“I’ll watch this, Jayge,” Crenden shouted, prodding his yoke into the new direction. “Go see. We’re a big group for any marauders to take on, but I’d rather know.”
Jayge wasted no time, untying his runnerbeast from the rear of the wagon. Kesso woke from his somnambulance the moment Jayge’s hand tugged on his reins and shook himself alert. From the moment Jayge swung up to the saddle pad, Kesso became a different animal, snorting, eager, and responsive. The rangy runner might not be as well bred as a holder’s mount, but Kesso was still winning marks in any race Jayge could enter him in.
As he cantered back along the train, he called out reassurances. “Just two riders, three beasts. Probably traders. May want to join us.” Every adult was descending to the ground, the children all packed safely inside wagons, weapons out of sight but ready to be seized.
Three wagons back Borgald raised a hand, and Jayge slowed Kesso, pulling him in to walk alongside his father’s trading partner. “I don’t even trust two riders,” the older man said. “They could be sizing us up, you know. Those recruiters stirred up a lot of filth, made ‘em nervous in the low caverns—desperate, too. Don’t want ‘em anywhere near us.”
Jayge smiled and nodded. Why else had Crenden sent him back to check? Borgald and Crenden had a great partnership: Borgald talked, Crenden listened. But somehow everything got resolved to the satisfaction of both. Jayge nudged Kesso forward, seeing Borgald’s oldest sons, Armald and Nazer, and his Auntie Temma already mounted and waiting for him down the line. He loosened his saddle knife. It was at such times that he wondered where his Uncle Readis had gone. Readis had been a wicked mounted fighter.
Jayge halted with Temma, Armald, and Nazer well back of their last wagon. He knew that they had a strong, well-manned train, and the sooner that was apparent to the strangers, the less trouble they would be likely to have.
The riders continued on at a steady, long-distance lope, coming at him in a straight line, jumping in and out of the root-sinks left by rotted sky-brooms—good riders on good horses.
Two men, Jayge thought, then changed his mind as they drew closer. A man and a woman, a tall one but, despite the dust cloth across the face, a woman. She pulled up just in front of the man, so Jayge looked to her for greeting. “Bestra of Keroon Beastmasterhold,” she said with the sort of condescending air that many holders displayed to traders.
“Lilcamps’ and Trader Borgald’s train,” Jayge replied with terse courtesy. She did not even look at him, which would have been polite, but kept her eyes on to the line of wagons ahead. The man did the same, and there was something about his expression that made Jayge slide his gaze away.
“We’re after a thief,” the woman went on quickly. “A holdless man who took marks and six fine lengths of well-seasoned redfruitwood from me. Have you passed them out on the track? They’d be in a small single-yoke wagon.” She could certainly see that there was no small wagon in the crooked line detouring past sky-brooms and root holes and heading toward the foothills of the Barrier Range.
“We’ve passed no one,” Jayge answered curtly. He was aware, out of the corner of his eye, that Temma was circling her unusually restless mount. Hoping to get rid of the odd pair, he added, “We left Igen low caverns four days ago, and we’ve seen no one.”
The woman pursed her lips, her eyes flicking past him, assessing the train in a calculating manner that Jayge did not like. Her companion looked straight ahead of him, with a rigidness that was a striking contrast to her quick scrutinies.
“Trader,” she said, smiling ingratiatingly, “you’d know if there were other trails, back that way?” She pointed back over her right shoulder.
“Yes.”
She snapped him a quick hard glance, holding his eyes. “That a single yoke could travel?”
“I wouldn’t try it with any of ours,” he answered, pretending to misunderstand.
Her frustration blazed out at him, startling Jayge in its force; the emotion was a complete contrast to her oblivious companion. “I’m asking about a single cart, a thief running away with my goods,” she burst out. Startled, Kesso danced away, head high, tugging at Jayge’s strong hand.
“That sort of rig could make most of the slopes all right enough,” Armald answered, cheerfully helpful. “We’re traders, lady, but we wouldn’t harbor holdless folk. Everything in our wagons got dockets.”
“There are at least ten switchback trails up to the foothills,” Jayge said, signaling impatiently to Armald to let him do the talking. Armald, with a big frame and a threatening arrangement of thick features, was a good man to have at one’s back, but he was not clever enough to spot menace unless it came at him, swinging sword or club. Jayge pointed. “We didn’t see any new tracks, but then we weren’t looking for any.”
“Rained two nights ago. That’d help you find their tracks,” Armald added, nodding amiably.
The harm was done, and Jayge shrugged. “Good day to you,” he said and eased himself up out of the saddle, hoping that the pair would leave.
Lilcamps never got involved with local disputes and had learned to be very careful who traveled the road with them, but Jayge’s sympathies were clearly on the side of those fleeing this woman. She hauled her mount around—Jayge saw the lather marks of hard travel and the exhausted look of all three animals—and kicked it toward the foothills. The silent man turned, jerking the pack animal into motion, and followed her.
“Armald,” Jayge and Temma said at the same time over the noise of their departure. “When I do the talking, I do the talking!” Jayge continued, shaking his whip handle at the big man. “That was a Lady Holder. She was after thieves. Lilcamps and Borgalds don’t harbor thieves.”
“They weren’t holders, Jayge,” Temma said, her expression anxious. Her mount had calmed down, so Temma had been maneuvering to get a good look at the pair. “The man lost his dragon at Telgar Weyr some Turns back. He went missing from Igen a long time ago. And that woman…” Temma moved uneasily in the saddle.
“That’s Lady Thella. I told you,” Armald said. “That’s why I told her what she wanted to know.” Temma stared at him. “You know, Jayge, he’s right. I thought she looked familiar.”
“Who’s Lady Thella? I’ve never heard of her.”
“You wouldn’t,” Temma said with a derisive snort.
“I knew her,” Armald insisted.
Temma ignored him. “She’s Lord Larad’s older sister. The one who wanted to become Lord Holder when Tarathel died. She’s no good. No good at all.”
“I used to see her in Telgar Hold; always riding about, she was.” Armald said defensively, in a sulk from the scolding. “She’s a fine-looking lady.”
Temma rolled her eyes. She was not a plain woman herself, but she was a good judge of her own sex.
“Angry sort,” Nazer said, fastening his dagger back into its sheath. “Wouldn’t bargain with that one and make a profit.”
“I think we should see them out of our range,” Temma said. “Jayge, wait until their dust dies, then follow. Make sure which track they do take. I’ll tell Crenden.”
“I’m point,” Jayge reminded her. He would not relinquish his assigned duty.
“Armald’ll finish the day for you.” She gave Jayge a wink and a nod. “He is good at noticing holes in the ground.”
“Point?” Armald’s face brightened. “I’m a good point.”
Nazer snorted. “Then get to it.” Smiling, Armald started off and Nazer turned to Temma. “What say we ride flank?”