Pain half wakened him occasionally, and now and then the delicate replacement of a poultice. Gradually he awakened fully, and carefully peeled the poultice off one eye. The swelling seemed mostly gone; his vision through it little restricted. Then he peeled off the other; he could see through it too, though it was still pretty swollen. His mouth, on the other hand . . . Gingerly he touched his split, still-swollen lips, and decided it was best he had no mirror, otherwise he'd be tempted to look at his teeth. His exploring tongue told him all he needed to know about them.
The evening before, and the night, were all there for him; the concussion hadn't been severe enough to block recall. Sitting up, he looked around. Melody dozed on a mat, curled beneath a blanket. He pulled his breeches back up and got out of bed, staggered a bit, then steadied. Found his boots and pulled them on. Before he left, he looked back at Melody. She'd wakened, was resting on an elbow looking at him. On an impulse, he tossed a kiss at her, then left, wondering if she knew the gesture.
He didn't walk to the longhouse, he trotted. The jarring hurt—not his head, but his mouth and ribs. Trotted limping on legs still sore from running on Six-Day night. It was already half light outdoors, but seen from the road, the village could have been deserted. He stopped on the longhouse stoop and peered inside, which was darker than he wanted, but he was in no mood to wait. Besides, even from the door he recognized Ardonor sprawled nearby, naked on a bed not his own.
He went to him, grabbed a handful of hair and lifted. Waking, Ardonor squawked in pain and indignation, grabbing at Macurdy's left wrist. Macurdy's right fist hit him on the nose. Cartilage gave, and Macurdy let him fall to the floor, then kicked him heavily in the ribs, once, twice, and felt them give too. Ardonor keened weakly, so he kicked him in the belly.
Then looked around for the others who'd beaten him. He saw Maira sitting astride a Hero, motionless now, frightened. Both had watched. He winked at them, raising a finger to his swollen lips as if saying hush, then spotted his next victim and headed toward him. Belver lay sleeping on his own low bed, snoring coarsely. Crouched above him, Macurdy locked both hands on the man's throat and squeezed, at the same time sitting on him. The snoring stopped and the eyes popped open, to stare in horrified recognition. "I'm back," Macurdy growled, then chuckled deliberately. Belver clawed at his wrists, but Macurdy just squeezed harder. After the body went slack, he got off, grabbed the man's ankles and dragged him from the bed, across the floor and out the door onto the stoop. By that time Belver was recovering consciousness. Macurdy kicked him in the leg. "Stand up."
Belver just stared. Macurdy kicked him in the belly this time, not too hard. "Stand up or I'll burst your gut with the next one." Carefully, fear in his eyes, Belver got unsteadily to his feet, then Macurdy struck him as hard as he could in the mouth. The man flung backward, hit his head on the wall and slid down it like a sack, stunned.
Hoisting him on one shoulder, Macurdy took him back inside and dumped him heavily beside Ardonor. Then he kicked Belver in the ribs, hard, and Ardonor again, before looking around. The naked Maira was trying desperately to waken Zassfel, who wasn't responding. Macurdy ignored them and headed for Kosek's bed. Kosek wasn't in it; he'd rolled off in his sleep. Macurdy knelt astraddle of him, held his head down by the hair, and began clubbing his face with a fist, shouting hoarsely now through broken teeth as he hit him. "When you"—sock, sock—"beat on someone"—sock, sock—"like this"—sock, sock—"you can't get good leverage"—sock, sock—"so you've got to use technique." When he stopped, Kosek's eyes were glazed, his face a bloody smear.
By that time a dozen or more men were sitting up or standing, watching. Zassfel was on his feet now, Maira crouching behind him. Macurdy took Kosek's ankles and dragged him toward Ardonor and Belver, pausing however near Zassfel. "Sergeant," Macurdy said, "are you ready to fight again?"
Zassfel already looked pretty well beaten up. "I had enough last night," he answered hoarsely. "Enough to know you're ready for promotion to corporal."
You're not talking too well this morning either, Macurdy thought, and moved in on him. "You told those piles of shit to beat me up. Are you ready to get down on your knees and beg forgiveness?"
Zassfel looked around wildly. "Kill the slave son of a bitch!" he yelled. "That's an order!"
