Terrance saluted, turned, and left the tent, heading straight for the picket line. In less than fifteen minutes, Bella was tacked and he mounted, moving through the roil of men breaking camp around him. He moved with purpose, but slowly, letting the cold horse get her feet under her and getting her warmed up before he would pick up speed.
The ground was not frozen, and the night’s snow was being quickly churned to mud by the army breaking camp. Terrance knew he would have to stop several times and pick out his mare’s hooves, but at least it wouldn’t be the thick, forelock-deep goop that could suck the shoes off a horse or the boot off a rider come the spring thaw.
He was thankful for small blessings as he turned his horse southwestward and urged her to a light trot. He felt her twitch when he broke into a fit of coughing, but he patted her on the neck when he was finished and she relaxed. Then he set her to a canter, and watched as the miles fell behind.
Terrance reined in Bella. The air was still, as if the weather held its breath in anticipation of the next assault. The snow flurries had halted an hour after he had left camp, but Terrance knew there would be more, soon. The hazy sun hung in the sky, its slight touch on his face taunting him with the promise of warmth that would be withheld. The frigid air was starting to freeze the ground, and Bella’s hooves were crushing ice crystals more often with every passing minute. The cold bit through Terrance’s coat and Bella’s breath formed clouds of steam. And in the west more clouds were approaching.
Since leaving Gruder’s camp Terrance had encountered nothing out of the ordinary, but he had to be constantly alert. The fever that was gripping him made it difficult to keep his attention focused as much as he would have liked, but for the most part he could ignore the misery that was now seeping into every bone in his body.
He let Bella rest a moment while he regarded the landscape. He rode along a trail that hugged a line of trees spreading southward. To the north the land fell away into a large meadow. In the distance Terrance took stock of landmarks, for he carried no maps against the possibility of enemy capture. Like all messengers he had committed local maps to memory and could recognize where he was given any sort of significant feature to use as a reference point.
Something caught his eye at the far end of the meadow. A group of figures emerged, moving slowly toward his position. At first he thought it might be a Tsurani patrol, but then he quickly discarded that notion. There were approximately two dozen people, moving in ragged fashion, no order or apparent purpose other than to move south as quickly as possible, all of them lacking the colorful armor that marked the Tsurani.
Terrance waited. The time spent investigating this group would be well spent if they had any reasonable intelligence regarding Tsurani movements to the north or west. As they approached, the figures resolved themselves into a group of villagers, looking to be farmers or woodcutters by their dress. Men, women, and a few children, all carrying bundles, approached.
One man saw Terrance and pointed and the others started waving and shouting. He turned his horse and urged her down the slope in their direction. By the time he reached them, they were in the middle of the meadow, obviously fatigued. The children clung to adults and everyone was short of breath.
“Hello!” shouted one man as Terrance came within hearing range. “Are you a soldier?” The man spoke the language of the Free Cities, Natalese. As a native of Yabon, Terrance could understand most of it; his Yabonese dialect was closely related, though the King’s Tongue was the predominant language in his household.
“Yes,” said Terrance. “Who are you?”
“We are from the village of Ralinda, seven miles to the north.”
Terrance nodded. He knew where it was. “I thought it was in Tsurani hands.”
“They pulled out yesterday,” answered a woman standing next to the man. “Every one of them. Last year they left a handful of soldiers to keep us working, but not this year. So we ran.”
Terrance nodded. He turned and pointed upslope. “Once you reach that high ground, turn northeast and follow the ridge. That will take you to a trail in the woods leading to where Baron Gruder’s camp is breaking to head back to LaMut. You can go with them and find shelter for the winter.” He turned to the man. “Where did the Tsurani go?”
“Southwest.”
