At the Queen_s command

"I reckon I could, Captain Strake, but we won't be needing it today."

"You have food cached further along the way?"

"After a manner of speaking." The guide smiled. "At noon we're having supper with the Prince."

Chapter Fourteen

May 2, 1763

Temperance Bay, Mystria

A fter erasing any trace of their having stopped, the party moved on at a more leisurely pace. Owen still felt himself an object of study, but also realized his guides were giving him the opportunity to learn. They'd offered the direct warning about the necessity to keep his weapon loaded, then proceeded to give him practical lessons on moving through the woods.

Owen studied Kamiskwa and did his best to ape him. The Altashee moved economically and carefully, preferring to slip beneath or around branches rather than push them aside or hack them off. Going up hills he tended to step on exposed roots, or rocks that were solidly buried. He took smaller steps rather than longer ones that might result in a slip or spill of stones. He moved quickly, but without haste; a distinction that manifested itself in a fluidity that gave him a ghostlike quality.

Woods' earlier comment had been correct. As the sun came up, Kamiskwa's flesh and hair picked up a greenish tint. He remained mostly dark-very much the color of the pine needles. A few spring-green locks streaked his hair. Owen couldn't figure out if this was because of his youth or his age, since the man had no wrinkles and if he bore scars, they did not show up in contrast to his flesh.

What he did have were tattoos. Simple line drawings tending toward geometric shapes and a few animals. They'd been done in black and only showed up in full sunlight. Owen could make no obvious sense of them.

They continued on for another hour, pausing at streams to refill canteens and waterskins. They used that time to listen as well. Though Owen would have laughed at the notion had anyone suggested it, Mystria sounded different than Norisle. Bird song and insect buzzing came tantalizingly close to those of his home, but a few differed mightily. This he found somewhat disconcerting.

A hawk screamed and sparrows, which had gathered around a blackberry bush, immediately took flight. Owen looked for the hawk, expecting to see it perched on a branch and defiantly proclaiming its existence. The only bird he saw, however, was brown, twice as large as a sparrow, with equally nondescript plumage. It landed beneath the bush and started harvesting berries from the lower branches.

Woods pointed at it. "That's a liehawk. The Altashee name for it means 'Little Bird with Big Voice.' Other folks call it the bully-bird. You'll hear that name used on people, too."

Owen shook his head. "Just how different is this place?"

Woods shrugged. "Don't know. Hain't been to Norisle. This here is its own place. What's different to your eye?"

The soldier took off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. "We've been walking since dawn, but haven't seen any signs of humanity in that time."

"This is a big land, Captain, two-three times Norisle. Maybe more. Half the people. Most on the coast."

Owen nodded. "And along the rivers."

"Very good, Captain." Woods smiled. "Ain't going to be many folks out where we're headed. That ain't a complaint."

Kamiskwa grunted his agreement.

The three of them headed off again, and within a short time Owen caught a heavy, thudding rhythmic sound. Axes. Kamiskwa slowed them down and worked his way around a level lot where three men labored clearing the land. Two brought the trees down and trimmed the branches. The third used a team of mules to haul the logs through a forest of stumps to a pile. They'd already split and cut a few of the logs, creating a square foundation, onto which they'd erected a tent.

Owen studied the lot. A small stream ran through it on the far border by the tent, promising a good water supply. They'd cleared the better part of three acres and had situated the tent at the base of a hill in the lot's northeast corner. By the end of the summer they'd have gotten up many of the stumps. Within a month they'd be able to do some limited planting and get a harvest before the winter.

Owen started into the open, but Nathaniel held him back. "Squatters. Won't be welcoming us."

"Aren't they afraid the landowner will evict them?"

"Depends, don't it?" Woods withdrew from the edge of the clearing. "The Confederation lays claim to these lands. Her Majesty thinks her issuing deeds trumps that. Name on the deed could be someone back in Norisle, or down in Fairlee or Ivory Hills. They might go to court in Temperance, but ain't many a judge will rule in their favor."

Owen pointed toward the lot. "But those men know that what they're doing is wrong."