He touched gentle fingers to Fors’ stooped shoulder. It seemed to the mountaineer that Jarl displayed a flash of surprise.
“This one has the gift of tongues and the mind which sees. He shall be a guide for us.” Marphy’s words spilled out as if now that he had a kindred spirit in which to confide he could no longer bottle his thoughts. “And in return we shall show him strange lands and far places. For it is in him to be a rover—even as are we—”
Jarl’s fingers plucked at his lower lip: “Yes, rover was he born, and in him flows Plains blood. If he—”
“You forget.” Fors did not force a smile this time. “I am mutant.”
Before either man could answer someone else came up—Arskane. His face still bore the marks of the fight and he favored his shoulder as he moved. But when he spoke it was with an assumption of authority which he plainly did not expect to have disregarded.
“We break camp to march—I have come for my brother!”
Marphy bristled. “He rides with us!”
Fors’ laugh had no humor in it. “Since I cannot travel on my feet I shall be a drag in any company—”
“We shall rig a pony litter,” was Arskane’s quick reply.
“There are also horse litters,” began Marphy jealously.