Page 100 of Paladin's Faith

Shane met his eyes. “Then I am honored to be the weapon in her hand.”

“Shit,” said Davith softly, “you’ve got it bad.” He got up and went to the bar, while Shane stared at his back and wondered if the man was actually right.

THIRTY-SIX

In the morning, clean, fed, and having slept somewhere better than the floor, the four set out in the general direction of Cambraith. They had not bought horses, though their packs were much heavier with food, and Marguerite had finally acquired a map.

“Fortunately we can go from town to town,” she said, consulting it. “We shouldn’t have to sleep rough again, thank all the little gods.”

“This would be faster with horses,” said Davith.

“Yes, but then we’d have to take care of horses.”

“I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I am. That’s why I don’t want to deal with horses. I suspect we may be able to pay someone with a wagon to cut down on our travel time, and there’s a river here,”—she traced a line with her fingertip—"where I’m told we can be ferried across by a riverman, unless we’ve got livestock, in which case we’d have to go a full day south to Wherryford to find someone with a raft.”

“You’re in charge,” said Davith with a shrug. “I’m just a prisoner.”

“He talks a lot for a prisoner,” Shane observed, to no one in particular.

“I’d noticed that,” Wren answered.

Marguerite pinched the bridge of her nose, stowed the map, and started walking.

The first few days were uneventful. The landscape was green and rolling, rolling and green. It was beautiful at first, then became monotonous. Occasionally it broke out in boulders, sheep, or small villages.

The villages were spaced several hours of brisk walking apart, roughly the distance that a laden wagon could make in half a day. They usually pressed on past the first one, and once or twice they did encounter someone with a wagon who was willing to take a coin to give them a ride somewhere. The inns were small but usually had at least two rooms available, even if the mattresses were of questionable quality. Marguerite asked indirectly about the Sail at every stop, but so far had turned up nothing suspicious.

“Are we ahead of them?” Shane asked.

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. It was not meant seductively, Shane knew. Knowing that was surprisingly little help. He stared over her head at a distant hillside and reminded himself of the Lay of Sir Afrim, who had been walled up alive by his enemies and survived for fourteen days, being brought food and sips of water by a flock of sparrows. That would be much worse than this. I have got to stop complaining.

“I don’t think so,” Marguerite said. Shane blinked at her, trying to remember what question she was answering. “They should have a head start, but I suspect they took a different route. Although the boatman’s strike may well have trapped them as effectively as it did us.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Regardless, Cambraith is a large county and Magnus knows people are looking for her, so they may not have the easiest time searching. Highlanders are notoriously suspicious of strangers asking questions.”

“Of course.”

She smiled at him, reached up, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He had taken direct blows to the head that staggered him less. “And if we get there too late…well, we’ll figure out the next step once we get there.”

“Yes. The next step. Certainly.” His skin blazed where her fingers had brushed it. He half-expected the touch to have left blisters. Sir Afrim. Sparrows. Fourteen days and nights.

If any of the sparrows had been agonizingly attractive, the chroniclers had left those bits out.

“Are you all right?” Marguerite asked.

“Sparrows aren’t attractive.”

“Sorry, what?” She frowned up at him. “I think I misheard you.”

“Fine,” said Shane. “I’m fine.”

Late afternoon of the third day. They’d gotten a wagon ride most of the way to the next village, rattling along between barrels that smelled strongly of salted fish. The trader had pointed over a rise and told them that if they crossed there, they’d cut a good half-hour off their time. Shane thanked her and she winked cheerfully at him before continuing on her way.

“Right,” said Davith, as soon as the wagon was out of sight. “Find me a rock or avert your eyes, friends.”