Terrance did a momentary calculation in his head, then said, “Thank you. Good luck.” He turned Bella and spurred her up the slope to the ridge, feeling sudden urgency. If the entire garrison billeted in that village wasn’t returning to their staging area, northwest in the Grey Towers Mountains, that meant they were joining other units for a last assault and, from the direction they were heading, that could only mean Baron Moncrief’s position. For a brief instant, he considered turning to tell the villagers to carry word to Baron Gruder, but even if they reached Gruder’s camp before nightfall, any battle at Moncrief’s camp would be decided long before Gruder could reinforce.
Besides, he thought, he was only speculating and it could be he was wrong.
But in his gut he knew he wasn’t.
He got Bella to a fast canter and hoped he could get to Moncrief before the Tsurani.
Bella labored to keep galloping. Terrance had tried to keep her pace as fast as possible without ruining her. He had alternated long gallops with canters and trots, but had not let her rest since receiving word of the Tsurani pullout from the village of Ralinda. As much as he treasured the horse he knew he would be duty-bound to sacrifice her to bring warning to Baron Moncrief.
He could hear Bella’s breathing, the raspy, deep huffing that warned him she was close to her end. She had heart and would run until she collapsed under him, he knew. He faced a terrible test, balancing the necessity for speed with the need to keep Bella alive. His chances of reaching Moncrief before the Tsurani were close to nonexistent if he was forced to cover even the last two miles on foot.
He reined her in and let her slow until she was walking, her labored breathing recovering slowly after five minutes at that pace. He wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved right hand and could feel the chilled perspiration run off his neck and down inside his tunic. He felt a strange detachment as he realized he was drenched under his coat, despite the freezing air. His throat was dry no matter how much water he choked down, and his lungs felt constricted, making it difficult to take in a deep breath. Fits of coughing had forced him to rein in three times, leaning over the saddle to spit fluid. His ribs ached.
He ignored his own discomfort and glanced around, seeking landmarks, and realized he was entering a narrowing valley, three or four miles long, that came to a V in the southwest, entering the pass he would encounter before reaching Moncrief’s position.
Movement along a tree line to the north caught his eye and he halted Bella for a moment. Raising himself up in the stirrup irons, he studied the trees. Just beyond the first line of trees he could see movement, faint hints of colors among the shadows of the deeper woods, blue, green, red.
He knew it was the Tsurani, and, from the variety of colors he glimpsed, a combined command. Gruder was right. The Tsurani were poising themselves to sweep in behind the retreating Kingdom forces and establish larger areas of control.
The Tsurani had ceased trying to expand their holdings since the first year of the invasion, letting a stable front develop over the last six years, the attack on Crydee and the attempt to reach Port Natal and the Bitter Sea being the only two exceptions.
But it didn’t mean they weren’t trying now.
Terrance urged the tired horse forward.
He knew as well as most that the Tsurani were among the finest infantry ever seen in Midkemia, able to march fifty miles through a day and night and still fight when they reached their destination. And twenty miles a day was a stroll for them.
He judged the distance from the trees to where he knew the entrance of the pass was and realized he would have to hurry to get there before the Tsurani vanguard. He kicked hard at the sides of his fatigued mo
unt, and the valiant Bella responded.
At first she ran nearly as fast as she would when rested, but Terrance felt her energy wane by the minute. When he had halved the distance to the gap, she could barely maintain a weak canter, and when he was nearing the trees, she fell into a stumbling walk.
He leapt from her and quickly stripped off his greatcoat. It was too bulky to run in. With the cold slicing through his light jacket, the chill doubled by the perspiration running down his skin, he secured the pouch around his shoulder carrying Baron Gruder’s report to the Earl, and bid a silent good-bye to Bella. He turned her head back toward the route they had traveled, said a silent prayer to Ruthia, goddess of luck, and slapped her hard on the flanks. She moved away and then stopped, her sides heaving as she struggled for breath. She looked back at him and he said, “Home, Bella!” She almost seemed to nod as she turned and started walking slowly back the way they had come.
Setting his sight on the gap less than two miles ahead, Terrance started a steady trot. The ground was icy enough that any attempt to run could be disastrous. He could not chance an injury that would keep him from finishing his assigned mission. And should he fall now, he would almost certainly be captured or killed by the Tsurani.
