We might see one of those Wooly Rhinoceroses he wants. Short of having a cannon, there will be no bringing one back.'
Kamiskwa made a comment in his own tongue.
'Add a bigger canoe and a bigger river.' Nathaniel walked over, slung his rifle across his back, and hefted the canoe with Kamiskwa. They started off through the woods along a well-worn path.
Owen gathered up his things, including the paddles, and followed. Like Woods, he slung his musket across his back. Bringing it to hand would take a while, so he slipped the pistol into his right hand. He kept his thumb off the firestone, but kept watch as they moved.
They followed no trail, just picked their way between trees and over hummocks. Five hundred feet from the river, near a large standing stone, they overturned the canoe in a sandy depression. Woods motioned for Owen to give him the paddles, which he tucked under the canoe.
'You'll just leave this here?'
'Won't nobody touch it.' Nathaniel nodded. 'Mystrians will know it's Shedashee, and won't want to be caught dead taking a lend of it. The Shedashee will know it's Kamiskwa's and ain't gonna take it for similar reasons.'
Owen studied the canoe more closely. 'How will they know? There's not a mark on it.'
'Not to you and me, but in magick…' Nathaniel shrugged. 'As I said afore, the Shedashee is better at magick than we is. Kamiskwa made the canoe, so there ain't no mistaking who it belongs to.'
Gathering their equipment, they set off on a trail paralleling the falls. It gently cut back and forth across the face of the foothills. It leveled out now and again, affording them a chance to rest. After about an hour they reached the gorge's far end and made camp in a clearing that had seen much use.
Owen surveyed the river above the falls. Broad and shallow, with lots of rocks and trees that spring floods had tumbled down from the mountains, it was useless for commerce or troop transport. 'If du Malphias is going to use the Benjamin, he'd have to start down below.'
'He'd be having plenty of eyes on him.' Nathaniel pointed south across the river. 'T'other side there is Lanatashee territory. They's in the Confederation, though me and Kamiskwa don't have much truck with them. Altashee this side. Iffen he was a-coming, you'd know.'
Owen glanced toward Kamiskwa. 'Would your people stop him?'
The Altashee looked up. 'Wars between white men do not interest us much. You fight to possess things. You want to control land. We wish to live with it. War is too serious to unleash for silly reasons.'
'But you would let us know he was coming.'
Kamiskwa smiled. 'And we would watch you fight.'
Owen nodded. 'Nothing could induce you…'
'The Altashee, they ain't mercenaries like Seven Nations tribes. Ungarakii would fight for the promise of warm spit on a hot day. Don't 'spect the Ryngians is paying them much more than that.'
'Will we be running into hostiles, do you think?'
Kamiskwa laughed. 'No Ungarakii has the courage to come into Altashee land. They dream of it, but such dreams become nightmares.'
The Norillian soldier smiled. 'Very good.'
'Don't mean we won't be setting watches.' Nathaniel unlimbered his rifle. 'Some times them Ungarakii do dream, and takes a dose of lead to wake them up again.'
Chapter Eighteen
May 7, 1763
Bounty, Mystria
I n their first day away from the river, they moved as quickly as practical through the forest, following meandering game trails when they could, cutting through ravines, splashing through streams, or going directly over hills when that shortened the distance significantly. Kamiskwa led them, setting a challenging but not terribly difficult course. Owen sensed in him a desire to return to his family-a sentiment he'd never shared and found himself envying.
Within the first four hours they suffered the first casualty. Though Owen's boots had been issued by a quartermaster at Horse Guards, they split at the seams and the left sole flapped open at the toe. Where the boots weren't falling apart, they rubbed his feet raw. The pain at his heels competed with the burning of his shoulders and thighs.
Owen searched his pack for some cord to bind up the shoe, but Kamiskwa knelt and pulled his boots off. 'Salve your feet. Put on more stockings.'
Owen did as he was bidden. The salve stung a bit at first, especially on the heel, then a cool numbness spread over his feet. 'The salve helps, but I wish I could be dangling my feet in a stream.'
Nathaniel leaned on his rifle. 'Be time for that later. That salve, it has mogiqua in it. That's the numbness.' He reached over and plucked a frond from a fernlike plant. 'Good for most anything what ails a man.'
Kamiskwa applied his smaller knife to Owen's boots. He cut away the lowers, then split the uppers along the seams. He drilled holes around the upper portion's perimeter, then dug leather thongs from his pack. He threaded the thongs, then laced Owen's feet into them. The excess leather wrapped up over his toes, and up the back of his heel, giving him some basic protection.
The makeshift moccasins only required parts of one boot, but Kamiskwa insisted he keep the other half. 'These will not last too long.'
'Thank you.' Owen stood and flexed his feet. The moccasins felt good, but he didn't like being out of uniform. He recalled how miserable the army had appeared during the retreat from Villerupt and hated it. He wanted to show the Tharyngians that pride still existed among the Norillians.
At least I am not barefoot.
Kamiskwa rose, sheathed his knife, and started off again. Following game trails made the walking relatively easy. Bushwhacking caused Owen all sorts of problems. The brush tore at his clothes, whipped his face, and threatened to yank his musket from his grasp. His hat hit the ground more than once.
Kamiskwa seemed to delight in plowing through berry bushes. Since he and Nathaniel wore leather leggings they had no problems. The thorns shredded Owen's pants and stockings. Even being able to grab a handful of berries on the way didn't make up for the clawing he endured.
Running up through streams eliminated the problem with branches and thorns, but caused other difficulties. The leather lacings stretched when wet, so Owen had to pause and tighten them. And while the water did help soothe his feet at first, his feet chilled quickly. He found himself freezing from the waist down and sweating profusely under his coat.
Despite his pain and discomfort, Owen did notice one thing he considered significant. Whenever they reached the reverse slope of some hill and he could get a view of the distance, Kamiskwa had them pointed unerringly in the same direction-north-northwest.
'It's as if Kamiskwa has a compass.' Owen offered Nathaniel his canteen during a stop.
The Mystrian drank. 'Kamiskwa's sense of direction is that good, and he's lived in this area for his whole life, but there are signs he watches for. Sees them with magick.'
'That's not possible. Magick only works with things you can touch.'
'Could be that's true. Then again, the Shedashee is better at magick than us.' Nathaniel pointed at a large rock coming up on the right. 'They train people to be pathfinders. Give them magick to mark stones and trees. He can see it or feel it.'
'But how?'
'Well, I've given that some thought.' Nathaniel swept a hand through air. 'You feel the air iffen you do that?'
Owen nodded. 'Of course.'
'I reckon the air carries the sense of the magick to him.'
'Again, not possible.'
'No?' Nathaniel smiled. 'You don't touch the brimstone when you shoot your musket, but it fires all the
