The Swordsman's Oath toe-2 Page 11

  “No one here,” Rhun said confidently. “Not recently, anyway.”

  Temar frowned as a gust of wind brought him the odor of old fire, or something like it. “Let’s check inside.”

  He moved his horse to the opening in the leeward side of the rampart and drew his sword before entering. As they expected, there were no waiting raiders, nor little men using the shadows to come back from the Otherworld, Temar smiled to himself. There was a dark scar on the close-cropped turf, though, and Temar dismounted to examine it, picking a shard of blackened bone out of the ashes.

  “It’s the old way of cooking a beast, the plainsman way,” Rhun said unexpectedly.

  “Explain.” Temar looked up, curious.

  “You strip the bones, empty the stomach and put the meat in it, make a fire out of the bones and cook the meat by hanging the stomach above it.”

  Temar looked at the short and stocky herder, dark-skinned and black-haired. He also recalled the journal he’d once read; the recollections of a young D’Alsennin who’d served with the cohorts during the conquest of Dalasor and his descriptions of the area’s original inhabitants.

  “Plains blood in your family, is there, Rhun?” he asked with a half-smile.

  “Hard to say.” The man’s black eyes were unreadable. “All I know is we’re stockmen, always have been.”

  “What did the plainsmen use places like this for, anyway?” Temar stood and turned slowly, staring up at the earthen walls.

  “Marriages, parleys, death rites.” Rhun shrugged. “Placating the spirits.”

  He pointed to a line of bedraggled feathers stuck into the turf to the left of the entrance. “That’s giving thanks to the cloud eagles for taking the carrion.”

  Temar stared at the barred pinions for a moment then returned to the matter at hand, determinedly shaking off a faint unease. “How recent would you call this fire?”

  “Three days, may be four.”

  “Not really anything to worry about, then. Still, we can tell the others we’ve found recent trace of raiders; it’ll give them something to stay alert for.” Temar mounted and led the way back to the wagons, now spread over the best part of half a league.

  The long day and the next passed without incident, Temar’s initial excitement at finally being on the move waning, especially as the length and frequency of the rest breaks needed by the oxen became apparent. Enthusiasm diminishing rapidly, he concluded sourly that his role as commander of the so-called guards was little more than a device by Lachald to keep him out of the way.

  “At this rate Den Fellaemion will have sailed before we reach the Astmarsh,” he complained without preamble that evening, planting himself in front of Lachald, arms folded.

  “Go and see if the herds have reached the ford, will you?” Lachald took a bowl of vegetable stew, thickened with grain, from Rielle. “Thank you, my dear.”

  Temar muttered an oath and strode off to his horse, Lachald shaking his head as he watched him go.

  “Captain?” Rhun looked up from his own meal.

  “Stay and eat,” Temar snapped as he yanked his horse’s reluctant head round.

  The smoke of numerous dung fires coiled upwards into the vast emptiness as he skirted the wagons and the hobbled oxen grazing with bovine contentment. Temar’s lips narrowed as he saw the sun was barely on the horizon, yet they were already stopping for the night. Cresting a rolling ridge, he saw a silvery thread of water winding through the green. The herds were already crossing the ford, splashing through the muddied water.

  “Why can’t people just follow their cursed orders?” Temar fumed, using his heels to take out a little of his frustration on his hapless mount.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled at a herder on the far bank. “Lachald said we cross the river together, tomorrow!”

  “You come and tell the cows, then.” The man evidently didn’t recognize Temar. “They started crossing—”

  The man’s voice was lost as urgent bellows rang through the lowing of grazing beasts.

  “Gurrywit!” Temar swore and galloped through the water, looking for the men who were supposed to be guarding the cattle. He turned into a slight hollow and saw them, apprehensive, all seated around a fire with rough-cut steaks threaded on a hastily rigged spit.

  “Get your arses up and your swords out!” Temar spat, threatening the nearest youth with the flat of his own blade. A confusion of hasty explanations drowned him out momentarily until he silenced the men with a trooper’s obscenities.

