the Bazhir for generations. Sometimes they chose to get extra income by raiding into Tusaine and Tyra as well.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lord Wyldon said when the subject of hillmen arose over their third night’s campfire. “According to the local army commander, the area we’re visiting has been scoured of bandits. You’ll have to prove your courage against bears, hill lions, and the like.”
They finally made camp just north of a tributary of the Drell, the River Hasteren. By then they’d been riding for ten days and were glad to stop for a while. Kel was particularly careful to look after Peachblossom. The heat was hard on the big gelding, though she couldn’t say if it affected his mood. Peachblossom was always grumpy.
They camped by a small pond that was cupped between hills and fed by a lively stream. Last year there had been a wooden building for shelter for the pages and a stable for their mounts, though Kel and Eda had slept in the open. This year everyone either put up tents or slept under open sky. Even those who chose to sleep without shelter had to prove to Lord Wyldon they could set up their tents quickly and well. Kel had three tries before the training master was satisfied. Neal had ten.
“I hate tents,” he grumbled as they went to gather firewood. “They smell funny and they weigh too much. I’d rather sleep under a tree.”
“You may change your mind when dark comes,” replied Kel, amused. “That’s when the bugs will realize they don’t have to go to the inn to dine.”
They remained in that spot for a week. Game was scarce there. Lord Wyldon said he wanted to teach them, not spend teaching hours trying to feed them. They rode for a day and built a new camp.
The next morning Lord Wyldon sent groups out in different directions to map terrain and to hunt for supper, each with a senior page in command. Kel was in Faleron’s company, along with Neal, Prosper of Tameran, Merric, Owen and Seaver. Faleron, Merric, Neal, and Owen carried longbows; Kel and the others brought spears. If worse came to worst, they agreed, they could try spear-fishing in the broad creek they followed. Jump came, sniffing along the ground. The sparrows spread out as humans and dog hiked, looking for new and tasty seeds in the brush.
The creek led them into a small, twisting valley edged on one side by sandstone cliffs. “Oh, Kel, look,” piped Owen, “a height my lord hasn’t made you climb!”
“From your lips to the gods’ ears, silly - hush!” Kel told her friend, cuffing him gently on the shoulder.
“Hush,” ordered Faleron. “You want to scare off all the game?”
Being quiet as they headed into the valley saved their lives. Three hundred yards along, when they rounded a bend in the cliff wall, the pages found a raider camp. Had they been making noise, the outlaws would have been ready. As it was, Faleron gestured frantically for the pages to back up, but too late. A mangy dog howled the alarm; Jump snarled in answer. The hillmen, who’d been napping, scrambled to their feet.
“Run!” yelled Faleron.
They were a hundred feet down the valley when they heard the pounding of hooves. The bandits rode into view on ugly, rugged horses who looked every bit as mean as their masters. They swept out and around the pages, cutting off their escape route. Jump raced into the fray. He leaped and fastened his jaws on a rider’s arm, his weight pulling the man from the saddle. The horse reared, panicked by its master’s fall. Two men swerved to avoid them and collided, going down in a tangle of screaming horses. The sparrows arrived, chattering in rage as they flew into the raiders’ faces, attacking their eyes.
“Jump, come!” screamed Kel. “Faleron, orders?”
Faleron stared at the riders; his eyes flicked from those on the right to those on the left, uncertain. Kel turned to Neal as the oldest. He was as bewildered as Faleron. Kel looked at the others. Merric, Seaver, and Owen were
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lord Wyldon said when the subject of hillmen arose over their third night’s campfire. “According to the local army commander, the area we’re visiting has been scoured of bandits. You’ll have to prove your courage against bears, hill lions, and the like.”
They finally made camp just north of a tributary of the Drell, the River Hasteren. By then they’d been riding for ten days and were glad to stop for a while. Kel was particularly careful to look after Peachblossom. The heat was hard on the big gelding, though she couldn’t say if it affected his mood. Peachblossom was always grumpy.
They camped by a small pond that was cupped between hills and fed by a lively stream. Last year there had been a wooden building for shelter for the pages and a stable for their mounts, though Kel and Eda had slept in the open. This year everyone either put up tents or slept under open sky. Even those who chose to sleep without shelter had to prove to Lord Wyldon they could set up their tents quickly and well. Kel had three tries before the training master was satisfied. Neal had ten.
“I hate tents,” he grumbled as they went to gather firewood. “They smell funny and they weigh too much. I’d rather sleep under a tree.”
“You may change your mind when dark comes,” replied Kel, amused. “That’s when the bugs will realize they don’t have to go to the inn to dine.”
They remained in that spot for a week. Game was scarce there. Lord Wyldon said he wanted to teach them, not spend teaching hours trying to feed them. They rode for a day and built a new camp.
The next morning Lord Wyldon sent groups out in different directions to map terrain and to hunt for supper, each with a senior page in command. Kel was in Faleron’s company, along with Neal, Prosper of Tameran, Merric, Owen and Seaver. Faleron, Merric, Neal, and Owen carried longbows; Kel and the others brought spears. If worse came to worst, they agreed, they could try spear-fishing in the broad creek they followed. Jump came, sniffing along the ground. The sparrows spread out as humans and dog hiked, looking for new and tasty seeds in the brush.
The creek led them into a small, twisting valley edged on one side by sandstone cliffs. “Oh, Kel, look,” piped Owen, “a height my lord hasn’t made you climb!”
“From your lips to the gods’ ears, silly - hush!” Kel told her friend, cuffing him gently on the shoulder.
“Hush,” ordered Faleron. “You want to scare off all the game?”
Being quiet as they headed into the valley saved their lives. Three hundred yards along, when they rounded a bend in the cliff wall, the pages found a raider camp. Had they been making noise, the outlaws would have been ready. As it was, Faleron gestured frantically for the pages to back up, but too late. A mangy dog howled the alarm; Jump snarled in answer. The hillmen, who’d been napping, scrambled to their feet.
“Run!” yelled Faleron.
They were a hundred feet down the valley when they heard the pounding of hooves. The bandits rode into view on ugly, rugged horses who looked every bit as mean as their masters. They swept out and around the pages, cutting off their escape route. Jump raced into the fray. He leaped and fastened his jaws on a rider’s arm, his weight pulling the man from the saddle. The horse reared, panicked by its master’s fall. Two men swerved to avoid them and collided, going down in a tangle of screaming horses. The sparrows arrived, chattering in rage as they flew into the raiders’ faces, attacking their eyes.
“Jump, come!” screamed Kel. “Faleron, orders?”
Faleron stared at the riders; his eyes flicked from those on the right to those on the left, uncertain. Kel turned to Neal as the oldest. He was as bewildered as Faleron. Kel looked at the others. Merric, Seaver, and Owen were
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