No doubt, I told him dryly. The Fool and I kept walking. I glanced back once to see the wolf, teeth set in the leather and all four feet braced while two boys dragged at the other end of it. I surmised that I now knew how he had been spending his afternoons. I think I felt a pang of envy.
Kettricken was already waiting. Six laden jeppas were roped together in a train. I wished now I had taken the time to learn more about them, but I had assumed the others would have the care of them. "We're still taking all of them?" I asked in dismay.
"It would take too long to unpack the loads and repack with only what we need. Perhaps later we'll abandon the extra supplies and animals. But for now, I simply wish to be gone as soon as possible."
"Then let's leave," I suggested.
Kettricken looked pointedly at the Fool. "What are you doing here? Wishing Fitz farewell?"
"I go where he goes," the Fool said quietly.
The Queen looked at him and something in her face almost softened. "It will be cold, Fool. I have not forgotten how you suffered from the cold on the way here. Where we go, now, the cold will linger long after spring has reached Jhaampe."
"I go where he does," the Fool repeated quietly.
Kettricken shook her head to herself. Then she shrugged. She strode to the head of the line of jeppas and snapped her fingers. The lead animal flapped his hairy ears and followed her. The others followed him. Their obedience impressed me. I quested briefly toward them and found such a strong herd instinct at work that they scarcely thought of themselves as separate animals. As long as the lead animal followed Kettricken, there would be no problems with the others.
Kettricken led us along a trail that was little more than a path.
It wound mostly behind the scattered cottages that housed the winter residents of Jhaampe. In a very short time we left the last of the huts behind and traveled through ancient forest. The Fool and I walked behind the string of animals. I watched the one in front of us, marking how his wide, flat feet spread on the snow much as the wolf's did. They set a pace slightly faster than a comfortable walk.
We had not gone too far before I heard a shout behind us. I flinched and glanced hastily over my shoulder. It was Starling, coming at a run, her pack jouncing on her shoulders. When she came up to us, she said accusingly, "You left without me!"
The Fool grinned. I shrugged. "I left when my queen commanded it," I observed.
She glared at us, and then hurried past us, floundering through the loose snow beside the trail to pass the jeppas and catch up with Kettricken. Their voices carried clearly in the cold air. "I told you I was leaving right away," the Queen said tersely. "Then I did."
To my amazement, Starling had the sense to be quiet. For a brief time she struggled along in the loose snow beside Kettricken. Then she gradually gave it up, letting first the jeppas, and then the Fool and me pass her. She fell in behind me. I knew our pace would be difficult for her to match. I felt sorry for her. Then I thought of my daughter, and did not even look back to see if she was keeping up.
It was the beginning of a long, uneventful day. The path led always uphill, never steeply, but the constant grade was taxing. Kettricken did not let up on the pace, but kept us moving steadily. None of us talked much. I was too busy breathing, and trying to ignore the gradually increasing ache in my back. Sound flesh covered the arrow wound now, but the muscles under it still complained of their new healing.
Great trees towered above us. Most of the trees were evergreens, some of kinds I had never seen before. They made a perpetual twilight of the brief winter day's grayness. There was little underbrush to struggle with; most of the scenery was of the staggered ranks of immense trunks and a few low swooping branches. For the most part, the live branches of the trees began far over our heads. From time to time, we passed patches of smaller deciduous trees that had sprung up in patches of open forest made by a great tree's demise. The path was well packed, evidently used often by animals and by folk on skis. It was narrow, and if one did not pay attention, it was easy to step off the path and sink surprisingly deep in the unpacked snow. I tried to pay attention.
The day was mild, by mountain standards, and I soon discovered that the clothing Kettricken had procured for me was very efficient at keeping me warm. I loosened my coat at the throat and then the collar of my shirt to let body heat escape. The Fool threw back the fur rimmed hood of his coat, to reveal that he wore a gay woolen hat within it. I watched the tassel on the end of it bobbing as he walked. If the pace bothered him, he said nothing about it. Perhaps, like me, he had no breath left to complain.
Shortly after midday, Nighteyes joined us.
"Good doggie!" I observed aloud to him.
That pales in comparison to what Kettle is calling you. He observed smugly. I pity you all when the old bitch catches up with the pack. She has a stick.
Is she following us?
She tracks quite well, for a noseless human. Nighteyes trotted past us, moving with surprising ease even in the unpacked snow to the side of the trail. I could tell he was enjoying the ripple of unease that his scent pushed through the trailing jeppas. I watched him as he passed them all and then Kettricken. Once he was in the lead, he ranged confidently ahead, just as if he knew where we were going. I soon lost sight of him, but I did not worry. I knew he would circle back often to check on us.
"Kettle is following us," I told the Fool.
He shot me a questioning look.
"Nighteyes says she is quite angry with us."
His shoulders rose and fell in a quick sigh. "Well. She has a right to her own decision," he observed to himself. Then, to me, he added, "It still unnerves me a bit when you and the wolf do that."
"Does it bother you? That I am Witted?"
"Does it bother you to meet my eyes?" he rejoined.
It was enough. We kept walking.
Kettricken held us to a steady pace for as long as the daylight lasted. A trampled area under the shelter of some of the great trees was our stopping place. While it did not look frequently used, we were on some sort of traders' trail to Jhaampe. Kettricken was matter-of-fact in her total command of us. She gestured Starling to a small rick of dry firewood protected from the snow by canvas. "Use some to get a fire started, and then take care to replace at least as much as we use. Many folk stop here, and in foul weather, a life may depend on that wood being there." Starling meekly obeyed.
She directed the Fool and I as we assisted her in setting up a shelter. When we were finished, we had a tent shaped rather like the cap of a mushroom. That done, she portioned out the tasks of unloading bedding and moving it into the tent, unloading the animals and picketing the lead animal, and melting snow for water. She herself shared fully in the tasks. I watched the efficiency with which she established our camp and saw to our needs. With a pang, I realized she reminded me of Verity. She would have made a good soldier.
Once our basic camp was established, the Fool and I exchanged glances. I went to where Kettricken was checking our jeppas. Those hardy beasts were already at work nibbling bud tips and bark from the smaller trees that fronted one side of the camp. "I think Kettle may be following us," I told her. "Do you think I should go back and look for her?"
"To what end?" Kettricken asked me. The question sounded callous, but she went on, "If she can catch up with us, then we will share what we have. You know that. But I suspect that she will weary before she gets here, and turn back to Jhaampe. Perhaps she has already turned back."
And perhaps she has become exhausted and sunk down by the side of the trail, I thought. But I did not go back. I recognized in Kettricken's words the harsh practicality of the Mountain folk. She would respect Kettle's decision to follow us. Even if her attempt to do so killed her, Kettricken would not interfere with her own will for herself. I knew that among the Mountain folk, it was not unusual for an old person to choose what they called sequestering, a self-imposed exile where cold might put an end to all infirmities. I, too, respected Kettle's right to choose her life path, or die in the attempt. But it did not stop me from sending Nighteyes back down our trail to see if she was still coming. I chose to believe it was only curiosity on my part. He had just returned to camp with a bloody white hare in his jaws. At my request, he stood, stretched, and woefully commanded me, Guard my meat, then. He disappeared into the gathering dusk.