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Black Horses for the King [Secure eReader (recommended)/Mobipocket/Microsoft Reader/Adobe Reader 7]
eBook by Anne McCaffrey
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eBook Category: Fantasy/Science Fiction
eBook Description:  Galwyn, son of a Roman Celt, escapes from his tyrannical uncle and joins Lord Artos, later know as King Arthur, using his talent with languages and way with horses to help secure and care for the Libyan horses that Artos hopes to use in battle against the Saxons.
eBook Publisher: Random House, Inc./Ballantine Group, Published: 2002
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2002
Available eBook Formats [Secure eReader (recommended)/Mobipocket/Microsoft Reader/Adobe Reader 7 - What's this?]: SECURE MOBIPOCKET FORMAT (323 KB], SECURE MICROSOFT READER FORMAT (327 KB] - Requires Microsoft Reader 2.1.1 for PCs, or Microsoft Reader 2.2.2 on Pocket PC 2002 handheld devices. Some older Pocket PCs can be upgraded. Learn More., SECURE EREADER (RECOMMENDED) FORMAT (161 KB], SECURE ADOBE READER 7 FORMAT (673 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [565 KB]
Words: 100000
Reading time: 285-400 min.
Secure Adobe Reader 7: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
eReader (recommended) ISBN: 0345457439
Microsoft Reader ISBN, Adobe Acrobat Reader ISBN, MobiPocket Reader ISBN: 9780345457431
 
"Galwyn's feeding the fishes again," the mate called as I emptied the odorous bucket overboard. I ignored him, rinsing the bucket in the strong waves that were following us from Isca Dumnorium.
By now, I was some used to crossing the Narrow Sea, but to have to tend to six grown men who were not, made me as ill as they. And made me, once again, the butt of jokes for my uncle's crew. It had taken me a while to learn not to rise to the mate's lures; he'd leave off his taunts sooner. "Have ye no sea blood in ye at all? Ye're no use in the rigging, little use on deck, and ye can't even keep b'low decks clean." I was hauling the bucket up, had it nearly to the rail, when a particularly hungry wave caught and filled it. The line pulled burningly through my hands. I barely managed to belay it on a pin and thus not lose it entirely. The mate roared with laughter at my unhandiness, encouraging the other men of his watch to join him. "Galwyn, I'd want proof that y'are indeed Gralior's nephew if I'd one like ye on any ship of mine." The bucket forgotten, I whirled on him for that insult to my mother. "Ah, lad, we've sore need of the bucket below," said a deep voice in my ear. A hand caught my shoulder with a powerful shake to gain my attention and curb my intent. "Such taunts are the currency of the petty," our noble passenger continued for my ear alone. "Treat them with the contempt they deserve." Then he went on in a tone meant to carry, "I tried the salted beef as you suggested, and it has succeeded in settling my belly. For which I'm obliged to you. I'll have another plate for my Companions." I could not recall the Comes's name -- a Roman one, for all he was supposed to be as much of a Briton as the rest of us. My uncle treated him with more respect, even reverence, then he accorded most men, fare-paying passengers or not. So I was quite as willing to obey this Briton lord without quibble, and to ease his Companions' distress in any way I could. I hauled up the bucket, which he took below with him. Then I got more salt beef from the barrel before I followed him back down into the space assigned the passengers. Warriors they might be, but on the sea and three days from land, they were in woeful condition: Two were green under their weathered skins, as they lay defeated by the roll and heave of the deck beneath them. I did not laugh, all too familiar with their malaise. They were big men, strong of arm and thew, with callused hands and arms scarred by swordplay. They'd swords in their baggage, and oiled leather jerkins well studded with nails. Big men in search of big horses to carry them into battle against the Saxons. That much I had gleaned from snatches of their conversation before the seasickness robbed them of talk and dignity. Then they clung to their crosses and made soft prayers to God for deliverance. "Come now, Bwlch, you see me revived," the war chief cajoled. Bwlch merely moaned as the salt beef was dangled in front of his face and gestured urgently to me to bring the bucket. There could be nothing now but bile in the man's stomach, if that, for he had drunk no more than a sip or two of water all day. "Bericus, will you not try young Galwyn's magic cure?" The second man-at-arms closed his eyes and slapped a great fist across his nose and mouth. "Come now, Companions, we are all but there, are we not, young Galwyn?" I was mortified that he had remembered my name when I could not recall his and started to duck my head away from his smiling face. Now I was caught by the brilliant blue of his eyes and held by an indefinable link that made of me, in