You'll want some rest. I'll have them send more food later. See you in the morning before I leave."
He looked straight at Harald for a moment. Harald looked back, nodded. Stephen went out.
By the time Harald woke it was almost dark. The table was spread with a cloth, on that a platter, on that an assortment of sausage, dried meat, dried fruit, cheese, bread—much of it hard baked biscuit. Dinner enough for three men. Harald ate some of the bread and cheese while he was putting on his armor, dumped the rest of the platter's contents onto the cloth. A minute later he was out of the room, the bundle of food concealed by his cloak.
In the stable he found the mare, rubbed down, fed and rested. He saddled her with the help of a curious stable boy.
"A little exercise before night time, good for both of us. Can you take a message to your lord?"
The boy looked up curiously.
"Lord Stephen is sending a messenger. I would like him to carry a brief message from me as well."
The boy waited expectantly.
"The message is that Harald regrets having had to depart in haste, and hopes to visit again shortly. Do you have that?"
"Harald regrets having had to depart in haste, hopes to visit again shortly."
"That's right. Tell Stephen you have to tell that to the messenger."
The boy ran off. Harald strapped on bedding and saddlebags, stuffing the bundle of food into one of them, hooked on bowcase and quiver, led the horse out of the stable. Five minutes more took him through the gate, into the night.
Ten miles west, half the night gone, he made camp on the far slope of a ridge half a mile from the road. No doubt Stephen had several men who could succeed in not following him, but there was no reason to make things harder for them than necessary. He slept till dawn, climbed to the top of the ridge; the road was empty. He went back to sleep. Near noon he lunched on Stephen's bounty, removed the faint signs of his camp, mounted.
Stephen's hill to the base of Northgate he counted four days travel, more or less—a little more without a remount, a little less without an army. Late afternoon of the fourth found him ten miles north of the hostel, a little west of the road. He made camp in a wood running down from the foothills. Beyond loomed the mountains, their far side home. He wondered what his oldest grandson was up to. A year. No doubt Gerda had coped.
The road north was empty; Harald spent most of the remaining daylight searching the woods for food. It was still empty when he got back. When dark fell he built his fire in a hollow out of sight of the road, dined on fresh meat and wild greens with a little of his dwindling supply of biscuit.
The next day the road carried a few riders and a mule train south from the Empire—Belkhani guards. He remained hidden, foraged for food, let the mare graze her fill. Late the next day his luck changed. Mules, horses, even a few wagons. Traders, mule drivers, from the Imperial provinces in the far northwest by their dress. Guards in lamellar armor. Cats. They made camp less than half a mile from where he watched.
The guard commander was a cautious man; sentries ahead, behind, to both sides of his camp. The one on the hill side was a big man with a slight limp. Luck. Harald waited until dark, spent most of an hour moving quietly through the woods. 'Bjorn would have been there and back, probably with Gunnar's helmet under his arm; some advantages to being young.
"Gunnar."
The guard froze, turned, walked away from the voice. Stood a minute. Walked back. Relieved himself against a tree, spoke softly.
"Who?"
"Harald Haraldsson." A long pause before Gunnar spoke again.
"Nice night for a walk; bit far from home."
"Guard captain?"
"Kari Egilsson, bottom of Greenvale."
"Tall, left eye missing. Hiring?"
"Left two with fever, Kolskegg saw a pretty face three days back, probably still there. Could be."
"I'll be by in the morning. I'm Connol Hrolfson, bottom of Mainvale. Pass
He looked straight at Harald for a moment. Harald looked back, nodded. Stephen went out.
By the time Harald woke it was almost dark. The table was spread with a cloth, on that a platter, on that an assortment of sausage, dried meat, dried fruit, cheese, bread—much of it hard baked biscuit. Dinner enough for three men. Harald ate some of the bread and cheese while he was putting on his armor, dumped the rest of the platter's contents onto the cloth. A minute later he was out of the room, the bundle of food concealed by his cloak.
In the stable he found the mare, rubbed down, fed and rested. He saddled her with the help of a curious stable boy.
"A little exercise before night time, good for both of us. Can you take a message to your lord?"
The boy looked up curiously.
"Lord Stephen is sending a messenger. I would like him to carry a brief message from me as well."
The boy waited expectantly.
"The message is that Harald regrets having had to depart in haste, and hopes to visit again shortly. Do you have that?"
"Harald regrets having had to depart in haste, hopes to visit again shortly."
"That's right. Tell Stephen you have to tell that to the messenger."
The boy ran off. Harald strapped on bedding and saddlebags, stuffing the bundle of food into one of them, hooked on bowcase and quiver, led the horse out of the stable. Five minutes more took him through the gate, into the night.
Ten miles west, half the night gone, he made camp on the far slope of a ridge half a mile from the road. No doubt Stephen had several men who could succeed in not following him, but there was no reason to make things harder for them than necessary. He slept till dawn, climbed to the top of the ridge; the road was empty. He went back to sleep. Near noon he lunched on Stephen's bounty, removed the faint signs of his camp, mounted.
Stephen's hill to the base of Northgate he counted four days travel, more or less—a little more without a remount, a little less without an army. Late afternoon of the fourth found him ten miles north of the hostel, a little west of the road. He made camp in a wood running down from the foothills. Beyond loomed the mountains, their far side home. He wondered what his oldest grandson was up to. A year. No doubt Gerda had coped.
The road north was empty; Harald spent most of the remaining daylight searching the woods for food. It was still empty when he got back. When dark fell he built his fire in a hollow out of sight of the road, dined on fresh meat and wild greens with a little of his dwindling supply of biscuit.
The next day the road carried a few riders and a mule train south from the Empire—Belkhani guards. He remained hidden, foraged for food, let the mare graze her fill. Late the next day his luck changed. Mules, horses, even a few wagons. Traders, mule drivers, from the Imperial provinces in the far northwest by their dress. Guards in lamellar armor. Cats. They made camp less than half a mile from where he watched.
The guard commander was a cautious man; sentries ahead, behind, to both sides of his camp. The one on the hill side was a big man with a slight limp. Luck. Harald waited until dark, spent most of an hour moving quietly through the woods. 'Bjorn would have been there and back, probably with Gunnar's helmet under his arm; some advantages to being young.
"Gunnar."
The guard froze, turned, walked away from the voice. Stood a minute. Walked back. Relieved himself against a tree, spoke softly.
"Who?"
"Harald Haraldsson." A long pause before Gunnar spoke again.
"Nice night for a walk; bit far from home."
"Guard captain?"
"Kari Egilsson, bottom of Greenvale."
"Tall, left eye missing. Hiring?"
"Left two with fever, Kolskegg saw a pretty face three days back, probably still there. Could be."
"I'll be by in the morning. I'm Connol Hrolfson, bottom of Mainvale. Pass
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