"Gort! Where?"

To my right, the stocky Golem jostled, raising one ceramic arm, pointing west, a bit north of the nearby roadway. The flap of Chord's pavilion flew open, and in the firelight, the mage, appearing bemused, stepped into the open. He strode out into the clear center of the camp, fully upright, seeking after the disturbance. I shouted a warning, waving him down, but he just eyed me quizzically, and continued to stand, surveying the site.

Cursing, I rolled back further into the wood and scrambled to a crouch. Working my way in the direction Gort had indicated, I fumbled at my belt, realizing as I pulled the Roundel free, how useless it would be against an armed rifleman. I reached a spot where I smelled a faint odor of cordite, then stopped dead still, straining my eyes and ears for some further indication of the attacker's presence.

A rustle sounded, and I saw some movement to my left. It was almost pitch at this distance from the feeble glows of the camp. In the gloom moved a dark patch, slinking off and away from my position. The camp was barely visible here. If I tried to follow now, I would become lost in the blackness. I considered that the rifleman might have withdrawn, retreating from any useful firing position.

The sniper was an amateur, obviously. No professional or practiced hunter would set up this close to his target with a rifle, and completely miss the shot. The thick wood occluded view of the camp; it was an incredibly poor choice for a set-up. I sat straining for a revealing sound for several minutes, but all I heard were the faint noises from the perturbed campsite behind me. Frustrated, I gave up and returned to the clearing.

Chord motioned me to join him as I left the bracken. So I went on, re-seating the Roundel back into my belt. "What was all that noise about? Why did you run off like that?" He seemed more annoyed than worried, and it struck me that he had never heard the sound of live fire before. Then, double struck, I realized that no one here should ever have had reason to hear rifle fire, ever. There were no rifles.

I would certainly have heard if gunpowder had ever been compounded here, for any purpose. Charcoal, saltpeter, sulfur were available, certainly. I had noted this, as a passing thought, but had put it aside. Damned if I would be the one to introduce it. It was, I realized, a kind of unconscious philosophical decision on my part. This startled me a third time, to realize how many decisions about this place I had made, without conscious evaluation.

"That was the sound of a rifle, a thing that kills from a distance, like a bow, but much more powerful. It can put a hole in you from very far away. It's a device I know well from my own world. I went to track down the weapon's handler."

Chord blinked, and his face reddened with anger. "It was an attack? Who? Why? Did you catch sight of the culprit? What kind of weapon can do that?" Chord whirled away from me ordering the fires to be built up, and sending men toward the road to keep watch. This was almost the exact opposite of what should have been done, but I could only explain this later.

"Gort!" Chord shouted. "Track our attacker in the wood, but for no more than an hour. If you catch up to him, disarm him and bring him to me. If not, return and tell me his direction and distance."

Gort shifted his glowing eyes toward the wood and wordlessly started out. I closed my eyes and berated myself for not thinking of it. Like an armored bulldozer, I could have safely sent Gort after the guy earlier, instead of chasing off, comparatively unarmed, hounding through the dark. Not like me, to abandon the use of available tools. Fully alert now, I realized that the crack of rifle fire had not been from a black power arm either, but a standard high velocity load. A modern arm. This land now had at least one other visitor besides me. I glanced back at the oak I had sheltered beneath.

"A moment, Chord. I need to look for something." Heart still pounding, I went to the tree, and in the blooming light from the rising fires, found a hole in its base where the second round had penetrated. There was a bullet score in the dirt near my bedding from the first shot as well. I decided to dig for the round in the tree with the point of my knife.

It took a little time, but about two inches into the wood, I found the bullet. Although the shot had mushroomed, I figured it to be at least 30 caliber, heavy, a hunting or military slug. Not a musket ball or target round, either. I had been the hidden assailant's only evident target, for no shots were fired at any other member of our party. With Gort hounding the trail of the shooter and men watching the road, I fell to packing up my bedroll, and securing things for travel. Done with that, I returned to Chord's side, and tossed him the slug. He looked at it curiously, and then shook his head.

"It would seem someone needs you in Corbell somewhat less than I do. We should leave here as soon as we can. Everyone is burdened with cargo, so we can't spare the people to reconnoiter and test the trail ahead. Still, I wouldn't want to give your admirer another chance at you. In a few miles we will be back to cultivated land, and Corbell is just beyond that. We will leave as soon as Gort returns. Have everyone with arms keep watch as we travel."

Finally, Gort returned to camp. The mage looked sharply at the Golem. "Well? Report!"

Gort stood still as stone, then his voice rang hollowly out into the still pre-dawn air. "No human presence within two miles in the direction of retreat. No encounters. No signs of further threat detected."

Chord blew out his cheeks, and then nodded. "Very well. Return to your former duties." Then, to me, "So, something new, from your homeland, you say. Watch yourself carefully. Have Gort keep on the alert as we travel. With luck, we will leave much of the opportunity for this mischief behind us as we approach Corbell."

