A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  Yozef spoke to the Seaborn officer. “He’s right. It’s time to move faster. I leave it to you to pace us. Trot as much as possible without overly tiring the horses—we may need to gallop before reaching closed ground. Also, send a couple of men forward to be sure we don’t stumble into them without realizing they’re ahead of us.”

  He turned to Wynton, the Pewitt officer. “You do the same. Have a couple men lag behind several hundred yards and one on each of our flanks.”

  “What do you think, Yozef?” rumbled Carnigan. “Are they going to catch us?”

  “It all depends how fast the two groups along the coast are coming. I doubt the ones they sent to block the Grastor road will be a factor. The ones from the west had many men riding double, but we don’t know about the ones from the east. If they come hard, the horses with two men each might not be able to keep up the same pace. But there could still be too many of them.”

  Ten minutes later, they moved from a trot to dismounting and leading the horses at a walk. Then a leftward-flanking scout reported that the three men who’d been on the hilltop near Nollagen were following them slightly to the left and parallel.

  “Keeping us in sight,” said Toowin Kales. “We could send some men to chase them off.”

  “No point. They’d retreat and then come back. We’d just tire our men’s horses to no purpose.”

  Yozef glanced at Maera. She was not a natural rider. A hetman’s daughter and then a Paramount’s wife had few occasions to make long horseback trips. She was capable, but Yozef planned on having Toowin Kales and Gowlin Reese lead her horse if they had to make a run for it.

  He yearned to order everyone to remount and go back to a trot, but he suppressed the urge. They had to keep the horses fresh enough for when they really needed to speed up.

  “Synton, how much farther on this flatland, do you figure?”

  “A couple of miles . . . I think. Depends on how fast the land closes in on the track Reezo talked about. Too soon yet to mount the horses again, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re walking the horses faster now than we normally would. Most of the horses had already been ridden today from Stiltern Fall, so they aren’t fresh.”

  Five minutes later, a shout from their rear made Yozef turn to look. One of the trailing outriders galloped back to the group. In another minute, Yozef knew the reason for the Pewitt man’s return. Five more riders now followed about five hundred yards behind him. Both rear outriders were forced to pull in closer to the main party, as did the left outriders—the three riders paralleling were now six.

  “Could be just more scouts,” said Zalzar. Despite being the oldest person in their group, he was obviously at ease in the saddle. He handled his unfamiliar horse with his one good hand and casual mastery.

  “Maybe,” said Yozef. “But we have to assume they’re an advance of more to come. They’re squeezing us so we get less warning. We might not know until it’s too late if hundreds of them are closing in.”

  “When do you think they’ll attack?” asked Maera, her voice calm, as if she were asking when Yozef would be home for the evening meal. He wasn’t fooled. Her face was pale and pinched.

  “Not until they have a lot more men. There’s what . . . fifty of us? A lot depends on their ultimate goal . . . capture or death. If it’s capture, they’ll wait until they have overwhelming numbers. Otherwise, they’ll come as soon as their leader believes they have just enough to win a fight. We have to remount and move faster.”

  The chase became almost surreal. Within minutes, the outriders were forced back to the main party. The riders of unknown origin increased in numbers by ones, twos, and threes behind them and on both sides. Yozef began to really worry when the flanking man edged closer.

  “They must’ve brought horses with them,” Synton said loud enough for Yozef to hear over their horses’ hoof beats. “After the report that some of them were riding double, I thought maybe they didn’t bring enough horses for everyone. But now that I see them showing up in dribbles, I think they probably had enough horses for all their men, but the horses didn’t manage the sea voyage that well and they’re short a few mounts. I’d bet their leader sent the men with the best horses ahead as fast as the horses could manage. I also think our time is running out.”

  “Those hills and buttes we started seeing are getting closer,” said Yozef. “What do you think now? A mile?”

  “About that, but they have to see it, too. That must mean they don’t have enough men yet.”

  Synton looked to the left. “Well, shit! I had to open my fucking mouth!”

