Mage-Guard of Hamor (25 page)

Rahl rode down the lane, the patrol following, and the scouts and outriders continuing over the stone bridge that crossed the stone-walled creek a good hundred cubits east of the mill. Rahl and the patrol reined up in the open space east of the drying barns. The outriders continued north until they reached the top of the rise on the far side of the vale.

A wiry dark-haired man walked from one of the drying barns toward Rahl with a carriage that suggested he was more than just a worker. He stopped well short of the patrol. “Ser? Might we be of some help?”

Despite the man's polite speech, Rahl could sense the combination of fear and irritation, and he offered a pleasant smile. “You're the mill-master and forester? You don't have any lorken in those woods, do you?” As he finished his questions, Rahl could sense the surprise from both the mill-master and Quelsyn.

“I'm Bercast, and the mill's mine. We lease the lands to the north and west from the Emperor. Our leasehold payments are made, Mage-Guard. If they haven't gotten to the Emperor, that's because of the trouble on the coast, not because we didn't pay.”

“We're not here for that.” Rahl could sense the honesty of the miller's reply—and the worry. “About the lorken?”

“I wish we could grow lorken here,” replied Bercast, still puzzled. “Would that we could, but the best we can do is black oak and walnut, and dark rosewood…and, of course, goldenwood.”

“What was on the wagon?”

“Those were all goldenwood planks.”

“We're looking for some rebels who might have taken some of the back roads around here recently. I heard that you'd come across some tracks…” Rahl raised his eyebrows.

“No secret about that, ser. I even told Patrol Chief Dykstat.”

“He said someone had seen them.”

Bercast shook his head. “No, ser. Never saw a one. We ran across some tracks, and deep they were. That was what called my eye to them. As deep as my wagons, and my first thought was that someone was timber-poaching the backwoods, but we never found any sign of that.”

“Where are these tracks?”

“I can tell you where they were. Tracks aren't so clear now—we've had some rain…but they were deep enough that they'll still stand out, I'd think. Couldn't figure what they were hauling that was so heavy if it wasn't timber. We use that lane off and on, and never saw 'em. I'd wager that they came through in the dark….”

Rahl could sense the truth of the forester's words.

“How do we get to this road?” asked Quelsyn.

“It's a good two kays from here, sers.” Bercast pointed along the lane heading north. “You go maybe a kay, maybe less, until you get to the fork, where the big black stump is on the left side—that's the west side—and you take that fork over two rises and before long you'll get to the back road. Now it runs almost north and south on that stretch, and that's where the tracks I saw were, but you go a kay in either direction, and it goes back to east and west. Folks say that was once the main way, but that was a long, long time back. There are some old kaystones there. Never could figure out what they meant.”

“Thank you.” Rahl inclined his head.

“Glad to be of help, ser.” The mill-master bowed his head.

Rahl could sense the man's relief as Quelsyn ordered, “Patrol! Forward!”

Rahl had the feeling it was more than two kays before they reached the black stump, and another kay and a half before they were on the back road—or the old road. Even the trees flanking the road were ancient, and while the road seemed to be clay, Rahl could sense that it was indeed old. He held up his hand.

“Patrol halt!” ordered the senior squad leader.

“You have someone good with tracks?” asked Rahl.

Quelsyn offered an embarrassed smile. “Ah…I was a scout, first, ser.”

Rahl gestured for him to go ahead.

The squad leader rode less than a hundred cubits before reining up.

Rahl eased his mount along the shoulder of the road until he joined Quelsyn.

“Couldn't hardly miss them.” Quelsyn pointed toward the middle of the road, where two deep traces remained, sometimes diverging as if two sets of heavy-laden wagons had passed. The wheel ruts had erased several hoofprints. “See the angle there. They were heading east…well, north here. More than an eightday ago…could be two.” The senior squad leader looked to Rahl. “Heavy wagon, all right.”

“We'll need to patrol back along the track. There might be supply caches or other rebels,” said Rahl.

“Ser?”

“The tracks are from the wagons that carried small cannon to the river. The ones that fired on our river steamers,” Rahl replied. “The shore force killed or captured all but a handful. Some of them might try to get back to the rebels.”

“You think they've already passed here?” asked the squad leader.

