Roland thought him a hard man, to starve a child that way. "I'll get you some walnuts," Roland offered, and he leapt from his horse.

The green woman had been lagging behind for several moments, and now she stood, sweat pouring off her, as she gasped for air.

Baron Poll seemed to fear that the child would ride off, so he nudged his horse toward Averan, grabbed her and hefted her onto his own saddle.

Sweat drenched Roland's horse and it breathed like a bellows. Several cottages cl.u.s.tered together here at the north end of the village, and there was little forage for the mounts. Sheep had eaten down the gra.s.s near the road. Roland could see no sign of the sheep now. They had probably been driven off to the castle. With little else to eat, the mount went over to a window box outside a cottage and began to chew voraciously on some white geraniums, eating as quickly as only a horse with endowments of metabolism can.

Meanwhile, Roland looked in vain for walnuts on the ground, but pigs rooted there, and they'd taken the nuts. He ended up climbing the tree to pick a few.

"I have to relieve myself," Averan said, squirming in the saddle where Baron Poll held her firm.

"Hold it for another hour," Baron Poll commanded her. "A girl with an endowment of brawn can hold her bladder all day."

"I've been holding it since last night," Averan apologized Baron Poll rolled his eyes. "Go then. There should be a privy behind the cottage."

Averan dropped from the horse and scurried away. The green woman followed at her heels like a faithful dog.

Roland climbed into the crook of a walnut tree and began filling his pockets. He'd been at it only a minute when he glanced back down the road to the south.

Dust rose from the road in the direction they'd just come. The dust clouds were back a couple of miles, so trees and houses obscured it. Still, at the speed a force horse could race, those riders would be on them quickly.

"Riders, coming fast," Roland warned Baron Poll. His heart hammered. If he'd not been standing in the tree, he'd not have seen them.

"What colors?"

He saw a flash of yellow. "Raj Ahten's, they're close on our tails."

He leapt from the tree, landed hard enough to jar his ankles.

"Averan," Baron Poll shouted. "Stop peeing and get over here now!"

He spun his charger and raced around the corner of the cottage, shouting and cursing. Roland leapt onto his own mount, circled the cottage, just in time to see Baron Poll kick over a weathered privy in the backyard. No one was inside.

"The d.a.m.ned girl ran off!" the Baron shouted.

Roland bit his lip, struggled against panic. He did not want to lose the child or see her harmed. He wanted to help her, yet he understood her fears, and applauded her desire to do what she knew was right.

Stone fences divided the land behind this cottage from the yards and gardens behind. Roland searched nervously. He saw no sign of Averan or the green woman.

"They couldn't have gotten far," Roland said. But he knew that it didn't matter. Even if the girl hid nearby, he couldn't take the time to search for her.

"Leave her!" Baron Poll said. "The girl wanted to stay, let her stay!"

The Baron wheeled his mount, but Roland was slow to follow. He feared to leave the green woman and Averan there alone. He cared about them more than he'd dare admit.

He rose up in his saddle, searching for the child, vainly hoping to spot the green woman, as Baron Poll raced away. Moments later, he began to hear the thunder of hooves on the far side of town.

"Luck to you!" Roland called to Averan. "I'll come back for you, daughter!" he promised. He turned and sped for Carris.

Four cottages away from Baron Poll, Averan huddled behind a lilac bush by a stone fence and watched Roland and the Baron gallop north. She had taken off the green woman's bearskin cloak, so that now her skin blended in with the lilac bush, concealing her.

Averan clutched the green woman tight and cooed softly, to keep her from moving.

She could not explain to Roland and Baron Poll why she needed to leave. The men would never understand. But Averan had had a strange feeling growing in her since yesterday.

It had made her nervous to look at the campfire last night, and the morning sun hurt her eyes, made them burn. And this morning, when she'd knelt over the corpse of Raj Ahten's a.s.sa.s.sin, pretending to eat, Averan had craved the taste of the man's blood.

Now, she thought she knew what the green woman needed, probably understood it better than the green woman did herself.

She needed the Earth. She needed to be renewed by its power.

So Averan huddled with the green woman while Baron Poll cursed and Roland promised to return. Averan fought to keep tears from her eyes.

She'd been surprised that he asked to be her father, surprised and delighted. She wanted someone to take care of her, to be a friend. But right now, she had to put her own wants aside.

She dared whisper, "Come back for me then, Father, when you can."

Moments later, twenty of Raj Ahten's knights went racing past along the tree-lined lane, armor rattling, the hooves of their warhorses thundering on the hard road.

The green woman did not move, leaned into Averan's embrace until the Invincibles had pa.s.sed. Then she lifted her nose in the air like a hound trying to catch a scent, and asked, "Blood; yes?"

"Blood, yes," Averan promised, glad that the green woman had recognized the scent of Raj Ahten's soldiers. "But not now. You must rest now. I know what you need."

Averan had seen it in a vision, she felt sure. She didn't understand what she saw, but she felt a need driving her, a craving that went to the bone. The green woman was a creature of the Earth, and right now, she needed its embrace.