Chord raised his voice and shouted out for the march to begin again. I returned to my cart with Gort, and we took our place in the queue.

By mid-morning the forest thinned out to be replaced by wood-fenced croplands; where a few farmers labored in the distance across the flat expanse of the fields. One stopped to rest on his hoe, and wave. He seemed intent on Gort, a sight I would have gawped at myself, only a few weeks prior. It made me feel a bit self-conscious, as though I were part of a circus parade. The forest damp was replaced by the drier, sweet smells of cultivation, and it lifted my depression somewhat.

The road became flatter, broader and better tended also, and travel was now easier, especially dragging my trundle. Gort, of course was impervious to the change. Drainage ditches bracketed the route on both sides, so we were forced to keep to the center, abandoning any effort to reduce our exposure to sniper fire, but there was no longer good cover for such a threat either.

By noon we approached a break in the fences, where an odd building squatted at roadside. Built of equal parts weathered wood and field stone, it rambled back from the road in a series of connected, if ill planned, single story sections that had the look of having been built at different times, and by different hands. Our troop gravitated towards an open hard packed lot, that fronted it. Chord, well to the front, waved and pointed to it, making exaggerated eating motions. Apparently, it was the equivalent of a Holiday Inn and animal shelter, for to the rear of the jumble, a round gated corral abutted a smoke puffing shanty, whose smell promised the advent of sweet, cured meats.

Chord signaled for a stop once we were all on the front grounds, and with many audible groans and sighs, our weary, sleep deprived group dropped their burdens and began setting out containers of salted foodstuffs, and distributing the breads and other fixings for a midday meal, as if it were a roadside park. I felt a little disappointed at this, for the smokehouse aroma had set my stomach rumbling, and I was a little curious about how such places stacked up to a typical Howard Johnson's.

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Chord and Dimanda stood near the building's entrance watching the activity, so after quietly instructing Gort, I advanced to join them.

"It's called Drover's Inn," said Chord. "The farmers started it, to keep herders from damaging the croplands as they pass through to Corbell. At first, it was just a flat space and a corral. Later, some bright fellow felt there might be a few cattle to snag from the drovers, in exchange for a dry roof and fresh ale, and set up a small cottage here as well. It has grown over the years to what you see here now. The farmsteads themselves are well back from the road - Ah, the proprietor!"

A stout, apron-clad figure appeared beneath the timbered doorway to the lodge, beaming at Chord's still bobbing presence. Chord made a small gesture with one hand, and his glistening boots descended to the hard-pack. We then walked to the front to greet our host.

"Welcome! Welcome! Chord it is, yes? A year and more, as I remember, yes? Shall I set table for Ye? Rooms all round? We have a Troubadour with us tonight, of good voice and skilled with the flute." He rolled his hands eagerly and winked. "May-Anne still serves in the commons...She will be pleased to see you again."

Chord cleared his throat and demurred, "No, no, we will be pressing on after a lunch and a small rest, I'm afraid. Good to see you also, Alec. My crew has brought their own provender. We will take a table inside, just the three of us, mind."

The Innkeeper's cheeks fell a bit at that, but he recovered quickly. "That is a shame, a shame. Well, perhaps on your return then, yes? I have a well whose water-level needs raising; perhaps we can strike a bargain for your round trip? I never seem to get to Corbell these days to arrange it...So much to do, so much to do these days. Have you heard? Wayland is adding a new tower to his hold, and..."

We followed the verbose host, who talked us ceaselessly into the Inn and ushered us to a table. The rough split-wood floor had been worn almost flat by the scuff of many feet, and the table was a heavy trestle with benches in lieu of chairs. It was clean, though damp, and larger than we needed. The smells of old cookery mixed with the smoky aroma of a spitted haunch, that sizzled in a fireplace set into one of the rectangular room's short end-walls. Luckily, the wall farthest from our table, since it was not a chilly afternoon, and the fire cracking below the meat was furnace hot.

Only one other traveler graced the room, and he stood, rather than sat, at a shelf-like counter that ran along the length of the opposite long wall. I noted he wore a long hard scabbard at his waist, and the pommel of a blade protruded from the top of that.

My own blade and the Roundel not withstanding, I was still not used to seeing cutlery being publicly worn, and indeed, outside of Sir Connor's escort at the keep, had seen very little steel paraded, save that used for the utilitarian items I made routinely at the Forge.

He dressed far less roughly than the farmers and townies I was familiar with. Trousered in fine, closely tailored brown leather, and topped in a white woven blouse, he cut an unlikely figure for a local farmer. Thin, but sturdy, I estimated the man to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with close-cut red hair and fine features. I assumed the traveler to be a courtier of some sort.

Our host Alec, made leave of our table and swung off at a rolling gait to see to our food. Chord laid a hand on my arm, regaining my attention, and murmured.