“Close to five days…probably not more than fifteen or twenty kays from where they were.” That was a guess on Rahl's part, but he
felt
that the surviving raiders were already to the west. He didn't want to say that, though.

“A long ways on foot back to where they came from.”

“Unless they can steal mounts.”

“The patrol chief honestly didn't know of any,” Rahl pointed out. “If any horses are missing, it's from outlying steads.”

“Where the holders can't report it, or are dead,” Quelsyn concluded.

Rahl extended his order-senses. He didn't feel anyone nearby—except for the troopers of the patrol. But…there was something.

“We'll follow this road west for a while, squad leader, and we'll look for signs. If they're trying to get back, they'll stay close to the road.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rahl ignored the doubt behind Quelsyn's acknowledgment.

The patrol had ridden at least two kays, a kay due south before the old road turned westward once more, and another kay or more after that. Although Rahl could sense something ahead, the feeling came and went, and he said nothing. Quelsyn, riding beside Rahl, was silent, but Rahl had no trouble feeling the disapproval from the senior squad leader.

The wind had strengthened and shifted, coming more out of the north-northwest, and turning the sunny early-winter day from almost pleasant to chill. Rahl kept studying the clouds gathering to the far northwest, but he had the feeling that they would not reach Troinsta before evening, if then, and that if there were to be any rain, it would not be soon.

In places, there were recent tracks in the road, but they could have been anyone or anything. Then, one of the scouts raised his hand, gesturing, before turning his mount and riding back along the old road. As he neared Rahl and Quelsyn, he turned his mount to ride alongside the two.

“What is it?” asked the senior squad leader.

“Sers…there's some boot prints, and they're heading west. There's what looks to be a piece of bloody cloth—could be a wound dressing—in the brush.”

“We'll take a look,” replied Quelsyn.

The three continued riding westward, with the patrol behind them. Rahl continued to use his order-senses, and he began to get a stronger sense of someone—or large animals—farther away.

“Just ahead there, short of where that branch sticks out.” The scout pointed.

After another fifty cubits, Quelsyn reined up on the road and dismounted. He studied the brush and the ground beyond the edge of the road and then the scrap of grayish cloth. Finally, he straightened and took several steps along the road, leading his mount. His eyes were on the patches of dirt between the low weeds on the shoulder.

Rahl eased the gelding forward, following the senior squad leader.

After walking several cubits more, Quelsyn stopped and looked up toward Rahl. “There are more tracks here. Two sets of boots, maybe three, and they're all headed west.”

“How old are the tracks?”

“Yesterday…could even be today.”

Rahl frowned. He tried to extend his order-senses out beyond the outriders, and the something he had felt earlier seemed faintly stronger, but not directly ahead. Then he shook his head. Of course not. If the rebels heard or saw riders, they'd hide. “They're up ahead in the woods, I think, on the left. More than a kay out, though,” Rahl said. “They're hiding.”

“Hoping we'll ride by.”

“I'd think so.”

“What do you suggest, Captain?”

“My thought would be to ride on until we're within a quarter kay or so, then have one patrol pull up and wait while the other rides past. Once we're past, I'll take the lead patrol at them and see what we can do.”

“They might be waiting for that.”

“They'll have trouble shooting through the underbrush if they have bows or crossbows. I should be able to tell if they do before I get close enough for them to shoot.”

Again, Rahl could sense the senior squad leader's doubt.

“You're in charge, Captain.”

Rahl smiled. “You've done this more than I have, Quelsyn. What am I overlooking?”

The senior squad leader pursed his lips. “I can't say, but I don't see how they'll let you ride up to them.”

“I'd wager you're right. Once it's clear that we're onto them, they'll scatter, but I think a good horseman can ride them down so long as I can sense them. We'll have to see, though.”

“You sure about that, ser?”

“No.” Rahl laughed. “Not absolutely, but it's worth a try. Our task is to find out what the rebels are doing, and we might find out something this way.”

Quelsyn swung up into his saddle. “I'll drop back with second squad. Just stand in the stirrups and raise your arm when you want us to halt. Oh…you'd better have a couple of men ride back down the road so that the rebels don't try to run between us.”

