At dawn Grantin made good use of Shenar's pantry. His eyes red-rimmed from the combination of bloodstone-generated dreams and a stomach-wrenching fear of what lay before him, he began his preparations. To one side he laid two loaves of coarse bread and a block of cheese. Rejected were the remnants of the crossberry pie and the roast chicken liberated from Shenar's coldbox. A packet of dried meat joined the bread and cheese as well as four barely ripe jelly apples and a sack of dried corn. Grantin had almost finished his selection when Chom joined him in the kitchen.
"I know what you are doing," Chom announced proudly. "It's called 'packing,' is it not?-the ritual by which you gather together sacks of items which you must bring with you when you travel."
Not without cause did Grantin detect in the Fanist's announcement an undercurrent of derision.
"It's easier to carry food than to hunt for it along the way, and more conducive to regular eating as well," Grantin lectured as he busied himself wrapping the foodstuffs and placing them in a knapsack he had earlier discovered. "Surely you didn't travel all the way here without supplies of your own?"
"I have no need of them. There is always sufficient food available for me."
"You have special spells for hunting, then?" Grantin asked, halting his packing. Perhaps if the Fanist could teach him an easy incantation for catching game it would not be necessary to lug around the heavy pack.
"No, not at all. I mean we are not so picky about what we eat as you humans. Were you willing to follow my example you would not need provisions either."
"What things aren't you picky about?"
"Almost everything that is nutritious: lily pads, salad-tree leaves, wortgrass, and much nutrition is contained in bone, skin, and gut."
"You mean you eat the whole thing, everything? You don't even…" Grantin blanched as Chom gave affirmative nods to his questions. With increased fervor he continued to fill the pack.
"Is another one of those bags available?" Chom asked.
Grantin pointed to a partially opened drawer at the base of the cabinets. Chom found another crudely woven knapsack and deftly removed it with his two lower arms. The Fanist then returned to the table and began loading the bag.
"I thought you didn't carry food. Don't tell me I've converted you to the human style of eating."
"It is pleasant, I admit, but, I am afraid, far too impractical for continued use. No, this is for you."
"I can't carry two packs. This first one alone is enough to bend my bones to the breaking point."
"No, I am going to carry the pack and you are going to eat the food." Chom stared fixedly at Grantin as one would study a slow-witted pet to see if it had understood a command.
"You're coming with me? You were going to Cicero, then, before Shenar captured you?"
"No, that was not my intention."
"But this is a very dangerous trip. Every time I let myself think about it 1 see visions of brigands gnawing on my bones. Why in heaven's name would you want to come along?"
"It is dangerous for you alone-have you not just said so? It will be safer with a companion. Could I allow you to undertake this journey alone? Did you not save my life? Are we not comrades?… By the way, do you want these broiled inknuts?"
For an instant Grantin fixed an astonished gaze upon the Fanist, who, at that point, held the box of inknuts in his upper left arm while the lower right grasped an extra loaf of bread and the bottom left and upper right were busily engaged in rearranging the parcels inside an already overstaffed sack. Not one to poke good fortune in the eye, Grantin quickly recovered his composure.
"Of course, my dear friend. Roasted inknuts will make quite a nice after-lunch snack."
A few seconds later Chom's busy hands had filled the pack and, mindful of the danger of Yon Diggery's return, the Fanist and human slipped through the castle's back door.
"A moment before we leave, Chom. There is one further human ritual having to do with packing which you may take note of now. Before one departs one takes stock of the needful items. Food-well, that's taken care of. Money-" Grantin patted a pleasantly full pouch containing four silvers, fifteen coppers, and two irons which he had liberated from Shenar's personal effects. "Knife, lucifers-" Here Grantin touched the pocket of his tunic which contained several crude, handmade matches. "Let's see, what else, what else? Drink, of course, an appropriate fluid to complement our rustic meals. Chom, my friend, have you anything in your knapsack for us to drink?"
"Yes. I brought a container of liquid and two leather cups."
"Excellent. Lastly, then, there is this fine map so generously provided by our departed host, and we're ready to take our leave."
Sliding the rear door open a crack, Grantin peeked out. Detecting no hostile activity, he and Chom scurried across the meadow to a point where the westbound trail entered the forest. Now, in the full light of early day, Grantin's fears seemed as insubstantial as the morning mist. He was now well fed, well supplied, and well protected both by the bloodstone upon his finger and by the strength of his new friend. The fears which had tormented him the night before had been magnified many times over by his belief that he would be facing them alone. Now, more than anything else, Chom's aid and companionship had reduced his terrors to a bearable level. In fact, in the midst of the pleasant smells of the sun-dappled forest Grantin experienced a feeling akin to that of thrilled excitement.
Grantin and Chom entered the forest. Above them the faint screeching caw of a hawk echoed through the woods. The call merged with the tapestry of yelps, cries, screeches, and chirps of the other forest dwellers. The bird's sedate circling glide went unnoticed by the two travelers. Grantin and Chom disappeared from view where the trail plunged beneath a dense grove of cone trees. Anticipating their point of re-emergence, the hawk steadied its wings and slipped forward to continue its lazy circle a quarter of a mile to the west.
The effortless thrill of unpowered flight was a new sensation to Yon Diggery. He felt what the hawk felt and saw what the hawk saw. With the merest thread of control he directed the creature along the desired line of flight. A few minutes later the human and the runaway Fanist slipped back into view.
What a wonderful spell, an exquisite spell! The incantation alone justified his acceptance of the Gogol defector. And Rupert hinted that he had other sorcery to share with his new comrades. True, the man was impetuous, overcome with a vindictive rage against the young Hartford, but Diggery and his men could keep that under control. Obviously Rupert intended to manipulate them for his own ends. He knew more than he was telling, but only a fool disclosed all he knew.
Rupert had wanted to capture the two at once. He accepted with ill grace Yon Diggery's insistence that the ambush must be delayed. They were dangerous, obviously, a caster of spells as competent as Rupert would have overcome the young man easily were he an ordinary person.
Today and tomorrow the two would make good time, but the next day they would reach the edge of the Weirdlands. Their passage across that strange country would be slow and tiring. When they reached its far boundary, if they reached it, that would be the time and the place for the ambush. In the meanwhile Yon Diggery and his men would use the animals of the forest to keep the travelers under constant surveillance.
The bandit returned his attention to the landscape which rolled beneath his surrogate's eyes. While his concentration wandered the hawk slipped off course. Diggery sought to correct its path. In response to a sharp mental prod the great bird screamed, wheeled over, and dived down on the trail where the human and the Fanist walked contentedly toward Cicero.