But the Aseikh was frowning at his words. 'Your horse,?' he said. 'Your horse died. I told you. A lion took it.'
Will shook his head, smiling. 'Not that horse. Tug. The little shaggy grey that was with you when you found me. He's my horse.'
Now it was the Aseikh's turn to shake his head. He was reluctant to cause any disappointment to the stranger. But he had to face facts.
'He's not your horse,' he said. 'He's ours.'
Chapter 30
Now that they had decided on taking the more direct route to the Khor-Abash Wells, there seemed to be no point in having Gilan, Halt and Selethen ride ahead.
Before dawn the following morning, the entire party broke camp and set out together. Initially, Selethen led them on a long swing due west, before angling back to a north-west course – the base course that the Tualaghi had been following. This gave them enough clearance so that they would avoid running into the Tualaghi war party on one of their westerly zigzags.
With no need to follow the Tualaghi's tracks any more, they were able to revert to their original travel pattern, travelling in the cooler hours of darkness before dawn. In addition, they continued to move north-west after the sun had set, giving themselves an extra hour or two of travel each day. In this way, they were able to gain considerable ground on the enemy. As they camped in the darkness on the second day of direct travel, one of Selethen's scouts rode into camp and reported to his Wakir. Selethen listened, then approached the spot where the Araluan party were sitting, a satisfied smile on his face.
'We were right,' he said. 'My scout tells me that the Tualaghi force is following a course parallel to ours. They are camped for the night, approximately ten kilometres to the north-east.' He glanced meaningfully at the small, semi-concealed cookfire that was all he had allowed for their party. Its light, he knew, would be barely visible from a distance of more than two kilometres. 'Apparently, they're convinced that we have lost their trail. They're not worrying about concealing their fires.'
Halt scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'Of course, under normal circumstances, you would have given up and turned back long ago, wouldn't you?'
The Arridi leader nodded. 'Exactly. It seems that our friends are becoming overconfident in their ability to lose us.'
'And overconfidence,' Halt added, 'can be a dangerous thing.' He turned to the younger Ranger, who was relaxing, the small of his back supported by his saddle, the ever-present coffee in his hands. 'Gil,' he said, 'd'you think you're up to taking a look at their camp tonight?'
Gilan smiled and finished his coffee. 'Thought you'd never ask,' he said. He glanced up at the quarter moon, now low in the western sky. 'Moon'll set in half an hour or so. Might as well get going now.'
'According to Selethen's man, you should be able to see the loom of their fires from about four kilometres away. Leave Blaze there and go ahead on foot. Make sure you cover your tracks and… ' Halt paused, aware that Gilan was watching him with a patient smile on his face. 'Sorry,' he said. If anyone knew how to go about a surveillance job like this, it was Gilan. 'You know all this, right?' he added, a rueful smile on his face.
'Right,' said Gilan. 'But it never hurts to be reminded. Anything in particular you want me to look for?'
Halt thought, then shrugged. 'The obvious. See if you can spot Erak. See how they have him guarded. If there's a chance we could break him out of their camp by stealth, I'd rather do that than fight a pitched battle. Numbers, of course. Let's find out how many of them there really are. Anything else you think might be of interest.'
'Consider it done.' Gilan had hoisted his saddle over one shoulder and was heading towards the spot where their horses were quartered for the night. Horace rose hastily, brushing sand from his knees.
'Hold up, Gilan. Want some company?' he asked. Gilan hesitated. He didn't want to offend the young warrior.
'Might be better if he went alone, Horace,' Halt cautioned. 'He's trained to move silently and you're not.'
Horace nodded his understanding. 'I know that. But I can wait back where he leaves Blaze – keep an eye on things. Even I can't be heard from four kilometres away.'
'That's debatable,' Halt said, perfectly straight-faced. Then he looked at Gilan. 'But he does have a point. Might be a good idea to have some backup close by.'
'Fine by me,' Gilan said, relieved now that he knew there was no need to offend Horace. 'I'll be glad of the company. Let's get saddled.'
Horace reached down and seized his own saddle and together, the two walked towards their horses.
'This is as far as you'd better go,' Gilan told Horace. The younger man nodded and they both swung down to the ground. Horace tethered Kicker's reins to a thorn bush. Gilan, in the way of Rangers, simply dropped his reins on the ground.
'Stay,' he said to Blaze.
The bay, they both knew, would confine his movements to a radius of twenty metres or so until his master returned. Gilan and Horace surveyed the skyline to the north-east.
'They're getting cocky, aren't they?' Horace said. Even at this distance, the glow of the Tualaghi camp fires was clearly visible in the sky above the horizon.
'They are indeed,' Gilan said. 'Let that be a lesson to you. Never assume you've given someone the slip until you're absolutely sure of it.'
He unslung his bow and quiver and laid them on the ground. He wouldn't be needing them on this mission and they'd just get in his way. Similarly, he unclipped his scabbarded sword from his belt. That left him with his saxe knife and throwing knife, which were weapons enough.
'Do you want me to loosen Blaze's saddle girth?' Horace asked and Gilan answered without hesitation.
'No. Leave it as it is. Kicker's too. We may want to get out of here in a hurry if anything goes wrong.'
Horace regarded him with some interest. He knew the young Ranger's reputation as one of the finest unseen movers in the Ranger Corps – perhaps the finest. It was said that Gilan could approach to within a few metres of a wide awake sentry, steal his belt and shoes, and leave the man wondering why his pants were falling down and his feet were cold. Horace knew it was an exaggeration – but not by much.
'Are you expecting something to go wrong?' he asked. Gilan looked at him seriously and laid one hand on his shoulder.
'Always expect something to go wrong,' he told him. 'Believe me, if you're wrong, you're not disappointed. If you're right, you're ready for it.'
Sometimes it felt strange to be giving this sort of advice to someone who was a knight, and recognised as a fine swordsman. But Gilan had to make himself remember that Horace was only young, no matter how accomplished he might be.
'See you in a couple of hours,' he said, and melted away into the darkness.
Gilan moved quickly and silently over the rough ground. As he reached the crest of the first ridge between him and the Tualaghi camp, he glanced back once to where the tall figure and the two horses stood waiting. Then he dropped to the ground and rolled silently over the ridge and into the dark area below it, avoiding sky-lining himself to any possible observer. The only thing that such a person might have seen would have been a low, indeterminate shape that briefly broke the line of the horizon before disappearing.
Once he was safely below the ridge itself, Gilan resumed his feet and headed towards the fires.
The fact that he had such a clear-cut guide was a potential hazard, he knew. It would be too easy to simply continue towards the light of the fires, now becoming more and more visible over the horizon, without taking care that he himself wasn't seen. Over-confidence, as they had all observed, was a dangerous thing. So he proceeded as if there were a score of sentries just out of sight, all alert and all forewarned that someone might be trying to slip past them.