"Right." To the Trolledyngjan officers, Ragnarson said, "Push the Itaskians hard. Try to break them. Straight frontal attack, no tricks. See how they stand up..."
A racket approached. Blackfang stalked in, pushing a scared Trolledyngjan. "Here's our gold man," he growled. "Caught him trying to sneak into the hills."
Ragnarson considered the youth, who had been one of Haaken's bodyguards in Itaskia. "Took you long enough, and then you didn't get the right one."
"Eh? He had it when we caught him."
"When did he get it? He was with us in Itaskia. Mocker?" The fat man nodded. "He ever give you any trouble before?"
"No."
"Where'd you get it, Wulf?"
The soldier wouldn't answer.
Blackfang drew back a fist.
"Self," said Mocker, "being accustomed to use of brain instead of fist, would suggest is time for brainwork. Who does boy have for friends? Is friend rabble-rouser? Is friend?..."
"Don't have no friends," Blackfang interjected. "Just that girl Astrid he's always sniffing round..."
"Ah?" said Mocker. "Girl? Is said, 'Look for woman.' Might same be sister of mouth-man in camp in morning? Saw same with boy on trek to Itaskia."
"Bjorn had a daughter?" Ragnarson asked. Vague recollection of a face. Young. What was it the Star Rider had said? Beware of the girl who acts like a woman? "Get her."
"Never thought about a woman," Blackfang said, leaving.
He soon returned with a howling, kicking adolescent in tow and a group of sullen youths trailing. "Where's her brother?" Ragnarson asked. "I want him here too." Ragnar appeared almost instantly. "Wulf, you and Ragnar stand back, out of the way." To Reskird, "If they move, cut them down. Girl, shut up."
The girl had been alternating threats, pleas, and calls for help.
"Blackfang, watch the door. Kill anybody who sticks his head in."
His officers stirred nervously. He was daring mutiny. "Sit down, girl," said Ragnarson, offering his chair. "Mocker?"
The fat man grunted, began playing with an Itaskian gold piece taken from Wulf. The girl watched fearfully. Sometimes the coin seemed to vanish, but reappeared in his other hand. Over and over it turned. Droning, Bragi told his officers the tale of how her father, while young, r had betrayed his father to the Pretender's followers.
The coin turned over, vanished, appeared. Ragnarson spoke of their mission in Kavelin. He talked till everyone was thoroughly bored.
Then Mocker took over whispering. He reminded the girl that she was weary, weary...
She had no chance. At last Mocker was satisfied. "Has been long time," he said, "but is ready. Ask questions gently."
"What's your name?" Ragnarson asked.
"Astrid Bjornesdatter."
"Are you rich, Astrid?"
"Yes."
"Very rich?"
"Yes."
"Have you been rich long?"
"No."
"Did you get rich in Itaskia?"
"Yes."
"A man gave you gold to do something?"
"Yes."
"An old man? A thin man?"
"Yes. Yes."
Ragnarson and Mocker exchanged glances. "Grey-fells."
"Sorcery!" Wulf hissed. "It's sorcery..." Kildragon's blade touched his throat.
"Did the man want you to cause trouble? To keep your people from going to Kavelin?"
"Yes. Yes."
"Satisfies me," said Ragnarson. "You. Ragnar. Want to ask her anything?" The boy did, and showed unexpected intelligence. He followed Bragi's lead and kept his questions simple. It took but a few to convince him that he had been used.
Wulf refused his opportunity. Ragnarson didn't push. Let him keep his illusions.
"Well, gentlemen," Bragi said, "you see a problem partially resolved. My friend will make the girl forget. But what about the men? This can happen again as long as we've got camp followers. I want them left here."
After the gathering dispersed, Bragi told Kildragon, Blackfang, and the fat man, "Keep an eye on Ragnar and Wulf. I tried to plant a seed. If it takes root, they'll handle our problem with the Trolledyngjans."
iii) News from Kavelin
The sham battle had been on an hour. The Trolledyngjans were getting trounced.
"My point's been made," said Ragnarson to a runner. "The Itaskians look good. Tell Blackfang to withdraw." As the messenger departed, a dust-covered rider approached from the direction of the Porthune. He was a tall, lean man, weathered, grim, who rode spear-straight. A soldier, Ragnarson thought. A man too proud to show weariness.
"Colonel Ragnarson?" the rider asked as he came up.
"Right."
"Eanred Tarlson, Colonel, commanding the Queen's Own Guard, Kavelin. I have a letter from Haroun bin Yousif."
Ragnarson took the letter, sent a runner to prepare quarters. "Queen's Own?"
"The King was dying when I left Vorgreberg."
Ragnarson finished Haroun's brief missive, which urged that he waste no time moving south. "You came alone? With trouble brewing?"
"No. I had a squadron when I left."
"Uhm," Ragnarson grunted. "Well, you're here. Relax. Rest."
"How soon can you move?" Tarlson demanded. "You're desperately needed. The Queen had little but my regiment, and that likely to disappear if someone spreads the rumor that I'm dead."
"The problem of succession, eh? The changeling and the foreign queen."
Tarlson gave him an odd look. "Yes. How soon?"
"Not today. Tomorrow if it's desperate. If I had my druthers, not for weeks. The men are green, not used to working together."
"Tomorrow, then," said Tarlson, as if yielding a major point.
Ragnarson recognized a strong-willed man who might cause problems unless things were made clear immediately. "Colonel, I'm my own man. These men march to my drum. I take orders only from my paymaster. Or mistress. I appreciate the need for haste. You wouldn't have come otherwise. But I won't be pushed."
Tarlson flashed a brief, weary smile. "Understood. I've been there. I'd rather you took the extra days and arrived able to fight, anyway." He glanced at the Trolledyngjan encampment. "You're bringing families?"
"No. They're staying. Shouldn't you get some rest? We'll start early."
"Yes, I suppose."
Ragnarson turned to greet Kildragon and Blackfang, who were arguing as they rode up, Haaken claiming Reskird had cheated. "Looked good. They mightdo if we can get them an easy first fight. Any injuries?"
Headshakes. "Just bruises, mostly egos," said Black-fang.
"Good. We move out tomorrow. Haroun says the arrow's in the air."
Both men claimed they needed more time.
"You can have all the time you want. On the march. Haaken, get the families settled in the stockade."
The leading elements moved out at first light. By noon the rearguard was over the Porthune.
An officer from Kendel's army, as if by magic, appeared to lead them through back country, by obscure ways, out of the sight of most eyes, to the Ruderin border, where they were passed on to a Ruderiner for the march down the Anstokin border to the River Scarlotti, over which they would ferry to Altea.
Days went by. Miles and clouds of dust passed. Ragnarson did not push the pace, but kept moving from dawn till dusk, with only brief pauses to eat and rest the animals, for whom the march was punishing. Cavalry mounts were expensive. He had as yet received no advance from Ravelin's Queen.