that one moment, his fervent adherent. Ah, if only my uncle had awarded me such a glance, I could have found my apprenticeship far easier to bear. "Aye, sir," I said with an encouraging smile for the low-laid Bericus, "we'll make port soon, and that's the truth!" For landfall was indeed nigh. I'd seen the smudge on the horizon when I emptied the bucket, though the mate's taunt had driven the fact out of my mind till now. "We should be up the river to Burtigala by dusk. Solid, dry land." "Artos, if the rest of this mad scheme of yours is as perilous as this..." Bericus said in a petulant growl. "Come now, amicus," their leader replied cheerfully, "this very evening I shall see you served meat, fowl, fish, whatever viand you wish..." Each suggestion brought a groan from Bericus, and Bwlch tossed his soiled mantle over his head. "We're in the river now, lord," I said to the Comes Britannorum Artos -- for his full style came back to me now. I could feel the difference in the ship's motion. "If you'd come up on deck now, sirs, you'll not find the motion so distressing as lying athwart it down here." Lord Artos flashed me a grin and, hauling the reluctant Bericus to his feet, said, "That's a good thought, lad. Come, clear your heads of the sick miasma. Fresh air is what you need now to set you right." He gestured for me to help Bwlch as he went to rouse the rest of his Companions. They staggered onto deck, almost falling back down the ladder at the impact of the cool air. One and all, they reeled across, with me hard put to get them to the leeward rail, lest they find their own spew whipped back into their faces. "Look at the land," I suggested. "Not the sea, nor the deck. The land won't move." "If it does, I shall never be the same," Bericus muttered with a dark glance toward his leader, who stood, feet braced, head up, his long tawny hair whipping in the wind like a legion pennant. Bericus groaned. "And to think we've got to come back this same way!" "It will not be as bad on the way home, sir," I said to encourage him. He raised his eyebrows, his pale eyes bright in amazement. "Nay, it'll be worse, for we'll have the bloody horses to tend... on that!" He gestured behind him at the following seas. "Bwlch, d'you know? Can horses get seasick?" "I'll be sure to purchase only those guaranteed to have sea legs," the Comes said with a wink to me. I looked away lest any of the others misconstrue my expression. For this was August, and the crossing had been reasonably calm. In a month or so the autumn gales could start, and those could be turbulent enough to empty the bellies of hardened seamen. "Have you far to travel on land?" I asked. "To the horse fair at Septimania," Lord Artos said negligently. "Where might that be, lord?" His eyes twinkled approval at my question. "In the shadow of the Pyrenaei Mountains, in Narbo Martius." "That far, lord?" I was aghast. "To find that which I must have" -- and his voice altered, his eyes lost their focus, and his fists clenched above the railing--"to do what I must do... " I felt a surge run up from my bowels at the stern purpose of his manner and experienced an errant desire to smooth his way however I could. Foolish of me, who had so little to offer anyone. And yet this Britic war chief was a man above men. I did not know why, but he made me, an insignificant and inept apprentice, feel less a failure and more confident. "And it is mine to do," he added, exhaling gustily. Then he smiled down at me, allowing me a small share of his certain goal. "I need big strong mares and stallions to breed the warhorses we need to drive the Saxons out of our lands and back into the sea," he went on. "Horses powerful enough to carry warriors in full regalia, fast and far. For it is the swift, unexpected strike that will cause havoc among the Saxon forces, unaccustomed as they are to cavalry in battle. Julius Caesar used the alauda, his Germanic cavalry, to good effect against the Gauls. I shall take that page from the scroll of his accomplishments and protect Britain with my horsemen. If God is with us, the mares and stallions I need will be at that horse fair in Septimania, bred by the Goths from the same Libyan blood stock that the Romans used." "Will not the legions return, lord, to help us?" I asked hopefully. Lord Artos gave me a kind smile. "No, lad, we cannot expect them. This we must do for ourselves. The horses are the key." "Do horses get seasick?" Bericus asked again, this time pointedly. "The legions got theirs to Britain. Why can we not do the same?" the Comes asked with a wry grin. "But how, lord, will you transport them?" And I gestured at the narrow hatch to the lower deck. Not even a shaggy Sorviodunum pony could pass through it. "Ah, now that's the easy part," Artos said, rubbing his big, scarred hands together. "Cador and I worked that out." My eyes must have bulged at his casual reference to our prince of Dumnonia, for he gave me another reassuring smile that somehow included me in such exalted