because we had walked this path together, coming the other way.
We passed the place of last autumn’s ambush, where the bodies of Flint’s Enforcer comrades had been piled up and burned. No sign was left of that carnage. If there had been remains, the rebels had made sure they did not lie there long. We went by quickly, not talking.
We did not take the path along the valley past Corbie’s Wood, the burned village that had been my childhood home, for we wanted to avoid the busier tracks as long as possible. Instead, we went by Lone Tarn, along the ridge that looked westward over the valley. It was a journey of several days from Shadowfell to Three Hags Pass. By night we sheltered in caves, or under overhangs, or—once—in a tumbledown hut: not the place where Flint had tended to me when I was sick, but a ruin that was home only to spiders and beetles. Tali and I barely spoke to each other, except for her curt instructions about taking the left fork or the right, or keeping quiet, or waiting while she scanned the territory ahead. When we camped for the night, she set snares; a rabbit or two supplemented the supplies we carried.
I had wondered if Silver’s clan, the Good Folk who hadhelped me when I came the other way, would appear again. Once past Lone Tarn we were back in the Watch of the West, their home territory. But then, Tali was armed; Silver’s people had steered clear of me while I was with Flint because of his iron weaponry. My own knife traveled in its protective sheath. Tali would not shield her blades. “I understand the difficulty,” she’d said. “But there are many dangers between here and the coast, including troops of Enforcers, and I can’t protect you without iron. I need my own weapons and I need them ready to use.”
Traveling with Tali was quicker than it had been with Flint. I was fitter, of course, after a winter of warmth and good feeding, not to speak of all that running up and down the Ladder. But there was more to it. I began to realize how careful Flint had been for my welfare on that earlier journey, making sure I rested and ate well, pacing the walks to suit my shorter legs, often refusing to let me help with the tasks of making and striking camp. Tali treated me as an equal or, on occasion, a not especially useful underling. She made few concessions. When night came, I slept the sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Once we were over Three Hags Pass, Tali changed into her female clothing. From here on we would encounter more and more other travelers, and the less of a warrior she appeared, the less likely she’d be to attract attention. There was no need for her to say she hated wearing a skirt; the way she walked in it made it perfectly clear.
With the pass behind us we were in the Rush valley, where the river tumbled and roared and swept itsway down to lose itself in Deepwater, close by the king’s stronghold of Summerfort. So early in the season it was unlikely Keldec would be in residence, but there would be Enforcers guarding the place, and folk coming in and out with supplies—while the king only lived at Summerfort in the warmer months, he maintained permanent households both there and at Winterfort in the east. There was only one road down the valley, and that was the king’s road, which crossed the Rush by the king’s bridge, where there were always guards. We wouldn’t be using that bridge.
“Hollow will let us over,” I told Tali as we descended the upper valley in our working women’s clothing. Tali had a swathing kerchief around head and neck, concealing her unusually short hair and her tattoos. “He’ll provide a night’s shelter too. I just need to speak to him nicely, make sure he remembers me.”
“A brollachan.”
“A brollachan, yes. No stranger than some of the others you’ve encountered in recent times.”
“Aren’t brollachans fiercely territorial? That’s what I recall from the old stories. The idea of sheltering in one’s house doesn’t sit
We passed the place of last autumn’s ambush, where the bodies of Flint’s Enforcer comrades had been piled up and burned. No sign was left of that carnage. If there had been remains, the rebels had made sure they did not lie there long. We went by quickly, not talking.
We did not take the path along the valley past Corbie’s Wood, the burned village that had been my childhood home, for we wanted to avoid the busier tracks as long as possible. Instead, we went by Lone Tarn, along the ridge that looked westward over the valley. It was a journey of several days from Shadowfell to Three Hags Pass. By night we sheltered in caves, or under overhangs, or—once—in a tumbledown hut: not the place where Flint had tended to me when I was sick, but a ruin that was home only to spiders and beetles. Tali and I barely spoke to each other, except for her curt instructions about taking the left fork or the right, or keeping quiet, or waiting while she scanned the territory ahead. When we camped for the night, she set snares; a rabbit or two supplemented the supplies we carried.
I had wondered if Silver’s clan, the Good Folk who hadhelped me when I came the other way, would appear again. Once past Lone Tarn we were back in the Watch of the West, their home territory. But then, Tali was armed; Silver’s people had steered clear of me while I was with Flint because of his iron weaponry. My own knife traveled in its protective sheath. Tali would not shield her blades. “I understand the difficulty,” she’d said. “But there are many dangers between here and the coast, including troops of Enforcers, and I can’t protect you without iron. I need my own weapons and I need them ready to use.”
Traveling with Tali was quicker than it had been with Flint. I was fitter, of course, after a winter of warmth and good feeding, not to speak of all that running up and down the Ladder. But there was more to it. I began to realize how careful Flint had been for my welfare on that earlier journey, making sure I rested and ate well, pacing the walks to suit my shorter legs, often refusing to let me help with the tasks of making and striking camp. Tali treated me as an equal or, on occasion, a not especially useful underling. She made few concessions. When night came, I slept the sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Once we were over Three Hags Pass, Tali changed into her female clothing. From here on we would encounter more and more other travelers, and the less of a warrior she appeared, the less likely she’d be to attract attention. There was no need for her to say she hated wearing a skirt; the way she walked in it made it perfectly clear.
With the pass behind us we were in the Rush valley, where the river tumbled and roared and swept itsway down to lose itself in Deepwater, close by the king’s stronghold of Summerfort. So early in the season it was unlikely Keldec would be in residence, but there would be Enforcers guarding the place, and folk coming in and out with supplies—while the king only lived at Summerfort in the warmer months, he maintained permanent households both there and at Winterfort in the east. There was only one road down the valley, and that was the king’s road, which crossed the Rush by the king’s bridge, where there were always guards. We wouldn’t be using that bridge.
“Hollow will let us over,” I told Tali as we descended the upper valley in our working women’s clothing. Tali had a swathing kerchief around head and neck, concealing her unusually short hair and her tattoos. “He’ll provide a night’s shelter too. I just need to speak to him nicely, make sure he remembers me.”
“A brollachan.”
“A brollachan, yes. No stranger than some of the others you’ve encountered in recent times.”
“Aren’t brollachans fiercely territorial? That’s what I recall from the old stories. The idea of sheltering in one’s house doesn’t sit
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