You chop wood with one .

That's not a battleaxe. I'd look a fool carrying that about with me. I sheathed the sword and turned to look at him.

Nighteyes sat in the doorway of the workshop, his tail neatly curled about his feet. Amusement glinted in his dark eyes. He turned his head to stare innocently into the distance. I think one of the chickens died in the night. Sad. Poor old thing. Death comes for all of us eventually.

He was lying, but he had the satisfaction of seeing me sheathe the sword and hurry to see if it were so. All six of my biddies clucked and dusted themselves in the sun. The jstÊ

rooster, perched on a fencepost, kept a watchful eye onhis wives.

How odd. I would have sworn that fat white hen looked poorly yesterday. I'll just lie out here in the shade and keep an eye on her. He suited his actions to his thought, sprawling in the dappling shade of the birches while staring at the chickens intently. I ignored him and went back into the cabin.

I was boring a new hole in the sword belt when Hap woke up. He came sleepily to the table to watch me. He came awake when his eyes fell on the sword waiting in its sheath. “I've never seen that before.” “I've had it for a long time.”

“I've never seen you wear it when we went to market. All you ever carried before was your sheathknife.”

“A trip to Buckkeep is a bit different from a trip to market.” His question made me look at my own motives for taking the blade. When last I had seen Buckkeep, a number of people there wished me dead. If I encountered any of them and they recognized me, I wanted to be ready. “A city like that has a lot more rogues and scoundrels than a simplecountry market.”

I finished boring the new belt notch and tried it on again. Better. I drew the sword and heard Hap's indrawn breath. Even with the handle wrapped in plain leather, there was no mistaking it for a cheap blade. This was a weapon created by a master.

“Can I try it?”

I nodded permission and he picked it up gingerly. He adjusted his grip for the heft of it, and then fell into an awkward imitation of a swordsman's stance. I had never taught Hap to fight. I wondered for an instant if that omission had been a bad decision. I had hoped he would never need the skills of a fighter. But not teaching them to him was no protection against someone challenging him.

Rather like refusing to teach Dutiful about the Skill.

I pushed that thought aside and said nothing as Hap swung the blade at the air. In a few moments he had tired himself. The hard muscles of a farm hand were not what a man used to swing a blade. The endurance to wield such a weapon demanded both training and constant practice. He set it down and looked at me without speaking.

"I'll be leaving for Buckkeep tomorrow morning at dawn. I still need to clean this blade, grease my boots, pack some clothing and food

“And cut your hair,” Hap interjected quietly.

“Hm.” I crossed the room and took out our small looking glass. Usually, when Starling came to visit me, she cut my hair for me. For a moment I stared at how long it had grown. Then, as I had not in years, I pulled it to the back of my head and fastened it into a warrior's tail. Hap looked at me with his brows raised, but said nothing about myr martial aspect.

Long before dusk, I was ready to travel. I turned my attention to my smallholding. I busied myself and the boy with making sure all would go well for him while I was gone. By the time we sat down to our evening meal, we were ahead on every chore I could think of. He promised he would keep the garden watered and harvest the rest of the peas. He would split the last of the firewood and stack it. I caught myself telling him things he knew, things he had known for years, and finally stopped my tongue. He smiled at my concerns.

“I survived on my own out on the roads, Tom. I'll be fine here at home. I only wish I were going with you.”

“If all works out, when I return, we will make a trip to Buckkeep together.”

Nighteyes sat up abruptly, pricking his ears. Horses.

I went to the door with the wolf at my side. A few moments later, the hoofbeats reached my ears. The animals were coming at a steady trot. I stepped to where I could see around the bend in our narrow lane, and glimpsed the horseman. It was not, as I had hoped, the Fool. This was a stranger. He rode a rangy roan horse and led another. Dust mottled the sweat streaks on his horse's withers. As I watched them come, a sense of foreboding rose in me. The jbs wolf shared my trepidation. His hackles bristled down his spine and the deep growl that rose from him brought Hap to the door as well. “What is it?”

“I'm not sure. But it's no random wanderer or peddler.”