HONOR BOUND

Chapter 8

It's incredible how difficult it is to look and act leisurely and at ease when one is actually in a terrible hurry – far more difficult than pretending to be busy when one isn't. Everything considered, however, I think I've done a fairly good job of it, at least judging by how long I've already spent on this errand.

Walking down all the way to the road was the easiest part, for I was still concealed by the forest and only needed to worry about falling down and making noise or hurting myself. I managed to do neither, and thus the only difficult thing once I'd reached the roadside was to decide which way to turn. Even that was made easier for me by an oxcart that rumbled past, carrying an excitedly chatting family of five or six and making enough noise so that I could stay out of sight until it had vanished from sight and the stretch of road was empty once more.

Clearly the family was going somewhere, and since their oxcart was headed eastward, in the direction of Noragayll, that's where I walked, too. Luckily for me their destination wasn't far at all: a lively village in the crossing of the main road and a smaller, southbound one. Already before entering the actual village I realized that it was market day, and for me this was a two-edged sword: on one hand it meant lots of people selling things so I'd have an easy job of getting what I wanted, but on the other it also meant that everybody was in festive mood and I might have trouble vanishing again quite as quickly as I'd have wanted.

However, I think I've done fairly well in every respect, and luckily it was still morning when I first got there, so that the general market-day spirits hadn't had time yet to rise altogether too high. Now it's still only early afternoon and I'm on my way back, taking care not to walk too fast. I've chatted with several people, exchanged views on recent weather and the outlook of crops, discussed the merits of dry bread when traveling, even haggled over the prices! Nobody in their right minds should be able to claim that I'd have been rushing things inordinately, now I just need to keep up the image until I'm well and truly out of sight.

I've got everything we need. The haversack flung over my shoulder and the basket in my hand do their part in slowing me down, for they do weigh a fair bit. These provisions should be enough to keep us going for days, definitely enough to take us so close to Noragayll that we'll then be able to use the road. Maybe even spend nights in houses? Won't that be bliss!

First we need to get that far, though. I bite my lip as I realize that I'm walking faster once again, but can't help the anxiety throbbing in the back of my head. I've been away for half a day, leaving Rogher and Lady Inella alone... and yet, if something's happened I'll be too late to do anything about it any more, so there's absolutely no reason to try and outrun myself.

Yes, I'm in a hurry, and that's the only excuse I have for not realizing sooner that I'm being followed. Another excuse might be that I'm not used to being followed, but still I should've noticed it before. I should've heard the occasional crack of a dry branch under someone else's foot, the faint noises that cannot have been made by me, and I probably would have if I hadn't been so inexcusably lost in my own imagination!

But no; like a fool I keep walking straight towards Rogher and Lady Inella, leading a spy to their hideaway.

When the truth finally dawns, my heart stops and then begins to beat so hard that my ears hurt. In a flash I know that I'm not alone, that there's someone else some way behind me. Someone who's stopped, is probably holding his breath, while I lean on a rock and try to look like I'm just taking a moment to recover after nearly stumbling.

Who is following me? Why? Could it be someone who's merely curious? But if so, why does he clearly want to keep his distance so I wouldn't notice? Besides, I can't forget for a moment what an errand we're on. I must assume the worst, for all our sakes.

Assume or not, my every fiber is tense and whispering of danger. I curse myself. How could I be so dense, so oblivious as to not hear it before? Haven't I spent enough time traveling yet?

Worse, we're already far too close to our campsite. My hair stands on end when I realize that any moment soon Rogher and Lady Inella might hear me and see me coming – they might even come to meet me! I have to warn them somehow, but what to do so that they'd understand what I'm trying to do? What can I do so that I'm not making it all too obvious to the man following me that we're already within seeing and hearing distance?

The basket and haversack are heavy. I put them down for a moment and notice that my hands are shaking. What to do, what the hell to do? I need time to think.

The rock I'm still leaning against is nicely rounded, so I crawl to sit on it. Luckily the day is crisp and dry, so it's not all that crazy of me to just sit on a stone for a while, especially if I've hurt my foot when stumbling. I pull my knee up and rub the ankle, then pull off my shoe and shake it to remove some invisible sand from it. While doing that, I let my gaze sweep the shadows between tree trunks in an effort to spot some unexpected movement, or a darker lump indicating the presence of someone superfluous under the foliage.

I can't see anything, nor can I stare because I mustn't show that I'm suspecting anything. Right now my shadow must be holding his breath, frozen in mid-step, trying to blend in with the trees around. I roll my shoulders; it feels glorious after carrying the load for such a distance. I rub my arms and flex my fingers, then fiddle slowly with the leather strings around my ankle.

A bird tweets somewhere nearby and I smile towards the sound, grateful for the opening it gives me. No, I can't see it even though I try, but maybe it'd humor me for a while? I purse my lips and whistle, imitating the short sound.

Blessed bird, it hesitates for a moment and then answers. I reply again, and soon we're involved in a busy exchange of tweets. My smile broadens. This is fun, and I'm sure my observer must be tearing his hair right now. That is, unless he's too busy cursing me to the deepest pits of hell.

Then it occurs to me. I dig into a pocket, fingers curling around the familiar wood of a flute. For a moment I caress it, slowly raise it to my lips and start playing. Quiet at first, I play a little melody, switch to another and play louder. I pray that Rogher should hear me and understand that I wouldn't do this under normal circumstances.

But what if he doesn't? What if he, too, just curses me and rushes forth, demanding to know what the hell has bitten me? What on earth can I do to caution him?

