Another set of hooves clopped up, angry sounding in their haste, and didn’t stop until they were between Spinner and Haft; Fletcher had to dance his horse aside to avoid a collision with the newcomer.
“Why do we stop here?” demanded Alyline, the Golden Girl, though she hadn’t been gold for some time. Her short vest, open between her breasts but laced to keep the sides from flying away, was silk, its mauve dye was running. The pantaloons that covered her legs were a garish orange flannel. A maroon girdle was tied below her bare waist. She wasn’t at all happy with the tucker and dyer who had promised her new garments and so far had delivered only those, which she didn’t think an improvement over the patchwork garments she’d stitched together herself from scraps of cloth.
Haft tried to ignore the Golden Girl. Spinner glanced at her with the pained eyes of an unjustly scorned suitor, but didn’t answer. Instead, he looked again toward the approaching wolf.
Wolf saw the five people looking at him, stopped, and stood with his flank toward them. He raised one forepaw and awkwardly pointed toward the forest. His tongue lolled and he nodded. He looked at the four unmoving people and cocked his head expectantly. When they still didn’t move, he looked away for a moment, as though thinking. Abruptly, he went on the alert for a second, then pounced. He worried his head back and forth between his outstretched paws, as though dispatching a careless rabbit. Finished with his make-believe kill, he bounded back to his feet and spun around a couple of times, finishing with his hindquarters toward them and his head looking back over his shoulder. His meaning was clear:
Get a move on, people, there’s food this way.
“What are you waiting for?” Alyline demanded. “We have a lot of people who are hungry and thirsty. They need food and water.” She flicked her stallion’s reins and heeled his flanks. The horse began cantering toward the waiting wolf.
Spinner looked after her unhappily, then turned his horse onto the right fork and followed at a walk. He removed his cloak and turned it so the leafy green side showed rather than the sandy brown and tan he’d shown during the trek these past several days.
“This is the rally point,” he said. “Pass the word to everybody. Fletcher,” he said when he didn’t see Haft—where had he gone to?—and added, “Send scouts ahead.”
“Right.” Fletcher turned his horse about. Spinner hadn’t seen Haft because he had already gone back to the main body of the band to gather his normal trio of scouts. Haft had already turned his cloak green side out.
“Wait for me!” Xundoe cried after Spinner. The Zobran army mage who was the sole survivor of his guard company when Spinner and Haft found him, urged his pony into a trot. A donkey laden with two mage chests followed the tether that ran from its bridle to the pony’s saddle.
Haft grinned as he called out the names of his men. “Archer, Hunter, Birdwhistle, let’s go. We need to check out the forest.” He pointed. The three eagerly joined him; they preferred being out front to riding with the main body. They happily donned mottled-green surcoats once more.
“Mister Fletcher, the troops are yours,” Haft said when Fletcher arrived. He clumsily heeled his mare and led his scouts in a cross-country canter toward the forest.
Fletcher watched the four until they were far enough away that they couldn’t possibly hear what he said. “Kocsokoz, Kovasch, Meszaros, ride with me. The rest of you follow Spinner.” His trio were Skraglander army veterans; he preferred Skraglanders to any of the Zobrans. Unlike Zobra, Skragland hadn’t been completely defeated—yet. To Fletcher, that meant the morale and self-confidence of his Skragland Borderers were probably higher, and their lust for vengeance lower. He was more confident they would fight smart when a fight came—and a fight was likely in the Princedons. Fletcher and his trio set out at a trot behind Haft and his three. The Skraglanders untied their fur cloaks from their bindings on the back of their saddles and hung them over their shoulders as they trotted. They wouldn’t be as hard to spot under the trees as the Zobrans, but the shaggy cloaks and the horns on their helmets might make a foe mistake them for animals for an instant—and an instant might be all they needed at the beginning of a fight.
Except for two who dropped out to act as rear security, the other fighters took the road; they’d soon enough catch up with the leaders. Nobody noticed the solitary bee that circled above them.