company. "We lift the deck planks, settle the horses below in pens well bedded with straw, and nail the planks back on. Simple, sa?" I was not the only dubious listener; Bericus shook his head and Bwlch covered his mouth for a cough. But the Lord Artos seemed so sure, and Prince Cador had the reputation of a formidably acute man. "How big are the horses from Septimania?" I asked. Artos put his forearm at a level with his eyes. "That height in the shoulder." I could only stare at him in amazement. "Surely horses are not meant to grow that big?" "Whyever not, Galwyn? When we have" -- and Artos gestured to his Companions, all of whom towered above me, though I was considered the tall one of my kin. Then my uncle came on deck as the Corellia ran up the mouth of the broad Gallish river to the harbor at Burtigala as if eager to end her journey. I hoped that there would be a cargo for us to return with, or my uncle's humor would be sour indeed. On this outbound trip, there had only been a load of bullhides, though the seven passengers had been a godsend and made the sailing worthwhile. "Bring down the mainsheet," shouted my uncle, and he grunted with approval as the mate sent a kick after one of the sailors who moved too slowly. "Stand by the anchor and the landing lines. Do you have to be told every time? You, boy, what are you staring at? Lend a hand. You'll never make a seaman at this rate!" I raced to grab up the line, which I was expected to take with me when I jumped ashore to the wharf, to help secure the ship. In my mind, I rebelled at "making a seaman," even on a ship that had been bought by gold from my father, who was helping his wife's brother up in the world: a fact I knew but was astute enough never to mention even if the knowledge galled me. "Look lively, you lump of a lad," he shouted at me, though the wharf was still too far away for me to jump. I'd fallen into the cold waters of the harbor often enough not to wish to do so now in front of Lord Artos. I'd never make a seaman, not the sort my uncle wanted. My real value to him, and the reason he had taken me on in the first place and tolerated my other shortcomings, was my skill with languages and my ability to translate some of the barbarous trading dialects. This fluency allowed me to help him find good cargoes, and thus maintain myself in his good graces. From childhood, I had been exposed to many foreign tongues. My father, Decitus Varianus, had been a factor and met folk from as far away as Egypt and Greece to the east, and some of the roving Nordic folk from the north. An outgoing, curious child, I had picked up snitches and snatches of many languages -- sometimes hardly knowing what I was saying -- but the facility remained and was improved upon by tutors in Greek and Latin, the Gaelic of our hill farmers, and indeed, whatever outlandish speech was spoken around me. "What are you waiting for, Galwyn?" my uncle yelled at me as the distance to the pier narrowed slowly. It was still too far away, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Artos extend a hand as if to stay me from jumping at that command. "Scared, are you? Son of a bankrupt, taken in by me out of kindness to my sister-in-law! Are you going to be as much a failure as your father? Spoiled you are, and I trying to make a man out of you. Jump, I say. Jump!" The ship was close enough now and I gathered myself for the leap, although, once again, Lord Artos's hand lifted to forestall me. But I knew my own abilities, even with all my limitations being shouted out in a litany. I landed safely, whipping the line around the bollard and securing it in the bowline as I had been taught. I was rather pleased with myself, actually, since the jump had been wider than usual. When I looked back to see if Lord Artos approved of my feat, my chest swelled a bit to see him nod. Then I noticed that both Bericus and Bwlch looked less wan and pale. The ship still rocked in the current, but the fact that they were securely fastened to dry land again must have nearly restored them. There was the usual bustle at the pier, with hawkers trying to sell fresh food and wine, and others offering their services in unloading cargo. My uncle gave unnecessary orders in a loud voice to impress the landsmen, but he was in no hurry to off-load the bullhides and show the Corellia to be carrying so little of value. My main duty in landing done, I hovered around Lord Artos and his Companions, helping them with their packs and gear. I was unwilling to leave their company. Well, his company. "Galwyn," my uncle bawled, "make yourself useful for once. Help the lords with their baggage. And lead them to the Golden Swan. It's the only place in the port that would suit friends of Prince Cador's. Go with them so the landlord knows he's to give them his best... Only thing you are good for," he went on, though not as loudly, "is cackling in whatever it is they speak here! How you know what's what from all that gabble, I wouldn't know." He shook his finger