No one moved except Macurdy. He slammed Zassfel right on his swollen, already broken nose, and again the blood flowed. The sergeant fell backward over the crouching Maira, to lie unmoving, tears flowing from the pain. Macurdy kicked him in the ribs then, hard enough to feel them give, leaving the man openmouthed and gasping. That done, he dragged Zassfel and Kosek, one after the other, to where he'd left the first two. There was another around somewhere, but he wasn't sure who. Dieser, probably, but he'd let it go at that.
Instead he went to his bed, buckled on his belt with its Hero-issue saber and Arbel's gift knife, and stuffed his few other personal possessions in his saddle bags. Then he rolled his blanket, slung his bow and quiver, grabbed his spear, and stalked from the building. All eyes followed him, but no one said anything or moved to interfere.
Melody had watched from the road as Macurdy had beaten up Belver, and from the door as he'd beaten Kosek and Zassfel. Now, as he came out, she stared half in awe, half in concern. "Come on," she said, "you've got to get away from here," and tugging on his sleeve, pulled him toward 2nd Platoon's stable. Melody, I know that much, he thought. I'm not totally out of my skull.
"Hurry," she said. "Saddle up and wait inside. I'll be right back." Then she left running.
Macurdy was cinching down the girth on his horse, when someone came into the stable. His head snapped around. It was Jeremid, also carrying his personal gear. The man said nothing, just grabbed a saddle blanket and began to saddle a horse.
"Saddle two, if you're coming with me," Macurdy said. Jeremid said nothing, working quickly. When each had a mount and spare ready, Macurdy stopped Jeremid inside the door. "We wait here."
"What for?"
"Melody."
Mouth open, Jeremid stared at him. The longhouse was still quiet, but there had to be activity inside. Presumably, Macurdy thought, no one had seen where he'd gone, but if any of them were thinking at all this morning, they'd surely guess. His heartbeats counted down two long minutes before he saw Melody riding toward them, a remount tethered behind. Seeing him, she beckoned. "Now," he said, and leading his mount out the door, swung into the saddle.
Like the two men, Melody had her spear in its saddle boot. Together in the growing light, the three of them trotted their horses eastward out of town, Macurdy's ribs, swollen face, sore haunches feeling every jar. He took the lead, setting the direction, though he knew nothing of the road eastward beyond the first hours' ride.
Eastward. If the others wondered why, they didn't ask.
Their horses were strong and splendidly conditioned. Thus for more than an hour they jogged without a break, then changed mounts and trotted another hour before slowing to a walk. They stayed on the road; to leave it would only slow them. And pursuers would undoubtedly have hounds which could track them easily in the forest. For the first three hours, the land along the road was as much clearings as woods, with a small village in every major opening. Finally they entered low forested hills, and having heard no sign of hounds, dismounted to lead their horses awhile.
In those three hours, no one had spoken, aside from functional suggestions and Macurdy's few orders. For one thing, Macurdy's ruined mouth made talking painful. Melody's and Jeremid's thoughts were mostly on the possibility of capture, and why on Earth they were doing this. Macurdy's were on escape, and on how hard he dared push the horses. He was willing to wear them out, if it resulted in pursuit being abandoned, but he dared not break them down. Because of his size, he'd taken two of the company's larger horses, but even so, he was a heavy burden for them.
When a meadow came into sight ahead, Jeremid said they'd best stop and let the horses graze a bit. Macurdy agreed. They took time to hobble them; there were hobble straps in every set of equipment, and they couldn't risk losing a horse.
Their pursuers would undoubtedly have a pack horse carrying a sack of oats, Jeremid said, which meant their mounts would hold up better. And the White River lay less than an hour's ride ahead, if they kept pushing. There they'd have a choice of either swimming their horses downstream or up, or straight across. Which with luck would confuse and delay pursuit.
So they rested less than twenty minutes. At the White, they swam upstream, even though it was harder on the horses. Then, instead of coming out on the other side, where their tracks would be looked for, they came out on the west bank again, and followed it upstream for several miles, on foot again, leading their horses to rest them. The hope was that their pursuers would overlook the west bank option.
