I fought with this for a time, determined not to surrender my grass and the dark, easy road. My head ached, but the shower ended within a quarter of a mile and the sun came out once more. The sun. . . oh yes, the sun.
We rattled on, finally coming to a dip in the road that kept twisting its way down among brighter trees. We descended into a cool valley, where we eventually crossed another small bridge, this one with a narrow band of water drifting along the middle of the bed beneath it. I had wrapped the reins about my wrist by then, because I kept nodding. As from a great distance, I focused my concentration, straightening, sorting…
Birds queried the day, tentatively, from within the woods to my right. Glistening droplets of dew clung to the grass, the leaves. A chill came into the air, and the rays of the morning sun slanted down through the trees…
But my body was not fooled by the awakening within this shadow, and I was relieved finally to hear Ganelon stir and curse. If he had not come around before much longer I would have had to awaken him.
Good enough. I tugged gently on the reins and the horses got the idea and halted. I put on the brake, as we were still on an incline, and located a water bottle.
“Here!” said Ganelon, as I drank. “Leave a drop for me!” I passed the bottle back to him.
“You are taking over now,” I told him. “I have to get some sleep.”
He drank for half a minute, then let out an explosive exhalation.
“Right,” he said, swinging himself over the edge of the wagon and down. “But bide a moment. Nature summons.”
He stepped off the road, and I crawled back onto the bed of the wagon and stretched out where he had lain, folding my cloak into a pillow.
Moments later, I heard him climb onto the driver’s seat, and there was a jolt as he released the brake. I heard him cluck his tongue and snap the reins lightly.
“Is it morning?” he called back to me.
“Yes.”
“God! I’ve slept all day and all night!”
I chuckled.
“No. I did a little shadow-shifting,” I said. “You only slept six or seven hours.”
“I don’t understand. But never mind, I believe you. Where are we now?”
“Still heading northeast,” I said, “around twenty miles out of the city and maybe a dozen or so from Benedict’s place. We have moved through Shadow, also.”
“What am I to do now?”
“Just keep following the road. We need the distance.”
“Could Benedict still reach us?”
“I think so. That’s why we can’t give the horses their rest yet.”
“All right. Is there anything special I should be alert for?”
“No.”
“When should I raise you?”
“Never.”
He was silent then, and as I waited for my consciouness to be consumed, I thought of Dara, of course. I had been thinking of her on and off all day.
The thing had been quite unpremeditated on my part. I had not even thought of her as a woman until she came into my arms and revised my thinking on the subject. A moment later, and my spinal nerves took over, reducing much of what passes for cerebration down to its basics, as Freud had once said to me. I could not blame it on the alcohol, as I had not had that much and it had not affected me especially. Why did I want to blame it on anything? Because I felt somewhat guilty, that was why. She was too distant a relation for me to really think of her as one. That was not it. I did not feel I had taken unfair advantage of her, for she had known what she was doing when she came looking for me. It was the circumstances that made me question my own motives, even in the midst of things. I had wanted to do more than simply win her confidence and a measure of friendship when I had first spoken with her and taken her on that walk into Shadow. I was trying to alienate some of her loyalty, trust, and affection from Benedict and transfer it to myself. I had wanted her on my side, as a possible ally in what might become an enemy camp. I had hoped to be able to use her, should the need arise when the going got rough. All this was true. But I did not want to believe that I had had her as I did just to further this end. I suspected there was some truth to it, though, and it made me feel uncomfortable and more than a little ignoble. Why? I had done plenty of things in my time that many would consider much worse, and I was not especially troubled by these. I wrestled with it, not liking to admit it but already knowing the answer. I cared for the girl. It was as simple as that. It was different from the friendship I had felt for Lorraine, with its element of world-weary understanding between two veterans about it, or the air of casual sensuality that had existed briefly between Moire and myself back before I had taken the Pattern for the second time. It was quite different. I had known her so briefly that it was most illogical. I was a man with centuries behind me. Yet . . . I had not felt this way in centuries. I had forgotten the feeling, until now. I did not want to be in love with her. Not now. Later, perhaps. Better yet, not at all. She was all wrong for me. She was a child. Everything that she would want to do, everything that she would find new and fascinating, I had already done. No, it was all wrong. I had no business falling in love with her. I should not let myself. . .