The Apogian War

Chapter 81

put aside my sword and haul off my boots and later, when the conglom eration of babies and puppies had vacated the mattress, to lie down there in my clothes beside Marjorie. "They should have gone, days ago," Marjorie said, "but Caillean's husband has not come for them. She says they'll be out all day with the beasts and we can sleep safely here." And indeed, very shortly the clamoring crew of babies and puppies had been fed on the rest of the porridge and hustled outside. I drew Marjorie into the circle of my arm, then realized that in spite of the noise made by children and dogs she was already deeply asleep. The straw smelled of dogs and dirt, but I was too tired to be critical. Marjorie lying in the curve of my arm, I slept too, The next thing I knew it was late evening, the room was full of pup pies and children again, and we rose and ate big hot bowlfuls of vegeta ble soup that had been simmering over the fire all day. Then it was time to pull on our boots and go. The women, from their vantage point high on the slopes, had seen no riders, so we were not pursued yet. Mar jorie kissed Mhari and the smallest of the babies, and wamed me not to offer them money. Mhari and her friend insisted that we take bags of nuts and a loaf or two of the hard-baked bread, telling us they had too much to load on their pack animals on the way down into the valley for winter. I didn't believe a word of it, but we could not refuse. The next two or three nights of travel were duplicates of that one. We were blessed with good weather and there was no sign of pursuit. We slept by day, concealed in herd-huts, but these were deserted. We had food enough, although we were almost always cold. Marjorie never complained, but I was desperately concerned about her. I could not imagine any woman I had ever known enduring such a journey. When I said so to Marjorie, she laughed. "I am no pampered lowland lady, Lew, I am used to hard weather, and I can travel whenever I must, even in dead winter. Thyra would be a better companion, perhaps, she is hardened to long journeys with Bob, in and out of season..." She fell silent, and quickly turned her face away. I kept silent. I knew how close she had been her sister and how she felt about this parting. It was the first time she spoke of her life at Castle Aldaran. It was also the last. On the fourth or fifth morning we had to ride far into daylight to find any shelter at all. We were now in the wildest part of the moun tains, and the roads had dwindled away to mere trails. Marjorie was dropping with weariness; I had half resolved that for once we must find a sheltered place in the woods and sleep in the 201 open, when suddenly, ziding into a small clearing, we came on a deserted farmstead. I wondered how anyone had ever managed to farm these bleak hills, het there were outbuildings and a small stone house, a yard which had been fenced, a well with wooden piping still splashing water into a ken stone trough in the yard-all wholly deserted. I feared it had be come the haunt of birds or bats, but when I forced the door open it was weathertight and almost clean. The sun was high and warm. While I unsaddled Marjorie had taken of her cloak and boots and was splashing her hands in the stone trough. She said, "I am past my first sleepiness, and I have not had my clothes off since we set out. I am going to wash; I think it will refresh me better than sleep." She was suiting action to words, pulling off her cold, com nding skirt and fur-lined tunic, standing before me in her long heavy shift and petticoat. I came and joined her. The water was icy ing straight down from a mountain spring above us, but it was marvel ously refreshing. I marveled how Marjorie could stand barefoot in the last melting runnels of the last night's snowfall, but she seemed not as cold as I was. We sat in the growing warmth of the sun afterward, eat ing the last of the herdwomen's coarse bread. I found a tree in the yard where the former owners had farmed mushrooms, an intricate system of small wooden pipes directing water down the trunk. Most of the mush rooms were hard and woody, but I found a few small new ones high up, and we ate them at the end of our meal, savoring their sweet freshness. She stretched a little, sleepily. "I would like to sleep here in the sun," she said. "I am beginning to feel like some night-bird, never coming out into the light of day." "But I am not hardened to your mountain weather," I said, "and we may have to sleep in the open, soon enough." She made a mock-serious face. "Poor Lew, are you cold? Yes, I sup pose we must go inside to sleep." She gathered up our heavy outer clothes and carried them. She spread them out on an old, abandoned pallet in the farmhouse, wrinkling a fastidious nose at the musty smell. I said, "It is better than dog," and she giggled and sat down on the heap of clothing. She had on a thick woolen shift, knee-length and with long sleeves; I had seen her far more lightly clothed at Aldaran, but there was some thing about being here like this that roused an awareness that fear and weariness had almost smothered. All during this trip she had slept within the circle of my arm, but innocently. Perhaps because I was still recovering from the effects of Kadarin's brutal beating. Now, all at