At length they reentered the water, crossing this time. Then Macurdy led off eastward through untracked forest. Until, abruptly, a voice froze them. "Macurdy! Macurdy!"
None of them spoke. Their eyes scanned the woods.
"No no, Macurdy! I'm up here! Blue Wing!"
They looked up in unison to where the great raven sat in a tall, thick-boled walnut tree.
"I saw you crossing the river, and wondered why humans would be riding so far from any road or trail." Blue Wing paused. "Why are you?"
"We're in trouble," Macurdy said, "and we think men might be following us. Soldiers with hounds. We're trying to leave a trail they won't find."
Blue Wing said nothing to that, and it seemed to Macurdy that the bird comprehended neither his problem nor his strategy. A raven's solution to danger would be flight, he supposed. "I wonder," Macurdy called, "if you'd do me a favor?"
"Ask and find out."
He described the road they'd fled on, and the form that any successful pursuit would take. "I will look and see," Blue Wing said, and with a thrust of legs and wings, lifted into the sky.
They rode on then, not hurrying, for this was old forest, long unburned, and though the hills were mild, the ground had gotten pocked and humped, over the centuries, from the tipped-up roots and mouldering trunks of windthrown trees. Only once did they pause, to shoot and gut a turkey. Three miles farther, they came to a small isolated clearing, more or less level, with a cabin and outbuildings of logs. From a little distance, their roofs looked more or less intact, but saplings were already invading the clearing. There was still abundant grass though, beaten down and grayed by winter's frosts and rains, and tinged green by the new growth beneath it. Macurdy wondered why the place had been abandoned.
By then the sun was low. They rode over to the buildings and dismounted, hobbling the horses and leaving them to graze. Inside the cabin, things had been smashed, and bones were scattered around, the broken skulls human.
"Troll work!" Jeremid breathed the words, sounding spooked. The stock shed had been similarly vandalized. There too bones lay scattered and broken, with skulls of a cow, a calf, a horse.
By the time they'd looked it over, Blue Wing had found them. "No one is following you," he said. "I flew above the river to the road, and then westward quite a distance. With the trees still bare, I couldn't possibly have missed anyone. I saw not more than two riders together, and no hounds at all."
Jeremid looked at Macurdy. "What now?" he asked.
"We camp," Macurdy said. "There's plenty of wood in the woodshed. We'll take turns standing watch and keeping fires going, in case the troll's still around here somewhere. We can picket the horses inside them."
Without anyone actually suggesting it, they made their beds in the hay shed, where there were no bones, fluffing up the hay in the driest corner. The decaying roof wouldn't hold out serious rain, but it would hold heat somewhat, and protect against a shower.
Macurdy selected eight fire sites close outside the cluster of buildings, and they carried a pile of firewood to each. There was a well in front of the cabin, its white oak shoring still intact, and they raised water from it. Blue Wing announced he would sleep on its sweep. Then, in front of the hay shed, Macurdy lit the cook fire with the pass of a hand. Jeremid stared big-eyed.
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked.
"The shaman at Wolf Springs taught me. He said I had talent, and trained me in the evenings for a while."
"Could you have, uh, set fire to Zassfel this morning?" Jeremid asked.
Macurdy shrugged. "I never thought to try."
As they roasted the turkey, dusk began to settle. Eating wouldn't be easy for his damaged mouth, so Macurdy had taken an iron pot from the cabin and was stewing turkey in it. Rust stew, he thought drily as he raked coals around it.
"It's hard to believe no one's chasing us," Jeremid said quietly. "Could the bird be lying?"
Macurdy shook his head. "We're old friends from Wolf Springs."
"I believe him," Melody said. "My father was commander in his time, and a councilman since. We grew up, my brothers and I, being lectured by him. A platoon sergeant can get away with a lot, but what he did last night?" She shook her head, then cut off a slab of half-roasted turkey breast. "Of course, what you did was damned extreme, too, but you were justified."
"Justification's not all I had," Macurdy mumbled. "I had to try getting away without getting chased and caught. So I humiliated him, and pretty much crippled him for a while. That way, one of two things would happen. He might go crazy, and order the men out to get me at all costs—or he might cave in and order nothing. Or maybe he was in too bad a shape to give orders. After that it would depend on the captain, but he wouldn't send men out till after someone took the story to him. Or he might write it off and bust Zassfel."
