Once inside and around a knob of rock, he found himself on a smooth stone trail, here wide enough for three or four horses abreast, lit with a cool blue light. Here, as in the gnome prince’s hall, the stone had been skillfully carved from the arched ceiling three times the height of a man to the floor crossed by grooves that would give purchase to the feet of horses or mules and also direct water off the trail. On this surface, they were now able to ride safely and quickly. The light was just enough to let them see the shape of the way ahead—sometimes curving, sometimes sloping a little uphill or down, but mostly straight and level. In that dimness, Andressat began to feel drowsy; his mind drifted to his own home, to the clear winter sunlight slanting across the vineyards, the long blue shadows. He did not think of the stops they must make to rest the horses, or food—the light never changed—he did not think of time.
“It is to dismount again,” one of the gnomes said briskly, with a firm tap on Andressat’s knee.
Andressat jerked awake—he felt mazed, stupid, as he swung a leg over and slid down to the stone. Ahead was a stone face with a gap much like the one they had entered. Outside was darkness.
Still dazed with sleep, Andressat followed Selfer and found they had come out on a slope that ran down before them. Mountains loomed behind them, black against a deep blue sky, lighter to the heart-side, eastward. A few stars still shone; the air was cold and smelled of snow, but gentler even so than the air of the north.
“That way—” Their guide said to Selfer. “—that way is the Valdaire road, down from the pass. The snow would have been deep there; here is only a little that will melt at sunrise.
“But—” Selfer sounded almost as dazed as Andressat felt. “But did we travel so far in just one day?”
“It was the prince’s gift: to take you the way that is not measured with paces or furlongs or leagues or any human measurement. It was but one day’s effort for you and your beasts, but without the prince’s gift … it would be many days. Four or five at least, though the way is straight enough, compared to the trade road.” A pause; Andressat was still trying to gather his scattered wits. “Not that any human will ever find it—or you remember it.”
Andressat tried to fight off the wave of sleepiness that came over him but when his mind cleared again, he knew only that they were on the southern side of the pass with the Vale of Valdaire before them, and familiar smells came to him on a southern wind. Though he tried, he could not remember exactly how many days he’d been on the road since Vérella; everything was clear until they met some gnomes …
He shivered, though the day had warmed with the sun. He’d never seen gnomes before this trip and hoped never to see them again. For that matter, he never wanted to see the north again: too cold, too wet, and full of people he didn’t know, not even counting the nonhumans.
When they reached Valdaire, Selfer saw him safe to a good inn, where his travel-worn clothing made his resumption of incognito as a merchant completely believable. “I could spare two men to travel with you to Andressat,” Selfer said.
“What would it cost?” Andressat said. Despite the hospitality of those with whom he’d stayed, his purse was flatter than when he set out, the journey having been so much longer.
Selfer shook his head. “Nothing, my lord. Your safety matters to us, and in this season, traveling alone is not safe. Merchants frequently hire guards when not with a guarded caravan.”
So it was that after a day’s rest in a comfortable inn, Andressat rode up to the Duke’s Company’s winter quarters, where he met with Selfer and Burek, the two captains in residence. He recognized Burek at once, but tried to pretend he’d never seen his bastard grandson before. Burek, for his part, accepted the incognito without comment, but Andressat knew he’d been recognized.
“You are in more danger than I knew,” Selfer said. “Our troops here have heard spies asking questions about anyone traveling alone or with a hired escort, other than merchants known to belong to one of the guilds. Someone—probably Alured—suspects that you are on the road, and it’s clear you’re being sought. Here’s our plan, the best we could devise. Captain Burek’s troops have been in the south this past campaign season and are more familiar with the current threats, besides being well rested. We think it better to use his for escort in this case. And he thinks you should have at least four; six would be better.”
All he wanted was to ride for home the quickest way, but he would not ignore professional advice. “Thank you,” he said. “But this is too large a gift—when I reach Cortes Andres, I must be allowed to provision all for the trip.”