  “Come on!” Temar led the way out of the river gully and saw a group of ragged figures intent on cutting out a section of the agitated herd. Temar yelled a challenge but, able to see the guards from such a distance, the raiders melted away into the gathering dusk and the hollows of the grassland. Temar was just drawing breath to berate his ill-assorted troop when cries for help rang out from the far side of the throng of milling cattle.

  “Bastards!” he swore in disbelief as he led the men in, forcing a way through the animals. They achieved little more than scattering the beasts still further; the raiders were nowhere to be seen, only a gang of startled herders clustered around one of their number who’d taken a club to the head. Real panic was threatening among the cattle now, and Temar’s men began to move instinctively to use their horses to curb and control the herd.

  “How many have we lost?” Temar demanded of a herder.

  “Don’t know what’s stolen and what’s strayed,” the man said helplessly.

  Temar was about to pursue this when Rhun’s horn rang up into the gray evening sky. Not waiting to check who was with him, Temar galloped back to the ford to hear screams and shouts from the straggling line of motionless wagons. A flare of orange blossomed in the gloaming as a burning brand sailed in from the darkness, scattering a bevy of shrieking women. A horseman was silhouetted against a cook-fire as he galloped in and snatched a waiting side of meat from the spit, his mount barely breaking stride. Frantic barking from the far side of a wagon was suddenly stilled and the wail of a terrified child rose to a shriek. Temar’s hand hesitated over his throwing knives; in this confusion, he couldn’t risk hitting friend rather than foe. A knot of gray shapes moved stealthily along the furthest edge of the firelight and Temar marked where they halted. He looked around wildly and saw Rhun cantering down the line, searching for the guards. Temar met him and caught his bridle, dragging him between two carts without apology.

  “They’re waiting out beyond the lead wagon. Get some men and circle around to drive them off.”

  Rhun left without need of further instruction and Temar headed back toward Lachald’s position. A cart stood abandoned, tailgate swinging and its sacks and casks scattered as its frightened driver had rushed his family instinctively to Lachald’s protection. As Temar galloped past a small figure dashed out from beneath the axles and vanished into the night, some nameless loot clutched greedily to its chest.

  “Are you all right?” Temar yelled, relieved to see Lachald’s carriage in a circle with two other carts, the men staying close, swords drawn.

  “Get whoever you can across the ford,” Lachald bellowed in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’re too spread out.”

  Temar wheeled his horse around and pointed at one of the spotty youths.

  “Get to the head of the line, tell them to yoke up and get moving. Wait!” he yelled in exasperation as the lad went to leave. “Tell them to work and move in groups, not to get separated.”

  Movement flickered in the corner of Temar’s eye as he turned away from the lad and he caught a glimpse of shadowy shapes circling behind Lachald’s carriage.

  “Come on.” He dug his spurs into his horse’s bleeding flanks and fury carried him into a ragged figure whose rough-coated steed had temporarily unseated him. Temar managed to lay a deep slash across the raider’s back before he got his mount under control, but he could only watch, cursing, as the man was swallowed up by the concealing darkness. Every instinct screamed at Temar to go aft
er the robber but he managed to restrain himself.

  “Stay here, drive them off but don’t go beyond the firelight,” he commanded the knot of armed men who had belatedly ridden up.

  He began yet another circuit of the file of carts and was finally able to get his guards working in effective groups, each defending a section of the line against the harrying raiders. Gathering a smaller troop, Temar moved to concentrate on protecting the carts crossing the ford. Once the vehicles were formed into a defensive circle, the darting assaults soon tailed off, though Temar stayed on a knife-edge of apprehension until the first pale streaks of dawn showed above the eastern horizon. Exhaustion hit him like a mallet when sunrise at last revealed empty grassland all around. He went in search of Lachald.

  “What are the losses?” Temar asked, shivering and looking hungrily at a kettle of porridge bubbling over Rielle’s fire.

  “None dead, some minor wounds,” Lachald responded curtly. “Some food and supplies taken, and more scattered or spoiled.”

