Chapters (28)
When they rode out of the city in the midafternoon Simon discovered by some chance his mount matched pace with hers. As the men of the Guard she wore mail, the scarfed helmet. There was no outward difference between her and the rest, for a sword hung at her hip, and the same sidearm at her belt as Simon carried.
“So, man of war from another world,” her voice was low and he thought it for his hearing alone, “we travel the same train once again.”
Something in her serene composure irked him. “Let us hope this time to hunt instead of being hunted.”
“To each his day,” she sounded indifferent. “I was betrayed in Alizon, and unarmed.”
“And now you ride with sword and gun.”
She glanced down at her own equipment and laughed. “Yes, Simon Tregarth, with sword and gun — and other things. But you are right in one thought, we hasten to a dark meeting.”
“Foretelling, lady?” His impatience ripened. For that moment he was an unbeliever. It was far easier to trust in steel which fitted into the hand than in hints, looks, feelings.
“Foretelling, Simon.” Her narrow eyes regarded him still with that shadow smile somewhere in their depths. “I am laying no geas, nor quest upon you, outland man. But this I know: our two strands of life stuff have been caught up together by the Hand of the Over Guardian. What we wish and what will come of it may be two very different things. This I shall say, not only to you, but to all this company — beware the place where rocks arch high and the scream of the sea eagle sounds!”
Simon forced an answering smile. “Believe me, lady, in this land I watch as if I had eyes set around my head in a circlet. This is not my first raiding party.”
“As has been known. Else you would not ride with the Hawk,” she pointed with a lift of her chin to Koris. “Were you not of the proper metal he would have none of you. Koris is a warrior bred, and a leader born — to Estcarp’s gain!”
“And you foresee this danger at Sulcarkeep?” he pressed.
She shook her head. “You have heard how it is with the Gift. Bits and patches are granted us — never the whole pattern. But there are no city walls in my mind picture. And I think it lies closer than the sea rim. Loose your dart gun, Simon, or bare those knowledgeable fists of yours.” She was amused again, but her laughter did not jeer — rather it was the open good humor of comradeship. He knew that he must accept her on her own proffered terms.