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  “Tathan will go with you, girl. She will see to your gear and you will be bound by her choices. Understand?”

  Twilla nodded, allowing herself an expression of fear, which might well lead them to believe that she was most biddable.

  “Twilla is healer trained—in part,” Hulde said. “It might well be to your advantage, good Captain, if you brought such a one with her healer bag—”

  “So be it, Wisewoman. But you will show and tell me each thing so packed and explain its use. Get going with you, girl!”

  So urged, Twilla left through the other door. She held one hand to her breast, cradling the mirror against her. There were powers she was sure that Hulde could have loosed against this appropriation of her assistant. That the Wisewoman had not done so was in itself a warning.

  The girl led the way up a crooked stair to the room which had been her home, her security, for so many years.

  “Warm clothes,” she caught a whiff of strong breath tainted with frosale beer, as if Tathan were at her very shoulder. “Strong boots. It’s a long hard way, Kinder-offer.”

  Without answering, playing still the easily cowed, Twilla brought out of the chest at the foot of the narrow bed her winter cloak. From beneath that the garments she used when venturing out with Hulde on their wild herb hunting expeditions. There were breeches of three thicknesses of musil fleece, a jerkin not too different from that worn by her present companion, save it was unstained and smelled of dried herbs instead of old grease and unwashed skin.

  Keeping her back turned to the woman, she loosened the drawstring of her dress, having removed her belt with its many small burdens, and allowed the garment to puddle down around her feet. The shirt she had worn beneath she could keep and it covered well the mirror.

  As she redressed she glanced about the room. Extra body linen, surely they would allow that. Her eyes touched very regretfully on the slim row of books. No, better not. Like anything from Hulde’s house those might be suspect. When she turned once more to pick up her belt, Tathan’s beefy hand shot over her shoulder and closed about that.

  “You won’t be needin’ such trinkets where you’re going. Witchy stuff.”

  Twilla let the belt lay, taking a scarf from the chest to twist about her middle and doing it so skillfully that she was sure Tathan had caught no sight of certain symbols embroidered in colors so like the background that they faded nearly into it. She bundled up the linen and turned to her guard.

  “I am ready.” She had pulled the travel hood well over her head so it overshadowed her face and she did not need to counterfeit the tremble in her voice. In so quick a time she had been shaken free of her small safe corner. Before her lay—what?

  Hulde had a small shoulder pack waiting for her. Harhodge had withdrawn well back into the shadows and was biting his grubby nails. The soldier was pressed close to the table, still frowning at the bag.

  “Healer’s craft,” Hulde said. “If you have learned anything during your time here among my pots and bottles, girl, let that show. Remember”—now her gaze bored through the partial hiding of hood and dropped eyes—“what you have learned is to be used for relief and in the spirit of good for one and all. Be blessed by the New, the Full, and the Old.” She did not raise her hand, open in the three-fold signing, but under the edge of her cloak Twilla’s own fingers moved in that most ancient of patterns.

  With that blessing she bowed her head even more, though she thought Hulde guessed that those rare and nearly forgotten tears had gathered once more in her eyes.

  “Wisewoman, for all your charity I give thanks,” she said and her voice seemed blurred. Then Tathan seized her by the elbow and was turning her toward the open door. She stumbled a little as she crossed the threshold, as if her feet were reluctant to take that step. But against her small breasts she felt the smooth surface of the mirror as if it still drew some strength from her.

  2

  THE CLUMSY WAGON jolted from side to side so that those within had to clutch at the nearest handhold at intervals to keep from sliding from the seating benches to the straw bedded floor. Though it was the first month of spring the wind, which thrust in now and then around the raised driver’s seat in the front, was chill enough to make the passengers keep their cloaks tight about them.

  Twilla steadied herself against a particularly rough bump, but she was unable to keep herself from brushing against her seat mate. The other girl squirmed away as if she wanted no such contact.