“Of course,” Selfer said. “When would you like to leave?”
“As soon as possible. And should we travel the trade road, do you think, or cut across country?”
“How much would Alured like to capture you?”
Andressat’s blood chilled. “I fear he would like it very much, and the scroll I have with me even more.”
Burek looked at Selfer. “My troops are getting soft, sir, despite the exercises I put them to. I want them good and hard when Count Arcolin arrives. I think they need a good tramp on the road.”
Selfer grinned. “How far?”
“As far as the borders of Vonja. It would be as well to check on that situation, too.”
“I don’t want—” Andressat began, then shame stopped him. If his was not the true pure blood of Old Aare, how could he so resent this young man for being born a bastard? What did bastard mean, after all? “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you know best; it’s only that I made the trip away alone for the most part.”
“It is fortunate you chose to travel incognito,” Selfer said. “We think it would be a good idea if you continued—but in another disguise.”
Andressat had never expected to find himself in someone else’s uniform, riding in the midst of the troop like any common soldier, while someone wearing his clothes rode south with a small escort of apparent Golden Company soldiers. He objected at first, thinking it was perhaps Burek’s revenge for his own shabby treatment of him, but Burek explained with no hint of triumph.
“My lord, it is for your safety. If they have penetrated your disguise—if they have discovered that you are away from Cortes Andres—they will be watching for your return. You said yourself Alured wanted you and what you know; Alured has spies across Aarenis; he sent soldiers to your very doorstep.”
“But that other group—are they not at risk?”
“Not much,” Selfer said. “For one thing, they aren’t Golden Company—we borrowed the uniforms. For another, we know Czardas and that part of Foss Council very well: they will have a long, frustrating chase and no profit from it.”
Now Andressat jogged along with the Phelani cohort, listening to the gossip the troops passed among themselves. He heard about Sergeant Stammel, who had been stricken blind by a demon and yet learned to shoot a crossbow and take up the legend of the Blind Archer. He heard about wagers made, won, and lost, and what the troops thought about the change of leadership of the Company.
“Arcolin’s fine,” one said to another. “He’s not the Duke, though. And it’s too bad we never got to say goodbye to Kieri and give him the cheer he deserves.”
“I could understand leaving the Company to stay with him,” another answered. “But to stay with Captain Dorrin? Selfer’s a fine captain; I wouldn’t have chosen Dorrin.”
“She was never your captain,” someone else said. “Suppose it was Arcolin going away—would you stay with—” The man nodded to the front of the column.
“I would, unless Arcolin asked me particular. Lad’s done well this past summer.”
A grunt came in answer and a warning glance. Andressat saw that “the lad” had reined aside to watch the troop ride past. When it had, he rode to the front again. He did sit a horse well, Andressat had to admit, and his troops liked him.
On the border of Vonja, camped near one of the caravansaries where a few merchant groups were staying, Burek told th
em he was splitting the group in two. Andressat did not like the campsite; he worried that a spy might overhear Burek. But, as a common soldier, he could say nothing.
“Half will go north, make a half-circle, and half will go south, to do the same. Rendezvous at Foss, in ten days. You will live on field rations, camp in the open.”
“But Captain, the Duke never had maneuvers like this in winter.”
“The Duke’s a king, and Arcolin’s commanding now. He deems it good practice after two years of sitting on your arses in the north that you get more knowledge of lands where we might be hired next year.”
“And I was just gettin’ to know that redhead at the Dragon,” said the man.
“The redhead!” That was another soldier, who punched the speaker in the shoulder. “It’s not hard to get to know her—but that sergeant of Golden Company, Tamis Hardhand, would have somethin’ to say about it.”
Andressat realized that the banter was rehearsed when he saw one of the soldiers stare fixedly at another, who startled and then spoke up. “Captain, how far from the road must we go?”
“That’s up to your field commanders—that’ll be Sergeant Devlin and Corporal Arñe. I’ll expect a rough map of your route, with hazards, trails, watercourses—”
“But sir … we aren’t good—”
“You’ll get better by doing. Arcolin wants more of you able to map. And a journal about each day’s journey. I’ll review those on the way back to Valdaire from Foss.”