  Temar sighed with relief. “We’ve been lucky.”

  “You mean you’ve been lucky. If those raiders had wanted to, they could have cut us into rags.” Lachald’s harsh tone was uncompromising. “You’re in charge of the guards and they were a complete shambles.”

  Faces turned as Lachald’s voice rose and Temar stood, mouth open, unable to deny the accusation.

  “I thought you were supposed to be sending out scouts? Exactly what instructions had you given, in case of attack? Why didn’t you come and tell me at once that the cattle had crossed the river? Do you know where the horses and the sheep have got to? Go and find out!”

  Temar turned without a word and found a fresh horse, avoiding anyone else’s eyes. He rode off, finally grateful to the ever present breeze as it cooled the humiliation burning his cheeks.

  The River Road,

  Eastern Caladhria,

  from Prosain Heath to South Varis,

  13th of Aft-Spring

  Getting the caravan moving once daybreak arrived was no simple task. After rides on wagons for the wounded were sorted out and the order was rearranged to take account of the reduced guard, the sun was well over the tree-tops before the beasts and carts were anything like ready. The mule-master, a thickset man with thinning fair hair, nearly came to blows with an arrogant type with expensive boots, now thoroughly muddy and scuffed. I gathered he was the negotiator and was getting agitated about delays that might cost them dear in Relshaz. Eventually Nyle stepped in to make peace, his scowl deterring the pair from any further argument. I watched, amused, but turned away when he saw me looking. He can’t have liked that for some reason, because I soon caught him looking after me, checking my place every so often. By the end of the day, I was starting to get tired of it.

  Either word had spread through the undergrowth or we’d finished off the only group of bandits, because we cleared the Heath with no further trouble. We reached the Spread Eagle just as the sun was sinking behind the western hills and the shadows of the trees were meeting over the road. It was a sprawling substantial building of local flint and brick surrounded by a broad expanse of paddocks and barns of solid tarred wood. We could see South Varis spreading itself around the far side of a modest lake, a typical Caladhrian stretch of neat cruck-framed crofts and tidy workshops, all freshly lime-washed in pale colors, lights already being snuffed as the inhabitants went to their beds along with the sun.

  Metal-shod hooves clacked over the cobbles and the laden carts rattled through the arch of the stableyard, Nyle and the mule-master loudly demanding service. The thin-faced negotiator dismounted with a sour expression and left his horse to an underling without a backward glance. I watched him stalk off through the front door and heard him calling peremptorily for his usual chamber and a hot bath. Stable hands appeared and helped the new arrivals sort themselves out, voices lifting above the racket of uncooperative pack animals.

  “I’ll help Halice with our gear and stowing the gig; Livak, you and Shiv find someone to take care of the horses. Viltred, you can find the innkeeper or whoever’s in charge here—get some rooms before they’re all taken.”

  The old mage gave me a sharp look, clearly unused to taking orders, but he headed for the main door without argument. I was glad about that; I wasn’t intending to spend anymore of this trip nursing his self-importance along like a leaking row-boat.

  I dismounted and yawned; this was getting ridiculous—a day’s easy ride in clear weather shouldn’t leave me this weary. Still, a good night’s sleep in a decent bed should set me to rights.

  “If there’s an ostler or groom spare, see if they’ve seen any unusual travelers.” Shiv glanced around the stableyard.

  “Help you, sirs?” A stooped old man followed by an overpowering smell of horses sidled out of a nearby barn. “You’ll need some help, ladies.”

  It wasn’t a question and he was staring at Halice’s leg with ill-disguised curiosity.

  “No we don’t.” Halice’s reply was understandably curt.

  “I think we can manage, if you’re needed elsewhere.” I softened her words with a polite nod; it was important that our beasts were treated well, with the place so busy.

  The groom leaned against the doorjamb and treated us to an ingratiating display of sparse yellow teeth.

  “No call for me, just yet. You’re on a trip to the south then?”

