The Bowl of Souls: Book 01.5 - Hilt's Pride (3 page)

There was truth in her eyes and Hilt had to accept it.
“Very well.
It looks like the prophet has provided our course.
Nothing specific as usual, just, ‘go up the mountain.’
Let us see what means he has provided us with. What do you have on you, besides your dress?
Anything?”

“And my underclothes, but no,” she said. “Thick wool socks on my feet, my shoes, and a needle and spool of thread that I had forgotten were in my pocket when I left. I had a hairpin but I broke it trying to pick the lock on the treasure chest I found back in the forest.”

“You what?”
Hilt said, eyebrows
raised
.

“Now that time I was fooling with you,” she said, stone faced.

Hilt blinked at her, then laughed. “You did throw me off, there.”

She was unable to suppress a smile in return, “So the named warrior laughs?”

“You don’t know me. I am quick with a laugh,” Hilt replied. “But still, a needle and thread
are
a commodity to take note of. As for me, I am carrying my swords, a
waterskin
, a dagger, a blanket, a coil of rope, my flame stick, some leather strips, some parchment, a quill and inkwell, some dried meat, and half a hard loaf of bread. It seems we shall have to find nourishment along the way.”

“You carry all that in your little pack?” she asked, dubiously eyeing the bundle strapped behind his shoulders
,.

“I am an efficient packer,” he replied. Too much bulk or weight hampered his movements and he never knew when he might need to draw his swords for battle. “Now we should really keep moving. I would like to put a lot more distance between us and those gorcs by sundown.”

She stood with a groan. “You worry about the gorcs? They didn’t give you much trouble before.”

Hilt snorted. “Gorcs are little trouble in the daylight. But at night, they could ambush us and with enough numbers I could have trouble protecting you. Come, let’s continue.”

He stood and resumed his route along the line of stone markers. They stretched along, small white dots in the mountainside as far as his eye could see, extending the length of the flat area and continuing up another steep slope. It was going to be a hard climb. Beth hurried up next to him, holding up her skirts as she kept pace. Her mouth was twisted like she wanted to say something, but they traversed the flat and rocky stretch of mountainside and nearly reached the next slope before she spoke.

“I still don’t understand why you’ve decided to protect me,” she said finally. “You said you were on a mission. Why the sudden change of heart? Why put the mission aside to help a woman past her prime on a hopeless quest?”

Hilt smiled. “My lady, you may not be a maiden, but you are hardly past your prime.” She was probably near forty, but he gave a kind guess. “What are you, thirty?”

She wasn’t fooled and gave him a knowing glare.
“Thirty five.”

Hilt shrugged. “Still younger than I, and I am most definitely not out of my prime, thank you.”

“My age isn’t the point,” she said, letting go of her dress with one hand to waggle a finger at him. “You were all set to carry me down that mountain until I mentioned the prophet. What made you change your mind?”

“I am a named warrior. This happens from time to time.”

“What hap-
!
” As she stepped over a rock, her foot caught in the frayed hem of her dress. She tripped forward and fell to the ground, banging one knee and skinning the palms of her hands as she tried to catch herself.

Hilt stopped to help her up. He bent to grasp her arm, but reared back as she let out a stream of curses. He stood stunned and watched while she rose to her feet on her own and stomped her feet, cussing all the while, ending with, “I hate this dress!”

She turned and directed her glare at Hilt, who stood with hands raised, his face not betraying his thoughts. “What?” Beth spat. “I told you I’m a base born woman!”

“If I might make a suggestion, my lady.”
Hilt began.

“Do you want a black eye?” she said, shaking a quivering fist at him.

Hilt paused. “No. But If I may-.”

“Stop calling me ‘My lady’. I am not your lady. I am a regular person who is having a very bad year! My name is Beth. Call me Beth!”

“I am sorry,” Hilt said. He saw tears in her eyes and realized that there was much more to her story than she had told him. “Beth, I have a suggestion.
Something that might help with your current difficulty.”

“Wings?
Can you sprout wings and fly me up this mountain?” She asked, wide eyed. A moment of silence stretched between them and a chuckle escaped her lips. She burst out laughing. She sat down on the ground and laughed until tears streamed down her face.
“
Gah
!
This is all so ridiculous! I’m sorry. I am sorry, Sir Hilt. I am crazy and I am sorry. Sorry for yelling at you. Sorry for dragging you up here after me. Sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Hilt crouched beside her and offered her a hand. A note of sternness entered his voice. “Beth. Stand up.”

She accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. While she dusted off her dress, he pulled his
waterskin
from its place at his side. He tossed it to her.

“Drink,” he said and she did so gratefully. He took off his small pack and opened it up, pulling out several long strips of leather.

“Thank you,” She said, wiping her mouth as she handed the
waterskin
back to him. He took it from her and replaced it at his side, then slung his pack back over his back.

“Now Beth, as I was trying to say, your dress is a nuisance. If you try to climb the mountain like this you are going to end up falling off a cliff or something. Now,” He lifted the leather strips and drew his dagger. She eyed the dagger and took a step back. He held it out to her hilt first. “What I am suggesting, is that we turn that dress into bloomers.”

“What?”

