We made our way down the narrow trail, Peter and I. I stumbled at times, and Peter kept me from falling, but I was safe when we reached the floor. The old hermit was gone from his camp, but I had Peter fetch wood for his fire anyway. Then we followed the path out, and stepped from the darkness of the earth into the grayness of morning. We had not beaten the dawn.
Nor the soldiers. Through a curtain of snow I could see the shadow of a warhorse, and astride her a man as wide as a mountain, with a sword in his hand. He could have been any of Lord Guerney’s soldiers, as his face was hidden by a thick grey cloak. The horse stamped at our presence. The soldier turned, raised his sword, and said, "You owe me a book, monk!"
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