Page 81 of Swordheart
Brindle had not slowed the ox. They were beginning to pass out of the square by this point. Halla held her breath to see if the warrior would continue pacing them.
He drew his horse up. “Be careful, priest,” he said. “The roads are dangerous for those not under the Mother’s protection.”
“I will inform my superiors of your concern.”
And that was it. The ox plodded onward. The warrior turned his horse back.
Sarkis opened his mouth to say something and Zale shook their head warningly. “Later.”
It was beginning to turn to early evening when the plume of smoke faded in the sky. Zale pulled their robes tightly around their thin shoulders. “Damnable Motherhood,” they muttered.
“We tangled with them briefly on the road,” said Halla. “But they were a lot more persistent with you.”
“There is a rivalry between the Motherhood and most other faiths,” said Zale. “A largely one-sided one. The rest of us manage to get along tolerably well, why can’t they?” They grumbled something under their breath.
The sun set early in autumn. Sarkis saw the distance they had travelled… or more accurately, failed to travel… and stifled a sigh. The ox moved at half the speed of a human walking, if that.
Still, it’s not as if you have anywhere to be. That clammy-handed fellow does not seem like the type to destroy a house he lives in. And if time were of the essence, the Rat Temple would likely have provided us with a swifter transport than the great god’s slowest ox.
The wagon had two beds that folded down from the sides. Zale took one that night, and then looked helplessly at Halla and Sarkis.
“I shall guard outside,” said Sarkis firmly. Halla’s presence while asleep was already costing him rest. Lying on the floor less than a foot away from her would be entirely too much.
Zale frowned. “There are extra blankets, but are you sure? It is cold out.”
“It is no hardship. I have slept on stone with snow blowing in—”
“Don’t get him started,” said Halla. “Just make him take extra blankets.” She paused. “Err—wait, does Brindle need a bed?”
“Brindle stays with the ox,” said Zale. “I’ve traveled with him two or three times before, and he won’t leave his charge for anything less than a blizzard.”
Sarkis paused, one hand on the door. “Is he trustworthy?”
“Who, Brindle?” Zale looked surprised. “I have never had cause to doubt him. The Temple employs a small group of gnoles who appear to be related, either by blood or family ties. They have a complicated caste system, and I don’t believe humans understand it as well as we think we do, but Brindle is a job-gnole, though a low-level one. The high-level job-gnoles are traders and negotiators. One of them negotiates the contracts for the entire group. I suppose if one of the higher job-gnoles planned to hand us over to bandits or some other group for ransom, Brindle would likely go along with it, but they’ve never done anything like that, and we have employed them for years now. Since not long after the gnoles arrived, in fact.”
Sarkis nodded, and stepped outside.
It was a cold, clear night. He burrowed into the blankets, feeling the sharp bite of the air in his lungs. The temperature had dropped in just the few days since he and Halla had been sleeping outdoors.
The moon was cut down to a half smile on the horizon. Sarkis could hear the ox breathing, and Brindle talking softly to it inwhat must have been his own language. From inside the wagon came the sounds of two people moving around in an enclosed space, which was mostly occasional thumps and apologies.
He felt a brief qualm about leaving Halla alone with the priest, but squelched it. Should Zale prove untrustworthy, Sarkis was less than three feet away. If Halla so much as yelped, he would be through the door and ready to skewer the Rat priest first and ask questions later.
But she did not yelp. The stars moved in the cold sky, and Sarkis slept as if he were home in the Weeping Lands and woke with frost on his beard.
CHAPTER 27
“Nowthisis traveling,” said Halla, holding a cup of hot tea between her hands to warm them. Zale had already cooked bacon, and was now frying slabs of bread in the grease. The air was still cold, but she had slept in a bed rather than on the frozen ground.
Sarkis’s lips quirked as he looked at her across the fire. “What, sleeping in hedges and ditches was not to your liking?”
Halla rolled her eyes at him, licking bacon grease off her fingers. Sarkis’s gaze locked on her mouth, and it took her a moment to think why.
Oh. Uh. Licking my fingers. Yes. Men get very interested in that. Should I try to flirt? Or am I supposed to lick something else?
She was out of bacon and probably nobody found licking a tin cup sexy. Licking the wagon was right out.
Dammit, I’m bad at this.
