Free Patricia Briggs by The Hob's Bargain Page A

peak. The trail to Auberg twisted and turned over the mountain’s shoulder, working its way along the only negotiable path through the cliffs. The route itself was about the same length as the one the King’s Highway followed, though it looked shorter on a map. Maps, even good ones, didn’t take into account the amount of a trail’s climbing and descending.
    The first part of the path was easy, just as I remembered it. The trail followed the bottom edge of the cliffs in a gentle rise that traversed the side of the mountain in the opposite direction from Auberg. The only alternative was to go straight up the cliffs. I smiled and followed the others.
    It was several hours before the cliff gave way to a steep slope dotted with evergreens. The trail twisted back and forth among the trees until we reached the base of an enormous, steep, skree slope.
    It looked as if a giant had taken a bucket of sand and poured it down the side of the mountain. The slope stretched from the very peak of the mountain to the bottom, now far below us. The trail narrowed to a goat’s path that traversed the skree at a very steep angle. We’d be going up.
    Wandel swore, looked at me, and flushed.
    â€œThat’s why no one in their right mind would take a wagon through here,” I said. “There’s a lot of grazing up there.” I nodded toward the top of the trail. “The shepherds bring their flocks up this during the height of summer to save the fields in the valley—and they lose a few sheep here every year. I haven’t ever been all the way through to Auberg, but I’ve been told this is the worst of it—though there are some other rough spots.”
    Kith had already started up the slope ahead of us. It was obvious from the way his horse slipped and scrambled that the path didn’t offer much better footing than the looser rock on either side. It was steep, too.
    Wandel started his horse across. I waited until he was well on his way before setting Duck to it. On a trail like this, I wanted room to maneuver. Ideally I’d have waited until Wandel was at the top, but Duck was already starting to fret at being left behind. When we crossed, I wanted his mind on his footing, not on catching up the horses ahead of him.
    Before we were a tenth of the way up, Duck was coated in sweat and gray dust. I could feel the subtle trembling of his overworked muscles as he hauled me slowly up the mountainside. I sat as still as I could, and crouched over his big shoulders to let the gelding find his own pace.
    If the trail hadn’t been so narrow, it might have been better to dismount. On my own, I probably would have done so. But since Kith had tackled it mounted, the rest of us manly warriors had to do the same. I smiled sourly to myself. I would have expected childhood competitions to die out with adulthood—but there was no way I was going to dismount if Kith was riding.
    Wandel was about halfway to the far side when the Lass lost her footing where the trail crossed the smooth face of a large piece of unbroken shale. The little mare jumped and scrambled frantically but couldn’t stop her downward slide even after reaching the end of the slick rock face and hitting the rougher surface of loose rock that made up most of the trail.
    I stopped Duck foursquare in the trail. I had few seconds to worry before the Lass’s rump hit Duck’s chest with considerable force. My stout gelding grunted and rocked back on his haunches, but his weight and his shoeless, big feet gave him better traction than the mare had. He slid backward a pace or two before we all stopped.
    â€œBless you for bringing that horse,” gasped Wandel, patting the Lass, who was blowing hard. “I thought that was going to be it. If he were any lighter, we’d have all been tumbling down to the bottom.”
    I was busy watching a rock the mare’s feet had knocked loose finally hit the valley bottom. Duck