Page 21 of Peregrine's Call
“No hint of Lord Pierce from the seneschal or the guards,” Tav said. “Nothing more than we already knew. He’s fled from Malvern and no one knows where he’s gone.” The frustration made his voice tight.
“We’ll keep asking,” Robin said, trying to reassure him. “All this means is that the manor doesn’t have many visitors who might share news. Or that Pierce went another direction. We’ll find him, and we’ll find this Govannon.”
“Even if we do, it might be too late.”
“So it might,” Robin said. “But not for lack ofyoutrying. This whole situation is ridiculous, really. Sending one knight into the middle of nowhere based on a single message from a man who may or may not have secret information to help the king? You’re lucky you got this far without incident.”
“You don’t consider yourself an incident?” he asked with a wry smile.
“I’m an ally. Be grateful,” she returned.
“Is that a chicken?” Tav asked suddenly, pointing to the right side of the path.
Robin looked. It was indeed a chicken.
The bird pecked at the ground with determination, and then looked up at them, as if wondering whether they might have feed for it.
“That bird should be on a farm,” Robin said. “Nothing that stupid can survive in the woods for more than a few hours.”
She dismounted and approached the bird. It squawked, but she grabbed it expertly, keeping her hold on it. “Do we have an empty sack?” she asked.
“Thinking of supper?”
She shot him a look. “I’m going to find out if it belongs to anyone near here.”
“Like that goat?” Octavian pointed again, past Robin and into the woods.
Robin turned, expecting some jest. But there was a goat standing just at the edge of her line of sight, chewing on something near the trunk of a tree.
“What is going on?” she muttered. Louder, she said, “Let’s go reclaim that animal and retrace the path. There must be a farm nearby.”
“A very poorly run farm,” Octavian noted. He rode up to Robin and dropped a wad of cloth that proved to be a silk bag.
“Far too fine a transport for you,” Robin told the chicken, tossing it in. It protested for a moment, but then quieted.
She remounted while Octavian rode ahead to get the goat. It was a placid animal, and hardly stopped eating while he slipped a rope around its neck.
“Where to now?” he asked.
Robin wasn’t a seasoned tracker by any means, but then, the goat wasn’t good at hiding its tracks. She followed the intermittent hoofprints through the forest until she smelled smoke in the air.
She raised a hand to signal Octavian to stop. The chicken squawked from its bag. “Hush,” she warned it, “or you’ll be dinner.”
Another squawk—but not from the bag. Robin tipped her head, listening. “That way,” she said at last, gesturing to the north. “The farm has to be just ahead. Unless the smoke is all that remains?” She could picture a scene of destruction if a farm was attacked and set on fire. That happened when bands of outlaws struck homesteads. They stole whatever they could carry and then killed the inhabitants, setting everything afire to cover their tracks.
But Octavian said, “It smells like hearth smoke—nothing worse.”
She sniffed again and nodded, reassured. “Very well. Let’s go and see why these animals got loose.”
“Your hood,” he warned.
Robin pulled her monk’s hood up to cover her head. Around the last curve of the path, she saw the roof of a building, then another.
A modest farmstead lay before them. The few buildings were in good repair, but the fence surrounding the farmyard was destroyed in three spots. Robin saw no one about. A few geese strutted aimlessly about the yard.
“Hello?” Octavian called out. “We’ve found a goat that belongs here.” His words were mild, but Robin noticed how his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
He dismounted and led his horse to a railing of the fence to secure it. “Hello? Anyone?” he called again, walking toward the house.
