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balls of Orfindel!" he said, laying a hand on Hosea's shoulder, and shaking
Hosea's limp form gently. "Orfindel, can you hear me?" He took Hosea in his
arms and stood, showing no effort at all. "Come. I am the ferryman, called
Harbard, sometimes known as Harbard the Old. My wife, Frida, is a healer, and
Orfindel has need of one."
Ian's tunnel vision was narrowing, but he followed Harbard for about five
steps before he fainted.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Middle Dominion
"Move faster, ye, " Herolf said, turning around for a moment to glare at the
four humans, then turning back. "We have another four or five days to travel
until we reach the edge of Dominion territory and I can turn you over to the
House of Fire, and I'd sooner it be four than five, and just as soon it be
three, were ye to ask me."
Torrie was surprised that the four of them were allowed to walk unfettered,
but he didn't feel like looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Could they have forgotten to do it? That didn't make sense. They even were
allowed to space out a bit as they walked in the middle of the party, preceded
by half a dozen Sons, followed by twice as many.
No, it wasn't out of carelessness. A Son could easily out-sprint the best of
them. But that was just in the short run, and that gave
Torrie an idea. Uncle Hosea once said that humans were the best, most stubborn
runners, that a healthy man or woman could run any other creature on the
planet into the ground. It was a hunter's thing but maybe it would work for
the prey, too?
Okay, he thought, assuming I can break away, how could he manage to take the
others with him? Or maybe not all the others if
Herolf only had one Thorian del Thorian in hand, what could he afford to do to
him?
Nothing, probably. And with Torrie free, maybe Torrie could do something
useful. He remembered stories Uncle Hosea used to tell about the Vestri, and
particularly Dvalin's Folk, and about how important the status of guest was to
them. If he could find one of their burrows and did Uncle Hosea say where the
Vestri were to be found? Torrie couldn't remember. Torrie hadn't asked him a
lot about the geography of the mythical countries that Uncle Hosea's stories
flowed from; he hadn't been planning to have to fucking walk through them,
either.
Ahead, the road followed the ridges toward the mountains rising off at the
horizon, while to the west and below, the river Gilfi twisted all silvery
through the valley.
Ten miles away? Fifteen, maybe? Fifty? It was hard to tell. It didn't seem to
be getting any closer.
The worst of it was the way Dad acted. It was as though the Sons had taken all
the spine out of him.
He would flinch every time one of the Sons walked by, throwing his arm out
defensively, as though for protection, no trace of threat in his manner.
The Sons despised that, both wolf and bitch. So did Torrie, although he didn't
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say anything. What would he say? Show a little spine, Dad? Act like you're a
man instead of a coward?
But Torrie didn't believe it for a moment.
Ahead of the procession, another road T-ed into the main one, leading off
across a raised berm, toward a village no more than a mile away.
"Herolf?" Torrie walked briskly, up toward where the leader of the Sons
trotted more back and forth in impatience than forward and backward. "Herolf?
Can I ask you something?"
The large head, golden fur trimmed with black, turned toward him, and the wolf
cocked its head to one side.
A hairy bitch in human form, her face covered with a light brown fuzz, stopped
rubbing the scar that was where her left middle nipple ought to be, and
growled at Herolf, spreading her hands and growling some more when he answered
in a way that Torrie was sure was sarcastic.
She turned back to Torrie. "It would depend. If it's 'how much longer is it
until we get there,' I get to eat two of your fingers." Her smile showed teeth
that were ample for the job. "So lie to him, please."
Torrie shook his head. "It is about shoes. My mom and Maggie have but
slippers," he said. "Good soles on them, but there is a village there, I
see would it be possible to get them proper shoes? Humans don't have thick
soles on our feet the way Sons do, and "
Herolf cut him off with a growl, then growled at the bitch.
" 'What would you plan to use for money to pay a cobbler?' he asks," she said.
Torrie swallowed. "I had thought to use some of the gold that you seized from
my pack and that of my father."
He had never heard a wolf laugh before, and Torrie was sure that the answer
was not only going to be no, but to be offensively so, when the bitch turned [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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