there were the women and boy to protect.
They slipped away as if they were the brigands. The
snow continued until dawn, when the sun split the dense
gray clouds. Their hearts did not lighten with the sky. They
ate cold bread and cheese, and sipped tepid melted snow
from the sergeant’s pigskin water-bag.
Sturm spelled Mistress Carin on the reins. He simply kept
them clear of the traces, as the old carthorse was content to
follow the rutted path without guidance. Carin fussed over
Lady Ilys, trying to screen her from the new sun and cold
wind. Sturm knew the woman was exhausted. He wondered
why his mother let her carry on with needless niceties of
castle protocol.
Sturm stayed at the reins until midday, when Soren
halted again for food and a consultation.
“As I recall,” he said, chewing on a strip of dried beef,
“the way forks again not far ahead. If we go straight, we’ll
end up in the mountains along the coast. Should we bear
south, we’ll reach the coast in a day’s steady ride.”
“Where on the coast?” asked Lady Ilys.
“Near the port of Thel, where ships on the Inland Sea
often call.”
“Ships, yes … a sea voyage would be more comfortable
than rolling in this cart,” she said. “Could we find passage
to Abanasinia in Thel?”
“Easily, my lady. ‘Tis a thickly traveled route.”
“Then we shall proceed to Thel, then take ship.”
The carthorse wheezed and shivered. “I pray the beast
holds out till then,” said Soren.
The beast did not. By the time they reached the fork, the
poor carthorse collapsed in harness, never to rise again.
“Oh, lady, what shall we do?” Carin wailed.
“Nuitari will have to serve,” said Lady Ilys. Soren could
only obey in silence. He loosed the tracings from the dead
animal and dragged the carcass aside. Then he backed the
black, straight-limbed Nuitari between the poles of the over-
burdened cart. Soren patted the horse’s nose consolingly.
“There’s no shame in it,” he said in a low voice, though
Sturm was near and heard him. “We all must serve beneath
our worth sometime, my friend.”
Day passed and night came. The two bright moons rose,
shone their faces on Krynn, and set again. Mistress Carin
drove all night, and Sturm noticed that his mother parted
with one of her fine scarves so that her maid might have
some protection from the facing wind.
The air warmed with day, and the ice on the track
changed to mud. It gripped the cart wheels and the
sergeant’s boots with fervor, but neither Soren nor the brave
Nuitari complained. They climbed a long, grassy hill to an
ancient ring of standing stones. Strange images were graven
on the triliths. Sturm knew dark forces were abroad in the
land. He held close to his mother when they stopped amid
the ruined circle.
Soren advanced to the crest of the hill. He pointed down
to a vista Sturm could not see. “It is Thel,” he said.
Thel was a modest town of five-hundred souls, but to
Sturm’s eye, it was a complete city. Some of the half-
timbered houses had three stories – not so tall as the towers
of Castle Brightblade, but so full of people! Sturm was
fascinated.
Soren walked the cart along the high street. The toll of
four days and nights on the road was obvious. Even Lady
Ilys was bedraggled, her fair face chapped by raw wind and
her soul weighed down with bitterness and hurt.
The Thelites paid them no large attention as they
passed. Strangers and refugees were common in the town.
Lady Ilys, for her part, ignored them in turn.
“Rabble. Riff-raff,” she said through pursed lips.
“Remember, Sturm, you are the son of a knight. Do not
speak to these people unless they address you properly, with
the deference due us.”
Soren found an inn off the waterfront. He went in to
dicker with the owner, leaving the women and boy in the
cart. Sturm climbed atop the baggage and watched the
passing crowds with total absorption.
One fellow in particular caught Sturm’s eye: he was
short and slender, a green mantle draped over his shoulders.