said, ‘Thank you. I’ll take that as it’s meant.’ To Tomas he said, ‘And things are certainly going to be dull without you around.’
Tomas said, ‘Given what’s going on, dull would be welcome.’
Roland said, ‘As long as it’s not too dull, right? Take good care! You’re a bothersome pair, but I’d hate to lose you.’
Tomas laughed as Roland walked off with a friendly wave. Watching the Squire go up to the Duke’s party, and seeing Carline standing next to her father, Pug turned to Tomas. ‘That decides it. I am glad to be going. I need a rest.’
Sergeant Gardan came riding back with orders to move the column, and they set off. The Duke and Arutha rode in the van, with Kulgan and Gardan behind. Martin Longbow and his trackers set off at a run beside the Duke’s horse. Twenty pair of mounted guards followed, with Tomas and Pug nestled between them and the baggage train at the rear with its five pair of guards. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, they moved through the gates of the castle and down the south road.
They had been riding for three days, the last two through dense woodlands. Martin Longbow and his men had turned east that morning as they crossed the southern branch of the river Crydee, called river Boundary. It marked the border between Crydee and the Barony of Carse, one of Lord Borric’s vassal provinces.
The sudden snows of early winter had come and draped the autumn landscape in white. Many of the denizens of the forest had been caught unaware by the sudden winter, rabbits whose coats were still more brown than white, and ducks and geese who scampered across half-frozen ponds, resting as they migrated south. The snow fell in flurries of heavy wet flakes, melting slightly during the day, to refreeze at night, making a thin crust of ice. As the horses’ and mules’ hooves cracked through the ice, the crunching of leaves underneath could be heard in the still winter air.
In the afternoon Kulgan observed a flight of firedrakes circling in the distance, barely visible through the trees. The colorful beasts, red, gold, green, and blue in color, raced over the treetops and dipped out of sight, then reappeared as they spiraled upward, with cries and small bursts of flame. Kulgan reined in as the train passed and waited for Pug and Tomas to overtake him. When they were alongside, he pointed out the display, saying, ‘It has the appearance of a mating flight. See, the more aggressively the males act, the more responsive the females. Oh, I wish we had time to study this more closely.’
Pug followed the creatures with his eyes as they rode through a clearing, then, somewhat startled, said, ‘Kulgan, isn’t that Fantus there, hovering near the edge?’
Kulgan’s eyes widened. ‘By the gods! I think it is.’
Pug asked, ‘Shall I call him?’
The magician chuckled. ‘Given the attention he’s receiving from those females, I think it would do little good.’ They lost sight of the congregation of drakes as they rode after the Duke’s train. Kulgan said, ‘Unlike most creatures, drakes mate at first snow. The females will lay eggs in nests, then sleep the winter, warming them with their bodies. In the spring the young hatch and are cared for by their mothers. Fantus will most likely spend the next few days . . . ahem, fathering a clutch of young. Then he’ll be back at the keep, annoying Megar and the kitchen staff for the rest of the winter.’
Tomas and Pug laughed. Tomas’s father made a great show of considering the playful drake a plague from the gods visited upon his well-ordered kitchen, but on several occasions both boys had spied Megar lavishing some of the choicest dinner scraps upon the beast. In the fifteen months since Pug had become Kulgan’s apprentice, Fantus had become a winged, scaled house pet to most of the Duke’s staff, though a few, like the Princess, found Fantus’s dragonlike appearance disquieting.
They continued to move east by south, as quickly as the terrain would permit. The Duke was concerned about reaching the South Pass before the snows made it impassable, cutting them off from the east until spring. Kulgan’s weather sense had allowed they had a fair chance of making it before any big storms struck. Soon they came to the edge of the deepest part of the great southern forests, the Green Heart.
Deep within the glades, at prearranged locations, two troops of guards from the keep at Carse were waiting for them with fresh horses. Duke Borric had sent pigeons south with instructions for Baron Bellamy, who sent a reply the same way that horses would be waiting. The remounts and guards would be hurrying to the meeting places from the Jonril garrison, maintained by Bellamy and Tolburt of Tulan near the edge of the great forests. By changing mounts, the Duke would save three, perhaps four days of travel to Bordon. Longbow’s trackers had left clear blazes for the Duke to follow, and they were due to reach the first meeting place later that day.
Pug turned to Tomas. The taller boy was sitting his horse somewhat better, though he still flapped his arms like a chicken trying to fly when they were forced to a fast trot. Gardan came riding back down the line, to where the boys rode before the baggage guards. ‘Be wary,’ he shouted. ‘From here to the Grey Towers is the darkest part of the Green Heart. Even the elves pass through here quickly and in numbers.’ The sergeant of the Duke’s Guard turned his horse and galloped back to the head of the line.
They traveled the balance of the day, every eye searching the forest for signs of trouble. Tomas and Pug made light conversation, with Tomas remarking on the chance of a good fight. Both boys’ banter sounded hollow to the soldiers around them, who sat silent and vigilant. They reached the place of meeting just before sundown. It was a clearing of considerable size, with several tree stumps grown over with ground cover that peeked through the snow, showing that the trees had been harvested long ago.
The fresh horses stood in a picket, each tied to a long line, while six guards stood careful watch around them. When the Duke’s party had ridden up, they had weapons ready. They lowered their weapons when they saw the familiar banner of Crydee. These were men of Carse, who wore the scarlet tabard of Baron Bellamy quartered by a gold cross, a golden griffin rampant over their hearts. The shield of each man bore the same device.
The sergeant of the six guards saluted. ‘Well met, my lord.’
Borric acknowledged the salute. ‘The horses?’ he asked simply.
‘They are fit, lord, and restless from waiting. As are the men.’
Borric dismounted; another soldier of Carse took his horse’s reins.
‘Trouble?’
‘None, my lord, but this place is suited for other than honest men. All last night we stood watches by twos and felt the crawl of eyes upon us.’ The sergeant was a scarred veteran, who had fought goblins and bandits in his day. He was not the type to give in to flights of imagination, and the Duke acknowledged this. ‘Double the watch this night. You will escort the horses back to your garrison tomorrow. I would rather have them rested a day, but this is a poor place.’
Prince Arutha came forward. ‘I have also felt eyes upon us for the last few hours, Father.’
Borric turned to the sergeant. ‘It may be that we have been shadowed by a band of brigands, seeking to judge our mission. I will send two men back with you, for fifty men or forty-eight is of little difference, but eight is a far better number than six.’ If the sergeant felt any relief at this, he did not show it, simply saying, ‘I thank my lord.’
Borric dismissed the man and with Arutha walked toward the center of the camp, where a large fire was burning. The soldiers were erecting rude shelters against the night wind, as they had each night of the journey. Borric saw two mules with the horses and noted that bales of hay had been
