“Damn.” Varnaythus spoke almost mildly, but his eyes were ugly. “How in all of Krahana’s hells did he manage to survive?”
“If it’s any consolation, I’d guess he didn’t survive by much,” Sahrdohr replied, waving one hand at the gramerhain. “A courser can carry double farther and faster than any regular horse. If he hadn’t been banged up pretty badly, he’d damned well have come along with her, if only to make sure they believed her when she got there. As it is, I think it least some of the King’s companions-like Golden Hill, for example-are feeling just a little suspicious of friend Tellian at the moment.” He produced something much more like a smile. “The fact that his disgraced and degenerate daughter ‘just happened’ to end up as the messenger seems to be putting their backs up. Looks like a lot of them are thinking about all the ways they could have arranged for something like this to work to their benefit.”
“Thank Carnadosa for ambition,” Varnaythus replied with sour fervor, his brow furrowed while he thought hard. Then he crossed back to his own chair, waved his hand over his gramerhain, and muttered a word of command.
The images of Bahzell, Vaijon, Trianal, and their marching army vanished, replaced by Arthnar Fire Oar’s mercenaries. They were riding hard, if not so hard as he might have wished, given Sahrdohr’s news, and his lips tightened.
“Did the war maids send her all by herself, or are they following her with reinforcements?”
“I can’t say for certain,” Sahrdohr replied. “From the bits and pieces I’ve been able to actually hear, I think they probably have. I’m backtracking along the shortest route from Kalatha to Chergor, though, and I haven’t found anyone yet. I think-”
He broke off, leaning more intently over his gramerhain, then grunted unhappily.
“They did send more,” he said sourly. “I’ve got what looks like seventy-five or a hundred horses, most of them carrying double, and they’re making good time despite the weight.”
“ How good?” Varnaythus demanded.
“They’re probably four hours out. More probably five.” Sahrdohr shook his head. “To be that close behind her, they must have gotten themselves assembled right on her heels.”
“Horses?” Varnaythus looked up again. “Where the hell did they find that many mounted war maids?”
“They aren’t all war maids.” Sahrdohr grimaced. “It looks like a third of them are Trisu of Lorham’s armsmen. And another third are in the colors of the Quaysar Temple Guard. In fact, one of them looks an awful lot like that busybody Shahana.”
“Wonderful.” Varnaythus suppressed a strong desire to spit on the floor and looked back at his own gramerhain.
“Well,” he said flatly after a moment, “Arthnar’s cutthroats aren’t more than a couple of hours from Chergor right this minute, and Cassan isn’t more than another two hours behind them. So they should both reach their target before Trisu and Shahana can interfere.”
“Phrobus, what a mess!” Sahrdohr muttered.
“It should still work,” Varnaythus countered. “As long as Tellian doesn’t manage to convince the King’s armsmen to pull out in the next hour and a half, at least. ‘Captain’ Traram has enough men to overwhelm Markhos’ party even without Cassan, and Cassan has more than twice as many men as he does. They should be finished and done by the time Trisu and Shahana get there.”
The wizard knew he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of his own argument, because that was precisely what he was doing. Still, that didn’t make it untrue. Erkan Traram, the commander of Arthnar’s assassins, had the next best thing to two hundred and fifty men under his command, better than four times the strength of the King’s bodyguards. Courtiers, gentlemen in waiting, and their servantss added perhaps another twenty swords to the defenders’ strength, but none of the King’s guests had brought armor with them. So it was entirely possible Traram would sweep over them in his initial rush, despite the rudimentary wall around the hunting lodge. And if he failed, Cassan would be arriving on his heels with better than five hundred armsmen. Finding himself forced to dispatch the King himself would be a less than optimal solution from Cassan’s viewpoint, but it would work just fine from Varnaythus’. In fact, having Trisu and Shahana arrive while Cassan was still in the process of completing the assassination would be even better. Outnumbered though Trisu’s force was, at least some of them would escape with their own version of what had happened, and the probability of a Sothoii civil war would rise sharply if that happened.
“And if they do convince them to run for it before Traram gets there?”
It was technically a question, though Sardohr’s tone made it a statement, and Varnyathus bared his teeth at him.
“As soon as they start to ride out of that lodge, I trigger the kairsalhain,” he confirmed grimly. “It won’t be as clean as we wanted, and I know it’ll warn them someone was willing to use the art, but it looks like Brayahs has already done that, curse him! And at least it’ll also be final, by Carnadosa’s ebon eyes!”
Cassan Axehammer looked up at the cloudless blue sky, squinting at the sun. Summer might be trending into autumn, but he had at least another ten, possibly even eleven hours of daylight, he reflected. That was good-in fact, it was almost perfect.
Ahead of him, Sir Garman Stoneblade, his senior armsman, raised his hand to signal another halt. Cassan started to override the command, but stopped himself. They’d been in the saddle for almot two weeks now, pursuing the “unknown horsemen” who’d chosen to make their way across his riding without permission. The journey had been a long, hard ride, even for Sothoii cavalry troopers, but they’d been making up ground steadily. He’d taken that into consideration when he timed his “discovery” of Arthnar’s mercenaries-it would never have done to actually catch them short of their objective-yet timing was even more critical now. They had to catch the killers in the act, or at least run them to earth before they could escape. Yet even so, Stoneblade was right to rest the horses periodically; they had at least two more hours of hard riding ahead of them, and the last thing they needed was to arrive with their mounts too exhausted to accomplish their mission.
Which wouldn’t be a problem if I had a few damned wind riders I could actually trust, the baron thought bitterly.
There were far fewer wind riders among his vassals and armsmen than most of the other barons-and especially that bastard Tellian! — could claim. That had always been a sore point, one more coal in the fire of his resentment and ambition. Yet there were times it could be an advantage, as well, he reminded himself, and the truth was that this was one of those times, whether he liked it or not. No courser was any man’s vassal. They might bond to someone who was, and share their rider’s fealty at secondhand, as it were, but they themselves owed obedience only to their herd stallions…and the herd stallions owed obedience only to the Crown. He couldn’t have brought a wind rider on this mission even if he’d had one to bring.
Speaking of which…
He shared a quick, meaningful glance with Tarmahk Dirkson, his personal armsman, then trotted over to Stoneblade before he dismounted and gestured for Sir Kalanndros Horsemaster to join them. Both of his captains were typical Sothoii: tall for humans, with fair hair and blue eyes. Stoneblade was twelve years Horsemaster’s senior, and his beard was going gray, although it was hard to see against that blond background. Horsemaster was a bit rangier than Stoneblade and perhaps a bit more ruthless. Both were highly competent, or they wouldn’t have held their positions, but Stoneblade had the better eye when it came to suiting tactics to terrain.