Adric’s cheek rested on the rough wool covering Milo’s shoulder. The horse jostled beneath them, and Adric had to hold Milo’s waist tightly just to stay on. Grass grew beside the road, and the air smelled of greenery. The silence seemed loud. He could hear his own breathing and the even clopping pace of the horse’s hooves.
They had left the city at dawn, both afraid that Rogren was right behind them. Adric sat on his own through that trip, gazing at the spires he had wanted to see so long ago and wishing he were past them. After they hurried through the gate, tiredness overwhelmed him, and he leaned on Milo. Adric couldn’t sleep, though. Every time he dozed, he started to slip off, and the scabs on his back would break and pull, jerking him awake.
He gazed ahead and saw people bent over green fields, picking something that grew on small stalks and tossing the something into a bucket. Was the drought over then? He hadn’t seen such green in months. The people moved rhythmically: bending, picking, tossing; bending, picking, tossing. Adric’s back ached in sympathy. He remembered seeing something similar on his long ride to town so long ago, and not understanding the work involved. He understood now.
He squinted, saw the people more clearly. In the distance, men and older women carried buckets from an unseen stream. Younger women did most of the picking, their slender bodies weighted with babies slung upon their backs. Children crouched on the side rows, looking for plants that had been missed. One little girl stood and watched the horse pass until another child yanked her down.
Adric closed his eyes. The gentle sway of the horse’s body rocked him. The wool rubbed against his cheek, scratching him, but he didn’t move. He felt the strain against his scabs, the relief as some pulled free, his skin cooled by the flow of blood.
“Milo!” A woman’s voice echoed from the field. Adric opened his eyes. The ground seemed closer; the caked dirt looked tired and well used. A woman stood at the edge of the field, waving her arms. “Milo!”
Milo reined in the horse, and Adric almost lost his balance when the swaying stopped. The woman ran toward them. She lifted her skirts as she stepped up onto the road. “Milo, why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Did you lose your job?”
Milo turned a little, holding Adric’s arm so that he wouldn’t fall off. “Mother, I–”
“The only one of us who makes any money and you run away. Did you steal the horse too? It’s too fine to be yours.” Her eyes, bright buttons in her sun-leathered face, scanned the horse, Milo, and then found Adric. “And who is this?”
“Mother, I’ll explain when you get home tonight.”
“His back is all bloody.” She circled around them and gripped Adric’s shirt. As she lifted it, the scabs ripped off and Adric groaned. “Someone’s whipped him but good. Are you in trouble, Milo? I won’t have any trouble in my house.”
Milo’s grip on Adric tightened. “Mother, I said I’ll explain later.”
“Who is this boy? He can’t stay unless I know who he is.”
Adric licked his lips. “I’m–”
“He’s a friend of mine.” Milo brought his other arm around to steady Adric. “We worked together. Rogren almost killed him, so we’re going off to find something else.”
Milo’s mother tugged at her wispy gray hair. “We’ll talk when I get home, Milo. A boy doesn’t leave his work because of a whipping.” She gathered her skirts and returned to the field. Milo clucked at the horse.
“Don’t you ever tell anyone who you are, you hear me?” he hissed.
“I wasn’t–”
“We never talk about it, we never think about it unless it’s just you and me. The prince is dead, you got that? He won’t live again until you reach that palace. Until then you’re my friend. We left Rogren to find our fortune together.”
“Why are you yelling?” Adric clung to Milo’s waist. The dizziness had returned. “I wasn’t going to tell her.”
“Because.” Milo leaned forward, balancing his weight. “If you say you who are, they’ll think you’re crazy. Out here, they don’t whip crazies, they kill them. So if you want to survive, you say nothing.”
“All right.” Adric closed his eyes against the dizziness, but it seemed to grow worse. Every place he went seemed to be worse than the one before. He opened his eyes again as the horse entered a small village. Adric wrinkled his nose at the combined smell of garbage, cooking meat, smoke, and feces. The village was smaller than a city street. The hovels were made of stone with no mortar. Rags filled the larger crevices to prevent cold winds from blowing through. Doors hung ajar because they could not close. Buckets covered with flies sat outside doorways.
In the center of the village, a fire burned in a circle of stones. Dogs ran toward the horse, nipping its heels when they caught it. Milo cursed and swung at them, nearly making Adric lose his balance. The dogs ran away.
He stopped the horse near the fire. The smoke burned Adric’s eyes and filled his lungs. He could scarcely breathe. His entire body ached. Milo dismounted. He reached up to help Adric, relaxing his grip as his hands touched Adric’s shirt.
“You’re bleeding.”
Adric was too tired to say anything. He needed to rest. He let Milo pull him from the horse. Adric’s legs were stiff, and his entire body hurt. Milo tied the horse to a post near the fire and half dragged Adric into a nearby hovel.
The hovel smelled of urine and stale food. A thin stream of light trickled in from the door and from the cracks in the stonework. There were no windows. Milo set Adric on a pallet near the door. Adric winced as his body touched straw. The world still moved, even though Adric did not.
“I’ll be right back,” Milo said.
Adric reached for him, but Milo disappeared.
Slowly Adric’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw two benches, a table, several pallets, and a fireplace. Unemptied slop buckets sat by the door, and the remains of a meal still littered the table’s surface.
Itchy spots traveled across his chest. He glanced at his hand and watched a small black bug land on his knuckle. The pallet was infested. He shuddered and tried to roll off, then hesitated when his hands found dirt.
The door banged open. “Over here,” Milo said.
A woman crouched beside Adric, her skirts covered with mud. “When was he whipped?”
“Yesterday.”
“Help me get his shirt off.” As she pulled the corner of the garment, pain ran thought Adric’s back.
“I’ll get it,” he said. He made himself sit up and eased the shirt from his shoulders. The fire rekindled in his back. He tossed the shirt aside and lay down again.
“These aren’t healing properly,” the woman said. Her finger was light upon Adric’s back. “See the pus? Someone placed salt in the wounds and then used a water treatment. Salt and water together stop the healing.”
“Cassie just used ointment,” Milo said.
“Rogren rubbed my back,” Adric said. “It burned.”
“He knew what kind of treatment she would use. Damn him.”
“Can you help?” Adric asked.
The woman nodded. “It will take all day and you will have scars. I have to remove the water and salt, apply some ointment, remove that, and reapply the water treatment. It will be an ugly process.” She turned to Milo. “You can leave if you want.”
Adric clenched the pallet. He was used to pain. Nothing could be worse than the whipping.
Milo took his hand. “I’ll stay.