Chapter 16: A Crash Course in Wilderness Social Graces

"Pardon my manners, my lady," said Zechariah. "I am called Zechariah, a humble scholar and scribe."

"And a storyteller," she said. Her speech, unlike Zechariah and Ahlund's, had little accent to Justin's ears. "Please, just call me Leah." She looked up at Justin expectantly.

Justin hesitated. He had never been very comfortable with his stature. In a weird way, people of below-average height sometimes intimidated him-especially girls. Looking down on them made him feel like a lanky, goofy giant. Like Lennie from Of Mice and Men. This rather small woman was no exception. It felt so wrong, in fact, to be looking down on royalty that he bowed a little just to try to even the playing field, but it probably looked as awkward as it felt. "I'm Justin," he said.

Leah grinned unsurely at his bow and offered her hand. For a second, Justin was terrified that he might be expected to kiss it or something, but when he took it, she casually shook his hand.

"A pleasure, Justin," she said. "Where do you hail from?"

"Hail from?" Justin said. "Why, uh, the County of Venango in the modest Commonwealth of Pennsylvania."

Leah cocked her head. "I'm not familiar with that province."

"Not many people know of it. Are you-are you all right? They didn't hurt you or anything?"

"They did nothing to harm me," she said.

Her smile became a sad, forced one, and Justin wondered if he had just said something wrong.

"I think dinner is about ready," said Zechariah.

Leah nodded and went to the fire. Zechariah started after her, but Justin grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Wait," he said. "I have to know. How did Ahlund do that, with the fire?"

"Never seen someone cook a stew before?" said Zechariah.

"You know what I mean. His sword. He shot fire from it-!"

"Maybe that's better explained some other time, Master Holmes. I could eat a dinoth."

Zechariah turned and strode off. Justin sighed. It was not the first time Zechariah had called him "Master Holmes." He got the impression it was meant to be ironic.

He flexed his raw hands, grimacing at the tender, pink flesh where flaps of skin hung from his dirt-encrusted blisters, and walked to the fire. Ahlund eyed him as he approached. Zechariah had warned him that Ahlund was a dangerous man. It seemed he hadn't been exaggerating.

***

Justin was in desperate need of a bathroom.

It was an unexpected dilemma. If there had been any cover-a tree, some shrubbery-he would have just removed himself from the group, walked around the other side, and done the deed. But they were in the middle of a flat stretch of open grasslands, where there was no such cover to hide his shame. Had he been among males only, he might have simply turned his back and answered nature's call, but now, a lady was with them. A lady he had only just met. Even that embarrassment might have been dismissible, had the lady in question not happened to be royalty.

I need a crash course in wilderness social graces, he thought, shifting in his cross-legged position on the ground. Taking a leak in front of a princess might be one you don't come back from.

The sun had gone down, and with the moon and starts clouded, the only light came from the campfire. The stew was a salted broth of sliced potatoes, dried meat, and what Justin assumed were carrots until he bit into one. The broth was bland, the potatoes were crunchy, the meat was tough and gamy, and the unknown, carrot-like vegetables were sour. On any other day, it would have been the worst meal of his life. Today, it was the best. He ate four bowls and drank a whole canteen of water, which had only made his bathroom situation more dire.

As the sun set, Justin found that a full stomach did wonders to mend his sores and his spirits. It also made him sleepier than he could remember ever being in his life.

"I understand, Ahlund," Zechariah said, picking his teeth, "that you managed to question one of the kidnappers before he died."

Mention of the afternoon's altercation brought Justin's dinner to the top of his throat. He managed through willpower alone to keep it there but couldn't hold back the belch that came with it. He covered his mouth and stared at the ground, afraid to see if the princess had noticed.

On the other side of the fire, Ahlund added a stick to the flames. Without looking at Zechariah, he said, "I did."

A long pause followed.

"They did not look like independent agents," Zechariah pressed. "They looked more like soldiers. Uniformed, but without insignias or heraldry."

Ahlund remained silent. Justin looked at Leah, sitting beside Ahlund. Her face was pale, her lips drawn into a tight line. Zechariah opened his mouth to continue, but he was cut off.

"I will not discuss the agenda of dead men tonight," said Ahlund. "Not when we are scarcely out of earshot of their graves."

"Just when I thought I would sleep," said Justin as he peered over his shoulder at the mounds not far from where the steeds were tied.

"If you will excuse me," said Leah as she stood. "I am exhausted."

"My lady," said Zechariah, nodding.

Leah removed herself from the fireside, unrolled a stuffed mat, and lay down.

"The rain may hold off until morning," said Zechariah. "Where do we go from there?"

"There is no we," said Ahlund. "Your part in this is over. Tomorrow, the lady and I return to Deen. You two can do as you like. Separately."

There was no passion in his voice. It was simply a statement. He did not wait for a response. He left the fireside and made his bed.

Justin watched the tall mercenary lay down. He was having a hard time remembering why it had been so important to follow him out here. When Justin had made the decision to follow Zechariah, he had still been operating under the assumption that he was dreaming and would wake up at any moment. That no longer seemed likely to happen anytime soon. Zechariah had said the venture was an "errand" to help Ahlund, but the idea that this mercenary needed anyone's help seemed laughable, now, given what Justin had seen him do with that sword...

"Zechariah," said Justin, louder than he meant to. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "How did he do that thing with his sword? The fire."