Excerpt: Sparwood

Aldys reached the top of the final hill and paused. The forest, which had been growing steadily thinner as they rode northward, ended at the crest of the hill. A broad, weathered valley spread before her, the road running as straight as an arrow through communal fields. Small figures could be seen bent in the fields; the gleaners collecting the last of the grain from the harvest.

A blue-gray ribbon cut the brown fields from left to right. That must be the **** river. A city, little more than a large town, crowded along the banks of the river. This would be the caravan's final destination. From here the merchants' cargo would be carried to the populous cities of the east by boat, a much cheaper if no less dangerous mode of transportation.

Aldys stared at the town and wondered if she had finally found a place where Finn's reputation had not reached. Surely this place was remote enough to have never heard of the mercenary who became a king?

"Thinking of returning to Stonehaven?"

"No," replied Aldys, who was proud of herself for not jumping in surprise. She should know better than to not pay attention to her surroundings. In her line of work, daydreaming was deadly.

"There's nothing there but sheep anyways," grumbled Hallfred.

The front end of the merchant's caravan was already well down the gentle slope.

"The ale was good, at least," remarked Aldys as she fell into step with the burly guard.

"I've had better," he shrugged. "It wasn't enough to make up for the smell of wet sheep."

"Why to you find wet sheep so disagreeable?" Aldys asked. It would be hours of walking before they reached the town. A conversation would be help to past the time.

Hallfred fixed her with a brief glare from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"It's all I smelled when I was growing up. Wet sheep. Take them out. Bring them back. I was expected to sit in a field, all alone except for sheep, for the rest of my life." He turned to fix Aldys with a full glare and added defiantly, "Is it any wonder I chose otherwise?"

Aldys examined Hellfred. The young man was large and strong and eager to see the world. How many of his like had she know through the years? Farm lads off seeking adventure. Many of them didn't last long in the mercenary ranks. The lucky ones returned to their parents' farms with their illusions shattered. The less fortunate returned maimed. And the least fortunate of all rested beneath the earth.

"The aroma of three day old battlefields in high summer is far worse than the smell of wet sheep," said Aldys with a wry grin.

"Are they?"

"You sound doubtful."

"I've never had the pleasure of nosing a battlefield," said Hallfred, a gleam of respect in his eyes.

"You shall have to take my word for it," said Aldys as they marched down the hill near the back of the caravan.

"Which battles were you in?" Hallfred asked.

"Enough to know the results smell worse than wet sheep," snorted Aldys. She had grown tired of the conversation. It was heading too close to memories she had spend the past five years trying to forget. "I should go back to my place." She jogged ahead and was thankful when Hallfred did not follow.