“Do you know what I am talking about? It may be more of a south-eastern style, but . . .”

“Oh!
Of course!”
Beth smiled and took the dagger and leather strips from him. She began cutting the skirts of her dress down the middle. “Oh, I wish I had thought of it before! Some times I am so
stu
-. Hey! Turn around.”

“Sorry,” Hilt said and turned his back to her as she continued her work, splitting the skirt and tying one half to each leg with the leather strips. When she had finished, she told him to turn back around.

“What do you think?” The leather strips looked like they were trying to contain a pair of ridiculously puffy trousers. She lifted one leg to show her freedom of movement.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you’ve done this before,” Hilt replied, stifling a laugh.

She handed the dagger back to him. “It was a fabulous idea. I would do a cartwheel if not for my aching palms.”

“Very good, shall we continue on?” Without waiting for a response he started up the slope, keeping an eye out for the path with the easiest footing.

He soon found a narrow trail worn into the mountainside that ran more or less parallel to the white stone markers. It seemed that the gorcs traversed this slope fairly often. This was fortunate, for it made the going easier, but it also meant that they could run into some of the creatures at any time. Hilt narrowed his senses, looking for signs of recent activity and listening for any sounds that could come from unwanted company. All he heard however was the scrape of their feet against the rocks and Beth humming a tune under her breath.

She was enjoying herself despite the steep climb. Being freed from the dress had put her in a good mood. Hilt was grateful for that, but at the same time, her humming was terribly out of tune. The worst part was that he recognized the song. It was one of his favorite tavern drinking songs and she was butchering it. She continued on, repeating the same verse over and over, each time just a little bit off. Finally he had had enough.

 Hilt turned and said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice, “No-no no. I believe you have that wrong. You see, the tune ends, ‘
and they all gave her a
spaaankiiing
.’”

“What song did you think I was humming?” she asked.

“The Farmer’s Drunken Daughter.”

She laughed. “No. It was, The Dusty Dog’s Last Laugh.”

“No you weren’t. That song goes, ‘
when the cobbler threw out the dry
boooooones
.”

“
Pff
!
Where did you learn the song?” She shook her head. “It goes, ‘when the cobbler threw out the
dryyyyyy
bones!”

Her singing was even worse than her humming. Hilt grit his teeth.
“I-.
No-.
Look that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter what the song is. Just-.
Shh
!
New rule.
No singing or humming.”

“No humming?” she wrinkled her nose. “Why is that a rule?”

“Look, we are following a
gorc
trail. I am trying to listen for signs that they are close, so
shh
!”

She looked around at the barren rocky mountainside. “Where would they be hiding?”

“This is their land. Not ours. They know where to hide. Just-just
be
silent until I am sure,” Hilt said.

“Fine,” she said with a shrug and they continued on.

The trail was well used and free of debris. It meandered back and forth in a series of switchbacks that took them up the steepest part of the incline. They made good time, but as they neared the top, Hilt’s concerns proved to be well founded. The sound of drums and
gorc
chanting began to echo down from the top of the ridge.

They crept up the last few switchbacks until they neared the top. Hilt motioned her to stay silent and left the trail, slowly climbing up the last stretch of the slope to peer over the top. Fifty feet ahead
rose
a sheer cliff thirty feet high. The trail they were on headed towards the
cliff,
then took a right and ran alongside it, leading to a wooded area bristling with pine trees. The sounds of the
gorc
camp came from that direction and he could see smoke wafting up from behind the trees. To his left, the line of white stone markers stretched on, ending at the cliff face. He swore under his breath.

Hilt slid back down to the trail and made sure to whisper to make sure his voice didn’t carry to the gorcs. “I’m afraid we have three choices, none of them particularly good.” He turned to see Beth lying on her side next to a large flat bounder, peering underneath. She reached one hand under the rock.

“Just a second, you sucker . . . there!”  Beth rolled to her knees and stood, dragging out a long brown snake. She gave Hilt a triumphant smile and lifted it by the tail. It arched and hissed trying to reach her, but she kept it at arms length.
“Got it!”

Hilt put a finger to his lips and raised a cautioning hand, then slowly drew one sword, and whispered, “Beth. Listen carefully. Drop it and back away. That is a Brown Viper.
Very poisonous!”

She rolled her eyes and whispered back, “I’m not going to let it bite me!”

“Just put it down,” Hilt said, ready to lop off its head as soon as she let go.

“Oh for goodness sake,” Beth said and in one fluid motion, swung the snake up over her head in a wide arc and whipped it against the rock. Then as it lay stunned and motionless, she took one step and crushed its head with the heel of her boot. She smiled at him sweetly.
“And that, Sir Hilt is how a Pinewood lady hunts for supper.”
 

“I . . .” Hilt didn’t know how to react. He was both confused and impressed by this woman in equal measure. He sheathed his sword.
“Very good then.
Viper dead.
So . . .”

She folded her arms.
“Three bad choices?”

“Yes, three choices. At the top of the incline, we can either follow the trail to the right towards a
gorc
encampment, we can go straight and climb a sheer cliff, or we can go left and cross over the line of white markers.”

She frowned. “Why are we so afraid of crossing those white rock piles again?”