been bound in black leather with the title 'A Continent's Calling' incised in gold on the cover. Doctor Frost smiled carefully. 'It was written by Samuel Haste. It inspired our debate on whether or not Mystria would be better off as its own nation. Some of your countrymen would take it as a work of treason, but I hope you find it to be something else. Mr. Haste truly loves this land and dreams of all it can become. You should understand that, and that many people share his dream.'
'Thank you, Doctor.' Owen slipped the book into his coat pocket. 'I expect to be back before September. I would call upon you then.'
'Captain, we insist you stay with us upon your return.' The man smiled. 'In fact, I think Major Forest might be heading north around that time, so I shall see to it that you are reacquainted.'
'Most kind.' Owen gave the man a brief salute. 'Until then.'
Owen headed off along Diligence quickly, planning to meet Woods at Westgate as the sun rose. Out toward the city's edge, where the prosperous built their stately homes, no one stirred on the broad streets. Down toward the docks the sounds of the city waking echoed through alleys and crowded neighborhoods.
The day had started with a bit of crispness in the air, but it would burn off quickly. Still, it made for easy walking and Owen couldn't help but smile. His brief trip out of the city had hinted at how much there was to explore, and he was anxious to get started.
'Walk your legs clean off at that pace, Captain.'
Owen spun, leveling the musket. 'Woods!'
'Thinking I was Rufus?'
'I didn't expect… I thought we were meeting at Westgate.'
Wood detached himself from shadows. 'So'd some other folks. Word got out.'
'I told no one.'
'Never 'spected you did.' Woods yawned and jerked a thumb to the left. 'We'll head over to Justice and go out through the pig yards.'
Owen shouldered the musket again. 'Are you afraid Rufus is watching us?'
'Ain't 'fraid, just cautious. Careless word here, a word sold there, might be finding trouble we ain't needing.'
Owen followed him. 'Are you suggesting that the Tharyngians are actively spying in our colonies?'
'Are you believing they're not?'
'No, Mr. Woods, I would imagine they are. I was asking, to be more precise, if you have any knowledge of Tharyngian spies in Temperance Bay.'
'Don't suppose I do.' Woods looked back over his shoulder at Owen. 'Don't know that I care. Ryngian and Norillian fights don't much concern me.'
'How can that be?' Owen's eyes narrowed. 'What the Ryngians want to do to us should be every man's concern.'
'I reckon we'll be disagreeing about that, Captain.' Woods picked his way between two barns and around a pig pen. 'Mind you, we'll be having plenty of time to gum that to death.'
'I should think this is an issue that needs settling more quickly.'
'More pressing things to deal with first, Captain.'
Owen's guide set off at a trot, crossing the road and heading off through a meadow full of green grass. He trotted toward the dark treeline. His fringed buckskins made him stand out, but he moved quickly enough that he seemed a ghost. He reached the trees a few steps ahead of Owen and promptly disappeared.
Owen got into the trees, then crouched, looking back through bushes toward the city. A few lanterns burned in windows, and dark smoke rose from chimneys, but nothing indicated pursuit. Owen took that as a good sign, though he resented the fear trickling through his belly.
A branch snapped off to his right. Owen spun quickly, trying to bring his musket up. The barrel smacked a sapling hard. The impact unbalanced him, dumping him on his backside as surprise flooded through him.
A dark-skinned humanoid loomed over him. He'd clearly not broken the branch. He wore a loincloth and leggings. Save for a beaded armlet from which dangled two feathers, he remained naked from the waist up. His long, dark hair had been gathered into a thick braid bound with leather. His amber eyes, narrowed as they were, reminded Owen of a cat.
The dark man smiled, white teeth splitting a shadowed face.
Nathaniel crouched at Owen's side. 'Captain Owen Strake, you'd be meeting my brother, Kamiskwa. He's of the Altashee.'
Owen gathered his feet beneath him and brushed leaves from his coat. 'He's one of the Twilight People.'
'He is.' Nathaniel stood and picked a leaf off Owen's coat. 'Come sun-up you'll see more green than grey in his skin.'
'Does he speak?'
'Only when he has something to say.' Nathaniel chuckled softly. 'That'll be coming soon enough, Captain. Kamiskwa is always free with an opinion.'
Owen offered the Altashee his hand. 'Pleased to meet you.'
Woods pushed Owen's hand down and away. 'The Twilight People don't do things like we do. They're wary.'
'Because of Major Hopkins.'
'Not entirely, Captain.' Woods retrieved the musket and handed it to Owen. 'Magick works by touch. Don't know a man, you don't let him touch you. Gives him a chance to hurt you.'
Owen nodded. 'Of course, no offense intended.'
Kamiskwa chuckled, and made a comment. Woods joined him, held a hand up. 'Nothing bad. He just said that any who thought you'd be back in Temperance within the week was wrong.'
Owen smiled. 'Thank you, Kamiskwa.'
'Don't be thanking him.' Woods patted the Altashee on the shoulder. 'He says you have ten days.'
The trio took off at a solid pace and made good time even in the pre-dawn darkness. Kamiskwa remained half- invisible as he ranged ahead. The game paths he chose went around hills instead of over them. The tracks doubled-back on themselves, as any animal trail will, but the men moved faster along them than they would have if they'd resorted to bushwhacking straight through.
Woods brought up the rear and stopped fairly often to watch their backtrail. He'd come trotting up, his rifle sheathed in a beaded doeskin case. He always had a big smile on his face. He shook his head at Owen's mute inquiries and urged him on with a nod.
They set a good pace. Owen kept up despite carrying twice as much as either man. Woods had his rifle, shot pouch, a knife and tomahawk. Kamiskwa bore a musket, but his had been cut down into the carbine model the cavalry most often used. He carried a knife and had a length of knobbed wood slung over his back. It had been inlaid with mother of pearl and featured a triangular blade on the back of the knob.
As the sun rose Owen unbuttoned his woolen coat, but refrained from loosening his waistcoat. He shifted the eleven pounds of musket from one hand to the other. The aching of his shoulders and the growing blister where his boots rubbed at his heels reminded him of marching through the Low Countries.
That realization brought him back into his mission. Though they were making good time through the woods, no modern army could have followed them. Having soldiers snake through the woods-even his skirmishers-would guarantee disaster. If they didn't get lost, and many of them would, they'd be strung out and easily ambushed. Because of the Mystrian forest's undergrowth, the enemy could hide until he could reach out and touch a man.
Kamiskwa's caution made abundant sense.
Woods caught up with Owen as they came to a sandy portion of a stream bed. ''Bout time to get something on your insides, Captain Strake?'