  They were three days out of Varvad now—this wagon train was not built for speed. And there had been several days before that when Twilla was more or less imprisoned with others swept up in the maid hunt. They were a very wide mixture—even from a port town which was a trade center and drew many strangers and traders.

  In this wagon there were six, and in the other two wagons lumbering along, one before and one behind, that number was equalled. From the first time they had been flung together there had been few signs of friendliness among them. They were too mixed a crew.

  The girl beside Twilla now, Askla, was a shrinking vormouse of a creature who had wept ceaselessly until her red eyes were near puffed shut and she seemed to have very little strength left in her small body. She was, to judge by her neat if now crumpled dress and bordered cloak, of some family of substance—a minor merchant’s daughter perhaps. On the other side Twilla herself was loomed over by a brawny fishergirl, whose sea-stained clothing carried an unforgettable odor.

  No tears from Leela, rather a frank curiosity and a hint of defiance in her square chin with the weather-browned skin stretched tightly over it. She looked now to Twilla and her wide lips shaped a half grin.

  “Fair shake us to pieces afore we gets there,” she commented. “What man is gonna want a sack of blood and bruises for his bed? They’d better make sure of our gettin’ over mountain in one good piece for the auction or they ain’t gonna get much for this lot!”

  “Auction?” Twilla had heard enough rumors the past five days to question that. “I thought it was a lottery—”

  Leela winked and then caught quickly for another handhold as the wagon gave a stronger lurch. “Lottery—that’s not what Samper says. Oh, they puts names in a bowl—and then they draws—them that is approved for weddin’. But those there pays a stiff tax to git a chance at the wife bowl. So this Lord Harmond he makes hisself a little profit—’less the King wants an accountin’ too. One thing they say this lord abides by, though, once one of them dirt diggers draws—mind you, he has to take what his luck has given him—there is no backin’ out if he don’t take a likin’ to what he sees when the names are matched.”

  Twilla tensed. “What if he does not like his choice after he sees her, or she him?” she asked. And realized that the sniffs from her other seat mate were no longer so loud, as if the vermouse was listening too.

  Leela shrugged. Her shoulders wide and strong from seasons at the pull of sails, the casting of nets, the sweep of oars made that gesture doubly emphatic.

  “They ain’t carin’ ‘bout that. Samper, he told me as how you gets married to him as draws you and you stays married—’less the green devils get one or t’other of you.”

  “Green devils?” The fishergirl seemed to know far more than chance rumors.

  “You ain’t heard o’ them, missy? That’s why they want us—Luck for me that Samper, for all he’s one o’ the guard now, comes straight from the Vulkers who be second line blood kin to my people. He’s told me a lot, Samper has. And it’s worth listenin’ to if you want to know what’s ahead for all of us, do they get us there still alive—” She grunted at another plunge of the wagon.

  “Seems like there has always been trouble over mountain. The first settlers—they was all dirt grubbers as had their land taken away for the uro mines—didn’t last long. They got over mountain right enough, and they got their farms started. Then when the caravans came—well, they was just not there—save for a few as had no wits and were wanderin’ around like dumb beasts.
/>   “So when the king—he says send soldiers, go a-huntin’ for what turned them so. But there weren’t nothin’ as they could find—just open land and then a big wood as they did not quite want to go in. But their captain he says go. Which was the worse for him, ‘cause a half of them only came out again—and they was mind-struck or blind—talking a lot ‘bout beautiful gals back in the woods. From then on it was like men was pulled by something, heading off into that place, some never comin’ back—others half-witted. Only Lord Harmond he noted something—them settlers who was married and had a woman under their roof to bed—they didn’t go wanderin’. So”—she held up her broad, calloused hands—“they began this wife send-in’.”

  It was very apparent that Leela believed in her story and that to her it was no rumor but an accepted fact. Yet that did not make Twilla any the more eager to be a lottery prize for some farmer, joined to him by a life bond. She was a healer. Let her get to this Lord Harmond—there was no use in trying to convince any underling, on that she had already made her mind—let her get to Lord Harmond and she could argue her worth to any colony in return for her freedom.

