Free Harald by David Friedman Page A

rock. Snow falling, snow banks head high in the pass. He dried himself off, pulled on a patched tunic, walked back to the cottage.

    Harald lay in bed, eyes closed. Anna and Gudmund were by the fire on the other side of the room. He was a little deaf, so her side of the conversation could for the most part be understood.

    "I left sign for the sisters, but it could be weeks. Here tomorrow, next day at best."

    "They'll search the stable. The horse. You heard what happened to Katrine. We have to get him away. Maybe the woods?"

    ". . . cold . . ."

    "I know. But if they find him. Not just him."

    "We could sit tight. Nephew. Neighbors won't tell. . . . But . . ."

    The conversation went on, voices rising and falling; from time to time he could catch one or two of Gudmund's words.

    When he was sure they were asleep he rolled out of bed, lowering himself quietly to the floor, feeling under the bed for clothing. It was his own, plain enough to suit. He dressed hastily, the warmest he could find. Not warm enough. One blanket from the bed went around him, a belt to hold it. He untied the purse, reached into it. The loose stone by the fireplace. He dropped a handful of gold coins on top of whatever it held, put the stone back. Two more blankets, the rest of his clothes. Boots. Cloak. A sausage from dinner, a hard roll. The clay fire box, coals.

    The two oxen dreamed of green fields; the mare heard him, stamped, moved to her stall's door.

    "Not long now, lady love. Cold for you, me too, but at least moving."

    He lifted a square of floor, pulled out the saddle blanket, draped it over her. Saddle. Saddlebags. Handfuls of apples from the bin at the back of the stable. He leaned against the mare's side, breathing hard. She butted her head against his shoulder.

    From the little farm in the eastern fringe of North Province where foothills ran up to the mountains his nearest friend was three days travel north and west. The sky was clear, the wind at his back. At first he walked, but the mare was in better shape than he was. From time to time he woke enough to be sure they were still going in the right direction. A little before dawn he found a windfall and a heap of leaves, mostly dry, near a clearing of brown grass. He left the mare to graze, curled up in the leaves, blankets wrapped around him.

    The next day it started to snow. He went on for several hours, using wind and the lie of the land, felt himself slipping, caught himself, opened his eyes. The ground was covered with a thin white layer. He found shelter for both of them under an overhanging bank.

    By morning the snow was deeper. He scraped clear as much grass as he could, fed the mare apples, himself from what was left of his traveling food. One more day's rest, then . . .

    The next morning cold but clear. They set out, using the sun and the shape of the land. Downhill was mostly west. Downhill was good. By noon he was stumbling, holding on to the saddle, afraid to risk riding and falling. Shelter this time was a tall pine, branches weighed down by snow, space under almost clear. Dead branches made a fire; he melted snow, warm for the mare, hot for him, ate the last of his food.

    They were in flat land now; he mounted. It began to snow. As it grew darker he searched for shelter. Nothing. He pulled the blanket tighter around him under his cloak.

    The mare had stopped, was sniffing something. With an effort he dismounted. Hoofprints. Recent; the snow was still falling. Someone was going somewhere.

    The mare stopped again, Harald holding on by one hand. He leaned against her for a moment, shivering, put out his hand. Stone. Wood. A gate. Looking up, he saw walls, a tower, faint against falling snow.

    "Hullo."

    Silence.

    Cold fingers found the mace where he had tucked it under the saddle flap. He pounded the butt against the wood with what strength he had left. Again.

    Above him a voice.

    "Who's there?"

    "A traveler, lost. Followed hoofprints."

    "Just a