over the muddy surface. It was a good thing his attention was on his feet.
Kavi sank down beside the farmer.
“Bad luck, lad,” the man murmured.
The sentry resumed his post, and a few moments later Lakka crawled up beside them.
“Hrum not follow bird again,” he said. “Other Hrum see him—say bad bad. Other noise make him …” He hissed in exasperation as his vocabulary failed.
“Suspicious,” Kavi supplied. “And you’re right about that. But tell me”—he turned to the farmer—“how many guards are posted behind these lads?”
“None. Not till you get near the Hrum’s siege camp,” said the farmer promptly.
“So if we could move down the road and get ourselves past another of the guards, we could make our way back to the hatch?”
The man took a moment to consider. “You could,” he finally answered. “Without too much trouble, either. But if some officer just told one of them off for leaving his post, it’ll take more than bird sounds to lure the others away.”
“That’s all right,” said Kavi. “I’ve an idea. At least … do the wild ducks still settle in that slow bit of water near the river bend?”
I T SHOULD HAVE BEEN a garland of flowers, but at this time of year a garland of juniper was the best he could do. It was prickly, too, but Kavi managed to twine some thin twigs into a rough circlet. He pulled Duckie’s long ears through it and settled the garland on the mule’s head. Duckie, who sometimes received the same treatment from giggling village girls, gave Kavi a disgusted look but made no other protest.
“It needs to be brighter,” said Kavi. “This won’t be getting their attention.”
“I thought you wanted me to board her,” said the farmer. “In fact, you’ve already paid me for it.”
“Don’t understand,” said Lakka. “Mule likes ducks?”
“I do want you boarding her,” Kavi told the farmer. “I can get the Hrum chasing after her, but if you claim her as your own, they won’t be trying to keep her. Especially if—ah, that’s the thing!”
“Mule likes ducks?” Daralk asked, laughter shaking his voice.
“That she does, lad,” the farmer replied. “And they like her, too.Several men were selling her, once they found they couldn’t keep her out of the duck ponds, nor use her for any work without half a dozen of the beasts waddling after her, quacking—and pecking, too. She was on her fifth owner, who claimed he was developing a taste for mule meat, before Kavi took her on.”
“Got her cheap because of it,” said Kavi, digging busily through the pack where he kept ladies’ goods. “Not that it hasn’t given me trouble as well.” The ribbons’ cheap dye might run in the rain, but that wouldn’t matter much, and the wet wouldn’t harm the brass foals in the least, if he could only find … “Here they are!”
He held up the sack of foals some foolish woman had pierced to string for bangles. She’d been astonished when no one would accept them as money anymore. Kavi had taken them in trade, planning to melt them down for the metal, but he’d never gotten around to it. They were still bright, though, and there were lots of them.
“Here.” He handed some ribbons to the Suud. “Tie the coins a bit apart, like this. And you,” he added to the farmer, “can offer the Hrum the money if they’ll help you get her out of the water. It might even save you a bit of wet.” He took some of the shorter bits of ribbon and started tying coins into the garland on Duckie’s head. It certainly looked odd.
“I’m already wet,” said the farmer. But he went to work helping the Suud, and the four of them soon had Duckie’s harnessdraped in a web of bright ribbons. Duckie snorted and shook herself, and the coins clattered.
“Now what?” the farmer asked, over the Suud’s quiet hilarity.
“Now for the final touch,” said Kavi. A sharp knife sliced a hole in the seam of one of the bags hanging from Duckie’s pack. He took out
Kavi sank down beside the farmer.
“Bad luck, lad,” the man murmured.
The sentry resumed his post, and a few moments later Lakka crawled up beside them.
“Hrum not follow bird again,” he said. “Other Hrum see him—say bad bad. Other noise make him …” He hissed in exasperation as his vocabulary failed.
“Suspicious,” Kavi supplied. “And you’re right about that. But tell me”—he turned to the farmer—“how many guards are posted behind these lads?”
“None. Not till you get near the Hrum’s siege camp,” said the farmer promptly.
“So if we could move down the road and get ourselves past another of the guards, we could make our way back to the hatch?”
The man took a moment to consider. “You could,” he finally answered. “Without too much trouble, either. But if some officer just told one of them off for leaving his post, it’ll take more than bird sounds to lure the others away.”
“That’s all right,” said Kavi. “I’ve an idea. At least … do the wild ducks still settle in that slow bit of water near the river bend?”
I T SHOULD HAVE BEEN a garland of flowers, but at this time of year a garland of juniper was the best he could do. It was prickly, too, but Kavi managed to twine some thin twigs into a rough circlet. He pulled Duckie’s long ears through it and settled the garland on the mule’s head. Duckie, who sometimes received the same treatment from giggling village girls, gave Kavi a disgusted look but made no other protest.
“It needs to be brighter,” said Kavi. “This won’t be getting their attention.”
“I thought you wanted me to board her,” said the farmer. “In fact, you’ve already paid me for it.”
“Don’t understand,” said Lakka. “Mule likes ducks?”
“I do want you boarding her,” Kavi told the farmer. “I can get the Hrum chasing after her, but if you claim her as your own, they won’t be trying to keep her. Especially if—ah, that’s the thing!”
“Mule likes ducks?” Daralk asked, laughter shaking his voice.
“That she does, lad,” the farmer replied. “And they like her, too.Several men were selling her, once they found they couldn’t keep her out of the duck ponds, nor use her for any work without half a dozen of the beasts waddling after her, quacking—and pecking, too. She was on her fifth owner, who claimed he was developing a taste for mule meat, before Kavi took her on.”
“Got her cheap because of it,” said Kavi, digging busily through the pack where he kept ladies’ goods. “Not that it hasn’t given me trouble as well.” The ribbons’ cheap dye might run in the rain, but that wouldn’t matter much, and the wet wouldn’t harm the brass foals in the least, if he could only find … “Here they are!”
He held up the sack of foals some foolish woman had pierced to string for bangles. She’d been astonished when no one would accept them as money anymore. Kavi had taken them in trade, planning to melt them down for the metal, but he’d never gotten around to it. They were still bright, though, and there were lots of them.
“Here.” He handed some ribbons to the Suud. “Tie the coins a bit apart, like this. And you,” he added to the farmer, “can offer the Hrum the money if they’ll help you get her out of the water. It might even save you a bit of wet.” He took some of the shorter bits of ribbon and started tying coins into the garland on Duckie’s head. It certainly looked odd.
“I’m already wet,” said the farmer. But he went to work helping the Suud, and the four of them soon had Duckie’s harnessdraped in a web of bright ribbons. Duckie snorted and shook herself, and the coins clattered.
“Now what?” the farmer asked, over the Suud’s quiet hilarity.
“Now for the final touch,” said Kavi. A sharp knife sliced a hole in the seam of one of the bags hanging from Duckie’s pack. He took out
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