  At nooning the wagons drew to a stop and they were ordered out, though some of the girls stumbled and complained of cramped legs. This was a dreary land with little worth for the seeing. The low downs about had been leveled by the strip miners until the ore veins were exhausted and only raw earth, with here and there a small struggling plant to supply a tiny patch of green. It was a scene of desolation that struck at Twilla, used as she was to Hulde’s respect for all the earth had to offer in the way of free growing things. A manmade desert—she turned her back upon it as much as she could as she chewed on the stale bread and sipped sparingly from the water bottle which was handed around. Even the air overhead seemed to be free of birds. Twilla remembered the difference when she had gone herb hunting from Varvad with Hulde. Around there were still undevastated farmlands, with copses and spring-fed streams to be found—here was nothing.

  No birds—but there was one! She brushed back the edge of her hood and looked up, trying to follow the flight of that dot across the sky. It was too high, too far away, already lost.

  “Eat up—go to the left to relieve yourselves—” Tathan, who was in direct control of the party in Twilla’s wagon, bore down upon them. “You—” she centered in on Askla, “stop that ever-lasting sniveling or you’ll git something as will shut you up good!” She swung up a thick fist and the small girl retreated, bringing up against Leela who threw a supporting arm about her.

  “Now, then, warwoman, would you knock about the king’s own maids? That’s what they call us, ain’t it? Gives us a dowry too, he does.”

  Tathan’s jaw seemed to shoot out farther, like the snout of a mastiff questing for a good scent of a proper quarry. “You, fish skinner, keep a civil tongue in your—”

  But she was interrupted by a hail from the wagon ahead and with a last scowl at Askla tramped off in that direction.

  Leela winked at Twilla. But the other girl was sober.

  “Best not get on her wrong side, Leela. It is a long ways over mountain and she will have plenty of time to make things hard for us.”

  Leela’s grin faded and she shot a sharp glance at the other girl. “Mayhap you are right. But that one is a bully and all bullies understand is a fist as big as theirs and a good arm behind it. Askla,” she spoke to the smaller girl, “there’s no goin’ back for any o’ us—we be in this stew together and must make the best of it.”

  Askla’s chin quivered. “I want—my mother—” It was a thin little wail, which startled Twilla. She saw Leela was watching her over the other girl’s bent head.

  “Twilla, you have healer learnin’. Can you give her help—else she is going to make herself sick, and I don’t trust any nursing from that one.” She jerked her head in the direction in which Tathan had disappeared.

  “Yes.” Twilla flushed. She should have been the one to think of this—she who had prided herself so much on her small skills. Quickly she found a packet in the shoulder bag Hulde had packed for her; a sniff of its contents told her this was what she sought.

  “Askla,” she said gently, “chew a few of these leaves. Truly this is healer’s knowledge and will help you feel better.”

  The smaller girl, still in Leela’s hold, looked at her warily.

  “Take it!” Leela ordered and reluctantly she did, mouthing the small ball of dried herbs as the fishergirl watched her sternly.

  They were not stinted as to food, but it was coarse stuff—army marching rations, Twilla thought. She searched again in her herb bag and brought out a small container of powder, which she shook over her own portion of the near rock hard bread and then passed to Leela.

  The fishergirl eyed it warily and proceeded to take a heavy sniff at its contents. Then her easy grin appeared again, and she proceeded to douse her bread thoroughly with the sprinkling of dull green.

  “Good as one can get at the Croakin’ Wartoad on a ten day,” she approved.

  “Askla?” Twilla offered the seasoning to the other girl but she made no answer. Her portion of ration bread was still in her hand and she was staring off into space, for the first time a softening of smile around her small pinched mouth.

  Leela surveyed her critically. “Gone to dreamland, that one,” she commented. “Here—got to make sure she gets her share when she wakes up.” She took the square of hard bread from the girl’s hand and tucked it into the pocket of her cloak.

