Chapter 2

Morning found the pair twenty leagues from the nameless town. Sable ran at sixty miles to the hour for most of the night, and McAllister was truly sore riding bareback. Sable owned a smooth gait at such speed, but nonetheless there were the inevitable jostles and shakes. Making matters more difficult for McAllister, since he had no sheath in which to put it, and no place other than its hilt to carry it, he was forced to hold his bared sword in his hand. The wind of their passage drove into McAllister's eyes, streaming tears across his face, but neither he nor Sable cared to slow for his comfort.

Twice an hour, the need to cool forced the horse to stop and run through the river. Small jets of incredibly hot air jetted from Sable's nostrils, and the blow-by washing over McAllister's legs served to slowly cook him when the time to find water drew near.

For the last hour, the road moved away from the riverbanks cut through soft clay, and cut a swath through a forest. A quick consultation, and the two agreed to follow the road instead of the river. The penalty was slower movement, and since McAllister had no stirrups to stand in and so avoid the jarring of a trot, Sable walked.

Conditions were nearly perfect for highwaymen, McAllister knew. The dense woods were close by the road, and served to hide horses and men. There lay low hilly sections, the fingers of ancient mountains, rounded and worn, with cracked granite covered in lichen sticking out of the ground. When the road ran through the hilly rock McAllister was his most alert.

With grim acceptance and no small wish that he were not so sore and had found at least some sleep in the last forty-eight hours, McAllister watched a lean, lank man in dark cloth step from behind a boulder into the road.

"Hail and welcome," McAllister essayed.

"Let's have it all, then," the highwayman responded, hand on the hilt of a sword.

"I have nothing. No gold, no purse, no food."

"You have a sword and a horse."

"If you think you may keep them, you may come and take them. But I do not think you may keep them long."

The highwayman's face clouded. Advancing, he halted in surprise when McAllister spoke again. "I'll offer you and your men their lives, since I know a thing you don't."

The highway robber stopped his advance for a moment, clearly wondering what new game his victim was playing. "Very well, then, I'll hear this thing."

McAllister nodded, his voice grim. "Behind me come the Agents of Hell. Many Hounds were killed last night in a town far to the north of here. I should not tarry here, lest they catch up to me."

McAllister looked around, and observed twelve others step from places of concealment to listen, bows with arrows in their hands.

"What you say is scarcely credible, stranger. Why should I believe you?"

Sable neighed, and sparks flew from a steel hoof as the horse kicked a stray rock. Dust and chips flew as the rock shattered against a large boulder near the highwayman.

The bandit nodded, his throat working as he overcame and swallowed his fear. "I see you ride no ordinary horse. I think I choose to believe you. What would you have us do?"

"Should you stay here, those who follow will hunt you down and torture you to learn what they may of me and my plans. Should you follow me, Sable would outrun you, and your horses would founder. I think your best choice is to flee, and flee crossing rivers as you may. Should you be captured, what I have told you of my plans is perhaps enough for them to send agents instead of armies. Bringing whole armies now would run counter to their interests."

McAllister smiled, now, a cold smile to be sure. "I require gold for my passage across the sea, and I require a sheath for this blade. I give you all fifteen minutes to discuss this."

McAllister and Sable stood to one side while the highwaymen and their leader discussed matters. With five minutes to spare, the original highwayman produced a horse from behind an outcrop of rock and galloped up the road.

When he returned, he rode the lathered and sweating horse to McAllister, and handed him a small leather sack of some weight. "I am Fondalk, and if you're lying to us, I'll hunt you down and kill you. I don't believe you are lying, though, and I would know who you are. We may meet again someday."

"I am called McAllister, Fondalk, and we may meet again, someday." And, laying the bag on Sable's withers, horse and rider sprang away.

Behind them, shouts sounded, accusing Fondalk of fetching disproportionately from the various stashes. McAllister estimated the fellow had perhaps ten minutes to live before the others killed him.

Two peasant farmers' wagons were set before the low walls and gate of the next nameless town. A small number of unkempt, under-nourished men were brandishing pitchforks. One of the men seemed better dressed than the others, possibly a richer landowner or the mayor of the place. McAllister suspected he was the one who had organized this resistance.

Sable cleared the wagons and gate with a mighty leap, and continued cantering through the town, at a pace a normal horse might easily reach, so as to not ride down anyone in the street by accident. On the far side of the short town, the gate stood open, and Sable built up speed again.

McAllister mused on the occurrence. "Do you suppose that Agent put up only token resistance so we would not kill him?"

The horse snorted twin jets of fire, for they had run for nearly half-an-hour now. "If so, it's a fine line he walks, for his masters will be intolerant of less than full effort, especially when capped by failure."

"I think we'll see better opponents as we reach more populous cities."

"But beware of the peasant with a stick, McAllister."

"Agreed."

The city arose around the junction of two rivers. Stone block had paved the road for the last dozen miles, and the farmland and orchards on either side were well-tended, with work crews and specialized wagons pulled behind oxen and horses. The area spoke of prosperity and peace.

McAllister expressed his hope of finding a saddle and a library in the city, as well as additional clothing. Sable indicated no need for any purchases.

The bag of silver and gold he gave to Sable, who used the same trick she used before to render it tiny. McAllister then tied it to the horse's mane, after pocketing three pieces of the silver and two of gold. McAllister left the horse at the small yard outside of the city hall.

There he learned there was no library in the city. He asked for and received access to a map, for a piece of silver. The same piece of silver also netted him a sheet of vellum and the use of a stick with a lead tip. Almost immediately after asking, he felt as if he were under study by one unseen, though a quick scan of the environs showed nothing suspicious, and no one near. Still, the feeling did not dissipate. McAllister was all too aware anyone looking over his shoulder while he had the large map open could see him trace out his intended path.

From this city, whose name he learned was Troyer, he would follow the road beside the river down to Nanterey, the capital of the land. From there, he had his choice of roads to two major ports. Aware of being watched, he did not draw it, but noted there was a third highway he could take, to the south. That road led to mountains and mines at the border of the land, a seaport where the mountains met the sea, and passes over the mountains to another land on the far side.

Nodding, he returned the lead-stick to its owner, and asked where the various churches and temples were in the city. He then left with his rolled-up map.

Passing back to the horse yard, he was pleased to find other horses of the visiting nobles and functionaries surrounding Sable. "You seem to be getting along well," he murmured quietly, aloud. "I'll search for clothes and a saddle." The feeling of being watched hadn't gone away, and Sable made no response.

It was in a saddlery and bookmaker's shop when he learned the words he knew to describe horses were not the same as in this world. McAllister found 'hands' did not translate to 'spans wide'. Rather than call further attention to himself, he simply bought a large saddle, two saddle-belts of different length, blankets, a tent, saddlebags, and panniers with pans and a small stove. Concerned it would appear odd if he didn't own a tinderbox and flint he purchased both from the saddlery, though Sable could ignite any substance that could burn with a blast of superheated air.