"I don't know, Shed. I don't want to know. All I care is, they pay good
money. I need it. I have XXXXXXXXXXXX a long way to go."
Chapter Twelve: THE BARROWLAND
The XXXXXXXXXXXX Taken called the Limper met the Company
at Frost. We'd spent a
hundred and forty-six XXXXXXXXXXXX days on the march. They were XXXXXXXXXXXX long days and hard,
grinding, men
and animals going on more by habit than desire. An outfit in
good shape, like ours, is capable of covering fifty or XXXXXXXXXXXX even a hundred miles
in a day, pushing hell out of it, but not day after week after month, upon
incredibly miserable roads. A
smart commander does not push on a long
march. The days add up, each leaving its residue of fatigue, till men begin
collapsing if the pace is too XXXXXXXXXXXX desperate.
Considering the territories we crossed, we made damned XXXXXXXXXXXX good XXXXXXXXXXXX time.
Between Tome and Frost XXXXXXXXXXXX lie mountains where we were lucky to make five miles
a day, deserts we had to XXXXXXXXXXXX wander in search of water, rivers that took days
to cross XXXXXXXXXXXX using makeshift rafts. We were fortunate to reach Frost having
lost only two men.
The Captain shone with a glow of XXXXXXXXXXXX accomplishment-till the military
governor summoned him.
He assembled the officers and senior noncoms when he returned. "Bad
news," he told us. "The Lady is sending the
Limper to lead XXXXXXXXXXXX us across the
XXXXXXXXXXXX Plain of Fear. Us and the caravan we'll escort."
Our response was surly. There was bad blood between the Company and the
Limper. Elmo