  The trailing riders had picked up the pace, and there were more of them.

  “How can they be going faster than us?” asked Maera.

  “How the fu—” Yozef cut himself off. It served no purpose to take his frustration out on Maera.

  “I don’t know,” he said after taking a deep breath. “We haven’t rushed since we left Brudermyn, but our horses have been on the road for several days. Maybe they’re tired from that. We also don’t know the horses, so besides being unfamiliar with them, we can only guess what physical shape they were in when we started. Add to that, we have no idea about the condition of our pursuers’ horses. Maybe they have elite horses. Maybe they’re well rested. Hell, I don’t know!” The words tested his resolve to stay calm—at least overtly in front of Maera.

  “Still, there aren’t that many of them yet,” said Synton. “But we can’t afford for them to get ahead of us and find a place to either block us or even slow us down. We’re also in trouble if we’re out here in the open, and it turns into a running fight. I can see a few of them are carrying lances, and at least some of them have swords. That makes them more armed for a cavalry fight than we are because all we have are firearms.”

  The same worry occurred to Yozef. The Caedelli dragoons were armed as if the enemy were Narthani infantry. Even with the new rifled muzzleloaders, the men were trained to ride to battle, then dismount and fight as infantry. Whoever was after them looked as if they might be traditional cavalry. It wasn’t possible to reload muskets and pistols from a galloping horse. In this situation, the only choice was to stop, dismount, fight on foot, or flee until finding a defensible position.

  “Well, shit,” said Synton. “That’s it, then. We have to reach where Reezo claims they can’t get around. We’ll have to race the horses no matter what it does to them.”

  Synton didn’t wait for Yozef’s response, which was fortuitous because no counterargument was given. They HAD to get out of open country before being cut off.

  The Seaborn dragoon officer had already anticipated this and ordered his men into a gallop before Synton’s shouting and arm waving reached him.

  “Hold on, dear!” Yozef shouted to Maera. Toowin Kales hooked a rope to her mare’s bridle, and Gowlin Reese moved alongside her.

  Yozef restrained his urge to help. As much as his horsemanship had developed, he didn’t have the others’ lifetime of experience. If he lost control of his horse, had it step in a hole, or was thrown, it would force the entire party to stop. That event could be disastrous if it contributed to their being caught in the open.

  The two-abreast formation quickly broke down. The surrounding land was dry and covered only by sparse, low-lying grass. As they galloped, the party stretched out and broadened as faster rider/mount combinations moved ahead of slower riders.

  It took only moments for the flanking enemy riders to reciprocate the pace, whipping their horses. When Yozef crested a low hill, he glanced over his right shoulder and almost wished he hadn’t. A mass of riders was only two or three minutes behind them. His flash-view didn’t give a count, only that there were too many.

  Shit! Where did they all come from!?

  Maera’s horse stumbled, causing Yozef to let his own reins slip inches before he regained them. But her mare immediately stabilized and continued on. The left flankers were closing, squeezed by the narrowing terrain. Yozef hadn’t paid attention to their righ
t flank but now did. He saw more riders trailing by several hundred yards.

  Does that mean another group coming from east of Nollagen? he thought.

  Suddenly, his horse jumped aside as they raced past a small bush. Yozef hadn’t noticed, but sparse brush now dotted the previously open terrain. He looked ahead to see patches of brush and a few trees whose height seemed to increase in the distance. Several rock formations up to ten feet high jutted upward among the trees.

  They raced around a small butte, the flankers now too close for comfort.

  The sound of muskets firing rose over the hoof beats and horses blowing with overworked lungs.

  They can’t expect to hit anything, thought Yozef. Just trying to get us to stop and fight. You can’t hit anything from their range with a smoothbore musket, and you certainly can’t reload.

  More muskets, this time closer and to the right rear. Yozef glanced in that direction. The right flankers had drawn closer and now numbered seven or eight. At least two men leveled muskets. The sound of their firing reached him seconds after he saw smoke from the barrels.