Inwardly he grunted. Face it, Macurdy, you wanted to get even. It felt good, beating them up like that. Whatever; the good feeling was gone now. Heavily he got up and circled the buildings, lighting the watch fires.
Jeremid had volunteered to take the first watch. Now, as dusk thickened, he left with spear and sword. Using mostly his back teeth, Macurdy gnawed briefly on a piece of stewed turkey, his eyes watering from the pain. Eating, he decided, would be more of a problem than he'd feared. After a few minutes, he and Melody went into the shed and made nests in the hay. "It's going to be a cold night, Macurdy," she murmured. "We could keep warmer if we lay close together. The way you lit those fires, you could keep us both warm."
He sighed. "Melody, I'd like to. I really would. But I told you my marriage vows."
She frowned. "I never heard of anything so ridiculous. For a wife, yes, but for a husband?"
"For a husband it should be the same."
"Not for a husband who's a Hero."
"Maybe not, if he's an Ozman. But I'm not a Hero any longer anyway." He paused. "If I was married to you, would you like me to, uh, hump other women?"
That stopped her only for a moment. "I wouldn't care. It's expected. As long as I had you when I wanted you. But you wouldn't, because I'd give you all you could handle.
"Your vow's already broken," she went on. "Last night at my place. You remember; I know you do. You weren't unconscious; you couldn't have been. Even beat up like you were, you were pushing, helping out."
He almost said he couldn't help himself—that he'd been confused from his beating. Then asked himself, Who do you think you're kidding, Macurdy? You were confused when she put it in, but when you realized, you could have pushed her off. Instead he nodded. "I remember. I let it happen; it was too good to stop. But that was once. Doing it once doesn't make it all right a second time."
He thought she might get angry, but her mouth didn't tighten and her aura didn't darken. She lay thoughtful a minute. "What's she like, Macurdy? This wife of yours."
He didn't actually think about it, but answered on the premise that he needed confederates, and that she'd need to know sooner or later. "She's a member of the Sisterhood, Melody. She'd run away from them. Then, one day when I wasn't home, they came and stole her. Brought her back to Yuulith. But she had time to write me a note, and put it where I'd find it, so I followed her."
Melody's eyes reflected belief. And concern. "That's where we're going, isn't it," she said. "That's why we're going east instead of some other direction: to get her back."
He nodded.
"What's her name?"
"Varia."
"Varia." She tasted it. "Does she love you?"
"Yep."
"I've heard stories about the Sisters. If they stole her back, you know what kind of life she's leading now. In spite of any vows."
"I don't know."
"They put them with studs, like you do mares, but not just one stud. Different ones hump them till they're pregnant. And when they've weaned their kid, they send the studs around again. And the story is, they like it, like the slave girls do that get taken to the House of Heroes."
His face was swollen and discolored, but she could read the bleakness in it, even in the failing light. "Forget I said that, Macurdy," she murmured. "I was being an asshole, and I'm sorry. You've been a real Hero, not like some of those others. What I said is true, or at least it's what people believe, but—shit!"
She sighed gustily. "I ought to wish I wasn't in love with you, but I am." She raised herself on an elbow, and reaching, caressed his better cheek with her fingertips. "If you change your mind, I'm right here beside you. And I don't think your Varia would be mad at you for humping me."
She turned away, and Macurdy went to sleep thinking that maybe Varia wouldn't be angry, but a vow was a vow. He wondered if Melody would try anything after he went to sleep, and found himself half hoping she would.
He woke to Jeremid's hand tugging his foot—his turn on watch—and got up quietly, his stomach complaining with hunger. Outside the horses looked at him briefly, then returned to grazing. The cook fire was stone cold. Cautiously he touched the pot, then reached into the still-warm water, scooped out a piece of turkey cooked soft by long boiling, and chewed painfully as he walked to the nearest watch fire. They were burning strongly; Jeremid had re-fed them before coming in.