A few times he felt his boots slip an inch, but for the most part, the trot kept him moving quickly toward his goal while giving him firm footing. As he reached a smaller clearing before the woodlands leading to the pass, shouts in the distance told him the Tsurani had spied him making his way. Disregarding the icy ground, Terrance started to run.
He glanced to his right and saw a half dozen Tsurani soldiers, dressed in the black and orange of House Minwanabi, set out to cut him off. He judged the angle and decided he could make it to the trees before they could reach him. He hoped those chasing him hadn’t gotten to know the area as well as he, for there were a couple of places he could gain some time if they didn’t know their way around.
If they did, he was most likely to be killed.
He lowered his head and sprinted.
A hundred yards short of the first line of trees, Terrance could hear the sound of the Tsurani sandals crunching the icy ground as they ran to intercept him. At fifty yards, he could hear their ragged breath as they drew near. At twenty-five yards, a single arrow sped past his head, missing him by less than a yard, and he ducked, reaching the trees as another struck the bole he had passed behind.
He dodged to his left, and down a narrow path between a half dozen larger boles. His lungs burned and he could feel his legs grow shaky, but he kept his mind focused on getting free of the Tsurani. His heart pounded and he felt fear so near to overwhelming him that he had to blink away tears. He kept his eyes focused on the path. It was a game trail that led to a small pond two hundred yards farther along. At fifty yards, he started to move back to his right, up a slight rise. He knew that if the Tsurani lost track of him, they would be likely to continue down the trail toward the pond and he would gain valuable minutes.
But even if he lost the half dozen chasing him, there was the bulk of the Tsurani force heading for the same destination he was, and if he didn’t get there at least five minutes before they did, the chances were high one of their bowmen would bring him down, for there was a clearing before the pass that afforded a running man no cover whatsoever.
For the first time since taking service, Terrance cursed the need for high riding heels. He felt his ankles wobble and almost give out several times as he dashed through the woods. Absently he wondered if he could have a bootmaker cut the fronts at the ankles and add grommets and laces so he could tighten them. Then he realized the far wiser choice was to avoid having to run in the first place.
He hit the small clearing in full stride, electing to run as fast as possible rather than dodging from side to side, hoping to be into the rocks a short distance away before a Tsurani bowman might stop, draw, take a bead on him, and let fly.
Something, the hint of a bowstring being released, the sound of pursuing footfalls diminished by one, or just intuition caused him to dart to the left at the last instant. A black arrow sped past him, missing his back by less than six inches. He darted right, then cut into the gap in the rocks, hugging the left side.
The gap was narrow enough only two men on horse could ride abreast, and Terrance knew it was a logical choke point for the defenders to the southwest. There would be at least a small squad of Kingdom soldiers at the other end and he would be safe if he could negotiate the mile of rocky trail before the Tsurani overtook him.
He prayed they would become cautious and slow down as they entered the gap, perhaps fearing he had turned to stage an ambush. But moments later the sounds of running men echoed from behind and he realized the Tsurani were anything but cautious. They had seen one man, armed only with a sword, running for his life.
Terrance felt his legs burn with fatigue and his lungs didn’t seem to take in enough air. He forced himself to breathe as deeply as he could, blowing out all the air, then breathed normally. He felt an attack of coughing begin and he exhaled sharply, overcoming the urge. He felt as if he was losing strength by the moment and felt a desperate dread he might collapse before reaching safety. He battled panic and knew it would kill him faster than anything else. He was tired and sick, but he kept focused and moved as quickly as he could, knowing death was only fifty yards behind.
The gap curved and turned, preventing the Tsurani from unleashing another shot at him. Terrance also knew that the trail straightened for a hundred and fifty yards as it also broadened at the southwest mouth of the pass. He prayed Kingdom archers would be alert enough to recognize his uniform, and then recognize who was chasing him.