  Still looking backward, he saw a sharp movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head more. One of the Pewitt horses was down, the rider thrown.

  Well, shit. I guess they can hit something if the target is fifty horses and their riders.

  He didn’t know whether the fallen dragoon was injured or alive, but they couldn’t help him. Yozef mouthed a prayer, and not just for the man. His gelding’s blowing was getting more labored. Other horses must also be nearing the end of their endurance.

  Just a little farther, horse. Hold on for just a little farther.

  One of the Seaborn dragoons’ horses at the front collapsed in full stride. The rider managed to kick out of the stirrups in time to roll forward and onto his feet. Another dragoon leaned down with an arm extended. In a maneuver worthy of a Hollywood stunt team, the horseless man grabbed the arm and swung up behind the other rider, the horse only slightly breaking stride.

  They raced into a grove of trees 12 to 20 feet tall. About 200 yards later, they burst out of the trees to face a shallow slope with a chute 20 feet wide and walls of rock 6 to 8 feet high. Their horses clattered on solid and loose rock.

  Where are the flanking riders? Yozef thought as he looked back. The terrain had narrowed enough that the flankers had joined the men at their rear, and the merged group had slowed.

  “We still outnumber them,” yelled Synton. “That won’t last long.”

  Yozef saw what he meant. From the bottom of the chute, Yozef could see over the cluster of pursuers to flat land behind. Riders, singles and small groups, trailed into the distance. He didn’t count, but his eyes told him they would soon be outnumbered.

  At the top of the chute, the land widened again, but rock formations merged into slopes on both sides. Thala had been at the forefront with Reezo but waited for Yozef at the top of the chute.

  “We’re almost into the place where it’s too narrow for more than two horses at a time, often just one horse. The footing will become trickier as we cut across the slopes.”

  “At least, we’ll be out of open terrain so they can’t use cavalry tactics. But this is still not going to work,” said Yozef. “They’re almost on our ass. As we funnel into the narrow defiles you described, they’ll catch up to us, and we’ll be in their musket range. Then it won’t matter if our rifles outrange their muskets.”

  Wynton led his Pewitt men out of the chute and was close enough to hear Yozef’s words. He had already seen the same scenario and made a decision.

  “Paramount, you can’t escape unless we stop them here long enough for you and the others to open up more distance from them. I’ll stay here with half my men and slow them as long as we can.”

  Yozef stared for three or four seconds while his mind processed the Pewitter’s words.

  “Wynton . . . ” He stopped. More seconds passed as his vain search for other options concluded.

  “This is what we’re here for, Paramount. Leave us and let us do our duty.”

  Yozef choked. Maera sidestepped her horse next to Wynton’s and put a hand on his arm.

  “Go with a merciful God. We will never forget you, and your clanspeople will honor your name forever.”

  Nothing more needed to be said. Wynton shouted orders. The ten lead Pewitt dragoons hesitated, then continued on, passing Yozef and Maera. Wynton shouted again, and the ten trailing men gathered around Wynton. Yozef couldn’t hear the words, but several men glanced at him.

  “We have to go, Yozef,” said Carnigan.

  “I know.” He turned to Toowin, who had taken a turn holding the Paramount’s flag. “Come with me.”

  Yozef walked his horse toward the cluster of dragoons. He didn’t speak, but he held a hand out to the first man he came to. After a moment’s hesitation, the dragoon took the offered hand and shook. Yozef quickly moved through the group, shaking each hand. When finished, Yozef finally spoke.

  “I decree this spot to be Pewitt’s Glory.”

  He backed his horse up next to Toowin’s and gave the open hand down, arm out salute used by the Caedelli to honor equals. Toowin lowered the flag to horizontal, dipped it three times, and the two men rode after the rest of the party. He knew it was an awful pittance, but it was all he could do for them. If he survived, he’d make sure the men were remembered and honored.

