Come Twilight by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online

conditions than these; his leggings were knit lambswool and his Mongol boots came almost to his knees. “But they are eager for gold, so I am willing to believe they will do no ill while we are on the old roads. Once we go into the mountains, I am not certain we will continue to be safe in their company.”
    “The Exarch at Caesaraugusta said that there is a monastery on this road that will take in travelers for a donation,” Rogerian reminded him, holding the lead of the mule behind him with force; the animal had been trying to lag behind for some time. “The escort resents having to travel at night.” He had not intended this observation to be a warning, but as he spoke, he felt a niggle of apprehension come over him.
    “I know,” said Sanct’ Germain. “They are afraid of demons.”
    “Demons,” echoed Rogerian, and cracked a single laugh as he tugged on the lead once again. “Wolves, more likely. At this time of year, there could be packs about.”
    “These men are not shepherds, or goatherds, to be afraid of wolves,” said Sanct’ Germain, but wondered if Rogerian might be right.
    “If there is a howling,” Rogerian began, leaving Sanct’ Germain to finish his thought.
    “It is the wind,” said Sanct’ Germain. “Once we get into the mountains, then there may be wolves, but out here, on this plateau, the winter is not hard enough for wolves to come so far out into the open.” It had been more than three centuries since he had seen wolves running loose in the open in winter; the memory was not a comfortable one.
    They went on for another two or three thousand paces, and then Childric, who rode in the van of the party, held up his hand. Swinging around in his saddle, he shouted, “Building ahead! An old outpost by the look of it!”
    “Any sign of occupants?” Sanct’ Germain called back.
    “Nothing!” Childric answered in his blunt way. “We’re tired! The beasts are hungry!”
    “Time to stop!” Wamba joined in.
    “Is the outpost safe?” Egica asked, his voice rough from shouting. He swung around in the saddle, hanging on to keep his seat.
    “Why should it not be safe? What is there to fear?” asked Recared, his voice pitched a bit too high.
    “I need food and drink,” shouted Egica, and ended his demand with a harsh cough. “If the place is safe, why not—”
    “If the outpost is deserted, there is no point in stopping,” said Sanct’ Germain at his most reasonable. “Let us press on; the monastery is not more than two thousand paces ahead.”
    Childric glowered and put his hand on his sword. “I say we stop.”
    “And I say we go on.” This came from Leovigild, the sartrium for the escorts. “The patron is right. The outpost will give shelter but very little else.” He was older than the others—over thirty—grizzled, scarred and proven: he commanded them with the ease of long experience. “Two thousand paces, even in this wind, is not so far.”
    “We should see the monastery,” Recared exclaimed. “Where is it, if it is only two thousand paces ahead?” He was one of three men other than Rogerian who held leads in their hands, and guided a short string of mules with them.
    “Probably in that stand of oaks,” said Sanct’ Germain, taking care not to challenge the men by this observation; they were touchy of their reputations and could find any questioning of their competence an insufferable slight. He shifted in the saddle, renewing his grip with his calves, and pointed ahead. “It is about two thousand paces to that grove of trees.”
    The men grudgingly accepted this. “As far as the trees, then,” said Childric. “If we find nothing there, we will come back here and make camp for the night. I don’t want to have to fight any of the people hereabouts. They’re not fond of us. They are treacherous fighters, given to ambushes and traps. And with all these laden mules, we’d be singled out for a fight.”
    “They weren’t fond of the Romans, either,”