“I can ride,” Gunny said. “I can even fight on horseback.”
“No,” Edmund said. “For the same reason Kane and I can’t go. That pack trader said there were a bunch of them and he thought it was only part of the force. If this is the force that hit Resan, I don’t want either of you off on a patrol, much less cut down on one.”
“And you’re thinking of sending Herzer?” Daneh asked.
“He’s disposable,” Edmund said brutally. “At least, more so than any of the three of us, or you for example.”
“So you’re thinking of sending him out on patrol with three cavalrymen when he’s just put the rest of their squad in the hospital?” she asked. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Well, they won’t give him any guff,” Kane snorted. “Not to his face.”
“Herzer’s…” Daneh stopped and shook her head. “He’s… more vulnerable to stuff behind his back than to his face. And how do you know one of them won’t slip a knife in his ribs when he’s asleep?”
“Oh, come on, Daneh,” Kane said angrily. “They’re not that mad. They’re more contemptuous than mad. Getting him out of town is a benefit for that matter. It will let things settle down, give people something else to gossip about.”
“How long?” Edmund asked.
“Two weeks,” Kane replied. “Straight down the west valley then back up the east. Spare horse with fodder apiece.”
“Do it,” Talbot said.
“Edmund!”
“This discussion is over,” he replied, coldly.
“I’ll inform him,” Gunny said, getting up. “Edmund, Kane, Mistress Ghorbani,” he nodded then left the room followed by Kane.
“This discussion is not over,” Daneh said, standing up and sweeping up her skirts.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Edmund sighed, picking up his glasses and turning back to his paperwork.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The “get his ass out of town” patrol, as Herzer thought of it, had not been a rousing success but at least it was nearly over. The three cavalrymen had not traded any more words with him than were necessary for the business of the patrol, but that was fine by him. He was in no mood to talk anyway, and the only subject that would come up he really didn’t want to talk about. They had just done their job, riding in the long circuit down the west side of Massan Mountain then back up the east, finding nothing but birds and beasts of the field. Supposedly there was a large force out here somewhere, but if so they had seen no sign of it. One time they ran across signs of an encampment but the trail had disappeared when whoever used it had broken up. That had been on the southwest side of Massan Mountain and they had ridden carefully for a day but after seeing no more sign they had slipped back into simply riding.
The valley had started to slip into early fall and the nights were turning cool with the trees on the upper ridges already starting to change color. Down in the valley, though, it was still hot during the day and as they rode up the valley the air was slow and still.
Herzer took off his helmet and wiped his face, looking up at the sun to judge the time. If they rode hard and didn’t stop for an afternoon break they could probably make it back to town that day, if late. The horses were doing fine; they had found plenty of forage on the patrol and they had hardly had to touch the grain they had carried with them except for a cup of it in the evenings to keep them happy. They were in good enough condition to make the town, tired but more than capable. He was pretty sure the cavalrymen were of the same mind but it didn’t hurt to check. He turned to ask one of them what they thought of it when a mourning dove flew up out of the trees to the side of the trail and he suddenly dug his heals into Diablo.
“Ambush!” he yelled, spurring the horse hard as the air suddenly filled with arrows. They made an evil hiss in the air as they went overhead. He heard a scream from behind and him and looked back to see one of the cavalrymen swaying in his saddle with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.
“Back to town,” he yelled, then was yanked sideways as his pack horse went down with an arrow in its side.
“Loose the horses!” he said, cursing himself for not thinking of that himself. As he did so with his mount, and the other three charged past, he saw a group of six horsemen coming out of the woods on their tail.
“Keep moving!” he screamed. “One of us has to get back to town!”
He looked back and shook his head in resignation. The horses behind him were some breed that he didn’t recognize but they were fast, as fast as Diablo when he was fresh. And their riders were in light armor whereas he was in his full Blood Lord plate. The cavalrymen were well clear, as long as there wasn’t another ambush set up ahead of them. But he was lagging behind and the pursuers were catching up.
“Hi, Diablo! Run boy, run for your life,” Herzer called. And mine, he added mentally.
This was an ignominious way to die, he thought. He had figured he’d die in battle, in the front lines, defending Raven’s Mill. But, this was close. He was in front of the front lines. Chuckling, he spurred the flagging horse again as it ascended the Bellevue grade into a narrow defile. As he did he heard another yell from ahead of him and then a whole series of shouts.
As he crested the hill he saw one of the cavalrymen down and the other two fighting a group on the ground. Wishing he had a lance, Herzer drew his sword and charged into the group, slamming into one of them with Diablo and slashing downwards at another. He’d left his Blood Lord shield and sword behind, picking up a conventional kite shield and longsword from Baron Edmund before he left. He was glad he had; a short sword would be useless in this encounter as was his Blood Lord training. He’d have to depend on what he remembered of longsword work.
He reined the horse to a stop and looked at the narrow defile in which the skirmish was taking place. Well enough.
He pulled his shield off the side of the horse and hit it on the rump with the flat of his sword. “HI DIABLO,” he called, “run for home!” With that he charged the group of infantry slashing from side to side. One of the group swung an axe at him but he blocked it with his shield without thinking and then slammed the steel boss into his opponent as he slashed another across the face.
“RUN YOU FOOLS!” he yelled as one of the remaining cavalrymen turned back to his aid. “Get to the town! That’s an order!” He swung at another of the group, then backed up so that his back was to the wall of the cut. It was probably an old road-cut from the Norau days and it would do. If he could finish these three off he was well enough placed to face the cavalry. If.
Two had spears, one of which had apparently finished off the injured cavalryman since it was red-stained with blood, and the third had another crudely made axe. One of the spearmen charged him and Herzer caught the spear on the side of his shield and then cut at the shaft as if this were another drill. To his surprise the shaft snapped and he lunged forward to spit the spearman on his sword.
It was the first time that he had killed a man in earnest and intent and the man staggered backwards wailing as if in grief with blood pouring out of the wound and bits of intestine showing in the hole. He had black hair and a beard that was shot through with gray. His mouth was open in the beard and as Herzer watched he seemed to realize that his life was done. He opened and shut his mouth then slumped to the ground.
For a moment Herzer was shaken in hesitation but as the axeman swung he snapped back into drill, blocking the blow with his shield, then jumping forward in a bash at the axeman as the second spearman, the one with the blood of the cavalryman on his spear, tried to spit him from the side.