DAIN RUTTERKIN

Chapter 8

When the sun dips beyond Oceanus in the west, we find a place to rest for the night. The land we now traverse, though still many leagues north of the Red Fen, is called Bog-Breach according to Stroud because some wet still seeps through the ground here, making it mucky and hard to traverse when the weather warms. But now, in the crisp of early spring with the land still lingering with winter's hoarfrost, the soil and dead leaves only give slightly under the hooves of our mounts. Shrubs and trees are sparse, except for the odd dragonclaw. There is also the occasional blue willow, just recently come to life with the change of season. When the bright sun of mid-spring hits the weeping branches, their drooping leaves will give forth a bright blue luster as though veins of sapphire glow worms writhe within. But in this cold twilight, they are only sorrowful gray sentinels.

We find a spot under a rare stand of these sad guardians and Stroud digs a small pit in the dirt. She then piles hewn dragonclaw branches collected during the day's ride inside the pit and produces flint and steel from her saddlebag. Soon we have a small fire crackling merrily.

Stroud feeds her dapple a handful of grain and offers me some for Doxy. The old girl is adapting well to overland travel, though I worry about her ability to move faster than a trot with my weight on her.

We settle down by the fire and Stroud produces salted pork and cheese. Belisarius saw to it that she was well provisioned, it seems. She shares the rations with me and for some time we sit, staring into the fire and eating in silence.

"Your eyes are strange in the firelight."

I look up from the meat I am gnawing at and see she is staring at me. Her look is not predatory, but the steel eyes linger on me and I feel a flush, as though I am squirming inside my skin. I have been looked at thus before, by some of the girls in Haven when I would ride into town with Father, and in more recent days it had led to a warm stirring in my loins, especially when the looks came from prettier girls. But Stroud is a woman, not a girl. She has no husband, no children, and no home aside from the Opaline Tower as far as I am aware. She wears steel armor and carries a sword. And while her look is causing me to stir, it also chills my spine with cold, damp fear, and I know not why.

My voice, normally a deep boom, cracks when I reply: "How are they strange?"

She laughs, just a little. Her laugh is throaty, but still light and musical enough to be born of woman. "They seem to gather the firelight inside them. Even though I can only see the shadow of your face, the eyes glitter like those of the wild dog or the wolf in darkness."

I recall the wolves. I have not told her of them. They seem to have vanished after we left Fenfork that morning. I saw no shapes loping behind during the day in the high grasses of Bog-Breach. I feel more saddened than elated by this intelligence; those strange lupines that had harried and howled at me during the past two nights seem to have grown bored and departed my presence.

"Do they frighten you, my eyes?" I say.

"Belisarius told me of your encounter with that monster, whatever it is, and about your parents."

I nod.

"I am sorry, Dain."

I nod again. I do not want to speak of my parents. "Do you know what lies on the other side of the Spine?"

"I have traveled there. Many years ago, I sailed by ocean galley around the Rock to the Summering Sea and then crossed the desert realms of the Knife on camelback. For the rest, I rely on Belisarius, who doubtless relies on some crusty tome of legendry to point the way."

"Why did you go then?"

"For the same reason I go with you now. It is my duty. And for gold. Why else undertake such a treacherous journey?"