"Greatheart, take me back," I asked.
His ears twitched, but he didn't move.
"Home," I tried.
Nothing.
"Back," I tried again. "Return?"
Greatheart shook his head, and looked like he was falling back asleep.
"What am I going to do?" I asked.
The goats' heads all popped up from the grasses around the stream, and they all looked off to the left. Greatheart looked in the same direction, and whinnied, as if in welcome. A shiver went down my spine. Slowly, I turned my head.
There were four warriors on horseback, on the farthest ridge.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck. Even at this distance I could make out Epor's smile, and Isdra's braid. Gils's mop of hair, and Keir . . .
Oh beloved.
His armor gleamed, the hilts of his two swords jutting over his shoulder. I shuddered, even as my eyes filled with tears. The riders were colorless, somehow, as if the sunlight was going right through them. But clearly, Marcus was not there. That gave me a shred of hope, and that was enough for now.
Epor and Isdra disappeared behind the ridge. Keir lifted his arm, and gestured for me to follow. He and Gils disappeared, following Epor and Isdra out of sight.
I took a deep breath, and pointed Greatheart in that direction, and urged him into a trot.
* * *
"STOP!"
Greatheart snorted, and pulled up short. We'd been traveling for some time, trotting along on the path set for us by the dead. I'd only caught a few glimpses of them since we'd started out, always at a distance, al ways when I'd lost my sense of direction. But it had been a good hour since we'd seen them last. Startled by the command, I looked over to the left and blinked in surprise. There was a mounted warrior, scowling fiercely at me, weapon at the ready. Her mount looked angry as well, stomping its foot. I'd have been terrified, except that the warrior wielded a wooden blade, and I had tunics that were older than the warrior. The girl was dressed in leathers, her hair pulled back in a braid. She looked fierce, and determined, but it was hard not to laugh right out loud at the child.
She was mounted on one of those furry goats.
I stifled my smile, for I'd no wish to offend. "Greetings, warrior." The girl swelled with pride. "I am Pive of the Snake, Warrior of the Plains, and Guardian of the Gurtle Herds," she proclaimed in a ringing voice twice her size.
"Greetings, Pive of the Snake." I inclined my head toward her. "I am—"
"You are an intruder! And my captive!" Pive waved her sword. Greatheart shied a bit, uneasy. I had visions of my shins taking a beating from that blade. "You must come with me, to my camp, and surrender to my warleader."
"Who is your warleader?"
"Gilla of the Snake." Pive's face was screwed up with determination. "Surrender or die." I shrugged. "As you wish, warrior."
Poor little Pive almost fell off her gurtle at the ease of her conquest. Her mouth gaped open, then she recovered and gave me a grin that ran from ear to ear. "Follow me!" She sheathed her sword, and tugged on the reins. "Hup! Hup!"
"MUWAPP!" the gurtle protested, but it turned and started off at a trot. I could grin now. Pive's legs were lost in the fat, fluffy fur, but her toes hung down, almost scraping the ground.
I urged Greatheart to follow my captor.
It didn't take long. Over two rises and down along a ridge, I could see a tent close to a small pond, surrounded by gurtles. Pive was overcome with her accomplishment. "Heyla!" she called, forcing her gurtle into a gallop. The gurtle ran, but it complained the entire way. The gurtles of the herd all answered those complaints with their own, setting off a chorus that could probably be heard for miles. The tent flap opened, and an older girl emerged, followed by a boy at least her age. Their weapons were metal, their faces grim.
"Pive! Stop this noise!" the girl called out, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of me on my horse.
"Warprize!"
"No, Gilla! That's my prize," Pive said as she dismounted, and hopped up and down in her glee. Her mount shook itself all over, and then plopped down right where it was standing. Pive paid it no mind.
