“I did at first,” said Kialan. “I thought we’d all had it, all the time I was sitting in the hedge. I could hardly believe it when I saw the cart coming. No. I think Dagner’s trouble is separate, and thanks to you, Moril, they think he just did a bit of freedom fighting on the side. But I hope it doesn’t get round to the Earl. Tholian will put two and two together all right.”
“Why did Tholian kill Father?” said Moril.
“He was looking for me,” said Kialan, “and he didn’t want anyone to know, because I’m supposed to be Hadd’s prisoner—or Henda’s, only they were still arguing about that when I escaped. Dagner thought that maybe the Neathdale spy—or perhaps it was the fellow they hanged—might have given Tholian a hint about your father. But he couldn’t have known much, or we’d all have been arrested. Tholian’s the sort who says dead men tell no tales, so he kills Clennen and then beats the woods for me.”
“If only we’d known!” said Brid. “Where were you all that time?”
“Up a tree,” said Kialan, “rabbits and all. They were crashing about searching all the time you were playing that cwidder, Moril, and it worried them like anything. They kept saying that blessed boy and his music made their heads go round. Tholian suggested going back and killing you, too, but none of them could quite be bothered to. And when you left off, they’d had enough and they went.”
“Could you pass it me?” said Moril. Kialan obligingly crawled back to the instrument rack and reached the big cwidder over to the driving seat. Moril took it and clutched it to him. It felt fat and hard and comforting. Apart from the fact that it seemed to have saved both his life and Kialan’s, it was in its rather more awesome way as good as Olob’s nose. He felt he needed it, somehow, after the events of today.
“Play something,” suggested Kialan.
“No, don’t,” said Brid. “Not until we’ve decided what to do. We’re slap bang in the middle of Tholian’s earldom, and we’ve obviously got to get North, and everyone knows this cart. And we’ve no money. I daresay Father meant to go this way because it would have looked suspicious if he didn’t, but I vote we turn east and try to get North through the Marshes.”
Kialan fetched the map out and scowled at its sketchiness. “I suppose we could try the sea,” said Moril. “We might find a boat that wants a singer.”
Kialan glared at the map. “We’d take ages, either way. And we can’t be more than four days off Flennpass here. Don’t either of you understand? Tholian’s getting an army together to invade the North, and Henda’s sent to my father to say he’ll ransom me, so my father thinks I’m a prisoner and daren’t do a thing! And I suppose,” he added, “Henda’s message is the first news my father gets that we’re not both drowned. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get North as quickly as I can—but it’s your cart, of course.”
Moril glanced at Kialan and decided that his hectoring tone had much to do with the tears in his eyes. Brid did not notice. “Oh, is it our cart?” she said. The result was that Kialan managed to laugh, rather sheepishly.
“We’ll go straight on,” Moril said, suddenly deciding. “We’ll do it Father’s way and be quite open about it. It worked for him, and it worked for me in the jail.”
Brid and Kialan seemed to be relieved that Moril had taken the lead. But as Olob dragged the cart into the level ground of the first Upland, they began to make nervous objections.
“Innocent little children is all very well,” said Brid. “What about when the Earl hears of Dagner doing the Porter’s business?”
Moril looked round on fields with green corn showing and sheep grazing. The hills of the North towered against the sky, so high and blue-gray with distance that, on first glance, Moril took them for a bank of cloud.
“A certain pink cart will be looked for,” said Kialan. “Could you paint it?”
“Dark green would be best,” said Brid. “But we’ve no money.”
A village came in sight, looking very small against the hills of the North. Moril roused himself before Kialan and Brid could have any wilder ideas. “Tholian knows me,” he said. “He recognized me up a ladder in Markind. That’s the trouble with having red hair.”
“Wear a hat,” said Kialan.
Moril turned round to quell Kialan. “What about this village?” As he said it, he realized that Kialan was tired out. His face was as white as such a brown complexion could be, and there were dark rings under his eyes. All the watching at night and the suspense in Neathdale had been rather too much for him. “Get down in the cart,” Moril said, taking pity on him. “I’ll put the cover half-up.”
Kialan lay thankfully down beside the wine jar, and Moril pulled the canvas forward until it hid him. They drove straight through the village, Brid holding the reins and Moril sitting beside her, gently strumming the cwidder. On the heights above the village there was an odd little gray tower, belonging to the Lord of the Uplands. Brid looked at it and quivered with terror, knowing as she did that the Earl of Hannart’s son was hidden in the cart. But Moril knew it was no different from any other risk they had run without knowing. The tower and the mountains made him think of his imaginary Hannart. He felt soothed and peaceful.
Several people looked up, or out at doors, hearing the cart and the cwidder. When they saw what it was, they smiled and waved. Brid did her best to smile and nod back. Then a woman came out of a house and walked beside them.
“Have you been through Neathdale today?”
“Yes,” said Moril.
“They tell me there was to have been a man hanged.”
“Yes,” said Moril. “He was. We saw him.”
“I knew it!” the woman said, smiling. “He was bound to come to it!” She seemed so gleeful that Moril thought she must have hated the hanged man, until he noticed the tears in her eyes. Then he saw she was just trying to hide her feelings. He wanted to say something kind to her, but she left the cart and went back into her house. Moril wondered whether Clennen had known her, and what her connection was with the hanged man.
9
A mile or so beyond the village, Olob looked at the sun moving into the blue mountains and turned toward a cart track which led away to the left. Brid tried to stop him. “No, Olob. We must get on.”
“Let him find a place,” said Moril. “I told you. It’s no good looking guilty. Besides, we haven’t eaten a thing since this morning.”