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“People think my face is really ugly. They say it’s ’cause my mum married a far-southerner, and he had bad blood in him, an’ so I came out like this, all ugly from both sides, they say. And there’s nothin’ can be done about it, so I just do what I do.” He hoisted the heavy bag up again.
    “And yourrr fatherrr?”
    “He died. He was one of the traveling harvesters, an’ when he went away up northwest, he got crushed by one of those big carts, they said. Mum took it hard and still hasn’t gotten better after that. Anyway. He’s in a better place now.”
    Kelvren levered himself up gingerly, mulling that over, then snorted at the flies pestering his wounds and resumed his trek. “I am . . . sssorrry you—hurrh!—have— kah! sketi! —lossst yourrr fatherrr,” he said breathily, tripping on brush. “I have not ssseen mine in fifteen yearrrsss. We sssend messsagesss but—ah. It isss not the sssame as sssharrring sssky with him.”
    “Sky’s prob’ly where my father is,” Jeft smiled. “We always did like talking about birds, me and him, so’s maybe he’s a bird now. He’d like that a lot ’cept, I guess he couldn’t get stew an’ scrapings as a bird.”
    Kelvren could see that soldiers and villagers were taking notice of them as they closed the distance to the encampment. Kel angled toward a recently cut tree stump and suddenly fell against it.
    “Sir? Master Kelvren, sir? What’s wrong?” Jeft dropped the bag and crashed toward the gryphon. “You’re bleedin’ again, sir, an’ that, uh, sewin’ they did on you’s torn up some. Sir?” He waved at the flies, to little effect, and then Kel could feel the boy’s hand on his eartufts. “Sir? You hear me? Can I help? Sir?” He was sounding desperate.
    Slowly Kelvren opened an eye, toward Jeft. “Hurrrh. It isss—all forrr effect,” he wheezed, and smiled as best he could. “Ssso brrrave. You rrrun towarrrdsss me when the rrressst of yourrr village would rrrun away.”
    “Well—I was scared, too!” he blurted, and then confessed, “I mean, if you—I—I’d be in a lot of trouble. Mayor said you were my problem now, an’ I bet they’d whup me if you died.” He pulled back his hand and wiped it on both of his eyes, under the brim of the sun hat. “It—I just don’t want you t’die, all right? An’, an’, if y’need a healer, or somethin’, I’ll run get you a healer—” Jeft looked all around, and saw a dozen Guard soldiers were headed their way at a brisk walk. “I, uh—I think maybe help’s coming, sir?”
    Kelvren rumbled softly. “Yesss. Ssso they arrre. Heh.” He closed his eyes, to rest. “Let the gamesss begin.”

    Hallock heard a commotion from the town while walking around the last of the convalescents’ tents. In a Guard encampment it wasn’t unusual to hear occasional incidents ranging from fist brawls to dirty-song competitions, or some poor soldier getting dressed down at top volume. This was the first one Hallock had heard, though, that began with shouting and running, and finally, laughter—and not all of it human. There was just that one loud, descending burbling voice that mixed in with the rest, but it put Hallock into motion. Quick-walking with the stick in his hand, he rounded the mill road and followed it toward the sounds—which came from the main mess tents.
    He saw a mix of backs in Guard uniforms and locals’ work clothing, and then a flick of a large feathery wing above them. Then there was another ripple of laughter. He pushed his way forward, finally collaring a lieutenant to help him reach the center of it all.
    There he found someone who appeared to be a town official, judging by his necklace. He was getting up off his knees, where apparently he’d been vomiting into a large sack—though on second thought, yes, it appeared he had been vomiting because his head had been in the sack. Now the man was coughing furiously into a handkerchief and attempting to wipe his face down.