“I'll do that. Thank you.” Rahl turned in the saddle to the first squad leader—Roryt, he thought. “There are some rebels hiding in the brush ahead on the north side of the road. Just a handful. We'll ride past and then turn and go into the brush after them. If we can, I'd like to capture at least one so that we can learn what they've been doing.”

“Yes, ser.”

Again, Rahl got the same feeling of polite doubt, but he forced a pleasant smile. “I'll have to lead the chase, but I'd like several men to remain on the road and cover it, in case they try to cross it.”

“I'll take care of that, ser.”

“I'd appreciate it.” Rahl waited until the senior squad leader had ridden back to the head of second squad before he called out his orders. “Patrol forward!”

As he rode, he scanned the trees and brush on the north side of the ancient and narrow road, all the time trying to sense the rebels he knew had to be somewhere ahead. After the patrol had ridden close to a half kay and the road made a gentle turn to the west-southwest, Rahl began to get a better sense of where the rebels were. He could feel three men hidden in a depression behind a natural earthen bank. He judged that the three were some three hundred cubits ahead.

With the thickness of the underbrush, he also realized that Quelsyn and second squad would have to be far closer than he had told the senior squad leader. There was no help for that, not now, but it irritated him that the senior squad leader hadn't been a bit more helpful. It wasn't as though he hadn't asked—and politely, at that.

After he rode another fifty cubits or so, he stood in the stirrups and raised his arm, but kept riding. He led the patrol about fifty cubits past the spot on the north side where the three huddled. He could sense no weapons except sabres, and one long staff. “Squad, to the rear ride and form up!” He swung the gelding out onto the shoulder of the road and back east, reining up until the squad was in position.

“Forward!” He eased the gelding into a fast walk, not daring to ride more swiftly, not with the trees and underbrush and his own less-than-adequate riding skills. A man might be able to gain on him for a short time, but not for that long.

“First ranks on the captain!” ordered Roryt. “Last two ranks on me and the road!”

Rahl found himself using his riding truncheon as a way to keep branches from whipping into his face, but even so, he'd have scrapes from the evergreen needles and the leathery winter gray leaves of the hardwoods.

Surprisingly, the three rebels did not move immediately, not until Rahl was within twenty cubits or so. “They're directly in front of me! Flank me!”

The three sprinted away from Rahl.

He could sense that there was a low bush in the middle of the berm, and he guided the gelding through the opening between two firs and after the heavyset rebel who had been in the middle.

The rebel glanced over his shoulder, then darted to the left, between a pair of trunks, one a massive oak, the other a younger fir.

Rahl rode around the right side, losing some ground in the knee-high underbrush, but after another fifty cubits, he was within ten cubits of the running rebel. At that moment, the man turned toward an oak with a chest-high branch, and jumped to catch it. He straddled it and turned, whipping out a sabre, awkwardly.

Rahl reined up, then struck with the long truncheon. The rebel's blade went spinning into the brush.

“Don't move,” snapped Rahl. “Not unless you want something broken.”

The rebel froze, holding on to the branch with one hand. His eyes widened as he took in the mage-guard visored cap.

Rahl took in the rebel's uniform, khaki shirt and trousers with a jacket of blotched and faded maroon. “First squad!” Even as Rahl called out the words, a pair of troopers appeared, riding rather casually through the woods. “Over here!”

“Yes, ser.”

As they rode up, Rahl said, “Tie him up and take him back to the road. Don't hurt him unless he tries something. We need to talk to him.” He turned to the rebel. “If you try to escape, I'll track you down, and there won't be enough of you for the vulcrows.”

“Yes, ser.” The rebel's voice was steady, but Rahl could sense the fear beneath.

He eased the gelding away from the two troopers. “I need to track check on the others.”

Rahl had only managed to travel another fifty cubits or so through the trees toward what he sensed was a group of troopers.

“Ser! Over here!”

He had to backtrack around a copse of saplings growing up around a fallen hardwood before he could join the four troopers.

A rebel in another faded maroon jacket lay sprawled across a crumbling log. He was dead.

“He tried to slice up my mount, ser. Wouldn't surrender.”

Rahl supposed that happened. “Two of you cart him back to the road. Have the senior squad leader search him to see if we can learn anything from what he carried. Two of you come with me. Did any of you see where the other rebel went?”

