“Why?”
“We must visit a blacksmith there.”
Mara went quiet.
“See those big trees ahead?”
Mara peered around.
“An old man once told me they are two hundred years old.”
Mara sat back.
“The bird we saw this morning, they nest at the top of them. See the dark patches?”
Mara peered back around.
“The old man said he used to climb up them to take their eggs. Had claw marks on his face from one that caught him up there. Said one killed his son.”
“How’d it do that?”
“Picked him up, flew up high, and dropped him.”
Mara sat back again.
Before long, they walked in the cool shade beneath the towering pine trees that stretched in rough rows as far as the eye could see. Silas felt Mara arch back. “Think you could climb one?”
“No. There ain’t no branches ’til the top,” Mara said.
Grumpy little shit. Silas glimpsed two men on horseback, heading toward their path. A second glimpse revealed it to be Arnolo and Thomas, bounty hunters and bodyguards for hire from Talon. The best there was. What the hell are they doing here?
“Listen, boy. I will tell these men your name is Peter, like your cousin. I will explain later. Understand?”
“Why?” Mara said.
“I will explain later, say as little as possible.”
As their paths met, they came to a stop. The two men dwarfed Silas, most likely double his own weight, even without their leather armour. Silas considered them two of the most dangerous people he’d ever met. Luckily for society, they weren’t criminals.
“It has been many moons, Barda,” Arnolo said, voice booming.
Haven’t been called that for a while. Barda was one of six names Silas used. Only a select few people knew his given name, and the most important one was dead. “Greetings, Arnolo.” Silas tipped his head. “Thomas.”
“Who’s your friend, Barda?” Arnolo said.
Silas turned Vala sideways and gave Mara a nudge. “This is Peter.”
“Hello,” Mara said.
“Hello yourself, Peter.” Arnolo reached back to unhook a hare from his saddle. “Say, Barda, Peter looks like he needs a meal. Why not join us for lunch?”
Arnolo and Thomas dismounted. Arnolo removed his woollen hat, revealing the thick scar that ran along the length of his shaven head. The stories of the scar’s origin were graphic and many, but Silas had heard from Arnolo’s own mouth that it’d come from a branch that had fallen from a tree.
“How could we pass on such rare meat?” Silas dismounted Vala and turned to help Mara. As he did so, he held a finger over his lips.
Arnolo prepared the hare while Thomas started a fire; their muscle-bound horses stood to attention.
Silas sat and gestured to Mara to do the same. “Found a pair strong enough to carry you two, I see.”