at me. "See that you listen well and make sure this Comes is well taken care of. You hear me, now, Galwyn." "Yes, uncle... Of course, uncle... I understand, uncle," I said whenever I could insert a word. I tried not to give away how happy I was to carry out that order. It wouldn't suit Gralior to think he had me doing something I wanted to do. Then my uncle, all obsequious, bowed Lord Artos and his Companions down the plank that served to connect ship to shore. "The lad knows the way, Lord Artos, and the rough speech that's all the landlord of the Swan can manage. Not a civil word in that man's head, but Galwyn will let him know that he will have no more of my trade if he does not give you of his best." Then, almost snarling at me because Bericus, Bwlch, and the others were picking up their own travel gear -- "Take the packs, Galwyn. Help them. Don't just stand there with both arms the same length. You're not a spoiled juvenile now. You work for your living." Scooting out of the way of my uncle's heavy-sandaled foot, I tried to take one of the packs from Lord Artos, but his hand restrained me. "Lead on, Galwyn, lad, there's a good fellow," the Comes said, and gave me a gentle push. I caught one glimpse of Gralior scowling at me and hoped that he would have recovered by the time I returned. Perhaps, I thought traitorously, I can delay. "And come you right back, Galwyn. There's cargo to unload," my uncle shouted just as we reached the first dwellings. * * * Well, the golden swan was a distance from the harbor. Even my uncle had to admit that, and I could always say that it took me a while to get the landlord to understand exactly what was needed. In truth, I knew the local dialect so well that I had no trouble at all making Landlord Ercus understand that these guests were men of quality and rank. Besides, any fool could have seen that in a glance, and Ercus was no fool. "My uncle, the good Gralior," I began tactfully, "said that only your inn would serve the Comes Britannorum and his Companions. You do have rooms available?" "Of a certainty I do, young Galwyn," Ercus said, for he could be as tactful as I. "And as good a meal as any could ask for after a sea voyage." "Well, they do need your very best food to settle their stomachs, Ercus." And I reported my conversation to Lord Artos, who smiled and nodded. Then I went to the business of settling a price for the lodgings and determining how long they would be needed. "You are hosting friends of Prince Cador, who trades here often enough for you to give your best price to these," I said. It took me time enough to argue his price down, but I did it. Fortunately, Artos had gold rings to pay for his needs and these were accepted everywhere. "For the one room large enough to sleep the six of you, he will charge a quarter ring." I turned to Artos. "Another quarter to feed you, but the wine you drink is extra. He does have good wine," I added, for I knew Ercus's reputation from other inns. So the prices were settled, and as a meal could be served immediately to the men made very hungry by the three days' abstinence, I had no choice but to leave them to it. I trotted the last few streets so that I would arrive breathless at the ship and perhaps prove to my uncle that I had arranged matters with dispatch. * * * That night, as I lay on a straw pallet in the hold of the Corellia, which was still redolent of seasick odors, I thought of Comes Artos's quest. Horses! How much I missed our horses. Before my father had lost all his substance in two seasons of disastrous storms, we had had many fine beasts in our stables. I had owned a fine mettlesome pony whom I had ridden as if we two were a single centaur. My father's sergeant-at-arms had grudgingly admitted that I was likely to make a competent horseman, and that was praise indeed from that stern fellow. What time I had to spare from my lessons and duties as my father's heir had been spent in the stable. I ought not even to have thought of horses; they brought back too many painful memories. But I could scarcely help myself. Fine big strong horses, to be ridden by fine big strong men! Surely they'd need a horse boy to assist them on their travels? Surely I could make myself so useful to the Comes Britannorum that he would beg the loan of me from my uncle. That faint hope blossomed into determination as I lay there listening to the creaks and groans of the ship, and the restless slap of the river against her hull. There is little that travels faster in a seaport town than word of rich patrons and mad quests. But I only learned of the rumors later, for at first light my uncle had roused me to accompany him while he bargained for some suitable cargo. Local wine and oil in amphorae, several bales of fine Egyptian cotton cloth, and some beautifully tanned and colored Ibernian leather were acquired by midmorning, and my uncle was not displeased, though never so much as a word of thanks -- much less praise -- rewarded my efforts. In truth, I had had no