The man nodded.
“Thank you for letting me stay.” Caim lifted his bandaged arm. “And for this. I must have looked in pretty bad shape.”
“I’ve seen plenty worse. The sheep are always getting into something or other.”
Sheep. Right.
Talking made Caim realize how thirsty he was. “Could I have something to drink? Some wat-?”
The man bellowed over his shoulder. “Tarn, fetch him a cup from the barrel.”
Lifting the satchel jarred Caim’s lower back. Breathing slow through his nose, he slid the strap over his shoulder along with the bundles. The walls tilted a little as he took the first couple steps, but righted themselves before he reached the doorway. Stepping out into the daylight, Caim shaded his eyes. The sky was a flawless sapphire blue. The barn was situated a score of paces off a snowy road. There was also a small farmhouse and an animal coop. He didn’t see any sheep, but the smells of livestock were pungent.
The little boy ran up, a sloshing clay cup in his hand. Caim accepted it and drained it all at once. The ice-cold water tasted better than wine. Caim thanked him and returned the cup.
“More?” the boy asked.
Caim was tempted, but wanted to get moving before he wore out his welcome. Already the boy’s father was eyeing him a little too close for his comfort. Next would come questions, most of which he didn’t want to answer. These seemed like nice folk. The best thing he could do was leave them alone.
Caim reached inside his satchel. “I’ve got money. For your trouble.”
The man looked down at the coins in Caim’s hand, and then shook his head. With a smack of his lips, he said, “Wasn’t no trouble. But it’d be best if you moved on, now that you’re well.”
Caim nodded and put the money away. As he turned toward the road, the door of the house opened, and a woman appeared. It was hard to guess her age, younger than him maybe, but not by much. She brought over a bundle about the size of a bread loaf and handed it to him. Still warm, it smelled divine. With a nod and a glance at the boy standing behind his father, Caim departed.
It wasn’t until he was down the road that Caim realized the herdsman had been afraid. Not just anxious, but deep down afraid. He understood. The world was a rough place, especially out here in the hinterlands. And strangers with swords meant trouble.
The trail was bumpy compared to the smooth, straight roads of the south, and every impediment was magnified by his condition. Rocky protrusions and patches of ice lurking under the snow made for treacherous footing. He settled into a stiff, shambling gait that didn’t hurt too much. He wasn’t going to win any foot races, but it was better than crawling.
It took his leg about a mile to loosen up to the point where he could take a real stride, but he kept it slow, not wanting to aggravate his injuries. His back was sore already, and his arm throbbed a little. If he’d been in Othir, he would have holed up somewhere comfortable-Madam Sanya’s came to mind-and convalesced. He was daydreaming about a soft feather bed when the humming returned. It wasn’t painful, more irritating than anything, but it bothered him not to know what was causing it. He was feeling his head for bumps when Kit popped up beside him.
“Morning, sunshine. You look awful. Feeling any better?”
He squinted at her through the dazzling sunlight. Kit was wearing a teal dress with a scandalous hemline. She skimmed along through the air, her bare toes not quite touching the snow.
Caim tugged at the sleeve of his injured arm. “I’ll live. Where have you been lurking?”
Kit bent down to study his injured leg, and in the process her skirt lifted another couple of inches. He looked away.
“Scouting, like you always tell me to do.”
“No need to put yourself out. I mean, there’s no need to feel guilty.”
She popped up to her full height, fists resting on her hips. “So this is my fault?”
He flicked his bloodied ear. “Not at all. I mean, you could have warned me that a man-eating bear was about to-”
“Whose bright idea was it to dump the body of a poor, defenseless deer right next to his camp where any old creature could smell it?”
“I wouldn’t have,” he said, “if I’d known you were sleeping on the job.”
“Sleeping! As I remember, you wanted to be alone. Anyway, you survived. So stop complaining.”
Caim stepped into a rut and clenched his teeth as a stabbing pain shot up his leg and through his lower back. He stopped in place, and Kit’s expression transformed in an instant. She rushed closer to his side, and electric tingles ran up his thigh.
“Are you all right? Can I do anything?”
He waited until the pain subsided to a tolerable throb. Then he took a step. When he didn’t fall down, he started off again. Nice and slow. Kit kept pace with him, chattering like a doting mother. It was almost sweet, for about a minute.
“It’s okay, Kit. Take a step back, will you?”
“Fine. Don’t accept my help.”
“I’m all right. Really. Tell me what you found up ahead.”
Kit floated past his head. “That’s what I was going to tell you. There’s a house a little way up the road.”
A sinking sensation pulled Caim’s stomach. He had avoided habitations for most of his journey, only stopping when he needed to resupply or when the desire for news from Othir overrode his instinct for self-preservation.
“Well, more like a bunkhouse, actually,” she said. “But it’s better than sleeping in a snowbank.”
“Is it safe?”
Kit brushed her fingers through his hair. “Safe enough for a big, strong man like you.”
Caim ducked his head away. This wasn’t like Kit. Sure, sometimes she was flirty and crazy, but she’d never been so demonstrative.
She drifted back a few paces. “You’re acting strange. Did that bear rattle your brains loose?”
He quickened his pace, though it caused him pain. He kept expecting Kit to pop up in front of him. After a minute or so, he stopped and looked back. She was gone. He considered saying something, knowing she would hear him wherever she had gone, but he just kept walking.
He climbed low hills and passed stands of scrub. The air was still and crisp, thick with the promise of more snow to come. The trees along the road thinned after a few hundred yards and gave way to a vast prairie. The table-flat Gilvan Steppes stretched from horizon to horizon under the limitless blue sky. He vaguely remembered crossing this land as a child; these plains had seemed like an ocean of nothingness to a boy of eight. As he looked out across the distance, he wondered if he was making a mistake.
What choice do I have? Keep living without knowing?
The trail broadened under his feet until it verged on becoming a true road. Low sod roofs sprouted on the prairie, farmhouses by their looks. A quarter of a candlemark later, he came to a dirt lane flanked by thick hedges. Three young boys stood along the road, kicking at snowbanks. They wore crude rag shoes and coarse jackets that came down below their knees but failed to hide their dirty shins. One of the boys caught sight of Caim and shouted to his fellows, who all turned to watch him. Caim pulled his hood down and continued on his way. His chest constricted as old fears returned, brought on by long periods of solitude. He didn’t spot the slanted roof ahead on the road until he was almost upon it.
This was obviously the bunkhouse Kit had seen. It sat alongside the road. A split-rail fence enclosed a yard and two small outbuildings behind the main house. A thin ribbon of smoke rose from the single brick chimney. Caim adjusted the strap of his satchel and checked his knives.
There was no gate in front, so he followed the uneven path of stones up to the main house and pushed open the weather-beaten door. The dim interior swallowed the daylight as he stepped across the threshold. The smoky air stung Caim’s eyes. The front room took up most of the ground floor. Its walls were bare timber joined with wattle. Two scarred wooden pillars supported the low roof. There were no windows, and no bar either, just a doorway covered by a sheet of dingy canvas leading to a back room, possibly the kitchen. Two long trestle tables occupied much of the floor. Five men sat around the first, smoking from clay pipes and drinking. By their simple clothing and muddy boots, he took them for farmers or ranch hands.
Three men occupied the second table. Two could have been brothers. Both were large and rawboned, though
