“Wherever me feet may take me, if the gods be willing.” The young man smiled again and got slowly to his feet as the spear shaft rolled down his forearm and neatly into his waiting palm. “Safe journey to ye all, Sir Knight,” he said, then turned and began to walk up a slight rise and into the brush.

Humphrey waited until the sound of his progress grew faint before he signaled the others to advance. They moved up slowly, and Bruce came alongside Bastion.

“What was that?” Bruce asked quietly.

Still watching the area where Mydwyn had disappeared, Humphrey shook his head. “I be not sure, but feel we need have nae fear of him,” he said. He touched his heels to Bastion’s flanks and moved forward. “Let us move on—we still have much ground to travel.”

Bruce also watched the dense woods and waited until the Innkeeper and Isabelle passed him before he nudged his own horse into line behind them.

They continued on for another full hour before Humphrey found a clearing near the river and called a halt. All of them were exhausted and needed rest and some food.

“The Innkeeper and I shall tend to the horses, Bruce,” Humphrey told his squire. “Take the bow and see if you can find us some game to break our fast.”

“Aye, Sir Humphrey,” Bruce said and dismounted. He assisted the queen from her horse and bowed slightly. “If I may, my lady,” he said and pointed to her bow and quiver.

“Of course, Bruce,” she said with a small smile. “Good hunting.”

Bruce removed the bow and arrows from behind her saddle and slipped the quiver strap over one shoulder. He smiled weakly at Isabelle, gave her a slight bow, and then trotted into the woods.

Humphrey and Barker led the horses down a shallow bank to the river, so they might drink. Isabelle walked alongside her pony Chestnut and kept one hand on the little cob’s neck. The Welling River was swift here, and still wide.

“’Tis a shame we have nae hooks,” Barker said as the horses drank, “else we could mayhap fish for our meal.” Humphrey grunted his assent, but his mind seemed elsewhere. The Innkeeper shrugged, removed a small pot from a bag hanging from his horse’s saddle, and then knelt on the bank to fill the pot with water. He cupped his hand and dipped this into the river so that he might drink. Isabelle wandered a short distance away to gather fresh moss for Barker’s wound—it was time to change his dressing.

“How long ‘til we might reach this town of Haster, friend Innkeeper?” Humphrey asked his companion.

Barker wiped water from his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Humphrey. “’Tis more a large village than a proper town, Sir Knight, or so it was when last I came this way,” he said. “But we should reach it by early evening on the morrow—barring any delays in our journey.”

Humphrey merely nodded, still apparently lost in his own thoughts.

When Isabelle was finished collecting her supplies for Barker’s wound, they led the horses back to the clearing and tied them beneath some trees near the forest edge. The grass in their clearing was thick and still blanketed with morning dew. Their mounts would eat well this day.