Knights Magi (Book 4) (60 page)

We also found the first survivors.  A couple of peasants hiding in the bush.  They told us about some resistance further up the road.  Might be promising.

Send them back our way,
suggested Rondal,
assuming you think they’re uncorrupted.

They’re starving and scared.  But I used a truthtell spell on them just to be sure.  It’s not impossible to lie under such a strong magical compulsion, but it would took great skill and effort.

Then send them back.  We can put spears in their hands for a few days, get them fed, and prepare to send them south.

That night, just as the cook was serving the last of the leftover goat, Rondal got another message.

Remember that resistance the refugees were speaking of?  We met them.  It’s more like a real insurgency.

Insurgents?  Really?  How?  How many?  Where?

We came across a large goblin patrol encamped in a village.  About twenty.  So of course we had to attack.  Just as we began, they got attacked from the other side by a band of irregulars.  Turns out they’re holed up in Asgal Hall with some others.  That’s where we are, now.  We’re the first sign of help they’ve seen in six weeks.  They’ve escaped two slaving expeditions so far, attacked a couple of patrols when the opportunity was right, and they even freed a column they found lightly guarded.  But they’ve been talking about moving locations because they’re starting to get noticed.  I suggested they go to Maramor Manor to await a convoy south.

We don’t have a convoy going south.

We will if we get a few dozen refugees together,
reasoned Tyndal. 
But they’ve been a wealth of information about local activities.  We might get a few of them to stay on as scouts, perhaps.

Are they armed?

Decently.  Bows and spears and a few swords.  Not much armor, but then they’re insurgents, not infantry.

We’ll get them outfitted, those who want to enlist.  Any luck on those spirits?
he asked, casually.

Around this lot?  Not bloody likely.  They look half-starved.  They drank the place dry long ago.  But they told me which way to approach Heem Manor, and where the next-closes goblin cantonment is.  And apparently Sire Rath of Heem had a reputation as a drinking man, so that’s encouraging.

Rondal finally saw Lady Arsella when she came down to dinner later.  She was wearing a somber green gown that didn’t quite fit her anymore, and a stoic expression that put Rondal on his guard.  She spoke rarely, and seemed subdued and withdrawn.  Rondal was almost ready to go speak to her, when she caught his eye and looked away guiltily.

She knew.  She knew he had feelings for her, he realized, and she’d chosen Tyndal over him.  A surge of rage flirted with Rondal’s mind, but he pushed it down, embracing a cool, logical approach to the problem instead.  When your emotions raged out of control, Sire Cei had told them often enough, taking refuge in the cool, safe confines of duty and custom could spare you the poor consequences of rash action.   And no initiate of the Mysteries respected a commander who could not control his temper.  That kind of man invited disaster in the field.

So Rondal inquired from his men the state of the manor’s defenses and their supply, although he knew the tallies well by now, and he took a report from the two riders who’d returned at dusk from their errand.  The roads had been empty, they said, and the villages deserted, but their scavenging had brought in a few sacks of oats overlooked in a barn.  Lady Arsella retreated to her room the moment dinner was over.

The next morning the two refugees Tyndal had sent along arrived at the gates of Maramor.  Rondal welcomed them cautiously, and after giving the men as much as they could eat he listened to their tale.  They were from a village in the north that had been among the first to be raided.  They escaped and had traveled from one hamlet to another, avoiding goblin patrols and slaver crews and hiding.  They’d fought, they’d admitted, but they’d never had proper training.  It wasn’t encouraged in Gilmora, where peasant rebellions were uncommon but typically bloody.

The time for such distinctions was over.  Rondal ordered the two to report for elementary training on the morrow, then went to fill in the information he got from them on the abandoned manors and towns they’d been in.  They looked frightened at the prospect, but as this was the first sign of organized human activity the two had seen in weeks, they agreed to do their part.

Rondal was just rolling up the map when Tyndal contacted him again.

Rondal, remember those insurgents?  They’re on their way, most of them.  We’re going to keep a half-dozen with us as we scout, but in about three, four days you can expect almost two dozen. 

We’ll have to go get more supplies,
he said, after some calculations. 
Fast.

That’s your problem,
Tyndal said. 
But here’s a bit of bright news: you can tell Lady Arsella that one of the men from Maramor village was among the slaves that the insurgents freed.  A lad named Alwer, former hayward of Maramor. He’s a good fighter,
Tyndal praised. 
He’s going to stay with us awhile and help us with the scouting.  He was shocked to hear that Arsella survived.  

I’ll tell her,
he promised.  Maybe delivering such news would get him some notice.