  Livak turned to him with a bright smile, all charming innocence and wide, confiding eyes.

  “We’re on our way to Relshaz,” she said, with a nicely calculated touch of breathlessness. “Grandfather has investments there and with both our uncles putting their coin in our cousins came along as well.”

  I caught Shiv’s eye to let him know to alert Viltred to this new chain of relationships and looked away fast so that we could both keep a straight face.

  The old gossip’s eyes brightened. “What business are you in, then?”

  I could see him imagining all the fascinating possibilities— spices, silks, gems, bronzes. Relshaz is the main port for eastern Caladhria and most of the Aldabreshin trade on top of that.

  “Animal feeds.” The enthusiasm in Livak’s voice nearly tripped me, despite myself. “Barley, oats, that kind of thing. Fodder crops are too bulky, you see, and then there’s the problems of transport, but grain is a different matter. If you time it right, you can get quite a premium, shipping to the Archipelago.”

  “Oh.” The old ostler was noticeably less interested now.

  “That’s only if the Aldabreshi don’t start importing for themselves,” Halice said sourly. “I heard tell a group had been making enquiries around Trebin. You haven’t seen them on the road, have you? A gang of about six, all dressed in black, keeping themselves to themselves?”

  I mentally tallied up a Crown owed to Halice’s quick wits but the little man shook his head with what I judged to be genuine ignorance. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or disappointed.

  I held out a silver Mark. “Please make sure all the horses are settled and the harness is properly cleaned.”

  “I’ll get the boy to do it.” The groom took the coin and somewhat ungraciously slouched off, whistling sharply to summon two lads who were taking their time to get a bale of straw spread for some mules.

  “Livak, next time, do you think we could agree on a ballad before you start singing it?” Shiv’s voice was muffled as he bent to loosen his horse’s girths.

  “What were you planning to do? Stand around and look shifty and get him imagining all sorts of possibilities?” Livak led the beasts away to the stables with a shake of her head.

  “That’s not the issue.” Shiv followed her, determined to pursue the point.

  Unracking the gig’s seat I reached into the body of the vehicle for our luggage. “No harm done, as long as we make sure Viltred knows he’s just become a grandfather.”

  I tucked my sword under the flap of one of my saddle bags and passed it to Halice, while I leaned over for Viltre
d’s bag.

  Halice whistled with more than a trace of envy and I turned to see she was looking at the intricate leatherwork of my scabbard.

  “Maybe I should try swearing to a Formalin patron if that means I’d get to wear a Prince’s heirloom at my belt.”

  I wasn’t about to pass up the first friendly remark she’d made to me that day so I handed the sword over.

  She turned it this way and that and smiled as she felt the superb balance. Drawing the blade a little way, she peered at the bright steel.

  “It’s not a D’Olbriot heirloom, it’s loot from the mad old wizard that Viltred used to know,” I explained.

  “This is the sword that came from Azazir?” Her plain face lit with curiosity. “No wonder Viltred wants to catch up with those thieves. What did he lose—do you know exactly? A couple of swords like this, we could be talking serious bullion weight.”

  “Let’s ask him,” I said obligingly before another yawn threatened to crack my face. “Dast’s teeth, I hope this place has clean beds; I don’t seem to have had a solid night’s sleep since Solstice.”

  “You and me both,” Halice said curtly as we went to find the others.

  We found Viltred in a pleasantly furnished tap-room, talking to a buxom lass with a snowy apron and glossy curls who was happy to take his patronizing manner as long as it came with solid coin.

  “Oh, there you all are, at last. Now, I’ve managed to get three bedchambers, one for the girls and you can share with Shiv, Ryshad. Supper will be ready in a few minutes so we’ve just got time to wash.”

  No one was going to have trouble believing we were Viltred’s grandchildren if he carried on treating us like this, I decided. Not until Livak tipped soup or something worse over him, anyway.

  “It’s the first three rooms overlooking the mere,” the maidservant volunteered with a speculative smile at Shiv. “I’ll be up with a warming-pan later to take the chill off the linen.”