  “What you got—” A voice even rougher than Leela’s cut in as one of their other wagonmates moved closer.

  She was wrapped in a threadbare covering which had a number of ill-sewn patches showing faded contrasting colors here and there. By the looks of her, she came from one of the fringe camps of the displaced land-workers. Her features were sharp, and her eyes sped from one to another of them.

  “Scarce seasoning,” Twilla explained. “Have some?” The two others who had shared the newcomer’s seat in the wagon pushed closer now. One was as neatly clad as Askla under the hood, which covered only half of her head. Her face showed a fine skin and proud features; almost she might have been thought noble born.

  She regarded Twilla narrowly. “I know you,” she said then. “You were apprenticed to the Wisewoman—she came to leach our yardman when he had the poisoned hand, and you were with her. How did they take you?”

  Twilla answered with the truth. “I am from the Kinderhost—they said that I had no kin to swear apprentice oath for me.” She recognized her questioner now—the second daughter of the forgemaster. To find one as well placed as she in this company was strange. Surely now this one would have been safely betrothed.

  “They threw a wide net, townswoman,” Leela commented. “Surely you do not belong with us—hadn’t your housemaster betrothed you?”

  The girl flushed and the look she shot at Leela was barbed. “I was betrothed—he died of the fever two moons ago.”

  “Ill luck for you.” There was a note of pity in Leela’s reply.

  “Enough!” the one with patched cloak interrupted shrilly. “I am Jass, she is Rutha”—she jerked a grimy hand toward the forgemaster’s daughter—“and this be Hadee.” The third moved in. “Now, what do you do to that bread, Healer?”

  “Season it, as I said,” Twilla responded. “Try it if you wish,” she held out the jar again.

  As Leela had done Jass sniffed the container and then lost some of her defiant air. “Creep cheese, an’ marmint, and—” she looked inquiringly to Twilla.

  “First of spring vargemt,” the girl answered promptly. “You have herb lore then, Jass?”

  The other girl gave a hooting laugh. “I was land bred and land learned. Yes, we knew something—my aunt she was clever with it—when we still had the land.”

  Rutha and Jass used the stuff from the container, but the third girl shook her head and backed away. She pulled a hand free from the edging of her cloak and made a gesture in the air between Twilla an
d herself.

  “Witchery—” she said and turned her back on them all, moving sharply away.

  “Now who is she?” Leela had lost her good humor. “What is this witchery thing?”

  “A new belief.” Rutha appeared glad she was in a position to provide explanation. “She is from overseas—serving maid in the house of one of the Doom Speakers. My father says that they are all mad, but more and more listen to them when they spout their talk on market day. Twice her master was taken up for ill speaking by the city guards. Little did her Doom Speaker help her this time!”

  Hadee turned, and with one hand swept back the hood cowl. Twilla gasped. The girl seemed hardly more than a child, and her head had been shaved so that only a shadow of hair growth was beginning to show once more. On her forehead there was a red mark in the form of a triangle, seeming a part of her pale skin.

  Leela drew a whistling breath. “Pray the High Powers, Hadee, that this overmountain journey lasts long enough for you to grow back your head thatch. Else he who gets you in the lottery will make you suffer for his disappointment.”

  “I go to ravishment at the hands of those who think evil,” Hadee returned. “Surely my sins are great, there is no way I can escape what lies before.” With twitching hands she covered her head and turned her back firmly upon them.

  “Time to mount up.” Tathan came swooping down. “In with you.”

  Twilla looked to Askla and speedily reached out to grasp the younger girl’s arm. She was smiling, staring at nothing they could see. The sedative had worked much faster and more strongly than Twilla would have thought possible.

  Together she and Leela got her settled between them on the hard bench as the other three scrambled in to take their places before them. There were the shouts of the men urging on the heavy beasts drawing the wagons, and they went rocking off at the unsteady, wearying gait they had known for a day now.