"He's worried that they'll fire the barn," said the girl to no one in particular.
"Serve him right," said Tier in an Eastern dialect a stable boy born and raised to this village would not know. The girl's sudden intake of breath told him that she did.
"Get me an axe," Tier said frowning. They didn't have time for this. "I'll fire it before we go."
"It can be pulled by a horse," said the girl. "There are shafts stored underneath."
Tier snorted, but he looked obediently under the cart and saw that she was right. A clevis pin and toggle allowed the handpull to slide under the cart. On each corner of the cart sturdy shafts pulled out and pinned in place.
Tier hurriedly discussed matters with the boy. The inn had no extra mounts to sell, nor harness.
Tier shook his head. As he'd done a time or two before, though not with Skew, Tier jury-rigged a harness from his war saddle. The breast strap functioned well enough as a collar with such a light weight. He adjusted the stirrups to hold the cart shafts and used an old pair of driving reins the boy scavenged as traces.
"You've come down in the world once more, my friend," said Tier as he led Skew out of the stable.
The gelding snorted once at the contraption following him. A warhorse was not a cart horse, but, enured to battle, Skew settled into pulling the cart with calm good sense.
While he'd been leading the horse, the girl had stopped at the stable entrance, her eyes fixed on the pyre.
"You'll have time to mourn later," he promised her. "Right now we need to move before they return to the inn. You'll do well enough on Skew - just keep your feet off his ribs."
She scrambled up somehow, avoiding his touch as much as she could. He didn't blame her, but he didn't stop to say anything reassuring where the stable boy might hear.
He kept Skew's reins and led him out of the stable in the opposite direction that he'd come earlier in the day. The girl twisted around to watch the pyre as long as she could.
Tier led Skew at a walk through the town. As soon as they were off the cobbles and on a wide dirt-track, Tier broke into a dogtrot he could hold for a long time. It shortened his breath until talking was no pleasure - so he said nothing to the girl.
Skew trotted at his side as well as any trained dog, nose at Tier's shoulder as they had traveled many miles before. The rain, which had let up for a while, set in again and Tier slowed to a walk so he could keep a sharp eye out for shelter.
At last he found a place where a dead tree leaned against two others, creating a small dry area, which he increased by tying up a piece of oilskin.
"I'd do better if it weren't full dark and raining," he said to the girl without looking at her. "But this'll be drier at any rate."
He unharnessed and unsaddled Skew, rubbing him down briskly before tethering him to a nearby tree. Skew presented his backside to the wind and hitched up a hip. Like any veteran, the horse knew to snatch rest where it came.
The heavy war saddle in hand, Tier turned to the girl.
"If you touch me," she said coolly, "you won't live out the day."
He eyed her small figure for a moment. She was even less impressive wet and cold than she had been held captive in the innkeeper's hand.
Tier had never actually met a Traveler before. But he was well used to dealing with frightened young things - the army had been filled with young men. Even tired and wet as he was, he knew better than to address those words head on - why would she believe anything he said? But if he didn't get her under shelter, sharing his warmth, she was likely to develop lung fever. That would defeat his entire purpose in saving her.
"Good even, lady," he said, with a fair imitation of a nobleman's bow despite the weight of the heavy saddle. "I am Tieragan of Redern - most people call me Tier." Then he waited.
She stared at him; he felt a butterfly-flutter of magic - then her eyes widened incredulously, as if she'd heard something more than he'd said. "I am Seraph, Raven of the Clan of Isolda the Silent. I give you greetings, Bard."