The Book of Earth (26 page)

“Force, no fear,” Gerrasch grumbled. “Bigger magic.”

Hal nodded darkly. “We should respect that. Tell Earth to stay well hidden.”

Only when Erde had agreed did Gerrasch open the door. He stepped cautiously into the cool dappled light, blinking as if rushing into sudden sun. The distant baying had stopped. He made Erde hold out her little basket, then
filled it with his herb mixture. “For later, yes?” The rest he scattered on the ground, circling his hut in a precise and ever widening spiral.

“Covering our tracks,” murmured Hal. “He’ll want us to do likewise on the way out.”

“Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,” Gerrasch sang hoarsely as he broadcast his herbs like a farmer sowing corn.

Hal took Erde’s arm and drew her toward the dragon’s thicket “A pleasure as always, Gerrasch. I hope I haven’t spent the good king’s silver for nothing.”

Much closer man before, the baying began again.

A
watery sun shone through the thinning mist. Hal hustled them to the lakeshore, avoiding the thorny tangle that barriered the land access to Gerrasch’s clearing. There was not a breath of wind. The lake stretched southward like a clouded mirror.

“It’s shallow. He’ll have to dare it,” Hal insisted as, with a snort, the dragon pulled up short at the water’s edge.

When the hound sounded again, Earth waded in with the rest of them.

“He’s getting braver,” the knight approved. But Erde knew it was because the water was still. Earth could see the sandy bottom and knew it held no terrors for him. He was like a child in many ways, yet he was waking up, slowly but surely. She recalled Gerrasch’s comment and wondered,
what will he be like when he’s finally, fully awake?

Hal set a stiff pace through the shallows, following the curve of the shore until a strip of graveled beach appeared. The gravel was coarse and tightly packed. They could move fast with hardly a sign left behind. He kept to the beach for a half mile or so, then turned abruptly inland where the underbrush thinned between the trees and the land rose away from the beach.

“Remember how Gerrasch tossed that stuff around? Follow me and do the same across our trail. The Mule can show Earth what to do.”

Erde didn’t need to tell the dragon anything. He was already watching the mule carefully, learning about animal stealth. The two of them slipped into the undergrowth without leaving a sign. The she-goat followed closely, and Erde fell in at the end of the line with her basket of herbs,
scattering them carefully behind until she ran out. Hal climbed the rise along the shore and halted in the cover of a stand of branchy young pines perched on the edge of a low sandy cliff. He gestured them to silence and listened.

“Odd, isn’t it. Still only the one dog.”

Erde nodded. She thought the dog sounded hoarse and tired. Through the dense velvet of the pine boughs, the beach was just visible below. She felt Earth’s anticipation in her mind. He was unsure, but his fear was tempered with a new sense of readiness.

“Perfect spot for an ambush,” Hal murmured. “Or at least to discover what’s following us.” He whistled the mule to him, unstrapped his bow and quiver, then his sword. He set them carefully on the pine mat beside him like a carpenter laying out his tools. “The Mule can take you ahead while I reconnoiter.”

Erde shook her head.

“I know, girl, but it’s better than exhausting ourselves running to keep ahead of them.”

She nodded as sagely as she knew how.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not a fighting man just yet.”

She unsheathed Alla’s slim but deadly dagger. She had cleaned the blade scrupulously out on the moonless slopes of Tor Alte, and used it many times since as a cutting edge. But now as she looked at it, she was sure some of Georg’s blood still stained the shining steel.

Hal saw her face twist and misunderstood. “But you’ll be fine with the Mule. The Dragon will take care of you.”

Even if she could speak, how could she explain? Tell him that guilt, not fear, weakened her? Fear was simple, men understood fear. Fear only needed to be overcome. But guilt? Most men would be proud to have killed in self-defense. Hal would lose his faith in her spirit, in her grandmother’s indomitable, supposedly inheritable spirit, and maybe so would she. Well, it didn’t matter whether he understood or not, she refused to be sent ahead into hiding with the dragon. He wouldn’t have sent her grandmother into hiding. Erde caught hold of herself, grasped the knife with a firm hand, and struck a menacing pose.