At the start of the forest proper, Haft and his trio of scouts turned toward the road the rest of the company traveled on and followed it into the forest. They leaned forward on their horses, peered deeply into the shadows to the sides of the road, looked sharply to the front, listened intently to the forest sounds, sniffed the smells of vegetation and wandering animals. The road was a mere rutted track on which grew enough grass and wild flowers to tell them it had seen spare use for some time. A hundred yards into the trees they dismounted then tethered their mounts for the company to pick up. Haft signed Archer and Hunter to go into the forest on the right side of the road, he and Birdwhistle went into it on the left. One man in each pair kept visual contact with the road; the other went deeper into the forest but maintained contact with the road watcher. They advanced silently. Wolf watched to see how the men arrayed themselves, then ranged ahead of them.
Air wafted softly under the trees as relief from the heat of the sun, and quickly evaporated the sheen of sweat that had covered their bodies. The scouts were alive to the sounds and sights of the forest: Birds sang and squirrels chittered as they darted and skittered about their business in the trees. Woodpeckers rat-a-tatted. Insects buzzed and flitted about; salt-eaters and bloodsuckers inspected the exposed skin of the scouts and supped on the more succulent bits. A lone bee bumbled about in seeming vain search for nectar. Up ahead a pack of feral dogs bayed in pursuit of its dinner, a deer cried out its death. Soon after, they heard canine yelps—followed by a wolf’s victorious howl.
Tree trunks, many thicker than the width of a man’s body, climbed heavenward, only the youngest had branches low enough for a tall man to reach without standing on his horse’s back. Branches flared out into terraces high above, forming multiple canopies that blocked direct sunlight from reaching the ground; little undergrowth managed to survive in the dimness of that part of the forest. Strangle vines looped about many trees, their aerial roots drooped heavily from high branches. Here and there where age, a storm, or strangle vines had felled a tree, sunlight broke through and inspired saplings to grow in manic competition with their siblings and rivals of other species. There also, small lizards basked on exposed rocks or on the fallen trees themselves. A few lookout trees shot high and pierced the canopy; nubbins of old, dead branches a man could use to climb spiraled their way up the mighty trunks from near their bases.
The forest’s multiple canopies were not so thick that they prevented rainfall from dribbling down in a constant drizzle; so the ground was soft and moist, but not so wet as to squish underfoot. All around, fallen leaves and twigs spotted the ground and quietly rotted away, returning their stored nutrients to the soil.
Even though the light was merely dim, and no treetop dwellers scattered slops at him, the forest reminded Haft uncomfortably of the short stretch he and Spinner had traversed leading to the border between Bostia and Skragland. There, as they reentered the light at the border, a giant cat of the forest had attacked them and nearly won.
Bare patches of dirt bore the tracks of deer and other grazers, occasionally there were signs of boar. Ground dwellers scampered through what undergrowth there was, squee-ed out their alarms and flashed white-tailed alerts. Haft went suddenly cold when he saw the pug of a hunting cat. He dropped to a knee to examine it. It was half the size of the paws of the gray tabur he and Spinner had fought and killed. He thought the cat more likely to flee a man than try to eat one. Still, when he stood and continued to move through the trees, he was more wary. He checked that his axe was loose in its belt loop; his fingers caressed the trigger of his crossbow. Man-eaters or not, cats were frightening, deadly, beasts
and he had no desire to encounter another.
In places, the spacing of the trees allowed the scouts to see as far as a hundred yards though the dimness of the light made objects at that distance hard to make out. After a time, Haft dimly made out Wolf in the distance, where it was bolting down a meal. The beast looked directly at him as he approached and seemed to laugh. Then, finished, Wolf ran forward before Haft reached him.
Haft stopped to examine the scene. There were many paw marks of dogs around the half-eaten carcass of a yearling deer. Wolf had interrupted the pack in its meal and sent it to flight. With the bigger predator gone, the feral dogs were edging closer, to retake their stolen catch. Haft was suddenly aware of their growls. He casually walked away. Dogs might attack a man who displayed fear; they were less likely to attack one who displayed an air of confidence.
