“You might as well turn back now.” The blacksmith who had agreed to perform a final check on their wagon spoke meaningfully as he rose and knelt, rose and knelt while moving from one wheel to another.
“Why?” Ehomba shielded his eyes as he gazed westward, to where the track they were following vanished into looming hills densely forested with ancient beech and oak, sycamore and elm. “My companions and I have crossed many high ranges, and this that lies before us does not look either very high or very difficult to scale.”
“The Hexens?” The affable blacksmith moved to another wheel. “They’re not. Takes a while to get through them, but the road goes all the way across. At least it did last I heard tell of it. Even a child could make the walk.”
The herdsman was openly puzzled. “Then what is the danger from these mountains?”
Taking a hammer and chisellike tool from his heavy work apron, their host began to bend back and tighten a bolt that was threatening to work its way loose.
“From the mountains, none.” Looking up, he stared hard at the lean and curious visitor. “It’s what lives in the Hexens that you have to watch out for. Deep in the inner valleys, where the fog lingers most all the day long and people never go.” He shrugged and turned away. “Leastwise, those people that go in and come out again. What happens to the ones who go in and don’t come out, well, a man can only guess.”
“Hoy, we’re not easily frightened,” Simna informed him. Nearby, Ahlitah was playing with the blacksmith’s brace of brown-and-white kittens, having promised Ehomba not to eat any of them. They assaulted the big cat’s mane and tail while he batted gently at them with paws that could bring down a full-grown buffalo with a single blow. “Go ahead and guess.”