“Quick, now, Evaleigh,” Gord urged. “Sit on the edge of the pier and slide off and into the boat. I’ll catch you so we don’t capsize.”

The girl shrugged and complied without further hesitation. After all she had been through this night, what was one little leap into a bobbing cockleshell? Although the skiff rocked violently when she landed, Gord was true to his word, both catching her neatly and maintaining the stability of the small craft. After helping her find a seat in the bow, he moved to the stern and picked up the sweep that was resting there. A few quick pushes and pulls, and Gord had sculled the boat out of sight of the wharf and into the current. His sculling and the flow of the Artonsamay soon carried them through the wide Ratspool, where various small ships and barges were moored, and on down the river.

Keeping well to the left of midstream, Gord passed the lowering blackness of Stoink’s walls and towers without incident. He used the oar mainly to steer now; the current was swift in this area. After an hour, there was still no sign of pursuit, and the walled town was far to the north, for the river bent sharply south after passing the place.

“Someone might eventually put a missing boat together with your escape, lady, but not for some time, I think. Our only real worry now would be magical assistance in hounding us down-I know little of dweomercraft, and less of how to combat it.”

“For once I come to the rescue, Gord,” Evaleigh said with a musical laugh. “Of magic and enspellment I know a little, for my dear grandmother-great-great-grandmother, really-taught me some of that art, though nothing potent or useful here. That kind woman did bestow upon me something that will serve us now, I think. Wait, I’ll show you.”

Gord watched the girl shed her cloaks. The golden light of the newly risen sun revealed that she wore tunic and hose of dove gray. “You are dressed as a boy, lady, but no such youth ever displayed such a figure in those garments!” he said.

Evaleigh smiled her pleasure at the compliment but kept up her work, tugging here and there at the leather strip girding her narrow waist. From it she drew a flat, milky crystal. “Look at this!” she said proudly, handing it to him.

The evident pride and assurance the small stone gave her made Gord examine it closely. He noted that the crystal was carved so as to resemble a bird with wings folded down as if to shelter something before it. The thing was bound with silver wire, and a silver chain was fastened to it for wearing around the neck. He handed it back to the girl.

“It is a well-crafted bit of jewelry, lady, but looks to be of no great value, I fear. Why, it would fetch no more than a few-”

“This is no trinket!” Evaleigh interrupted with more laughter. “It is an amulet of power, little fonkin-a protection against any seeking me by means of spell or dweomer.”

“I see, lady,” Gord responded respectfully. Then, with a bit of an edge in his voice, he added, “What is this ‘fonkin’ you call me?”

Evaleigh explained with a giggle that it was an elvish term for someone silly or ignorant. “Be not offended, Gord, for I employed it only as an endearment,” she said sweetly.

Now it was Gord’s turn to be flattered by her words, and he smiled at her. She returned the smile, meanwhile fastening the chain so the amulet was secured around her neck. The process interested Gord, for the tunic was thin, and when it was drawn tight by her movements, some most interesting details of her anatomy were revealed. Evaleigh seemed not to mind the scrutiny a whit, but Gord was careful not to overdo it.

“Make a pallet of the cloaks in the bottom of this skiff, Evaleigh, and sleep a bit,” he said. “I’ll steer us carefully so as to avoid contact with any other craft.” The girl started to object, but Gord was firm, and Evaleigh did admit she was very tired indeed. “With you out of sight,” he added, “anyone passing or observing us from the bank will think I am a fisher, alone and of no interest. It is safest this way.”

Evaleigh remained asleep through the morning and well into the afternoon. When he was sure no other craft were in sight, Gord allowed himself to doze now and again, but he always remained in a sitting position so that he would not sleep long. Serenity, not fatigue, was making him drowsy; he was young and long accustomed to remaining awake for many hours at a stretch when he had to. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, his companion began to stir and make little moaning sounds. Whether they arose from discomfort from the hard bed or from a dream, Gord knew she would soon wake and would be thirsty and hungry, as he was.

There was a small tributary of the Artonsamay at hand, and he sculled the boat into its waters, working hard to pass through the strong flow where the two streams met. When the girl did awaken a half-hour or so later, he had managed to work their skiff well up the creek to a sheltered bank where willows hung down and hid the boat. As the prow bumped against the shore, Evaleigh sat up and looked around, asking where they were. Gord helped her out of the skiff, and soon both were seated on the soft grass beneath a huge, old weeping willow. They were famished, and the dry and tasteless rations that Gord brought forth from a wallet was not much, but it helped to quell the pangs of hunger when washed down with the clear water from the stream at their feet. Gord closed his eyes for a minute, enjoying the comfortable feelings of a full belly and the yielding grass beneath his tired body. A minute became a few minutes, and…

“Wake up!” Evaleigh was shaking him gently but urgently.

Gord’s eyes flew open. It was fully dark-nearly lightless here beneath the willow. He had been asleep for hours!

“Listen, Gord, someone is coming!” Evaleigh’s tone was filled with fright.

“Yes, I hear,” he told the girl, taking her arm and squeezing it in reassurance. “We should be safe enough here, if we are quiet.”

Voices and the clopping sound of horses moving slowly came clearly to them on the night breeze. Peering out from the shelter of the drooping branches, Gord saw several riders outlined against the sky. They were heading for the general area of the copse of willows, but not directly at the place where he and Evaleigh were concealed. Soon Gord could count their number and hear what the riders were saying.

“Over there, Weasel, see the dead one?”

“Shit, I ain’t blind, Mossback, I’m going for it!”

“Shut up, you two,” a fellow at the end of the file of eight horsemen said sharply. “You’ll wake up some wight!”

“Ah, blow it out your ass, Barl! Nobody or nothing in this godforsaken place to hear,” Weasel retorted.

They rode past, bickering and bantering. About fifty yards farther on, the men dismounted. Although it was a dark night, Gord could discern the goal they had sought-a large, dead tree on a small knoll. Whatever business they had there was concluded in an hour or so, and they again passed, heading back the way they had come, but traveling silently now.

Gord and Evaleigh stayed put until morning. Then he arose and instructed her to remain hidden. In the early light, it was an easy matter for him to follow the trail the men had left and see where they had stopped. It appeared to be a camp, with an old, dead fire. Gord knew no such fire had existed the night before, and it immediately occurred to him that the ashes of a “fire” would be a good place to hide something. Some further examination discovered little else in the area, so he decided to play his hunch.

After a few moments of digging with dagger and knife, one of Gord’s blades struck metal. More digging brought forth a cache of silver and electrum-far more than was practical for himself and Evaleigh to carry. Gord scooped out several dozen of each type of coin, replaced ashes on top of the remainder, and made the whole look as undisturbed as possible.