trouble with the corrupt Latin, larded though it was with the wretched Ibernian patois. I was back on board the Corellia when the stable lad of the inn came with a message for my uncle from Lord Artos. My uncle scowled as he scanned the scrap of parchment, and then he glanced ominously at me. "Humph. He's asked for you, boy. Seems as if you did as you were told for once and saw them well settled at the Swan. Now he needs your tongue to buy mounts for his journey," my uncle said. "Off you go, and use your wits for Lord Artos's sake in this matter, too. Prince Cador would have him assisted in every way, even by such a one as you." He gave me a light cuff to remind me of my manners, and I scrambled off the ship and after the inn lad as fast as I could -- before the expression on my face could ruin this opportunity. Not only did I know languages, I knew horses. Perhaps my notion of becoming indispensable to Lord Artos had some chance. My uncle had his cargo -- with my help. Could I not now become part of this quest for great warrior horses? * * * The Comes and his Companions had slept late, despite the noise about the busy inn, and had just finished breaking their fast when I rushed in upon them. "Ave, Galwyn, well come," Artos said, expansively gesturing me to their table. It bore little but crumbs, and so many empty platters that I suspected his Companions had made up for the three days of meals they'd missed. Lord Artos caught my glance and his grin was mischievous. "I haven't understood a word that's been said to us. This Ercus, our host, garbles Latin as if he's chewing tough beef. Signs suffice in ordering a meal, but I'd rather know the price I must pay for decent mounts and to hire a reliable caravan leader." "It's my honor, Lord Artos, my honor," I managed to reply, curbing an impulse to puff my experience in such matters. I would prove it with deeds, not words. * * * Once away from the port, Burtigala spread out, sprawling beyond the town boundaries originally set up by the Roman governors of the province. The bustling market area was built on the Roman design, despite the cramped tiny stalls that cluttered the space near the slave pens and along the animal fields. There were many people about, and I noticed the Companions staring at the occasional Nubian, black and splendid in richly colored robes; the slim, swart men whose rolling gait marked them as traders from the Levant; the big Goths swaggering an arrogant path through the crowds of small-statured folk. All, in their turn, marked my Lord Artos and his tall, muscular Companions and slowed their pace so that they did not overrun us. All around were the jabbering and liquid sounds of many languages, fragments of which I could identify as we passed the speakers. "Is it always like this, Galwyn?" Bericus asked out of the side of his mouth. "It is, sir; only sometimes much more so." "More so?" Bwlch asked. "This is not a market day, sir. Or a feast day." "God has been good?" Bwlch muttered under his breath. As soon as we reached the animal market, Baldus Afritus pushed his way forward to meet us, his sizable paunch clearing his path. He wore his oily smile and smoothed his soiled robes over his belly. I murmured a caveat emptor to Lord Artos. "Do not overtrust this one, Comes." "Baldus Afritus at your service, noble lord," the man said unctuously in his heavily accented Latin, giving a Legion salute that Lord Artos ignored. Baldus now repeated his introduction in an even more garbled Gallic. "Mounts," Lord Artos answered in Latin, moving to the rails, where he cast his eyes over the rugged ponies displayed. "Seven to ride, of at least fourteen hands of height, and four pack animals." The smile on Baldus's face increased as he saw a fat profit for the day. "I have many fine strong ponies that would carry you from here to Rome with no trouble." I snickered. Most of Baldus's "fine strong ponies" had no flesh on their bones, even this late into a fine summer. Their hooves were untrimmed, their backs scabby with rain rash, and their withers white with old sores from badly fitting pack saddles. And the majority were so small that Lord Artos's tall men would have to ride with their knees up under their chins. "And what do you think of Baldus's offerings?" Lord Artos asked me, his eyes slightly narrowed as he gazed at me. Baldus watched me, too. So, as if we were discussing the weather and not the beasts, I gave the lord my assessment, speaking in our own dear language, of which Baldus knew little. "Not one that would last the trip?" Artos went on. "Two only, lord, the bay with the star and snip, and the brown horse with the white sock on the off-hind." Lord Artos gave a nod and walked on -- despite Baldus's protestations -- to the next pen, which, in truth, contained animals in little better shape. I could almost feel Baldus's stare piercing my shoulder blades. In that lot, a second sturdy brown looked up to bearing the weight of one of the Companions as it dozed, hip-shot in the