Owen nodded and shrugged his pack off. 'I noticed that neither you nor Kamiskwa carried food. I will happily share.'
'So will we.'
Kamiskwa crossed the stream and quickly climbed up into an old pine tree. He disappeared into the foliage. He climbed halfway up-at least that's what Owen judged by which branches were dancing-then lowered two beaded leather bags and two loosely rolled blankets with both ends secured by leather thongs.
As the Altashee retrieved their baggage, Woods tossed aside several stones stacked on the sandbar, then scooped out a pit beneath where they had stood. He reached down into the hole and gingerly teased out three packets wrapped in maize husks. Owen immediately caught the scent of salmon and his stomach grumbled accordingly.
He frowned. 'You stayed here last night, cached your bags in that tree, and used the remains of a fire to cook the fish while you came and got me?'
Kamiskwa grunted, which Owen took as a confirmation.
'Pretty much right on the button, Captain.'
Owen sat down, pulling off his pouches, and decided to press his luck. 'You didn't leave any sign you were here, so you're cautious. Means you think you could be in danger anywhere.'
Kamiskwa smiled and retrieved a fish. ' Nahaste.'
Owen raised an eyebrow as he broke the bread into three parts. 'Meaning?'
Woods accepted bread. 'You're up to three weeks.'
'How so?'
'You're observant and a thinker.' Woods stretched out and sucked at burned fingers. 'Lots of things get cached hereabouts. Over there, 'neath that rock shelf, we put some firewood. Replaced what we used last night. Anything else we weren't needing, we'd put it there, too. You'll see lots of that. No mark on the cache, take as you like, put back more. Marked, a man won't touch it.'
Owen teased open his packet of fish. Steam rose, filling his head. He slid flesh from bone and savored. The velvety fish just melted in his mouth. 'This is good.'
'Kamiskwa tickled them on out of the wet.' Woods nibbled some bread. 'That's another thing out here. You travel light as possible. Also, with jeopards and bears about, you ain't wanting to carry things they counts as supper.'
Owen looked around. Sunlight was breaking through leaves. The stream gurgled and little breezes rustled foliage. A few birds sang in the trees, and crows flocked to squawk. Outside their little bowl he could see nothing, and found it easy to imagine a jeopard crouched and watching them.
'We will not be wanting for supplies?'
'Ain't enough for an army, Captain, but we ain't no army.' Woods pointed off to the northwest. 'Fair piece of the ground we'll cover, Kamiskwa and I hunt and trap regular. If you're not too picky, you'll eat. Even if you is, you won't starve none.'
Owen picked up his musket. 'I can lend a hand hunting.'
Kamiskwa laughed.
Woods shook his head. 'Not likely.'
'I assure you, I am a dead shot.'
'Ain't saying you ain't, but you is damned loud of foot.'
'It was dark.'
'True point, but you'll be needing to be a walking-whisper. Then there's that coat. You mights-well be on fire.'
Owen's expression darkened. 'We discussed this. I am an officer in Her Majesty's Army. I have my duty and will not be shot as a spy.'
'Well now, I ain't too worried 'bout you being shot.' Nathaniel smiled. 'Any Ryngian sees that flash of red and shoots, like as not me or Kamiskwa's gonna catch that ball.'
Owen laughed. 'Marksmanship has never been a Ryngian strong point.'
'Good thing you're a crack shot.' Woods pointed to the musket. 'You'll want to be loading that thing, and keep it loaded. Your training, you can probably get off four shots in a minute?'
'I've done as many as five.'
'Out here, shooting may come on you quick. Likely because someone's already done shot at you.'
Owen nodded. 'I'll bear that in mind.' Standing, he produced a cartridge and began to load his musket. 'The Prince said your rifle was fairly special.'
Nathaniel smiled proudly and stripped the fringed sheath off it. 'This here is one of two dozen or so rifles made by Colonel Apostate Hill up Summerland way. It is a breechloader. I don't have to be stuffing a ball down the barrel just to shoot it back out. It uses a.71 caliber slug-same weight as your musket, just squashed a little. More egg than round. Rifled barrel so's it's accurate out to a hundred yards. It does some killing out there.'
'The Prince mentioned you killing a jeopard. Showed me the mounted specimen. That's fancy shooting at range.'
'More luck in that shot than there was good.' He jerked his head toward Kamiskwa. 'Like as not, my shot would have just riled it. Kamiskwa was there to do the killing if it got close.'
'And what if he missed?'
'I'da had another shot ready. And if I missed that, I'da deserved to be dinner.'
'I look forward to a display of your marksmanship. Perhaps you'll shoot us something for lunch.'
'I reckon I could, Captain Strake, but we won't be needing it today.'
'You have food cached further along the way?'
'After a manner of speaking.' The guide smiled. 'At noon we're having supper with the Prince.'
Chapter Fourteen
May 2, 1763
Temperance Bay, Mystria
A fter erasing any trace of their having stopped, the party moved on at a more leisurely pace. Owen still felt himself an object of study, but also realized his guides were giving him the opportunity to learn. They'd offered the direct warning about the necessity to keep his weapon loaded, then proceeded to give him practical lessons on moving through the woods.
Owen studied Kamiskwa and did his best to ape him. The Altashee moved economically and carefully, preferring to slip beneath or around branches rather than push them aside or hack them off. Going up hills he tended to step on exposed roots, or rocks that were solidly buried. He took smaller steps rather than longer ones that might result in a slip or spill of stones. He moved quickly, but without haste; a distinction that manifested itself in a fluidity that gave him a ghostlike quality.
Woods' earlier comment had been correct. As the sun came up, Kamiskwa's flesh and hair picked up a greenish tint. He remained mostly dark-very much the color of the pine needles. A few spring-green locks streaked his hair. Owen couldn't figure out if this was because of his youth or his age, since the man had no wrinkles and if he bore scars, they did not show up in contrast to his flesh.
What he did have were tattoos. Simple line drawings tending toward geometric shapes and a few animals. They'd been done in black and only showed up in full sunlight. Owen could make no obvious sense of them.
They continued on for another hour, pausing at streams to refill canteens and waterskins. They used that time to listen as well. Though Owen would have laughed at the notion had anyone suggested it, Mystria sounded different than Norisle. Bird song and insect buzzing came tantalizingly close to those of his home, but a few differed mightily. This he found somewhat disconcerting.
A hawk screamed and sparrows, which had gathered around a blackberry bush, immediately took flight. Owen looked for the hawk, expecting to see it perched on a branch and defiantly proclaiming its existence. The only bird he saw, however, was brown, twice as large as a sparrow, with equally nondescript plumage. It landed beneath the bush and started harvesting berries from the lower branches.
