Page 106 of Dragon Avenger (Age of Fire 2)

Jessup came through on his harness. It was a clever bit of craft, looping around her neck, tail, and forelimbs. There were eyes here and there in the leather straps, where she could hook game nets (or bags, or waterskins, she thought). She had room in the buckles for her to almost double in size. He took it away almost as soon as she tried it on, insisting on improvements, and returned it with twin linked straps running ladderlike down her back. She found some game nets in Mossbell’s dry attic and learned to fix them on herself.

With that, she told Rainfall she’d be gone a few days and plunged into the Thickets. She did hunt, but her real purpose was a trek to Galahall.

Know your hunting ground, Mother always used to say. As hatchlings, Auron had always ignored that advice and plunged straight into the center of the home cave as if expecting a slug to pop up and ask to be eaten. Hunting took patience, knowledge of game trails and habits, and above all, a feel for terrain, weather, and wind.

She waited for an evening that promised rain to approach Galahall. She sneaked onto its lands, circled wide of its herds and flocks, trotted through ditches bordering its fields, and eventually came upon the Thane’s Hall.

It had grown over the years, ever larger, she guessed by the quality of the stonework. The oldest, blockiest, and worst-laid stones were in a tall square tower that stood at its corner. The tower, higher than an oak, had narrow windows and an overhanging platform at the top. A building had grown up around it, extending first north and then west and then south again so it turned back on itself, with the tower watching a wide courtyard. The north and west buildings were rough-hewn as the tower on their first level, almost windowless, but the level above was fancier and decorated with flourishes that Wistala thought looked like leaves and faces of woodland creatures.

The south part of Galahall had a huge door facing the tower with a grand balcony above, and windows filled with tinted glass bigger than any door in Mossbell. Smaller supports helped hold up the high, smooth walls of that part of the hall, and there were beds of flowers and shrubs in between under the windows.

If Wistala didn’t know better, she would think that a truly splendid fellow lived inside.

The whole of Galahall was surrounded by a wide ditch filled with water, bridged under the tower. She approached the moat and sniffed at the water. It smelled faintly of sewage, but the bottom-feeding fish living in it didn’t seem to mind.

She paid close attention to the windows of the tower. Unless the rooms were very small, each level of the tower would probably have only one room. The stairs must be on the inside.

With that, she left, angling for the ridge marked by its single line of trees.

She came home to Mossbell with her bags full of pheasants and rabbits, and her mind full of paths and stream-crossings, thorny runs and thick stands. Crows followed her intermittently on her way home, as if hoping that she’d drop a tidbit, but she arrived at Mossbell with a week’s worth of dinners and stews to receive hearty words of welcome and praise from Rainfall.

Even Stog seemed pleased to have her back in the stable. He trotted up to her on healthy hooves. “The mice and rats ran wild while you were hunting,” Stog grumbled.

“Next time you’ll come along. We’ll see if you’re a match for the thane’s horses.”

Chapter 14

Wistala planned her venture all the next week, as the pheasants and rabbits made the transition from the cool room to stews and pies and soups. She brought up the subject to Rainfall as he worked in his garden, mentioning that she’d seen deer tracks in the thickets and had a mind to bring back a tender young yearling.

She explained her plans for the next day to him, all the while hugging her real intent to her breast.

“I’ve found some hollows even the hunters avoid. Stog seems willing to carry a deer home.”

“I’m sure he’d enjoy the exercise.”

“I’ll need a harness for Stog, of course, and a bag of meal.”

“I’ll rise early and put the harness on,” Rainfall said. “If that suits you.”

“You’re too kind,” Wistala said. Her host’s pleasant manner inspired frilly language in return. Though she stifled a prrum only with difficulty, imaging Lada’s arrival at Mossbell atop Stog’s back, and Rainfall’s delight at having her returned to him.

She stayed in the house that night, too excited to sleep, and studied Lada’s sketched portrait by candlelight long after Rainfall had turned in. Finally she sniffed the doll from the little chair under the musical instruments until she knew the odor, then wrapped it in a clean cloth from the larder.

On her way out, she noted that the house looked even more bare, if that were possible. The cloak room was bulging with a last few treasures Rainfall doted on: everything from furniture to rolls of heavy draperies to a jeweled belt his grandfather had been awarded for a victory to a silver music box that played a tune his mate had been fond of. Rainfall was sacrificing yet more of the home’s interior to raise funds to bring tenants and livestock to his lands. Perhaps matters had gone ill with the dwarves.

The doll was hidden in with a few game bags by the time Rainfall entered the stable the next morning. He wished them both farewell and a fortunate hunt.

“All the spits will be cleaned in expectation of a successful return,” Rainfall said as he waved them off. “Rah-ya! for an increase to your summer’s tally!”

Wistala capered around Stog as soon as they were out of sight of Mossbell, trickery and adventure in her blood. “We’re finally off for Galahall.”

“Where I get to show up those oat-stuffed horses.”

“Yes. When we get to the ridge, you’ll have to show me what you can manage. That’s the only path I couldn’t pick for you.”

They passed through the Thickets easily enough. Stog was both strong and sure-footed, following her in and out of the network of thorny hollows with nothing more than a few bitter oaths when a thorn got him. It was a bad place for flies, too, as it turned out. They ignored Wistala, but they clustered around Stog’s eyes, ears, and tailvent.

They paused for grain and water at a muddy hole. The flies grew thicker than ever as Stog pawed up mud to gather drinkable water.

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