  He had no trouble catching up with the others. Another narrow section had bottlenecked their progress. Once they’d passed it, the land opened up again for several hundred yards. They were five minutes from leaving the Pewitt men when they heard a short rifle fire salvo, followed by several muskets. Yozef counted off seconds. The rifles again . . . after the time it took to reload. Then pistols . . . the dragoons carried at least one each. More muskets. Rifles again. More muskets. He visualized more of the attackers arriving.

  They were almost through another bottleneck when Yozef was sure the musket fire was virtually continuous . . . until it died back. He hadn’t heard a rifle fired for over a minute. He cursed and gripped his reins tighter. Eleven men had bought him maybe eight minutes with their lives.

  The sides of their passageway kept rising. Then Reezo left the bottom of the ravine-like terrain and edged onto the slope to their right. Yozef would have called it a game trail if there had been animals large enough.

  Good thing Reezo and Thala are here, he thought. We’d never have known to go this way.

  The path kept rising. The trail was precarious—one slip, and the horse and rider would tumble until they hit flat ground fifty feet below. Even if they survived, there was no way for them to return to the trail. The slope was too steep.

  They heard a shout a few yards behind them, then sounds of a rockslide. Yozef turned in the saddle. A horse tumbled down the slope, its rider on his belly with arms and legs splayed. That stopped him from following the doomed mount that hit the ground fifty feet below. The horse’s hind legs kicked twice and froze. They twisted at the wrong angle.

  Two men leaped off their horses and reached down to pull the dismounted man to safety. No one said anything. Now another horse had to carry double.

  Yozef called ahead, and Thala pulled up to wait where the trail crossed a small shelf.

  “Are you sure they can’t get around us, Thala? They’ve got to be right behind us.”

  Yozef’s pulse jumped when she hesitated, instead of answering immediately as he’d hoped.

  “Reezo’s positive about it,” she said, but her tone was not assertive.

  “But you’re not sure.”

  She bit her lip, then shook her head. “Oh, he’s probably right. I might just not remember as well.”

  Yozef could have spit bricks if his mouth wasn’t desert dry.

  Synton had dropped back from Reezo. “How much farther does this trail go before we can move faster?”

  “Reezo says another quarter-mile when we cross the ridge we’re approaching. Then we drop down into a small
valley before coming to another narrow part. I think I remember that area.”

  Synton shook his head. “If I were them and had as many men as we think they do, I’d send some of them continuing along the bottom where we turned onto this trail, on the off chance Reezo is wrong.”

  “Well, if they do that, shouldn’t we see them below us?” asked Yozef. “That trail below is also narrowing. It’s a hell of a lot faster going. They could almost get us in reasonable musket range. We need to push on, get off this slope, and find a spot where our rifles will outrange their muskets.

  “You’re thinking of hitting them, then,” stated Synton. “Could work. We wouldn’t even have to hit the men. Dead or wounded horses will tend to block the way and be as good or better.”

  Yozef yelled forward, and the Seaborn dragoon leader waited for them at another shelf.

  “Oston, we need to slow them down again once we get off this trail and can reach a good spot. Ser Ethlore will remain with you. These are your men, but listen to him. He’ll look for a place where you can use your rifles to block the pursuers. This is not a stand-and-fight. You’ll be able to fire and hit targets beyond their musket range. You’ll have to judge whether to fire once and move on or stay to reload and continue firing. Then you’ll move as fast as you can to catch up with the rest of us. You’re not to get into an extended firefight and lose men.”

  “I’ll stay, too,” said Carnigan, who hadn’t spoken in the last hour. He reached over his shoulder and patted the destrex rifle slung across his back. “This cannon has an even longer range. A hit from this will discourage them from getting too close.”

  “All right,” said Yozef, “but remember you’re only trying to block the passage enough to slow them down, not stop them. So do what you can and get your asses back to the rest of us.”

  When Carnigan was out of hearing, Yozef leaned into Synton. “Try to send Carnigan back before the rest of your men. His horse is laboring more than most.”