Hal hid a wry smile. “Fine. You’re not scared. I still can’t allow it. Off with you, quickly!”

Erde planted her feet. It was the first time since the
knight had appointed himself her guardian that she’d thought to oppose him. He gazed back at her confounded, as if he’d just realized it wasn’t actually his right to order her around.

“Milady, be sensible, please. For the Dragon’s sake.”

Erde felt Earth shuffle closer and settle down, his new readiness like a wall behind her, though the cry of the hound was nearing rapidly. Suddenly the baying stopped. The she-goat, forgotten in her self-made nest of pine needles, rose up and bounded out of the grove and down the steep slope toward the water. At the bottom, she slowed, then lowered her horned head to graze in slow casual circles along the beach.

“Well!” exclaimed the knight softly. “A full-blown mutiny! What’s got into you all?”

Tired of running
, Erde would have replied. She was not sure what the dragon had in mind. His nose was to the wind. He imaged one dog to her, and one man.

“Promise you’ll sit down and keep still?” Hal went to the mule and quickly stripped off the rest of the packs.

Erde knew he would not debate Earth in serious matters. Complain as he might, the dragon’s will was still this knight’s command. He even looked pleased as he shrugged and settled himself to wait and watch for movement back the way they’d come. Minutes passed, silent but for the soft lapping of the lake and the drone of insects stirred by the pallid sun. Then, sporadic barking, a confused hound’s query.

“He’s lost the scent. Probably reached Gerrasch’s clearing.”

With a yelp of triumph, the baying began again. Unperturbed, the she-goat grazed a beach barren of anything that could have been of real interest to her.

“Here we go.” Hal notched an arrow.

A large hound, of the brown and black long-eared breed common to Tor Alte’s pack, burst through the trees at the far end of the beach. It flew along, nose to the ground and tail erect, singing its rhythmic song of encouragement to the hunter. Suddenly the breeze brought a distraction. The dog halted, looked about, spotted the she-goat, then cried out happily and charged. The she-goat drew herself into fighting posture and presented her horns. The hound
neared, slowed, then ran back and forth before the goat, whining piteously.

Erde nudged Hal with a smile. Tor Alte’s hunt pack was trained not to attack domestic animals. And she knew this dog. This dog had been one of her father’s favorites, a strong bitch that ran well and produced fine litters. But she was no longer young, and as she paced closer, Erde saw she was exhausted and sweat-slathered, her short coat raked with brambles. Still she would pace and whine, until the Man arrived.

It’s wrong to run a dog that hard.
Erde started up from her crouch in protest.

Hal jerked her down reflexively, his eye fixed on the beach. “Where’s the rest of the pack?”

Finally, a lone man armed with a crossbow detached himself from the trees along the shore, having decided no doubt that it was silly to conceal himself so carefully from someone’s stray she-goat. One dog, as Earth had told her, and one man by himself. The dragon was learning that he possessed a remarkable nose. The man disarmed his crossbow and called to the dog, signaling her to circle and pick up the trail again. But the goat had walked her pattern over the trail, and Gerrasch’s herbs had done the rest. The dog ran about, barking in frustration until the huntsman yelled at her to lie down and wait. She sank to the ground, panting.

The man approached slowly, and Erde saw it was the huntsman Griff, who’d served her grandmother so long and well.

“We know this one,” remarked Hal.

Erde nodded. She did not recall Griff having a limp, but he was surely favoring his left leg, and looked as worn out as the dog. The two of them alone was odd enough, then she remembered that Griff was a fine horseman and always rode, even in deep forest or the worst terrain. She wondered what had become of his horse.

“One man, like Gerrasch said. Perhaps a conference is in order.” Hal rose slowly, lowering his bow with the arrow still notched, and made a circling gesture to the mule. Erde caught his sleeve and indicated that she could deal with the hound. “All right, but keep at least ten paces apart from
me at all times. Multiple targets.” He jerked his chin at the dragon. “He stays hidden.”