We’re going to escort the insurgents to the crossroads before we split up, so add an extra day to our mission.  I think it will be worth it, though.  They seem pretty excited about showing us the camps around Hefany.

Let me know how it turns out.

He was surprised by Lady Arsella’s reaction to the news of fellow survivors, and of Alwer, in particular.  Instead of being pleased, she looked troubled.  Almost anguished.  She asked several times if he was certain, and Rondal assured her that the message was clear.

Again she disappeared into her room.  Rondal was busy making preparations for the arrival of the refugees, so he couldn’t spare the time to seek her out.  The issue of supply was critical.  With twenty-odd new mouths to feed, they’d have to forage quickly.  He sent out three two-man scouting missions of his remaining rangers to other villages and manors in the area, and prepared the great hall and the lower rooms of the towers as best he could.

The next morning he made a full report to Terleman, mind-to-mind, and got encouragement for his works.  He was watching the two new men go clumsily through the basic drill under the eyes of a watchful guard from the top of a tower when Lady Arsella appeared.  She looked even more troubled than before, but more resolute.

“Sir Rondal,” she began, formally, “I have been thinking about what you have said about survivors.  I did not think that was possible, of course, but . . . well, there is one way in which it might be.  When the attack came, there was a man . . . I think he was from the village . . . who was working with the goblins.  He’s the one who led them here, I think.  And he pointed out where people were hiding.”

Rondal looked at her in surprise.  “A collaborator?”

She nodded.  “I only caught a few glimpses before . . . before I hid, but I can clearly recall that Alwer was the one who led them here and helped them capture everyone.”

“Are you certain?” he asked, skeptically.  “Alwer of Maramor?”

“He was the village’s hayward,” she nodded.  “A man of devious nature, from what little I can recall.  I would hesitate to trust him with anything.”

“He was liberated from slavers,” Rondal said, calmly, his mind racing.  Had Tyndal walked into a trap?  Was he about to be betrayed?

“Then they betrayed him as much as he betrayed us,” she said, her eyes narrowing.  “Would that he had died, instead.”

“Sir Tyndal sent word that he has been most helpful in scouting the region,” Rondal said, calmly.

“He is with Sir Tyndal?” she asked, alarmed.  “Oh, Sir Rondal, you must send him a message at once – the man is not to be trusted, and if possible he should be . . . be . . .”

“What?”

“Do you not execute such traitors in war time?” she asked, coolly.

“It is the custom, yes,” he admitted.  “But—”

“Sir Rondal, I urge you to send word to poor Sir Tyndal and his brave men at once,” she declared.  “I fear for his safety!”

“I . . . I will consider it,” he promised.  “I don’t want there to be any mistakes on this mission, and allowing a traitor in our midst would count as a big one.  Thank you for your intelligence, Lady Arsella,” he said, gravely.

“Thank you for your honorable service and loyalty, Sir Rondal,” she said, bowing formally.  “I do hope we can avoid another tragedy.  This war has given us too many as it is.”  She turned to look at him plaintively.  He felt himself start to move in her direction but then his discipline intervened.  He recalled how she had abandoned him the moment Tyndal appeared, and he stopped himself.  She was expecting him to react favorably to her attention, he realized.  He did not feel like giving her that satisfaction.

“Of course, milady.  Is there anything else?” he asked, stiffly.   Arsella looked at him, a hint of surprise on her face.  She seemed confused for a moment, then withdrew. 

“Just look to the safety of your men, Sir Rondal,” she said.  “I’m wary of the two vagabonds you’ve taken in as it is.  I don’t much like the look of them,” she added, suspiciously.

“They are welcome here,” Rondal said, firmly.  “They are refugees.  More, they’re helping with chopping wood and keeping the horses, tasks my men would otherwise have to devote their time to.  And they have – grudgingly – taken up arms in our defense.  Their billeting is within our mission.”

“Just keep them away from my chambers,” she said, a bit haughtily.  “I don’t trust peasants I don’t know.”

He agreed to keep an eye on them, and then left the tower.  Something about Arsella’s accusation bothered him, but he couldn’t figure out what.

But he had a duty to warn Tyndal.  He contacted him mind-to-mind immediately. 

I told Arsella about your man from Maramor,
he told him. 
She was cool to the idea, and then today called him out as a collaborator.

Is she sure?  Alwer of Maramor?  A former hayward?

She says so, but . . . well, I’m not going to hang a man without more proof than that.  Just keep an eye on him.  Has he shown any signs of treachery?

Unless you count the breakfast he served this morning, no.  He’s been as stalwart as any of these lads.  Good with a bow, too.  But I’ll watch him.  And maybe ask him a few questions on the sly.