Still, Averan felt afraid to move. A morning breeze sighed through town, stirred the lilac bush. The green woman stared up at the leaves, as if in terror of this ominous force.

"It's nothing," Averan said. "Only the wind. Wind."

She held up the green woman's hand, let her feel the wind flow between her fingers. But the green woman jerked her hand back in terror..

"Wind, no!" she said. She looked about desperately, as if searching for a place to hide.

The Invincibles had been gone long enough, Averan decided. She led the green woman to a walled garden behind a cottage. The soil was deep and well tended, but the owners had fled. Before doing so, they'd dug up all of their carrots and turnips.

Averan tasted the rich soil, and approved. She found a mattock in a shed, and in a few minutes was able to dig a shallow trench.

Without any coaxing, the green woman stepped into the trench and lay down, spreading herself out-naked, luxuriating, delighted to feel the soil on her bare skin.

Averan stood over her, prepared to heap the dirt on the green woman, bury her there. But right now she felt a craving of her own, an itching. The sun shone fiercely on her neck, and when she glanced up, it hurt her eyes.

Her robe seemed too thin to protect her from its rays. She looked down at her fist where the green woman's blood had touched her yesterday while Averan had tried to clean her after the fall.

Dark green blotches still stained her hand. The green spots had not gone away-not even when she washed them or tried to rub the skin away. Instead, the dark green blood had merely seeped down lower, into her skin. Now it looked as if she had been tattooed with ink. The blotches would likely never go away, she realized. Or maybe someday the green woman's blood would just seep down farther into her, until it fused with her bones.

"The same blood flows through us now," Averan said to the green woman. "I don't even know what you are, but you and I are one Having said that, Averan stripped off her own clothes and climbed into the shallow trench beside the green woman. She used her hands to pull mounds of dirt over her feet and body, to hide her skin from the sun, but she could not bury herself properly.

On a sudden inspiration, she hugged the green woman tightly and commanded the soil, "Cover me."

The soil responded, flowing over her like water.

Averan wondered if Roland or any Invincibles would return, see the signs of their shallow grave. Even if they did, what would they, do? Dig her up?

No, she realized. We're safe. Safe from sun and fire. Safe for a little while, until nightfall.

CHAPTER 17.

BENEATH A DUSTY GARMENT.

The Durkin Hills Road was a trail of dust. Erin Connal had ridden down it a couple of days ago, when last week's rains had made the road slick at its low points. But at least then the dirt had clung to the ground, and she'd been riding alone.

Now, after only a couple of days of heat, the road south was as dry as if it were midsummer. Beyond that, it had been much traveled during the past week, and the hooves of countless animals and the wheels of thousands of wagons had churned the soil and ground it into a fine powder that rose dirty and brown all about, marking their pa.s.sage. Time and again, Erin wished that she could ride off into the trees of the Dunnwood, ride parallel to the army, to get clear of the dust. But the brush beside the road was thick, the trails uneven, and she could not afford to slow her trek. Right now the army had need of haste.

She rode now to war in the vanguard of the army, near the very front, beside King Gaborn Val Orden and fat King Orwynne, a gaggle of lords, and of course all of their attendant Days.

A few dozen scouts and guards were strung out on the road ahead, yet the dust of their pa.s.sage rose high in the air. Grit caught in Erin's teeth and burned her eyes and sinuses. Grime clung to the oiled links of her armor and heavy powder settled in the folds of her clothes. Though they had ridden but half the day, she figured it would take a week's worth of baths to ever feel clean again.

There was nothing she could do about it for now. She was only grateful that she was not riding farther behind in the ranks, for near the rear, the dust would have been unbearable.

Many warriors in Gaborn's retinue wore helms that covered their faces, and so they merely put the visors down, affording the face and eyes some small protection from the dust. Erin envied them. She imagined that even the infernal heat inside the blasted helm would have been more bearable than the dust.

But her own helm was merely a horsewoman's helm, a round thing with guards for ears, without even a bridge for the nose. A horse's tail, dyed royal-blue, adorned the top.

So she rode holding a cloth to her face. From behind, the sound of hoofbeats reverberated as a rider raced along the edge of the road.

He glanced at Erin and made to pa.s.s her, when suddenly he spotted Gaborn and reined his horse in. The man's face was a study in surprise. Erin realized that he'd been looking for the Earth King, but King Gaborn Val Orden and King Orwynne were both so dirty that one could not distinguish them from common soldiers.

"Your Highness," the fellow implored Gaborn, "the troops in the rear beg permission to fall back. The dust is fouling the horse's lungs."

Erin nearly laughed. Apparently these warriors of Heredon could breathe the dust just fine. It was only their horses that suffered.

"Have them fall back," Gaborn said. "I see no reason to keep close ranks, so long as we all reach Casde Groverman by nightfall."

"Thank you, milord," the fellow said with a nod. Yet he did not fall back to spread the word. Instead, he rode beside Gaborn as if he would beg another boon.

"Yes?" Gaborn asked.