Erde sent stern visions to Earth, who was happy to stay put, once he’d spotted the huntsman’s crossbow.
I guess you can’t smell out a man’s armaments
, she reasoned. She gripped her dagger and hauled her cloak up around her cheeks. While the mule approached noisily from the other direction, Hal and Erde crept down along the lowering cliff until it rejoined the beach. The huntsman was distracted by the mule. Before he could decide that there was something unnatural in this assemblage of farm animals alongside a deserted lake, Hal was within range behind him. Instinct made the huntsman turn, but Hal put an arrow in the sand between his feet and reloaded before he could set his crossbow. The hound growled and charged. Erde whistled, the way Rainer had taught her, and the dog slowed, whining, then swerved toward her and was soon dancing at her feet. She sheathed her dagger and knelt to greet it.

The huntsman, breathing hard, lowered his unarmed bow. His narrowed eyes flicked from Hal to Erde and back again.

“Are you alone, friend, as you appear to be?” asked Hal companionably.

“Appearances aren’t everything. Who wants to know?” The man could not turn his attention from the odd behavior of his dog.

“We can have your army against my army,” Hal replied, “or we can talk, like civilized men.”

The huntsman searched the empty beach. The tree line was too far away for a limping, winded man to reach before the tall stranger’s bow stopped him. Plus there was his dog, leaning happily against the smaller stranger’s knee. “Alone,” he conceded.

“And a little the worse for wear, I’d say.”

The man stiffened proudly, though his breath was still labored. The side of his jaw was bruised and there was a fresh cut over his right eye. “I’m well enough, and I’ll be on my way if you’ve no cause to detain me. I’ve nothing worth your while.”

“I meant no offense. And we’re no thieves, either.”

The huntsman squinted into the pale sun, which Hal had put behind him. “What are you, then? What do you want?”

“Your name would be an excellent start.”

The huntsman shrugged. He was shorter than Hal, though they were matched in age, and the knight was armed. “I travel from Tor Alte, with Baron Josef’s Hunt.”

“Tor Alte. A fair distance. East, as I recall? Does lack of game bring you so far? There’s little enough to spare here as it is.”

The man shook his head. “Answers for answers.”

“Fair enough.” Hal circled slowly until his face was no longer in shadow. “Of late, I come from Erfurt.”

“Erfurt.” Interest flickered in the huntsman’s eyes, and was as quickly hidden.

“A friend to His Majesty.”

Now the man’s brow shot up. “A brave admission to a stranger in these days.”

“Then judge me by it.”

Erde absorbed this exchange intently, noting its ritualistic formality and how Hal had leaned on the word “friend,” as if it meant more than it appeared to mean. The mention of the king seemed to raise a subtext far beyond the usual male sparring for position, as if Griff now saw this stranger as something more than the steely tip of an arrow pointed at his throat.

“You wear the King’s Red,” he noted.

“Aye.”

Griff wet his lips, then said carefully, “A little the worse for wear, I’d say.”

Finally, Hal grinned. “And what King’s Knight would not be, in these days?”

“None who serves him truly.”

“As did your lady, the Baroness Meriah.”

The huntsman cocked his head, as if hearing a far-off bell. “Ah. I do know you, sir,” he said slowly, “from long ago.”

“Yes, you do.” Hal lowered his bow. “Heinrich Engle.”

“Griffen Hesse.” The huntsman stepped forward to take the hand offered him, then stopped, recalling further. “No, it was . . .” He stepped back, bowing. “Your pardon, sir. Wasn’t it
von
Engle? Baron Weisstrasse?”

Erde threw Hal a look. He’d never said he was a
baron.

“Aye, Griffen Hesse, but who can call himself baron, who’s lost his lands and stronghold?” Hal kept his hand outstretched until the huntsman gave in to common courtesy and shook it. Erde recalled her father with this man, how he’d treated him like a stable hand. She admired Hal’s more generous nature.