I know what these creatures are a-gettin' up to. You're in my bit o' garden, as it were, an' you got no call to be. What he's not is no natural creature, that's sure Get away from here, stranger. I am very shocked He turned and continued into the close-knit trees. The small man turned on the hillcrest to stare down at the struggling youth. You're going to but you can't He's he's a He tried to marshal his straggling thoughts. Kill him? Simon, ill and weak as he was, still felt a cold wash of shock. It signifies a debt, and the Sithi are conscientious folk. It is a Sithi White Arrow, and it is very precious. Please excuse my suggestions, but you should be taking this arrow. Simon's limping strides finally brought him abreast of the stranger in a few moments he had caught his breath. The far side of the crest was a long, gradual downslope. This fellow, he indicated the woodsman with a sweep of his stick, will reliably not become more alive, but he may have friends or family who will be unsettled to find him so extremely dead. I will be happy to explain more things at a later time, but now we should go. Me? the stranger asked, pausing as though giving the question much thought. For an instant the Sitha, injuries forgotten or ignored, stood poised and tense as a startled deer then he was gone, a flash of brown and green that vanished into the trees, leaving Simon gape-jawed and deserted.īut Simon gasped as he scrambled up after the stranger, who moved with surprising quickness, but what about the cottage? I am I am so hungry and there might be foodĪfter the strangest and most terrible fortnight of his life, and after a particularly bizarre day, it should not have surprised Simon to hear a new and unfamiliar voice speaking to him from the darkness beyond the trees, a voice that was not the Sitha's, and certainly did not come from the woodsman, who lay like a felled tree. His cold eyes glinted, stopping the words in Simon's mouth. Holding them like a clutch of long-stemmed flowers, he picked up his bow in the other hand and paused to stare at Simon. He rolled away from the mute hulk immediately, as though burned, and began gathering up his scattered arrows. The Sitha fell to the ground, legs buckling, and tumbled forward onto the motionless woodsman. He pressed his dizzy head against the damp ground and felt the forest sway and rock about him.Īfter a long moment of scraping and rubbing, the slippery knot parted. Staring down at the bloody wreckage, Simon felt his insides heave he fell to his knees retching, bringing up nothing but a sour strand of spittle. He pitched heavily forward onto his knees and then his face, a surge of red welling up through his matted hair. A dull smack reverberated through the trees the man seemed to go boneless in an instant.
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Setting free the howl that had been coiling itself within him through all the interminable, terrifying days of his exile, he sprang forward, crossing the tiny clearing in a bound to bring the rock down on the back of the cotsman's head. Simon could not stand the cruel spectacle any longer. The stranger had moved toward him to examine the pale arrow, which stood from the tree trunk near Simon's head like a stiff ghost-branch. Simon wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coarse shirt and hic-coughed. If this little man had come out of the trees snarling and waving a knife, he did not think he could have reacted any differently. He was wrung out, beaten flat like a shirt pounded dry on a rock. Who are you? Simon asked around another hiccough.
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A large skin bag hung bulging from a shoulder strap, and he held a walking stick that looked to be carved from some long, slender bone. His clothes looked much like a Rimmersman's jacket and leggings of some thick animal hide stitched with sinew, a fur collar turned up below his round face. He was not a dwarf, like the fools and tumblers Simon had seen at court and in the Main Row of Erchester-although big-chested, he seemed otherwise well-proportioned. The little house crouched as silently and tidily as if nothing had happened. The tiny man was already on the march, climbing back up the hillside above the cottage. He levered the arrow loose from the tree. It was too much effort to not trust, for the moment he no longer had the strength to stay on guard-a part of him wanted only to lie down and quietly die.
Mistrustful and wary, Simon nevertheless found himself rising to his feet.
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