The ground rolled in gentle swells and troughs, it angled slowly, imperceptibly, downward toward the distant sea. Streams and rills cut every which way through the land; the mountains that formed the spine of the Princedon Peninsula and divided the flow of water north and south were some distance ahead. In flat places and broad hollows, water from heavy rains pooled in season.
Haft couldn’t see the position of the sun under the trees and had to guess at the passage of time. When he was sure enough time had passed for the sun to be halfway from zenith to dusk, he began to look for a suitable flood clearing, one with a stream of fast-running water and large enough to bivouac the entire company. When he found one he sent his three scouts to make sure the lack of human sign truly meant no one was near, and went to wait by the side of the road, where he was surprised when Fletcher joined him from the direction of the bivouac.
“Where’s everybody else?” Haft asked.
“Kocsokoz, Kovasch, and Meszaros are with your men scouting the area.” Fletcher grinned. “We followed you. Eight pairs of eyes are better than four.”
Haft looked away, muttering to himself. He thought four pairs of eyes were enough—and he was head scout; nobody should be scouting without him knowing about it. He turned back to Fletcher.
“And just what do you think would have happened if we realized we were being followed? How many of you would we have killed before we realized who you were?”
Fletcher shook his head. “None. You would have waited until we were close enough to recognize before you fired.”
Haft looked away, muttering again; Fletcher was right. Otherwise their arrows might miss. He’d rather get quick kills with arrows than go into the uncertainty of a close fight with men of whose fighting abilities he wasn’t fully confident. Still, he was upset that other scouts had trailed them without him knowing.
“That’s a good place for a camp,” Fletcher said. “I don’t think anybody in the company could have found a better one.”
Haft grunted in reply, but the compliment pleased him.
They didn’t have to wait long until the rest of the company came into view; already they heard the clop-clop of horses, and the creaking and rumbling of wagons following the horses.
CHAPTER
SIX
Four horsemen came first: Spinner led, Alyline rode at his side. Silent and Xundoe were close behind. They reined up next to Haft and Fletcher.
“All’s quiet?” Spinner asked.
“Only birds and bears and lots of deer,” Haft said. He decided not to mention the pug of cat or the feral dog pack, they weren’t food and they didn’t present a danger to the company. He looked to the side. “There’s a glade right over there big enough for a bivouac. Complete with running water. The rest of the scouts,” he shot a glance at Fletcher, “are making sure we’re alone.”
“Where’s Wolf?”
Haft shrugged.
“Well, if there was danger nearby Wolf would have alerted you.” Spinner looked into the trees where Haft had looked. “Can our wagons get through there?”
“If they go slowly,” Fletcher said. “There’s enough room between the trees.”
“Then lead on.”
Fletcher turned and led the way into the trees. Haft stayed by the road to make sure everybody followed. First came a squad of Skraglander Guards on foot, looking very fierce and unmilitary in their homespun, furs, and horned helmets. Next came the rest of the Zobran Border Warders, mounted, in their forest-blending uniforms, followed closely by a squad each of Zobran Royal Lancers and Prince’s Swords in their differing blues, and a squad of Zobran Light Horse in yellow. The wagons carrying the small children and the company’s goods trailed the Zobrans. Pisau and another Kondive sea soldier, along with a quartet of sea soldiers from the Easterlies—all soft-footed men—provided guard on the wagons. Other soldiers, mostly Skragland Guards and Borderers, walked in the forest as flank security for them. After the wagons came a motley of armed men, again mostly competent Skraglanders, and a few Bostians who managed to flee their country before it was completely overrun. The group included men who in the past had served in a number of armies and men who had never served under arms, but had become willing to do so. Bringing up the rear, Sergeant Phard led the two squads of Skraglander Bloody Axes in fur cloaks that bore the distinctive maroon stripes of their unit.