Then he was there, rounding a curve and looking at a hundred-and-fifty-yard-long trail leading down to what could only be a Kingdom barricade. A chest-high redoubt had been built across the gap since the last time he had ridden through. Shouts from the redoubt told Terrance he had been seen, and he waved his right hand in a signal as he ran.
He knew he looked nothing like a Tsurani, but hoped it was that obvious to the bowmen facing him. Then as he neared the redoubt he saw them draw their bows and let arrows fly.
The shafts sped over Terrance’s head and he heard a cry of pain from behind and realized the Tsurani were now in sight. Terrance didn’t chance a look back, in case the Tsurani were ignoring the covering fire and still chasing him.
As he reached the redoubt he leapt into the air, landing atop the four-foot barricade, letting his body go limp as Kingdom soldiers grabbed his jacket and pulled him over.
The man who yanked him to his feet was a grizzled sergeant nursing a nasty scar on his face, less than a week old and badly sewn from the look of it. “Cutting it close, aren’t you, boy?” he said.
“No . . . choice,” said Terrance between gasps and a sudden racking cough . . . “My horse . . . was all out . . . and I had to get . . . my messages to Baron Moncrief.”
“Yes,” said a soldier nearby who was crouching low behind the breastwork, “but did you have to bring them with you?” He pointed to where the Tsurani bowmen were trading shots with the Kingdom archers.
“It wasn’t my idea,” said Terrance, getting to his feet but keeping his head low. Suddenly he exploded into a fit of coughing, his body racked and his ribs hurting from the effort. He hacked up fluid from his lungs, turned his head, and spat.
“You going to live?” asked the sergeant.
“I’ll live,” said Terrance. “Just a nasty chest cold. Nothing to speak of.” He rested a moment, hands on knees, then stood upright. “Sergeant, I need a horse.”
“Go get one from the picket,” said the sergeant. “We’ve lost a few lads in the last week. What do we have coming?”
“A lot of Tsurani from the look of things,” said Terrance. “I’ll tell the Baron. Looks like a last-minute push to take this whole region.”
“Wonderful,” said the sergeant, pulling out his sword. “Get ready, boys!” he shouted as Terrance hurried away
from the defensive position.
A dozen small tents were pitched a hundred yards south of the barricade, and the soldiers who had been resting there were now running toward the defensive point; the sergeant must have sent word when he saw Terrance running out of the gap. Terrance did a quick calculation and judged there were about a hundred men at the barricade. With archers they should be able to hold the Tsurani for an hour, perhaps two. That should be enough time for Terrance to reach the Baron’s camp and for reinforcements to come to the sergeant’s relief.
Terrance quickly evaluated the horses at the picket and selected a gray gelding, barrel-chested and sound in all four legs. It had the look of an animal with endurance and strength, and he needed that more than he needed the speed some of the other horses might possess.
Just to be sure, he quickly inspected the animal’s hooves and found the feet well cared for and without thrush or any other problems. He examined the saddles resting on the row of racks and picked one that was almost as light as the one he used on Bella. Twice he had to pause while he experienced coughing fits, but after spitting up more fluid, he felt better and could breathe a little easier. Maybe the cold was burning itself out, he thought. He inspected the saddle he had picked. It was probably a scout’s saddle, as the rest were heavy-duty rigs designed for those who fought from horseback. The company here was mounted infantry, but the men also were used as support cavalry at times and their saddles reflected that.
Terrance tacked up the animal and mounted, keeping his mind on his work. He kept from thinking how frightened he had been when running and turned his mind away from the fear, for to embrace it, he knew, would cripple him. If he didn’t ignore the fear, it would keep him from continuing with his mission, and he couldn’t abide the thought of the disgrace that would bring.
With a snort, the animal headed along the trail, away from the pending battle, and Terrance let him settle into a quick trot for a few minutes, to warm up, then set his heels to the animal’s barrel and got him into a gallop.