Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

“That could be,” she agreed. It very well could be. “That would make him as mature as a five-year-old.” With some of the more gruesome stories she’d heard, that also made sense. It wasn’t comfortable to think of adults being so immature.

They stopped talking except to coax the horses through puddles in the terrain, still ice-skinned from the chill night. Anyone without gloves and hood was going to regret it. It was cool and getting colder. Brisk gusts of wind punctuated the air.

On the way back they’d not take this route, she decided. She’d mark it in ink later. Improving the map was the duty of every Kossaki. She marked larger copses of trees, deep gullies, bare rocky tops, and stream courses that were landmarks.

They stopped at dusk, wanting enough time to pitch a proper camp on a slight rise with a nearby copse as a windbreak and for fuel. She easily found what she needed in this rolling terrain.

“Erki, trample grass.”

The boy was enthusiastic about the task, stomping and jumping. As he did so, she made a quick sweep around the copse and hill. Nothing and no one in sight. It was as if they were the only people in the world.

Erki had the grass flat. With a tarp, a spear, a rope and three pegs, they had shelter in minutes. A few moments’ digging with a trowel shaped sleeping hollows; then Erki threw his smaller tarp and the blankets within. Riga grabbed hobbles so the horses could graze without straying. The plowpoint shelter opened downwind, and she dug a firepit before grabbing food.

“Beef and honey-nuts, Erki,” she said, holding a bag aloft.

She was amused to see the boy tumble grinning toward her with an armful of fuel, dropping and recovering it as he came, just as if he had too many biscuits. They had been born fair-skinned Northerners, though they were tanned now from the plains, and Erki had sky-blue eyes and straw hair that would have the girls lining up to be courted, especially with that grin. They grew taller and more robust than the plains natives, too.

It was close to freezing by the time she backed into the tent and rolled under the blankets with her fleece and linen bear. She snuggled up tight to Erki, who was cuddly but getting bony as he sprouted up. He put out a lot of heat. He also kicked and tossed even when asleep. The fire burned its small sticks and moss quickly, offering little heat. She took a long time to fall asleep, starting at every howl, flutter, and gust of wind. They were safe, she told herself. She’d made a sweep, and the horses would alert them to trouble, not to mention kick a wolf.

She woke stiff and groggy in the chill silver-gray dawn. Actually, it was the fourth or fifth time she woke, due to Erki’s incessant twitching and kicking and stealing of covers. Kari would have been a better choice to camp with, but she was on another route.

Riga chewed her tooth bristle as she struck the tent with its feathery fungus of frost. Oh, she ached. At home, she had a four-poster bed, like any town-bred girl of means. She could sleep on the ground when she had to, but even bundled warm was not enough when cold fog rolled past. She’d been fine until she stood; then her spine and neck protested.

There was nothing to do but ride. They chewed hard biscuits, hard cheese and dried meat, all cold. She longed for an apple.

Half the morning, then rest, lunch and unsaddle, resaddle and ride half the afternoon, then rest. Blessi was doing great for such a long trip. The two signal birds in their cages on Trausti’s back were not so calm. They twittered. She sent one aloft in midafternoon. “Circle and see,” she told it.

It landed a few minutes later and cocked its head south. They rode that way.

Dinner was also a saddle meal. They should be getting close, she thought. They were in from the coast, and she thought she could catch occasional glimpses of the Acabarrin border hills south of here.

“I see them,” Erki said.

She squinted and saw movement in the dusk ahead of them and west, a small caravan seen from the side. The wagons were not plainsworthy, only meant for use in farmland. The rough, rolling ground would disable them soon. Some people walked alongside. The horses and mules were old but healthy. One wagon was drawn by oxen. Chickens, children, and caged rabbits filled out the swaying loads.

“Good job,” she said. “Look sharp and we’ll ride up.”

She called softly, not wanting to echo through the night. “Ho!” They heard and faced her, but she was far too close for them to have done anything against a threat. A few of them might know enough fighting to hold off brigands, with enough numbers. None of them were warriors.

She trotted to the front, watching them watch her. No one gave any indication of status, so she chose the driver of the lead wagon.

She spoke in Acabarr. “I am Riga Gundesdati called Sworddancer, Scout Archer of Gangibrog of the Kossaki. This is my brother Erki. We will escort you to Little Town.”

“We’ll meet your war party there?” Clearly, he didn’t know where he was on the map.