“Then why didn’t you wait in Vérella for your company?”
Kieri looked at him sideways. “Marshal, if I had brought down my whole Company—and the gods know what a comfort that would be to me now—do you think I’d have had leave to march it through Verrakai’s lands? And what would the Lyonyans think, when I arrived declaring myself their ruler with my own personal troops around me? And what would have happened in the north, where my Company stands between Tsaia and the northern perils? No—that would never do.” Seklis and Sulinarrion nodded. “As you know, I did ask—and get—permission to bring one cohort down; if the Royal Guard is slow enough, Dorrin may catch us up before the border.”
“How fast can they travel?” asked Sulinarrion.
“They’ll be in Vérella three days after they start,” said Kieri, then grinned at their expressions. “Mounted, of course.”
“Mounted on what?” asked Seklis when he got his breath back. “Flying horses?”
“No—and not warhorses, either. Good, solid nomad-bred beasts. Ugly as sin, and legs like stone.”
“What do you use for supply?” asked Sulinarrion.
“For a cohort? A ten-mule string, usually, for a week’s journey. Double that for speed. More if there’s a lot of fighting, because I don’t like to leave my wounded behind; I’ll hire wagons, mule-drawn, if necessary.”
“Umph.” Sulinarrion seemed impressed. “So some of what I heard from Aarenis could be true.”
“That depends on what you heard.”
“That your Company marched from the upper Immer to Cortes Andres in less than twelve days, including fighting.”
Kieri counted on his fingers. “Ten days, it was, from Ifoss to Cortes Andres. Yes. No wagons, though, until we captured some of Siniava’s on the north border of Andressat. But that march wasn’t bad—ask Vossik here.” He smiled at the sergeant, and the Marshals turned to him. In answer to their questions he shook his head.
“No, Marshals, my lord’s right. That was across high ground, mostly, and easy enough. I’d say that march through the forest, or across Cilwan, was worse.”
“The weather was,” said Kieri, “and we had walking wounded, too. And what about that last stretch in Fallo?”
Vossik grinned. “I was hoping to forget that, my lord. That damned mud—those Fallo roads haven’t got no bottom to ’em at all, and the fields was wet as creeks. Seemed like we’d been marching forever by then.”
Ammerlin came back and bowed stiffly to Kieri. “My lord, we are ready to ride when you please.”
“Thank you, Sir Ammerlin,” Kieri replied. “I would like to meet the other knights before we begin—it’s easier to recognize those you’ve met in daylight, I find.”
Ammerlin relaxed slightly. “Certainly, my lord.” He led Kieri to the group of heavy knights waiting to mount. Kieri shook hands with each, noting their strength and apparent determination.
“It’s been so long,” he said, “since I have campaigned with heavy cavalry that I have forgotten much. Sir Ammerlin, you must be sure to tell me when the horses should rest, and what must be done. A mounted infantry company moves very differently.”
Ammerlin thawed another fraction. “My lord, I am sorry that we cannot move faster; the prince said your journey was urgent, and must brook no delay. I know the Marshals think we are soft, but—” he patted his own horse, “these fellows were never meant for speed or distance. Yet in close combat, they are a powerful defense; we can ride down lighter cavalry without getting far away from you. We cannot, it’s true, ride into a heavy polearm company, but—”
“If we run into that,” said Kieri, “we’ll have to go around. Believe me, I appreciate the prince’s care in sending such an escort. But to make the best use of it, you must advise me.”
Ammerlin appeared to give up his resentment completely. “Well, my lord, they can work all day—if it’s slow—or a short time, if it’s fast. That’s the choice. I’d choose to go at their walking pace—a little slower than the light horses—and rest them at least every two glasses. And a long break at noon, of course.” Kieri, calculating this without moving a muscle, began to be sure that Dorrin would catch them before the border. “If we try to move out faster,” Ammerlin went on, “we’ll have a third of them lame in two days, and then what?” Leave them behind, Kieri thought, but did not say. He knew he would need them.
“Well,” he said finally, “let’s see how far we go. I would not ask haste, if it were not needed—I hope you understand that.”
“Yes, my lord.” Ammerlin looked much happier.
“About the order of march—” began Kieri.
“Yes, my lord?”
“What about sending some of the bowmen forward, as scouts?”
Ammerlin’s expression was eloquent. “Well—my lord—if you like. But we’re in Mahieran lands now—there’s no real need.”
“True, but then we’ll be used to that—when we come to other lands.”
Ammerlin chewed on this thought, and nodded. With a wave, Kieri returned to his own horse, and mounted. He watched as the bowmen got their orders and rode forward.
“That makes more sense,” said Garris at his side.
“They’re not used to maneuvering in hostile territory,” said Kieri.
Where the road was wide enough, the heavy horses went five abreast, the four ranks in front of him and the squires. Then his own tensquad (for he had explained that since they had no officer in charge, he must be near them), then the mounted infantry. Now that the bowmen rode as scouts, the pack animals were directly behind the Guard light horse. Kieri fretted, unable to see over the four ranks of large horses in front of him; he had always led his own Company, or had trusted scouts in advance.
By the time they stopped that night, at Magen, Kieri knew it would take them a full ten days or more to reach Harway on the border. Ammerlin agreed, reminding them that he had escorted the prince’s younger brother to the Verrakai hunting lodge, ten days on the road both ways. At the Marshal’s invitation, Kieri, the Kings’ Squires, and the other Marshals stayed in Magen grange, and after supper they deplored the slow progress.
“My lord, they will have plenty of time to deploy a large force—”
“I know. That’s why Paksenarrion wanted me to hurry. But they’re going to attack—large force or not—and I need the troops.”
“What about using yeomen from any grange nearby?”
Kieri shook his head. “Should I involve the yeomen of Tsaia in a battle to protect the king of Lyonya? No, if they choose to fight, I’ll welcome them—but I have no right to call them out.”
“Besides,” said Marshal Hagin, “not all granges would be much help. Perhaps the High Marshal is not aware that some granges in the east have nearly withered away?”
“No—if I’d known, I’d have done something.” Seklis scowled. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I hear things, from peddlers on the road, and that sort—and we all know about the troubles near Konhalt—and Verrakai.”
“Duke Verrakai has never been one of my supporters,” said Kieri mildly. Marshal Hagin snorted.
“I’d have put it somewhat stronger than that, my lord, begging your pardon. But he’s not as bad as his brother. That one—!”
“But my point is, crawling around the country like this, on the one good road, they’ll have time to set up an army—” Seklis bounced his fist on his chair.
“But not a very good one,” said Kieri. “What can they do at most—let’s look at the very worst.”
“Three cohorts of Verrakaien household troops,” said Seklis. “For a start.”
“Your pardon, High Marshal, but they won’t get more than two in the field this time of year,” said Sulinarrion. “I’ve a cousin who married into a Verrakaien family.” She held to that, and they considered what other forces might come: a half-cohort or so of Konhalts, ferried across the river, perhaps some local peasantry, ill-trained but formidable in numbers.