Chapter Ten: A MapLuis wandered down to the bridge, taking the long way around to his old tutor's home. Leaning over the stonewall, he absently dropped pebbles into the thin trickle of water below. Soon, this too would dry up and no further substantial rain would fall until next March. Some in Riodelgado spoke about late November being always wet, but Luis was not so sure. All of his Christmases had been bright and dry. As far as he remembered anyway. Memories, of course, played tricks. Just like the water. And soldiers.
Soldiers?
Luis raised his head, eyes scanning the horizon. He hadn't been wrong. He'd heard them before he saw them. Four cavalrymen, black as night, riding over the furthest hillside, making their way steadily towards the outskirts of the village. Luis, becoming afraid,
