Chapter 21

Chaos isn’t well populated. The biggest village is close to seven thousand ... and the next is under four. While medieval England had towns close ... five or six miles apart ... Chaos didn’t see the need. England is an island ... Chaos has continents. Over the centuries, slash and burn technology and the lack of priests and a functioning aristocracy allowed for looking over the next ridge, seeing the next valley and moving to it. We’re not dealing with serfs. It was quite possible to say, “Fuck it, the neighbors are too close. Pack up Sarah. We are outta here.” And mean it.

Here, today, 20 miles is the new five. Just about a pushing day’s ride. There isn’t much foot traffic after five miles. I figured we made about eight yesterday. Thinking about it ... the camping spot was perfectly placed ... too far for the walking drover ... but not halfway. Bridgetown was precisely twenty from Painswick. At ten there was a solitary inn and stables. No houses ... just the inn for the traveler and the barn for the horses.

We took our pallets to the woods and slept the sleep of the justified.

We were awake and munching jerky in the saddle by o’dark thirty. Whoever made the jerky knew what they were doing. Tasty ... real tasty. I’d like to try it with crushed berries and honey.

We found the trail across the two track road south to be hidden by some deadfalls. It was the brushed out road that let us know there was a hideout up against the easterly canyon walls ... that and the bandits we took out last night hadn’t pulled the deadfalls off the road.

“I’ll bet they were going to block the trail when they finished us off,” said Timm. “Wanna go see?”

She answered for me by heading for the cliff.

“Slow from here out,” Timm said.

It had been a good forty minutes from the southern road before we heard the sounds of a working farm.

“Foot now,” Timm said. “There’s the slaves working ... hear ‘em?”

“Slaves?”

“The farmer, his wife, the two sons and four daughters. The gang took ‘em when they found this place. We’re gonna give the farm back ... the gang let them live ... night entertainment. Ownership didn’t pass because the boss let the farmer live.”

“You’ve been here before,” I said.

“Yup ... holding horses. I got the job because I’ve done it before.”

“Let’s see if anyone new has joined in,” she let our with a peculiar whistle ... I know I couldn’t do it ... One of the girls in the farmyard looked up ... and began working her way in our direction. There was a guard.

“Where you going?” he yelled.

She grabbed her stomach. “I’m sick.”

“Morning sickness. I’ll bet,” he replied, grinning.

“I hope not,” she moaned.

“The bandits are dead,” Timm said when the girl got close.

“Are there others here?” asked Timm.

“Just the one.” She stuck her finger down her throat. Vomit spewed out and she fell down.

The guard jumped up and headed over.

Those damn arrows. A scratch and you’re dead. I really got to question Val about the arrows.