“You won’t be with us?”
“I’ll begin with the south group, but then I must go to Andressat. Selfer brought word: Tsaia’s king wants a message taken.”
“You’ll want an escort—” This rather hopefully, from one of the oldest veterans.
“Yes, of course. Especially if the count refuses to see me, I must have someone who can hand over the message. It’s probably just a formal announcement that he’s been crowned, but—kings are kings.”
Andressat squirmed; that had to be a dig at him. Yet he could see how it implied that he was there, in Cortes Andres, and not here, if anyone were listening. In that copse to one side of the camp, for instance.
“I should be at Foss in plenty of time to meet you,” Burek said. “All I have to do is ride there and back. Now as to escort—” His eye roamed over the troop. He named four, and Andressat—presently under the name of Kerin—was of course one of them.
They started next morning as soon as it was light enough, a chill wet dawn. Winter in the south was never as sharp as in the north, but in this season what fell as snow in the Dwarfmounts fell as cold rain on the lands below.
“Takes somebody really interested to go stand in the rain this time of day,” one of the others muttered when they were across the road and onto the fallow ground beyond.
“Maybe they thought we’d like breakfast with them,” another said. A low chuckle ran through the troop. Andressat soon heard all about Cam’s gambling, Selis’s prodigious capacity for strong drink, Dort’s intention to stay in the south when he retired. He felt isolated: he did not want to talk to Burek even if, in his present guise, he could have done so. He had never listened to soldiers’ banter; he had no way to join in. Besides, if any ears were listening, his accent would give him away as Andressat-born.
When Burek led his small group away from the others, it was still raining. If there were spies in the folds of land, behind rocks, in the trees or bushes, Andressat could not see them—he hoped any such were cold and miserable. The ground lifted away from the river, and soon they were riding inside the rain clouds themselves, hardly able to see a horse-length away, hearing only the clop and suck of hooves in mud, the creak of leather. Andressat tensed. Easy to get lost on these slopes; easy to stumble into a rough ravine; easy to be ambushed—five horses made enough noise for anyone to notice.
They made a wet cold camp that night, and Andressat woke when the wind changed and blew colder through his damp cloak.
Dawn broke with high rose-colored clouds and a peculiar clarity to the air below that meant, Andressat knew, western weather for a day or so. To the north, clouds still lay in the Honnorgat valley, but where they rode, they could see the shape of the land, now sparkling with wet in the thin sun. Water trickled musically into every depression, along every possible watercourse. Wide stretches of turf, inlaid with bands of trees … a flock of sheep, a mound of dirty wool, moved across a slope west of them.
They were almost to the border of Andressat, coming up through the bands of gray rock, when attack came. From behind a row of the rough gray stones, five men rose, two with bows in hand. Instinctively, Andressat slid off his horse on the off side; the animal squealed and plunged as an arrow struck its neck. Behind him, he heard arrows shattering on the rocks. Dort had been hit; he fell from his mount. Burek called commands Andressat did not know; the others were around him in moments, swords and shields out. He had the same, but he’d failed to grab his shield when he dismounted, and he’d never used a short sword in his life.
Someone else grabbed the shield from the fallen man’s horse and handed it to him. “Heart-hand—hold it up like this,” the man muttered. It was heavier than Andressat expected. “Sword’s for stabbing. No fencing.” An arrow clanged on his helmet; Andressat heard Burek say something else he didn’t understand, and found himself shoved sideways by the others. They were now covering the body of their fallen comrade, who was not—Andressat was surprised to see—dead.
“Advance!”
That he understood. The attackers had come out into the trail now, leaving their bows behind. All but one carried medium-length swords, broad at the base. Burek held the right end of their own line; unlike the rest, he had an officer’s long sword. Andressat glanced at the men on either side of him and tried to understand what he was supposed to do.
