'We are ready to leave as soon as you give the word,' Hornsbuck said in a neutral tone. 'Unless you wish to check the supplies and the men personally.'
'No, Hornsbuck. I'm certain that nothing is lacking if you are in charge,' Mika said with a smile, determined not to offend the venerable warrior.
Hornsbuck's huge grey-blond mustache and beard twitched in surprise at the compliment, and his green eyes gave Mika an appraising glance. Then, bowing slightly from his thickened waist, he strode off on muscular legs, bowed from many years of life in the saddle.
Mika returned to camp to dress himself in the soft leather tunic, waist-high leggings and gloves that comprised the normal traveling gear. He left off the wolf-skull headpiece all of the others wore, in deference to his still-pounding head, which he now recognized was pounding of its own accord and not from any drumming of Wintuk's.
When he returned to the caravan, the men were mounted and ready to leave. Wolf banners hung from tall staffs and fluttered in the cool morning air. Wolves of all sizes and colors circled the horses of their human companions, yipping sharply and howling with excitement, anxious to be on their way.
The sharp-spined, grey stallion was as ornery as ever. As he mounted, the stallion whipped its blocky head around and attempted to nip his
Mika clung expertly, hugging the massive ribcage with his knees, determined to rid himself of the obstinate creature one of these days. Moving to the front of the caravan in a bone-jarring trot that amplified the pounding in his temples, he gave the signal to move out.
Reining in on a slight rise, with the grey high-stepping in place and champing at its bit, Mika watched with a critical eye as wagons, wolves, guards, and the heavily loaded supply wagon paraded before him.
As the last of them passed, he turned to look back toward camp, thoughts of his father rising unbidden before him.
Enor and Celia broke free of the crowd of well-wishers and relatives who had gathered on the edge of the Far Fringe to see the caravan off and walked out to where he stood.
Mika was not pleased to see that Celia was accompanied by Matin the Pleasant, a tall, well-built, good- looking young Wolf Nomad who had his arm wrapped around her narrow waist in a conciliatory- and most proprietary-manner. Lurking over Celia's shoulder was Enor-oba, smirking with satisfaction. The smile on Celia's fair face was more ambiguous-hurtful and coy.
'Here,' said Enor as he handed a leather pouch up to Mika. 'This holds your father's spell book, magic scrolls, his healing herbs, and ungents. They were his personal property and as such belong to you now.
'You possess the basic knowledge necessary for healing which could come in useful if you run into trouble on the plains. And if you don't, you can always study.
'There's nothing to stop you from becoming a magic-user if that is what you wish. It's up to you, Mika. You can become as much… or as little, as you choose.
'Some of us will be interested to see what you decide. Take care of yourself and the caravan. May the Great She Wolf guide your steps and bring you back safely.'
Celia seemed more interested in tracing Matin's jaw line than in saying good-bye, but her father turned to her and called her name sharply with a frown on his face.
'Oh, yes! Well, good-bye, Mika,' Celia said prettily, her dimples creasing her rosy cheeks. 'Try not to get yourself killed. And don't worry about me, I'm sure I'll be fine.'
Matin said nothing, merely grinned at Mika and pulled Celia closer, causing her to joggle and protest laughingly.
Anger merged with suspicion as Mika glared down at Celia, noting the handsome tunic that showed her figure in all its soft curves. Had he only imagined the tears and concern?
It would serve her right if he got killed! Muttering to himself, he kicked the stallion hard and rode swiftly after the departing caravan, TamTur at his heels.
Chapter 6
The cold, brisk air of the plains was a welcome relief to Mika's throbbing head, and despite the ragged lope of the grey stallion, he soon shook off the last remaining effects of the mandrake. Tamlur also seemed invigorated by the rush of cold air and took off to run at the side of a small, dun-colored female.
Mika smiled, urging the horse into a canter as he rode alongside the wagons, eyeing them in a speculative manner, inspecting each for potential problems. AH seemed in good condition except the secret wagon. It still rode low to the ground, and its axle squeaked so loudly that Mika felt it must be heard in Yecha.
Holding his hand to his head, Mika swung his horse away from the wagon and made a note to implore the Guildsman to have some of its mysterious load transferred to another wagon and to grease the noisy axle. The same driver rode atop the high seat and glared at Mika in the same hostile manner, causing him to reflect that the man just might learn a few manners on the trip.
After a short mounted conference with Horns-buck, they agreed to follow the usual trail, skirting the edge of the Burneal Forest to take advantage of the ample water, game, and firewood there.
The forest route would add several days and many miles to their journey. It would be far shorter to head directly across the plains, angling sharply toward Eru-Tovar. But there were disadvantages to such a route. Firstly, there was no water on the open plains, and while the mules might handle the shortage with few complaints, the horses would not, and heavy water bags would only slow them down.
Then, too, there were the brigands to consider. These men, desperate as they were to survive, generally avoided the forest, for they had few if any weapons and found it difficult to defend themselves against the many dangerous creatures that lived in the forest, not to mention the nomads themselves, who killed them on sight.
These dangerous men were often to be found on the plains, and so great were their thirst, hunger, and desire to live that they would attack caravans against even overwhelming odds.
All things considered, Hornsbuck suggested, and Mika was quick to agree, that there was little advantage to the direct route.
The first day went smoothly and they traveled more than twenty-five miles by nightfall. Drawing the wagons into a circle, mules and horses staked outside to give early warning in case of attack, they made camp.
A hunting party entered the forest and was lucky enough to encounter a large doe which they quickly brought down with a well-aimed sablewood arrow. As the meat roasted over the fire, Mika and Horns-buck discussed the journey.
'If we are able to hold to this pace,' Mika said thoughtfully, 'we ought to make Eru-Tovar inside of twenty days.'
'Something will go wrong,' growled Hornsbuck, taking a deep swallow of the honeyed mead that he allowed himself at the end of each evening. 'An axle will break or a mule will die or the provisions will spoil and we'll have to hunt. Something always goes wrong; you can count on it. Better figure twenty-five days at least.'
'Nothing will go wrong,' said a deep, firm voice from the shadows. 'And it is most important that we arrive in Eru-Tovar no later than ten days hence. We've already wasted enough time while you practiced your barbaric rites, burying that witch doctor.'
Mika started to rise, anger clouding his mind, but Hornsbuck's massive hand closed over his shoulder and forced him to remain seated.
'That witch doctor,' said Hornsbuck with controlled fury, 'was a great healer, sir, and he died long before his time, thanks to a kobold who, may I remind you, was hidden in one of your wagons. He was also this lad's father.'
'My apologies, sir,' said the man as he moved into the circle of light cast by the firelight. It was the Guildsman.
'My words were ill-chosen out of concern for my schedule, which has been badly affected by the events since we left Yecha. It is most important that we arrive no later than the twelfth of Harvest Moon.'
'But that is only ten days hence,' Hornsbuck replied in a genial tone, still gripping Mika's shoulder firmly.
