The allies were not so far ahead I couldn’t hear them talking. “Clever,” drawled Huldra, seeing these telltale signs by torchlight. “Clever little bitch. She sent my creatures back to me full of straw and quills, them that cost good blood to send, back with nothing but trash in them. Save one which came back not at all.”
“You think it’s that Jinian?” Bloster, sounding as bedraggled as he looked. “The one the Backless Throne wanted killed, the one who destroyed Daggerhawk Demesne?”
“You don’t know that she destroyed Daggerhawk,” said Dedrina Dreadeye. “The Seers have not verified it.”
“I know it,” he said obstinately. “Even if the Seers said she had not, I would know it.”
“What ith thith girl? Thome great Afrit full of mighty powerth? Thome twinned Talent or other?” The Merchant did not sound really interested.
“She’s the cause of my losing my captive,” snarled the Duke, trying to ease himself in the saddle. “You may lay money on that.” He was too fat to ride in comfort; he and the pony suffered equally upon the road.
“And why doeth the Backleth Throne take an interetht in her?” the Merchant asked.
“I was never told,” said Porvius, aggrieved. “Only that the Throne wanted her dead. As do I. I had her in my hands, like an egg between my fists. I was only concerned with her brother then; him I hated. But if I’d killed her when I had the chance, we’d not be homeless, traveling on the charity of our friends.”
“Scarcely charity,” hissed Dedrina. “We pay good coin for our keep, brother. Cease your whining. If you have energy to spare, remember you are a Tragamor and spend it smoothing this road. It is unpleasant to travel full of bumps as it is.”
“Talents don’t work well this far north,” he said, in the petulant tone of a child. “I have not the strength even to Move gravel.” Oh, how far Porvius had fallen, into this meekness, this whining infancy.
“Keep silent, then, lest you waste what little power you have!” They rode on, becoming less loquacious as the hours passed. Near dawn they paused; and I was ready enough that they do so. I was wearier than the distance would explain. Following, keeping quiet, finding the trail in the dark, worrying that I might be about to step into shadows, all had been an exhausting effort. The fact that I did not step into shadows, that none of us did, should have told me something. I was preoccupied with other thoughts, however, and did not learn from what was not there.
We had come to a small village. The Merchant called it Bleem. While the guards were left to camp in the forest as best they might, preparations had been made for the others to spend the night under roof. Someone’s house had been vacated and made ready for the group with a supper laid upon the table and the beds prepared with fresh straw. So much I learned from the lean-to at the back, where an old wagon lay half against the warm chimney, making a nest for me to supper in. I could hear them through the wall.
Moreover, I could see out the open end of the shed well enough to observe the comings and goings of the people there. There was no rejoicing among them, certainly. I had seldom seen such a whipped-fustigar crew, their jaws dragging halfway to their bellies and more of the women crying into their neckerchiefs than not. I still had the hiding spell on me, so I left the cozy nest and went among them.
Curiosity, I suppose. There was something about them that teased at me.
There were two men standing at the well, one a fairly well-set-up middle-aged fellow, the other slightly older. He was lecturing the younger man, beating his fist upon the well coping, tears running down his face like a river.
“I say we can’t go on, Dolcher. We can’t. You know that. First it was just a few zeller off to Morp. Then it was a few zeller plus a few old people. Now it’s all the oldsters and most of the zeller and half our children. By all the old gods, they’ll have your son next. This time it’s my Zenina they’ve chosen to take, and your boy was to wed her this season. Next time him. The time after that, what? There’s none of us left...”
“Servants,” whispered the other man. “They want our young ones for servants, that’s all. When they’ve served a few years, they’ll be home again.” His gray face belied this.
“Man, are you blind? Why take our oldsters if they want servants? They took Granny Zeeble, and she so trembly the children had been calling her Feeble Zeeble for ten years. They took your own father, who hadn’t walked a step without two canes for seven seasons. Hush. Here’s the wife.”
A woman approached them, one of the weeping ones. “You can’t let her go, Vorge. You can’t let Zenina go. The time’s come to say no. We’ve given enough.”
“Well, well,” the younger man said, patting her clumsily on the shoulder. “That’s what we’ve said to them at Morp, Lina. We sent that message only yesterday.”
“But he’s here. The Dream Merchant. They say he’s their son. Talk to him. Beg him. Make him understand.”
“Now, Lina. We’ve sent the message already. I wouldn’t want to get them upset.”
“If you won’t, I will.”
The man called Vorge shook his head, wrung his hands. “It would be better if you did, Dolcher. You’re village chief. It would be more natural.” The old man shook his head. “We’ve got to do something.”
Two of them went away. Dolcher stood at the well, one hand dragging into a bucket of water, lifting it to drip the water into the well, listening to the slow plop, plop. I examined his face; hopeless. Something was tugging at my memory about Morp. I’d heard