Soon enough, the company was in the bivouac. The animals and birds that called the glade home vacated in the face of the human invasion. Salt-licking and bloodsucking insects stayed, as did a few buzzing bees. The horses were cooled and watered, curried, put on tether lines, and fed. The women and children set about hearthing cook fires and gathering what few edibles were available in the clearing and the forest fringe. When the scouts came in to report that they’d found no sign of anybody in the area they brought carcasses with them, three deer and a wild boar. Everyone cheered at sight of the game. That night they would eat better than they had in more than a week. Women happily abandoned the small hearths they’d made in favor of the larger hearth pits the men dug to roast the game.
Spinner and Haft set out watch posts and sent Fletcher with several men downstream from the camp to dig privy trenches under the trees. Most of the soldiers had at first objected to the nonsense, their word, of digging latrines downstream away from camp. They didn’t care what Lord Gunny Says, the legendary Handbook for Sea Soldiers of the Frangerian Marines, had to say about field sanitation. To the knowledge of most soldiers, books were written by people who hadn’t done any of the things claimed in them. As time passed though, they couldn’t deny that there was less illness in the company than among any similar number of soldiers with whom they’d ever traveled in the past. Some of them grudgingly admitted there might be something to what Lord Gunny Says had to say about making camp in the field.
The camp followers, mostly women and children, had grown to outnumber the men. Another peddler, too old and feeble to be of use as a soldier, had recently joined the company. He and the peddler who had been with the group guarded by the Royal Lancers were quite willing to trade some of the goods in their laden carts for food and protection—and the occasional copper or silver coin. Most of the people who joined them since the group guarded by the Royal Lancers were individual families: grandparents with their grandchildren, mothers with their many offspring and few husbands. Four unmarried women with their own brightly painted wagon had attached themselves to the company during the previous week. There were still more men without wives than women without husbands in the company, and the four women were glad to provide various wifely services to unwed soldiers in exchange for the protection the company provided. The wives were divided in their reaction to those four women—half were offended, half were glad their presence kept the unmarried soldiers from bothering them.
In short, the company was increasingly self-sufficient, at least for the time. Eventually, they’d need to find a village or town where they could replenish the few items that they couldn’t make or repair themselves. They weren’t at that point yet—not quite.
It wasn’t long before the scent of roasting meat wafted through the campsite, while edible leaves, flor
ets, and mushrooms simmered in pots, and tubers wrapped in wet leaves roasted in coals. The sun was down by the time the feast was ready to eat.
Pairs of older children were dispatched to the listening posts, one child with a brand to light the way, the other with a trencher piled with hot food for the soldiers on duty. Wolf rejoined the company as they began to feast and made his way from one group of diners to another, gleefully gobbling the chunks of meat they tossed to him.
At length everyone’s hunger was sated; there was no rationing on this night. Fletcher and the Zobran Border Warders then set about jerking the remaining meat to carry with them on the morrow. Zweepee and Doli saw to the equitable division of the remaining food among all of the people. Then members of the company sat about the dying embers and told stories, or talked of what else they might find in the forest. When time came, Spinner and Haft sent soldiers to relieve those on watch. The fires burned down to little more than embers and the camp began to settle for the night, people drifting off to whatever bedding they had.
Spinner and Haft, and their original group of Alyline, Doli, Fletcher, Zweepee, Silent, and Xundoe—and Wolf—were the last still up, sitting at ease in the warm glow of a fire’s embers.
“We’ve come far,” Zweepee said from her comfortable place, tucked under her husband’s protective arm.
“We have farther to go,” Haft said.
“Maybe so, but now we’re not just a few frightened, fleeing refugees; now we’re with all these people.”
“People who slow us down,” Alyline said a bit sourly.
“People who we have responsibility for,” Spinner said gently.
“It’s nice to have all these people with us,” Doli said. “All those men.” Her eyes flashed at Spinner in hope that he would take the hint. He ignored her, she stuck her tongue out at him.
Demontech: Rally Point: 2 (Demontech Book 2) Page 6