"One of Duke Wayland's brood. Grandson, I believe. I have been introduced to most of them, one time or another. Not in line for succession. Thavis, or Thomas, I think his name is. Does some minor political duties, court courier, I think."

The Bravo turned his head slightly, as if he had caught some corner of the discussion, and sent a smile toward Dimanda. He then rolled around, resting his back on the counter, and took all three of us in."Good sirs, Miss," he said. "Heading to Corbell?

Chord nodded. "A Wayland, are you not? One of the Duke's family?"

"True. Don't hold it against me though. I'm Thavis Wayland. You sir, seem familiar. Have we run across each other at court?"

"Once at least, I think, at court for your brother Rieth's birthday last year, and we shook hands briefly in the reception line. I manage the eastern farming community for your grand-sire. Chord, you may recall, and this is my daughter Dimanda, and Master Drake, my Smith and Artificer. "

"Of course! My pardon. I stand embarrassed, Mage Chord. My duties take me west and south most times. I am sent largely between the older estates; so rarely do I find time to dwell on affairs to the east. You must not have taken your daughter to the celebration, else I should have recognized her instantly." His smile broadened, and he bowed deeply to Dimanda. "Truly, your beauty be unforgettable, Lady." Then, to me, "Master Drake, your fame precedes you. Your traveling machines are the chatter of the courts! An honor to meet you."

Although unaccountably annoyed at his attentions toward Dimanda, it was impossible not to like the fellow's bright quick manner and open personality.

"I can't take credit for the invention," I demurred, "but the design is mine. Glad to meet you."

Dimanda brushed the air between us with one hand, and rallied to my defense. "Tush! William's firm hand at the Forge and about our keep's affairs has been miraculous. Everything you have heard, an understatement, my word on it."

Thavis' eyes flickered for a second between the two of us, then he laughed. "Your honor stands well defended, William. I assume you were called to Corbell for the tower raising, Mage Chord?"

Chord sighed. "Yes, mainly. I am fulfilling my Levy, and other business. Are you traveling west also?"

The young scion's face fell a little. "Regretfully, no. I am on duty for the court, sent to request additional supplies from the farms hereabouts, to help accommodate the extra laborers as will be at Corbell for the construction. It will keep me at the inn for the day. However, I shall be back soon, and we shall have to become better acquainted then. If you will allow it, good mage?"

"Certes, why not?"

A trim woman of middle years appeared bearing a tray from what I assume was the kitchen, and made her way towards our table. The striking woman moved with a sure and well postured gait. Her eyes sparked with humor and recognition that grew as she approached. Virtually ignoring Thavis, she stopped just behind Chord, reaching around him to set the table, a small smile twisting at her lips.

Chord turned with a start as her arm pushed into view. "Why, May-Anne! How ... wonderful to see you, here, ah, again. Alec mentioned you had stayed on at the inn."

May-Anne bent lower yet, brushing her torso on the seated Chord's shoulder, black eyes still glittering. "Still here, my mage, or do you prefer Baron these days? And you are finally returned, I see. Staying long?"

"In Corbell, for a time. I am providing my services to fulfill the Duke's Levy." Chord's eyes alternated between focusing on the woman, and the food she set out. "You decided not to apprentice with Orton, after all, I take it?"

"No, not with Orton; as it happens, I will be visiting in town tomorrow, and all next week. I will be staying with friends, at this residence," she said, slipping a note next to Chord's platter. "Perhaps we can talk more about it later, if you've the time, seeing as you will be about for a while."

Chord surreptitiously palmed the note, and coughed out that he would. Dimanda looked on incredulously, breaking out in a smile.

"Father! Are you not going to introduce the lady?"

Chord reddened at this, quickly performing the rite, and included me as well.

May-Anne accepted the introductions with grace; finished service, and before departing, extended her invitation to the now grinning Dimanda. Chord's daughter did not quite leap up from the table to follow May-Anne into the kitchen, but guessed that more words would pass between the two before we set out again.

Thavis had politely withdrawn during the service, deeper into the inn, where he likely quartered for his short stay. This bothered me slightly, as I had intended to ask the man about out-bound travelers. I had not set aside the shooting incident of last night, and intended to uncover the culprit by any means possible. For now, I held my peace and tore into the steaming meat and tubers set before me.

We were finishing up when Master Seth's scarecrow figure appeared at the Inn's door. Scratching and mumbling, he craned his long neck into the room, and signaled to us. Chord rose and made his way to the carpenter, where they talked for a time. Then the carpenter turned and left. On his return, Chord finished the last scraps on his plate, announcing we should make ready to leave. Excusing himself, he went off to settle with the innkeeper.

Dimanda used this as an excuse to absent herself in the direction of the kitchen, and I rose from the vacant table and returned to ready Gort for travel, eager to continue on to Corbell.