"Beg your pardon, milord, but since you are the Earth King, could you not do something more?"

"Would you like me to get rid of the dust altogether?" Gaborn asked, bemused.

"That would be greatly appreciated, milord," the knight said, grat.i.tude thick in his voice.

Gaborn laughed, but whether he laughed from mirth or laughed the fellow to scorn, Erin could not tell. "I may be the Earth King," Gaborn said, "and I like the taste of trail dust no better than you do. But believe me, there is a limit to my powers. If I could make the dust settle, I would. Open ranks. Have every man pace his horse. Those with the quickest horses will reach Groverman first."

The fellow studied Gaborn from head to foot. The Earth King was covered in grime. "Yes, milord," the fellow said, and he wheeled back, calling the orders for the formation to disband.

At that point, the kings gave the horses their heads, and galloped ahead of the more common mounts. In moments, Erin was racing along and even Gaborn's scouts, at the very front of the line, had to hurry to keep ahead of the army.

Erin stood in her stirrups, riding to the flank of the king, and let the wind clean some dust from her clothing and from her hair.

Beside her, Prince Celinor did the same. She glanced over, caught the Prince staring at her. He turned away when she noticed his scrutiny.

Erin did not have an endowment of glamour to mar her face. Fleeds was a poor land, and so by the High Queen's decree, endowments of glamour were never given. One could not waste precious blood metal on forcibles that would enhance a woman's beauty, not when the same ore could be put to some better use.

Still, even without an endowment of glamour, men sometimes found Erin attractive. Yet she thought it odd that Prince Celinor would gaze at her so. He had at least two endowments of glamour, and so was a fine-looking man. His hair was platinum in color, almost white, his face narrow but strong. His eyes shone like dark sapphires. He was a big man who stood roughly twenty hands tall. A handsome man, indeed, she thought, though she had no desire to bed him. For as they said in Fleeds, "His reputation follows him as flies follow filth."

Celinor's Days, who rode behind him, was remarkable only in that he was nearly of the same height as his lord.

No, Erin was not interested in a sot. Last year at Tolfest it was said that Prince Celinor had gone out to distribute alms to the poor of Castle Crowthen and had ridden through the streets in a wagon, tossing out food and clothing and was in a drunken stupor, he had soon found himself out of alms, and so had stripped off his own cloth-of-gold breeches and tossed them to the crowd, much to the dismay of those mothers who had children. Rumor also had it that he was well endowed in more ways than one.

It was said that he drank so much that no one was quite sure whether he had ever learned to sit a horse, for he could be seen falling from one more often than riding it.

His va.s.sals nicknamed him "Mad Dog," for often the froth of ale could be seen foaming at his mouth.

In an hour they reached the river Dwindell, at the village of Hayworth.

There, the lords and their Days came to a halt, riding their horses down to the riverbank east of the bridge, so that they could quench their thirst. As the animals drank, Erin climbed off her horse, gauged the water. The river Dwindell here was wide and deep, its clear waters swirling in eddies. Clouds had been moving in all day, but even behind their screen, the sun was so high that Erin could see huge trout and even a few salmon swimming in the river's depths.

Erin took the cloth that she'd had over her nose, knelt at the riverbank and dipped it in the cold water, then began to wash some of the grime off her face. She longed to strip off her armor, swim out into the river's depths. But there was no time for it.

Prince Celinor knelt by the water, too, and took off his helm, a thing of burnished silver. He filled it with water twice, swirled the water in it to get the dust off the helm, then filled it a third time and drank deeply, using it as a mug.

When he finished, he offered his helm to Erin while he washed his own face clean of grime. She drank deeply, felt the dust clear from her throat. She'd never tasted water so refreshing.

King Gaborn had halted and was letting his own horse drink, as if too weary to dismount Gaborn was covered in grime, thick with dust.

Celinor gazed up at the King, the sunlight striking him full on the face.

"Now there is a proper Earth King," Celinor whispered of Gaborn. "See how well he wears his realm." He chuckled, amused at his own jest.

"I'm thinking that none wear it better," Erin said, for she dared not utter anything so irreverent.

"I meant no disrespect," Celinor apologized, sounding sincerely regretful.

Erin gave him back his helm, shoved it hard into his hands. Celinor refilled it, then leapt up and carried it to Gaborn, let him drink from it. As Gaborn drank, Celinor wet a cloth in the stream, then carried it to Gaborn.

He offered the cloth for Gaborn to wash his face. Gaborn sponged himself, and thanked Celinor cordially. Yet Erin wondered if Celinor served Gaborn for her sake, or if he really had meant no disrespect.

When Gaborn's mount had watered, he and King Orwynne were quick to cross the bridge and head for the Dwindell Inn there in Hayworth, for it was well known that strong drink clears trail dust from one's throat better than water. With so many hundreds of knights riding through, Erin imagined that it would be a boon day for the innkeeper.

Erin washed herself, preparing to join Gaborn and King Orwynne. She got on her mount and spurred it over the bridge, and could not fail to notice that Celinor rode at her side.