One trooper pointed vaguely to the northeast. “He was running fast, ser.”

“He can't run that fast for long.” Rahl extended his order-senses. While he could generally sense the fleeing rebel, using his senses in the wood was harder than on the road. Why? Because of everything living around him?

Once more he set out.

Rahl thought he must have ridden more than a kay before he closed to within a few hundred cubits of the third rebel. The two troopers trailed him by more than a hundred cubits.

The man began to run, once more, but his legs were tired.

Rahl followed.

Abruptly, the rebel turned, his back against an ancient and rotting trunk.

“You…get close…and I'll take down your mount. Blade longer than yours…Flame me if you want, but you'll not take me alive.” The words were delivered between gasps.

Rahl extended his shields to protect the gelding's legs and rode toward the rebel. The ancient long blade swung, and rebounded from the shields. As it did, Rahl dropped the shields and slammed the truncheon down across the shoulder above the rebel's blade-wielding arm. He added some order to the blow, and a dull crunch followed. The blade fell from the rebel's numb hand, and the rebel staggered, then dropped to his knees.

Rahl waited, watching, until the two troopers neared. “Truss him up, but keep him from more harm. We'll take him back. I need to question them both.” He watched as the older trooper dismounted and used strips of leather to bind the wounded man's hands together.

The rebel was staggering and barely able to walk after less than a quarter kay. Rahl had the troopers hoist the man up before him on the gelding for the rest of the ride back to the road.

Quelsyn was waiting with the remainder of the patrol. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Rahl and the two troopers—and the second captive. He turned his mount to follow Rahl.

Rahl eased the wounded man off the chestnut at the side of the road where Roryt and another trooper guarded the first captive and the body of the dead rebel lay.

“There wasn't much in his gear,” Quelsyn said. “Just a few coppers and a map.”

“Did it show a route?” Rahl dismounted, slowly.

“According to the map, they left from Maugyta. The map showed the way to the Swarth River maybe thirty kays downstream from Kysha.”

“That's where the cannon was that fired on the convoy,” Rahl said, handing the gelding's reins to one of the troopers and turning to the two captives. “How many of you made the trip out with the cannon?”

“What cannon?” asked the uninjured captive.

“You're lying.” Rahl smiled, coldly. “I was on the ship you hit. I know all about the cannon. We have one of your maps. You can make this hard or easy.” He extended a sense—almost a compulsion for the two to offer the truth. “Let's try again. How many of you were there?”

Both men squirmed, but did not speak.

Tired as he was, Rahl extended his shields, pressing against the injured trooper. The man swallowed.

“How many?”

“A little more than a score, ser.”

“Did you start out with any cannon?”

“No, ser. Didn't have no cannon. Awaiting for us in a hidden place east of Dawhut. Powder, too.”

“Exactly where was this place…”

When Rahl finished getting what he could about the locations and the forces and the trip, he asked, “How did you expect to get back to Maugyta?”

“Plenty of steads along the way.” The uninjured trooper shrugged. “They don't support the real emperor, then they'll pay.”

“I don't notice you had much in the way of supplies. What stead were you headed for?”

Neither rebel said a word.

Rahl just looked at them. After a moment, he extended his shields. “Talk.”

The wounded man winced. “…stead up ahead…only a pair of oxen and a donkey…left it alone on the way out.”

“I'm supposed to believe that?”

“Squad leader Cleyn made us just sneak stuff from the back of the smokehouse when they were out in the fields. Said we didn't want to upset anyone, or let 'em know we were here till afterward. Wouldn't matter then. Then we could do what we liked. Woman looked sorta pretty.”

Rahl kept asking questions until it was clear that neither man knew much more.

“What are we going to do with them, ser?” asked Quelsyn.

“Take them back to Troinsta and have the chief patroller lock them up until someone from the campaign can get them.”

“Ser…waste of food,” suggested Roryt.

“It probably is,” Rahl agreed amiably, “but I suspect that the Mage-Guard Overcommander will want to question them as well, and I don't think I'd want to be the trooper who killed a prisoner he wanted to question.” He looked at the squad leader. “Would you?”

“No, ser.”

Rahl could sense Quelsyn's wince behind his back.