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mountains? Very tiring. Not the gypsy way."
Perchingbird agreed wholeheartedly that he didn't wish to walk to the other side of the mountains, and
tried to go to the assistance of the group of women hoisting the wagon to his left. They peremptorily
shoved him aside, paying no attention to the snow-laden wind whipping their skirts and hair around their
lean brown bodies. Davey tugged at his elbow, pulling him back to the relative shelter of the wagon. The
women seemed to take as much pride in holding up their wagons while hugging their heavy, fringed
shawls around their shoulders as they did in their cooking or dancing.
"You can't mean to let them carry the wagons across the pass on their shoulders, though, can you?"
Perchingbird demanded incredulously. Davey shook his head, grinning, and pointed. A couple of young
girls ran around to the back of one of the wagons and began drawing out long wooden slats. As the other
women held up the wagon bed, the girls slid the slats under it, in line with the hubs, which the other
women then lashed to the slats.
"Skis?" Perchingbird asked.
Davey, greatly diverted by his amazement, grinned. "Of course, skis! It's old gypsy trick. This pass is
easy pass. We take nice sleigh ride to where is level or goes up, nice sled ride where goes down. Smart,
no? Horses ride in wagons where is too deep to walk-men ski. Come, pick skis."
The King was already selecting his, a pair of long pieces broken off from wagon slides. The King's face
was grim. Perchingbird knew his Majesty fretted because his men from Castle Rowan had not yet replied
to the message sent with Grimley. Gypsy sleighs and belt knives were all very well, but what was
required before one met with evil sorcerers was reinforcements.
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Leofwin's inert body bloodied up a thicket near the smithy. Fortunately for the Prince, the spear in his
chest, which had originally drained such a considerable quantity of his vital fluids, served as a plug to
keep the rest from draining. He still breathed.
Also fortunately for the Prince, Colin had been so lost in thought at the tavern he had failed to empty the
unicorn-blessed water he still carried in his own water skin, and had therefore not replaced the healing
liquid with brew from the Everclear tavern.
Before he could wet the prince down with the flask's contents, however, Colin felt a hand on his arm.
The gray-bearded stranger placed himself between the flask and Leofwin, saying, "Did you not tell us, o
minstrel, that this is an evil man? A man who would have raped your female companion save for your
brave intervention? A man connected with the captors of the very beasts whose water you would use to
heal him? A rake, in short, and a loathsome bully. I say unto you, o minstrel, this man is not fit to live. Let
him die. Will such a one be missed by any?"
Colin blinked at him, then shook loose the hand. "You make a persuasive argument-er-urn, stranger. But
Dame Belburga, for one, wants his royal carcass delivered to her lodgings. And I doubt there's a man
here intrepid enough to say that lady nay." Collectively and individually, each of the companions affirmed
his own lack of the required intrepidity. At Colin's signal, Giles jerked the sword from Leofwin's wound,
and Colin sluiced unicorn water over it, diluting the dark red which welled up from the puncture to pale
pink.
"Do as you will," the stranger said, and since no one was paying him any attention, left. Colin had the
feeling he hadn't exactly won the man over, but he was too preoccupied to care, between pouring the
unicorn water over Leofwin and physically divesting himself of his own distaste for the task. He wished
Maggie had come. She was much better at this sort of thing than he was. Healing, of course, not throwing
up. It would have been nice to have had her there if for no other reason than to hold HIS head, though
she would have made some scathing comment while she was at it.
Leofwin sputtered to consciousness. "Drat it all, Sally," he grumbled deliriously. "You've spitted me
already. Must you drown me as well?"
Colin stopped pouring and smacked the wounded man's cheeks instead. "Upsy-daisy, old man. You've
a lot of explaining to do, and I insist you survive long enough to do it."
"Gently, lad," cautioned old Shearer. "Would you save him and slay him all in the same hour? There's
time enough for his tale on the morrow."
General sentiment and the prince's pallor were with the oldster, and the rescue party bedded down in the
abandoned smithy for the night. All save the stranger, who was evidently still offended enough by Colin's
rejection of his suggestion to prefer solitude.
The next morning dawned as gray and feeble as their patient.
Weakly, Leofwin peeled back an eyelid, and peered at them through an orb russet and vein-lined as an
oak leaf in the fall. "Eh? So it's you, is it?" he groaned on seeing Colin.
"It's me. The question is, what happened to you, and even more important, what happened to the
zom-er-good folk of this town?"
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