The pillars of creation

He kept an eye on the roomful of people. They were all once again engaged in their own business. "It was a good thing you pushed your hood back. Until the woman of the house saw that red hair of yours, she was playing dumb. After that, her tongue loosened."

"The woman knows her? She is still living here in Gretton, as my mother said? The innkeeper is sure?"

Sebastian took a long drink, watching a roll of dice bring a cheer for the winner. "She gave me directions."

"And you got us rooms?"

"Only one room." As he took another swig, he saw her reaction. "Better to be together in case of trouble. I thought it would be safer with us both in one room." — "I'd rather sleep with Betty." Realizing how that must have sounded, she looked away in embarrassment and added, "Than in an inn, I mean. I'd rather be by myself than where there are so many people so close all around. I'd feel safer in the woods than closed in a room, here. I didn't mean-,

— I know what you meant." Sebastian's blue eyes took up his smile. "It v6ill do you good to sleep inside-it's going to be a bitter night. And Betty will be better sheltered at the stable."

The man who ran the stable had been a bit surprised to be asked to stable a goat for the night, but horses enjoyed the company of goats, so he was accommodating.

That first night, Betty had probably saved their lives. Sebastian, with his fever, might not have survived had Jennsen not found a dry place under a jut of ledge. The back of the small cleft beneath the overhang narrowed to a point, but it was big enough for the two of them. Jennsen had cut balsam and fir limbs to line the depression, lest the cold rock sap their bodies of heat. She and Sebastian then wedged themselves into the back. With Jennsen's urging and with the aid of the rope, Betty knelt behind the pine boughs positioned over the opening and then lay down close before them. With Betty's body against them, blocking the cold and providing her warmth, they had a dry, warm bed.

Jennsen quietly wept the long miserable night away. She was at least relieved that Sebastian, feverish, was able to sleep. By morning, his fever had broken. Morning had been the first day of Jennsen's bleak new life without her mother.

Leaving her mother's body there at the house, all alone, constantly haunted Jennsen. The memory of the horrifying bloody sight gave her nightmares. That her mother was gone brought limitless tears and crushed Jennsen with heartache. Life seemed desolate and meaningless.

But Sebastian and Jennsen had escaped. They had survived. That instinct to survive, and knowing all that her mother had done to give Jennsen life, kept her going. At times she wished she were not such a coward and could simply face the end and be done with it. At other times the terror of being pursued kept her putting one foot in front of the other. At yet other moments she felt a sense of fierce commitment to life, to not allowing all her mother's sacrifices to be in vain.

"We should have some supper," Sebastian said. "They have lamb stew. Then maybe you should get a good night's sleep in a warm bed before we go see this old acquaintance of yours. I'll stand watch while you sleep."

Jennsen shook her head. "No. Let's go see her now. We can sleep later." She had seen people eating thick stew from wooden bowls. The thought of food held no appeal for her.

Sebastian studied the look on her face and saw that he wasn't going to talk her out of it. He drained the mug and set it on the counter. "It's not far. We're on the right side of town."

Outside in the gathering dusk, she asked, "Why did you want to stay here, at this inn? There were other places much nicer, where the people didn't look so… rough.»

His blue-eyed gaze swept the buildings, the dark doorways, the alleys, as his fingers touched his cloak, seeking the reassurance of the hilt of his sword. "A rough crowd asks fewer questions, especially the kind of questions we don't want to answer."

He seemed to her a man who was used to avoiding having questions asked of him.

She stepped along the narrow furrow of a frozen rut, following it down the road toward the woman's house, a woman Jennsen only dimly remembered. She held on tightly to the hope that the woman might be able to help. Her mother must have had some reason for not going to this woman again, but Jennsen could think of nothing else to try but to seek her aid.

Without her mother, Jennsen needed help. The other three members of the quad were surely hunting her. Five men dead told her that there were at least two quads. That would mean at least three of those killers were still after her. It was entirely possible there were more. It was probable that even if there were not more, there soon would be.