You do that.  I’m going to try to see what else Arsella knows.  How goes the reconnoiter?

Well.  We’ve taken Heem Hall, and you will be happy to know that there are three bottles of very expensive brandy from Cormeer living in my saddle bags.  We had a wine skin, but it didn’t survive the night.

It didn’t survive the knight, you mean.  All right, that is good news.  No short-and-hairies yet?

Not yet, but soon, we hope.  We’re coming up on an encampment, now.

Good luck.  And let me know if you get yourself killed.

*
                            *                            *

“We’re going to make a quick supply run,” Rondal told his duty officers the next morning at breakfast.  “We need food, and we need it quick.  The one place where we know there is a stash is at Farune, and it’s not that far away.  We know it’s probably still clear of goblins.  So we’re going to take all three carts down the road, load them up with whatever we can carry back, and get it done by sundown.  We have people incoming in two or three days, and I don’t want anyone to go hungry.  With that many more men, we should be able to do a more thorough job of foraging.”

“Looting, you mean,” Arsella said, disapprovingly.

“The former owners are not around to compensate,” Rondal reminded her.  “When civilians do it, it’s looting.  When military do it, it’s
foraging.
  And you’ll get a first-hand look.  You’re going with us.”

Her eyes widened.  “I am?”

“Yes.   Your knowledge of the local country will be invaluable.  And perhaps you can give us information on Farune Hall we aren’t aware of.  You
have
been there, haven’t you?”

She bit her lip.  “Just the one time, for a dance.  I was in a carriage the whole way.  I don’t remember much beyond the food and the music.  I wouldn’t be much use.”

“We’ll just enjoy your company then,” Rondal said, coolly. 

Arsella’s jaw jutted out defiantly.  “I believe I informed you I wished to stay!”

“And I regret to inform you that you are going, for military necessity,” he returned.  He couldn’t believe she was getting so tense about a field trip.

“I am . . . indisposed,” she said, retreating behind a veil of femininity. 

“You are . . .
going,
” he said in a tone that indicated he was confident of that. It surprised him that he was capable of it. “Prepare yourself.  We leave in an hour.”

Her jaw jutted out, but she gave no more argument.  Instead she switched tactics.

“I cannot help but notice that no messenger has departed from here,” she said, even more coolly.  “Is it your intention to
not
warn Sir Tyndal of his danger?”

Rondal smiled.  “Sir Tyndal is a big boy, milady.  I trust he can handle himself against a single hayward.”

“A treacherous hayward,” she reminded, warningly.

“So noted,” Rondal said.  “I shall have a horse saddled for you. “

“You . . .” she said, irritated.

“Yes, milady?” Rondal asked, innocently.

She glared at him, but did not say anything else.  An hour later, when the party was getting assembled in the yard, she did join them, wearing a traveling wimple and a mantle of gray.  She had thrown it back defiantly over her shoulder, revealing a simple tunic and hose, with tall, high-heeled riding boots of rich brown leather. Her crossbow was slung over one shoulder, a long knife in her belt. 

Rondal didn’t think a woman could look even more feminine when she was armed, but he suddenly found himself even more attracted to the girl as she strode boldly across the yard, a glare plastered on her face.  She really was quite well-formed, he thought admirably.  Then she stumbled, and some of the glamour was broken.

“It’s been awhile.  My boots don’t quite fit anymore.  I suppose I’ve grown,” she explained, apologetically.   But her tone reminded him that he was still upset with her over her fickle attentions.

She tied two small bags on the back of the gray mare that had been saddled for her.  She was a bit nervous around the beast, but Tyndal had chosen a well-tempered horse with calm demeanor for her, when Rondal had asked him his opinion, mind-to-mind.  The mare stood patiently while the girl mounted the saddle.  Rondal had no idea how one could tell such a thing in a horse, but he was willing to concede to his fellow’s expertise.

Rondal left the manor with only a few men to guard it.  Arsella looked at them skeptically as they left through the makeshift gate.

“Are you quite certain that they can keep out a horde of goblins?” she asked, an urgent tone to her voice.

“I’m quite certain that they couldn’t, milady, nor would I expect them to.  I have given them appropriate orders,” he added.

“Well.  I suppose you know your business, then,” she said dismissively.  Suppressing a flash of irritation over her manner, Rondal sent a scout ahead and led the carts down the road, his troopers fanning out to cover the flanks.  A rearguard of three stood ready with bows, and the drovers each carried arbalest and sword.  They were raiding a pantry, after all, not storming a castle.

“Let us hope I do know my business.  I’m going forth to confer with the van, please stay near to the carts.”

“I can quite take care of myself, thank you!” she said, indignantly.