Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IT TOOK US a bit to finally get out of the graveyard. But even after leaving it behind us, Mal was still determined to keep going. He wanted to get us as close to Ryevost as he could before dawn. We trudged onward, marching parallel to the main road, keeping to the starlit fields.
The sky had just started to lighten when we heard the sounds of someone approaching on the road. We barely had time to scurry into the woods and take shelter in the brush before we glimpsed the first wagon.
There were about fifteen people in the convoy, mostly men, a few women, all bristling with weapons. I glimpsed bits and pieces of First Army uniforms—standard-issue trousers shoved into decidedly nonregulation cowhide boots, an infantry coat shorn of its brass buttons.
It was impossible to tell what they were transporting. Their cargo had been covered by horse blankets and tightly secured to the wagon beds with rope.
"Militia?" Tamar whispered.
"Could be," I said. "Not sure where a militia would get repeating rifles."
"If they're smugglers, I don't know any of them."
"I could follow," said Tolya.
"Why don't I just go do a waltz in the middle of the road?" Tamar taunted. Tolya was hardly quiet on his feet.
"I'm getting better," Tolya said defensively. "Besides—"
Mal silenced them with a look. "Do not pursue, do not engage."
As Mal led us deeper into the trees, Tolya grumbled, "You don't even know how to waltz."