The thin moon had already set, but he guessed it was still somewhat short of midnight; three hours would be about right for his shift, he decided; maybe three and a little bit. Recalling something Mr. Anderson had taught them at school, he found the Big Dipper; it was supposed to circle the North Star once a day. So in three hours, the dipper should go a quarter—no, an eighth of the way around the North Star. Which meant that when the pointer stars got around to—about there—he'd go wake up Melody for her watch.
He stayed on his feet, walking the perimeter to stay awake. Paying only occasional attention to his surroundings—the horses would tell him if anything was prowling. Part of the time he occupied his mind with Varia and Melody. Jeremid was a good-looking young guy; maybe Melody would decide it was him she wanted. At least she might settle for him. Hell, he told himself, they could be humping in the hay right now, for all you know. They're Ozians, and she sounded horny enough.
A twinge of jealousy surprised and irritated him. Briefly he examined his feelings, and there was no doubt: Varia was his love. Melody was—nice and kind and tough. And crazy to have run off with him; reckless at least. In Oztown she'd been someone important and privileged, and she'd thrown it away, apparently because she wanted to be humped by him, even though he'd already turned her down. Or could she actually love me? He examined the possibility to no conclusion.
The watch wore on. Several times he added wood to the fires, twice went back to the cookpot, and occasionally checked the Dipper before deciding his three hours were up and returning to the shed. Crawling, he groped, finding a bare foot that could only be Melody's. It pulled away with a rustling of old hay.
"Macurdy?" she whispered.
"Yes."
She rustled around some more, finding her boots, then got up and went outside to put them on. He felt an urge to follow her, talk with her, learn more about this girl who said she loved him. But his mouth hurt, and besides, it felt dangerous. So instead he found his blanket and settled down, leaving his boots on as before, in case of emergency.
It was daylight and the sun about to rise when Jeremid woke him. "Macurdy," he said, "Melody and I talked last night."
The words brought a pang: They've decided to pair up, to leave me and go back. But that made no sense. They could hardly go back now. "She told me about your wife," Jeremid went on. "What does she look like?"
Macurdy frowned. An odd question to be asked on waking. "She's beautiful. Long red hair and green tilty eyes."
"And the people with her? Do you know?"
He's seen her! Macurdy's mind focused. "Another good-looking woman, and a man. The woman's name is Idri; her hair is auburn, and she's got tilty eyes too, only not as green."
"God! That was the name: Idri. The other was Varia. They came into Oztown about a year ago, with a bull of a guard. The chief loaned them an escort, and I was one of them. Your wife was a prisoner."
Macurdy's throat was dry now. "Right. I had to wait a month before the gate opened again and I could follow them."
Melody had come to the door, and stood looking in at them, listening.
"We took them east, across the Great Muddy," Jeremid said. "They got other escorts there, and we came back." He shook his head. "Your wife's the prettiest woman I ever saw. And dangerous! Her guard tried to rape her one night. I don't know what she did, but he screamed the worst scream I ever imagined. I ran over with a torch, and they were both there with their breeches off. Your wife looked at me and said never to try raping a Sister, or I'd end up like him. He was doubled over with his hands in his crotch, hardly able to whimper. Then the other Sister came with a saber and ran him through."
Melody spoke, her voice flat. "Sounds like she's worth saving, Macurdy. Congratulations." Then she turned and walked out of sight.
Jeremid's story shook Macurdy so, it took him several minutes to get up and come out of the shed. Varia had got through that experience seemingly unhurt, and Idri had killed the guy, but what a terrible damned thing to almost happen.
They ate more turkey, then left the rest for Blue Wing. Breaking camp amounted to little more than catching their hobbled horses and saddling them, taking the cookpot and ax they'd found there. The sun was still low when they rode away eastward, shielding their eyes from it with a hand. Here there was a clear trail to follow. After a bit, Blue Wing caught up with them. I suppose this is interesting to him, Macurdy thought. He can share it with the rest of his people.
Later that morning they hit a rutted cart road, and followed it south to the eastbound road. There they rode well strung out, as if they weren't together; there seemed less chance they'd be remembered or reported that way. Only occasionally did they meet other travelers—farmers and other locals going about their business.
In late afternoon they reached the Great Muddy River, running wide and smooth, but powerful. Both Melody and Jeremid had coins in their purses, and when the next ferry crossed, the three of them were on it.