were either ignored or received a kick or a blow in response. She was a clever girl and quickly worked out the best way to survive was to do what Edil or her brothers said and just keep quiet. That, and to remember only to cry at night, when they were asleep.
Her prayers to be allowed to go back to Father Nott went unanswered, although her prayer to leave the farm had been heard, after a fashion, when they had taken to the road. But even the farm was better than life as an outlaw. It had sounded good when she had first heard it. After a few months they would allbe rich, and then they could move to a city and live like kings. In reality it was a muddy, wet, cold camp in the forest, hardly any food and even more kicks and blows.
So the deaths of her father and half-brothers had not left her devastated. She missed them not at all. She did not like the strange man who had walked into the camp and told her that her father and brothers were dead. He acted funny, and kept talking to himself. But if he would take her back to Father Nott, then she would forget he was obviously a murbeling maniac.
As always when she tried to think of something happy, she thought about Father Nott. Thoughts of him were all that had kept her going on the farm and in the forest. Of course, every time she had told Edil she wanted to go back to Father Nott, she had been hit for her trouble, until she finally stopped asking.
At least this Martil didn’t hit her, and his horse was nice. She had always liked horses best, because they would not be eaten on the farm. Still, she thought Martil should be punished for killing her Da and her half-brothers, although she had hated them as well. It was all rather confusing.
Asking questions was a habit she had made herself forget during her time with Edil but this ride was different. Knowing she was going back to Father Nott had her feeling excited for the first time in months. So excited that she could not help herself and had to start talking, despite months of Edil trying to hit that habit out of her. And when Martil did not stop her, she kept talking. In between eating, of course, because there was plenty of food and she had not eaten much for the past two days. And whenshe saw Chell, it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Soon she would be home again.
Martil had never been so pleased to see a backwater village like Chell. He had thought the little girl would ride in sullen silence. But one question led to another until he felt as though his ears were buzzing.
They had to stop every so often for food, then to let her go to the toilet, then for more food.
In an effort to distract her, and to keep his sanity, he tried to find out about her—and about Edil. He had heard many strange and sad stories but it was somehow different to hear it told like this, by a little girl who might have been discussing how she had spent the day playing with her dolls. She told him she had been raised by the local priest after her mother had died in childbirth. Edil had been too busy with the farm to look after a little girl. Or perhaps busy with his sideline of robbing people, for when she had returned to live with Edil six months ago, the farm was falling apart due to lack of care. Animals died, or were so scrawny that no buyer was willing to pay more than cost for them. Edil and his sons raided their neighbours’ flocks at night but someone had been lazy and not checked all the brand marks had been changed. When they tried to sell the new animals, the militia stepped in, and when they ran, the tax-gatherers took the farm. From what she said, Martil could tell she had been half-starved, beaten regularly and treated worse than a servant. Interspersed with the tale of how the farm failed were stories of the animals she had befriended, only to have them killed and eaten by her family. Before then, Martil had wondered how she could talk of her father and brothers being killed so easily, but after what she had seen on
Her prayers to be allowed to go back to Father Nott went unanswered, although her prayer to leave the farm had been heard, after a fashion, when they had taken to the road. But even the farm was better than life as an outlaw. It had sounded good when she had first heard it. After a few months they would allbe rich, and then they could move to a city and live like kings. In reality it was a muddy, wet, cold camp in the forest, hardly any food and even more kicks and blows.
So the deaths of her father and half-brothers had not left her devastated. She missed them not at all. She did not like the strange man who had walked into the camp and told her that her father and brothers were dead. He acted funny, and kept talking to himself. But if he would take her back to Father Nott, then she would forget he was obviously a murbeling maniac.
As always when she tried to think of something happy, she thought about Father Nott. Thoughts of him were all that had kept her going on the farm and in the forest. Of course, every time she had told Edil she wanted to go back to Father Nott, she had been hit for her trouble, until she finally stopped asking.
At least this Martil didn’t hit her, and his horse was nice. She had always liked horses best, because they would not be eaten on the farm. Still, she thought Martil should be punished for killing her Da and her half-brothers, although she had hated them as well. It was all rather confusing.
Asking questions was a habit she had made herself forget during her time with Edil but this ride was different. Knowing she was going back to Father Nott had her feeling excited for the first time in months. So excited that she could not help herself and had to start talking, despite months of Edil trying to hit that habit out of her. And when Martil did not stop her, she kept talking. In between eating, of course, because there was plenty of food and she had not eaten much for the past two days. And whenshe saw Chell, it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Soon she would be home again.
Martil had never been so pleased to see a backwater village like Chell. He had thought the little girl would ride in sullen silence. But one question led to another until he felt as though his ears were buzzing.
They had to stop every so often for food, then to let her go to the toilet, then for more food.
In an effort to distract her, and to keep his sanity, he tried to find out about her—and about Edil. He had heard many strange and sad stories but it was somehow different to hear it told like this, by a little girl who might have been discussing how she had spent the day playing with her dolls. She told him she had been raised by the local priest after her mother had died in childbirth. Edil had been too busy with the farm to look after a little girl. Or perhaps busy with his sideline of robbing people, for when she had returned to live with Edil six months ago, the farm was falling apart due to lack of care. Animals died, or were so scrawny that no buyer was willing to pay more than cost for them. Edil and his sons raided their neighbours’ flocks at night but someone had been lazy and not checked all the brand marks had been changed. When they tried to sell the new animals, the militia stepped in, and when they ran, the tax-gatherers took the farm. From what she said, Martil could tell she had been half-starved, beaten regularly and treated worse than a servant. Interspersed with the tale of how the farm failed were stories of the animals she had befriended, only to have them killed and eaten by her family. Before then, Martil had wondered how she could talk of her father and brothers being killed so easily, but after what she had seen on