As the lines came together, instinct took over. Andressat had never fought in close formation, but he had seen Phelan’s and Halveric’s soldiers both drilling and in battle. That heavy shield gave not at all to blows by the enemy’s swords, and his own short blade thrust forward as fast as those of his companions. One of the enemy fell, then two more. A thrown dagger zipped past and hit his helmet, stinging his arm as it fell away. Burek—he had no time to watch Burek. Then he heard the clash of blades behind him; he dared not turn and look, for the enemies in front. A blow in the back staggered him. He felt a body sliding down his.
Two of the three men in front of them continued to fight, but one turned away; Andressat recognized one of the archers. “Get him!” he said. “He’s going for his bow …” Beside him, his two companions surged forward, and he moved with them; the two remaining enemy swordsmen fell. One of his companions ran over the dying and stabbed the enemy archer in the back. The man fell with a choked cry.
It seemed very quiet suddenly.
Andressat bent over, gasping; he had considered himself fit, but it had been many hands of years since he’d fought. Then he turned.
Behind him were Dort, now with his throat cut ear to ear; two enemies, both dead or near death; and Burek, a dent in his helmet and one arm bent the wrong way.
“Gird’s gut,” one of the soldiers said. “This is no good. Cam—get up on one of them rocks and see if there’s any more trouble.” He himself went to Burek. “Sir—?”
“Stupid of me,” Burek muttered. “Blade caught in the neckbone—left me open—”
“Just stay still. Cam’s high guard. Kerin—you stand watch there—”
“He can’t—” Burek said, then bit back a cry as the soldier moved his arm.
“He did well enough,” Selis said. He had Burek’s glove off and the sleeve of his mailed shirt pushed up. Andressat glanced at the swollen dark bruise. “Bad break, this, sir. Needs a surgeon.”
“Just … splint … it …”
“I’ve set bones,” Andressat said. “Learned from a surgeon. We need something for splints.” They were far from trees or even bushes, surrounded by turf and stones.
&n
bsp; “Come hold his arm, then,” Selis said. “I’ll find those bows.”
Andressat took hold of Burek’s hand and looked him in the face. Pale, under its tan, but the eyes steady as they met his. He felt a rush of warmth for this man, blood of his blood. It wasn’t Burek’s fault he was a bastard; it wasn’t his fault that he chose soldiering over horse-training. It was his own fault that he’d exiled the lad—lad then but man now—in a fit of temper.
“Sorry …” Burek said.
“It’s a bad break,” Andressat said. “But we should be able to save the arm. I’m sure at Cortes Andres they have a surgeon who can do more, but for now …”
Selis came back with two crossbows. “Just let me cut them apart,” he said. His dagger slit the bindings, one cord at a time. He did so while standing, scanning the countryside. When he had the first bow apart, he said, “What about the front part?”
“The prod? Is it straight?”
“Seems so.” Selis brought it over; Andressat looked at it.
“No—see that bend? We need straight—what about splitting the stock?”
Selis gave him a searching look, then nodded. Moving away, he set the stock down, bracing the butt with rocks, and brought the hatchet down firmly on the end; in two blows he’d created a small notch. He put in a wedge and began working his way down, wedge by wedge; on the third or fourth, the wood cracked the rest of the way; the roller nut flew out. Selis trimmed the rough edges of both pieces with the hatchet. “This do?”
“Good,” Andressat said. “Now wrap them with cloth—and I’ll need some cloth strips.”
“You’re sure you’ve done this before?”
Andressat nodded. “Something every—” He paused, glancing around. “—every soldier should know, my father said.”
Selis cut away one of the dead brigands’ clothes and ripped strips from the shirt. In minutes, he had padded both halves of the former stock and brought them to Andressat. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hold his upper arm here—yes, like that. I need to pull, to straighten this as much as possible.” He glanced down at Burek’s face, now beaded with sweat. “It will hurt, Captain, but if I can align the bones now, you have a better chance of regaining full use of the arm.”
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