Over an hour ago it had become stuck in an old water-filled wheel rut, and as the horses had tried to pull it free all it had done was turn the churned-up mud into a liquid morass that clung tightly to the caravan, sucking it downwards and holding it firm. The Knights of the Thorn had poles out, trying to ease the wheel free, but it had been lengthy and back-breaking work, by the end of which their fine white tabards were covered in water and filth. Cheris and Marcus had offered to help but Sir Norton firmly and politely turned them away. She realised that she had no magic to aid in extricating wheels from quicksand; a pity, it would have made her a fortune, if she did. Instead, she sat next to Marcus in the self-same vehicle they had taken from Tanaren. Her head was buried in a book but she wasn’t reading. Her thoughts were with Anaya, who was fast asleep on the other seat. She had been excited about taking the two of them away to her cottage for a couple of days when a bout of illness had struck the army.
