Temar looked at the short and stocky herder, dark-skinned and black-haired. He also recalled the journal he’d once read; the recollections of a young D’Alsennin who’d served with the cohorts during the conquest of Dalasor and his descriptions of the area’s original inhabitants.
“Plains blood in your family, is there, Rhun?” he asked with a half-smile.
“Hard to say.” The man’s black eyes were unreadable. “All I know is we’re stockmen, always have been.”
“What did the plainsmen use places like this for, anyway?” Temar stood and turned slowly, staring up at the earthen walls.
“Marriages, parleys, death rites.” Rhun shrugged. “Placating the spirits.”
He pointed to a line of bedraggled feathers stuck into the turf to the left of the entrance. “That’s giving thanks to the cloud eagles for taking the carrion.”
Temar stared at the barred pinions for a moment then returned to the matter at hand, determinedly shaking off a faint unease. “How recent would you call this fire?”
“Three days, may be four.”
“Not really anything to worry about, then. Still, we can tell the others we’ve found recent trace of raiders; it’ll give them something to stay alert for.” Temar mounted and led the way back to the wagons, now spread over the best part of half a league.
The long day and the next passed without incident, Temar’s initial excitement at finally being on the move waning, especially as the length and frequency of the rest breaks needed by the oxen became apparent. Enthusiasm diminishing rapidly, he concluded sourly that his role as commander of the so-called guards was little more than a device by Lachald to keep him out of the way.
“At this rate Den Fellaemion will have sailed before we reach the Astmarsh,” he complained without preamble that evening, planting himself in front of Lachald, arms folded.
“Go and see if the herds have reached the ford, will you?” Lachald took a bowl of vegetable stew, thickened with grain, from Rielle. “Thank you, my dear.”
Temar muttered an oath and strode off to his horse, Lachald shaking his head as he watched him go.
“Captain?” Rhun looked up from his own meal.
“Stay and eat,” Temar snapped as he yanked his horse’s reluctant head round.
The smoke of numerous dung fires coiled upwards into the vast emptiness as he skirted the wagons and the hobbled oxen grazing with bovine contentment. Temar’s lips narrowed as he saw the sun was barely on the horizon, yet they were already stopping for the night. Cresting a rolling ridge, he saw a silvery thread of water winding through the green. The herds were already crossing the ford, splashing through the muddied water.
“Why can’t people just follow their cursed orders?” Temar fumed, using his heels to take out a little of his frustration on his hapless mount.
“What are you doing?” he yelled at a herder on the far bank. “Lachald said we cross the river together, tomorrow!”
“You come and tell the cows, then.” The man evidently didn’t recognize Temar. “They started crossing—”
The man’s voice was lost as urgent bellows rang through the lowing of grazing beasts.
“Gurrywit!” Temar swore and galloped through the water, looking for the men who were supposed to be guarding the cattle. He turned into a slight hollow and saw them, apprehensive, all seated around a fire with rough-cut steaks threaded on a hastily rigged spit.
“Get your arses up and your swords out!” Temar spat, threatening the nearest youth with the flat of his own blade. A confusion of hasty explanations drowned him out momentarily until he silenced the men with a trooper’s obscenities.
“Come on!” Temar led the way out of the river gully and saw a group of ragged figures intent on cutting out a section of the agitated herd. Temar yelled a challenge but, able to see the guards from such a distance, the raiders melted away into the gathering dusk and the hollows of the grassland. Temar was just drawing breath to berate his ill-assorted troop when cries for help rang out from the far side of the throng of milling cattle.
“Bastards!” he swore in disbelief as he led the men in, forcing a way through the animals. They achieved little more than scattering the beasts still further; the raiders were nowhere to be seen, only a gang of startled herders clustered around one of their number who’d taken a club to the head. Real panic was threatening among the cattle now, and Temar’s men began to move instinctively to use their horses to curb and control the herd.
“How many have we lost?” Temar demanded of a herder.
“Don’t know what’s stolen and what’s strayed,” the man said helplessly.
Temar was about to pursue this when Rhun’s horn rang up into the gray evening sky. Not waiting to check who was with him, Temar galloped back to the ford to hear screams and shouts from the straggling line of motionless wagons. A flare of orange blossomed in the gloaming as a burning brand sailed in from the darkness, scattering a bevy of shrieking women. A horseman was silhouetted against a cook-fire as he galloped in and snatched a waiting side of meat from the spit, his mount barely breaking stride. Frantic barking from the far side of a wagon was suddenly stilled and the wail of a terrified child rose to a shriek. Temar’s hand hesitated over his throwing knives; in this confusion, he couldn’t risk hitting friend rather than foe. A knot of gray shapes moved stealthily along the furthest edge of the firelight and Temar marked where they halted. He looked around wildly and saw Rhun cantering down the line, searching for the guards. Temar met him and caught his bridle, dragging him between two carts without apology.
“They’re waiting out beyond the lead wagon. Get some men and circle around to drive them off.”
Rhun left without need of further instruction and Temar headed back toward Lachald’s position. A cart stood abandoned, tailgate swinging and its sacks and casks scattered as its frightened driver had rushed his family instinctively to Lachald’s protection. As Temar galloped past a small figure dashed out from beneath the axles and vanished into the night, some nameless loot clutched greedily to its chest.
“Are you all right?” Temar yelled, relieved to see Lachald’s carriage in a circle with two other carts, the men staying close, swords drawn.
“Get whoever you can across the ford,” Lachald bellowed in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’re too spread out.”
Temar wheeled his horse around and pointed at one of the spotty youths.
“Get to the head of the line, tell them to yoke up and get moving. Wait!” he yelled in exasperation as the lad went to leave. “Tell them to work and move in groups, not to get separated.”
Movement flickered in the corner of Temar’s eye as he turned away from the lad and he caught a glimpse of shadowy shapes circling behind Lachald’s carriage.
“Come on.” He dug his spurs into his horse’s bleeding flanks and fury carried him into a ragged figure whose rough-coated steed had temporarily unseated him. Temar managed to lay a deep slash across the raider’s back before he got his mount under control, but he could only watch, cursing, as the man was swallowed up by the concealing darkness. Every instinct screamed at Temar to go after the robber but he managed to restrain himself.
“Stay here, drive them off but don’t go beyond the firelight,” he commanded the knot of armed men who had belatedly ridden up.
He began yet another circuit of the file of carts and was finally able to get his guards working in effective groups, each defending a section of the line against the harrying raiders. Gathering a smaller troop, Temar moved to concentrate on protecting the carts crossing the ford. Once the vehicles were formed into a defensive circle, the darting assaults soon tailed off, though Temar stayed on a knife-edge of apprehension until the first pale streaks of dawn showed above the eastern horizon. Exhaustion hit him like a mallet when sunrise at last revealed empty grassland all around. He went in search of Lachald.