I can't help grinning to myself when the solution dawns. I raise the flute to my lips, take a deep breath, and the introduction to "Knight's Lament" cuts through the air, loud and desolate. I let it echo from the rocks, then start singing the melody.

Rogher hates that song, hates it with fiery passion. More than once he's told me that if I ever sing it within his hearing – unless I've been expressly told to by someone high and mighty – I only have myself to blame if he leaves me behind and never looks back.

"Understand me, Rogher," I whisper under my breath before beginning the second stanza.

It's a long song and I sing it for all I'm worth. My voice carries effortlessly over the hum of wind in the trees, and in fact it's not difficult at all to play the part of a minstrel enchanted by the splendid effect created by his surroundings. There are trees all right, but also enough bare stone to make a beautiful echo that lingers in the air and lets me sing a duet of sorts with myself. At some point I think I hear some noises from somewhere above me, and sing louder.

Whoever is watching me must be on tenterhooks. What is he thinking right now? I try to imagine myself in his shoes. He probably wants to make sure that he's not barking up the wrong tree, but on the other hand he can hardly hope to achieve very much single-handed. I wonder which one he'll choose – trying to outwait me, or going for reinforcements and hoping I won't get too far in the meantime? But I'm not going to take him another step further, we're already far too close to where I left my companions this morning.

Unless, of course, I've imagined the whole thing after all and there's just a very nervous hare or deer lurking in those bushes, and a very irate Rogher somewhere near, wondering what the hell I think I'm doing.

I have no way of knowing it for certain. I just need to rely on my instincts, and they are still screaming at me that I'm being watched.

What am I going to do now? How long can I go on with this charade? Eventually I'll have to stop, and what then? Shall I continue on my way, or pick some other, or what? And if I am being watched, I cannot possibly walk to the campsite, just in case they haven't heard me – or, worse, haven't understood and Rogher is there waiting to wring my neck.

It's indeed painfully long, the "Lament", no doubt composed as a jest and then taken in all earnestness by too many people, but still it seems to end all too soon. I sigh, sit for another few moments on my rock, then reluctantly get on my feet and pick up my burden once more.

My burden... all the foodstuffs are still sitting at my feet. If Rogher and the lady have snuck away, what are they going to live on, if I don't somehow find a way to shake my shadow and catch up with them?

My feet are leaden as I trudge on, up the stony path, and there's no need to fake the limp. My calves are yelling bloody murder at me after all the downhill and uphill walking. I cannot plausibly stay here any longer, nor can I go towards our camp, so there's only one way to go: up by the brook. More climbing.

The food I'm carrying feels heavy as stone. I wish I could shout, warn them, tell Rogher to get the hell away from here, and if I wasn't panting so much I would press my lips together to keep silent. I'm getting desperate. After a while I stop to switch the basket from one shaking hand to the other, and that's when I hear two things at the same time.

Somewhere uphill, the rattle of a rolling stone echoes faintly from the rocks around; somewhere further down from me there are hurried steps. They sound like someone was running, jumping and slipping on the treacherous path. Running downhill.

I stand still, holding my breath to hear better. For an eternity there's nothing except the whoosh of wind in the treetops, but finally I'm sure of it: I'm alone once more.

When I can't stand the silence any longer, I grab the basket tighter and dive into the shrubbery. I must descend a little, but after some searching I locate the place where we've camped. Thank all the gods, it's deserted: the fire has been put out with water, ashes hastily scattered with a stick, and the branches we've slept on have been tossed here and there. Nothing has been left behind that could betray who the campers were, except for the hoof prints of large, shod horses. Those tell clearly enough that whoever stayed the night here was no occasional shepherd or a band of minstrels.

Armed with fir branches I set to work, sweeping and stomping the ground to muddle the tracks. It's impossible to get rid of them completely, but I can at least do my best.

Feverishly I sweep the ground for a good while, then stop and look around. All of a sudden strength seeps out of my body and I sink to sit on the ground, feeling more desolate and empty than ever before.

Now I'm truly alone. Rogher and Lady Inella are gone, there's nothing I can do to help them, and even the food I was sent to get is now as useless to them as I am myself. What am I going to do?

Go after them? That's out of the question. If I've been followed this far, and by now I'm certain of it, I'd only lead any pursuers to their trail. No, I must be on my way and pretend that I know nothing of them.

What to do with all the food, though? There's too much to haul along, and should I come across any curious travelers, nobody will ever believe that it's for just one person. Nor can I claim to be taking it to anyone else, for that would inevitably lead to further questions. So there's only one thing to do: take enough for myself and leave the rest.

But what if they come back for me? What if they've only gone far enough to hide, and will come back once they're sure that I'm alone once more?

Well, that's one thing I know is not going to happen. We were sent on this errand for one reason: to bring Lady Inella safely to Noragayll. That's the task we were given, that's what Rogher will try to accomplish as long as there's any breath left in him. Nothing will turn him away from it, which is exactly as it should be. Right now I'm the least of his worries, and they are on their way to Noragayll as fast as they can, with or without food.

With a heavy heart I unpack the foodstuffs and set everything on the ground. Then I select the things that keep the best and travel the most easily, pack them carefully in my haversack, and put the rest under some stones. If someone comes here soon enough, that'll be an obvious place to look into, and they might still find something useful. If not, at least the smell of rotting food won't spread quite so quickly. The surplus bread I crumble into pieces and spread them all around the campsite; the birds will take care of it quickly enough.

After one last look at the place I turn around and start walking, absently munching on the piece of bread in my hand. I'm not sure where I'm going, but at least I'm not headed uphill. That's where the horses have gone, so it's definitely not my way.