sun. * * * By the end of the day, after much looking and then considerable checking of teeth and tendons, backs, and wind -- with either Bericus, Bwlch, or me backing a full dozen to judge their paces -- Lord Artos struck a bargain for four. Baldus and another coper vied with each other, promising that more beautiful, stronger animals would be brought up from lush pastures farther from Burtigala so that the noble lords would have the most suitable beasts available. I was sent off to arrange for grain, a separate field to keep them in, a trustworthy lad to watch them, and a man capable of trimming their hooves for the journey. "You've a keen eye, lad," Lord Artos said, laying a friendly arm across my shoulders as he and the Companions made their way back to the inn, "a light hand and a good seat. You're better riding the horses of the land than those of the sea, aren't you?" I could only nod, overwhelmed with delight at his praise. He clapped me companionably. "Will your uncle indulge me with your services for tomorrow as well? That is, after you've ordered a proper meal from our barbarian landlord." * * * That evening, to my surprise and relief -- for I had been having a sorry time of it loading cargo with the crew -- Bericus came clattering down to the docks, leading one of the ponies purchased that morning. "There's a merchant, an honest man by the look of him," Bericus said after a courteous greeting to my uncle. "But Lord Artos can make nothing of his speech. May we have the good offices of young Galwyn? My lord would deem it a great favor." It was deftly done, for I saw Bericus slip something into my uncle's palm, which caused him to smile broadly and summarily gesture me to attend the Companion. I was filthy, my cheek bloodied from a crate that happened to slip, and limping from another that had been purposely dumped on my foot. "I cannot go to Lord Artos like this," I said, mortified at my state. "The Comes cannot wait on you!" my uncle said, and before I realized his intent, he pitched me over the side of the ship. "You'll be clean enough when you've dried off," he bellowed down at me. "Why, you sodden son of Mithras," Bericus yelled fiercely, "the lad's needed sound, not drowned!" I had been in no danger, since I could swim well, and I was pleased that Bericus had rounded on my uncle for his treatment of me. I was even more grateful when Bericus hauled me up out of the water. "Does he treat you often thus?" Bericus asked in a disgusted undertone. "I am cleaner," I said ruefully. Bericus grunted as he lifted a piece of seaweed from my shoulder and deposited it back in the harbor. "The evening's warm enough that you should dry out on the ride back. Your tunic is certainly thin enough," Bericus added, and shot one more fierce glance at my uncle, whose back was to us. We mounted, and the pony's warm back took some of the chill of the harbor water out of me. * * * Tegidus was the name of the merchant, and his language was Gallic, though of a dialect I had heard but once, in my father's house many years before. He, too, wished to buy horses at Septimania, though his search was not for the same breed as ours. "Ours," indeed! How brash I was! He had trade to exchange as well, and he had worried about arriving safely in Septimania until he heard of the Comes Artos and his Companions, such obviously valiant warriors. He had come as far as Burtigala by ship, in a fair-sized party, and he hoped that if the Companions joined him he could start the long journey in two days' time. They had but to finish buying mounts and pack animals, as they had brought their own supplies. "I believe the man," Lord Artos said, smoothing his beard around his smile. "What is your opinion, young Galwyn?" "Mine, sir?" "Do you think him honest?" "He is who he says he is, Lord Artos, for my father had dealings with him many years ago. I remember the name, and that the dealings were well conducted." "Tell Tegidus that we would be glad to join him and his band, and we will set out tomorrow as soon as we have mounts." "My lord, we could go now to the farm and buy the ponies before Baldus gets them and doubles the price, as he will if he knows there is a demand." Lord Artos peered at the darkening sky. "Is there time?" "Enough if you ride now!" The twinkle returned to the Comes's eyes, and his beard framed a wide smile. "Inform Tegidus of your suggestion. We can offer him a mount to accompany us." Bericus procured torches from the landlord, and the four of us were mounted and riding down the road in less time than it takes to tell it. We roused the herder from a bed he was loath to leave; he stood in the doorway, scratching himself. "I've an early start in the morning to the market at Burtigala," he whinged, but brightened when he heard Tegidus clink his bag of coin. "Perhaps we can save you that long journey and provide more profit than you would realize from Baldus," I said, winking. Copyright © 1996 by Anne McCaffrey
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