and decided to move farther down slope.
He backed away from the edge of the trees he had hid within, and after a few scrambling half-slides, he was down at the base of a dry creek. During the next rain this defile would be flooded, he knew, but at present there was only a bit of damp soil underfoot to remind him of the last rain in these mountains.
The scent of smoke was now evident, and Erik knew there had been other campfires closer than the ones that now burned, and he suspected that another company of men had broken camp here the night before. A familiar odor greeted Erik and he glanced up the slope. A good job of hiding horse dung had been accomplished, but to someone who had grown up with the animals the scent was unmistakable. The animals had been staked out a short distance from the clearing where his scouts had vanished. The lingering pungency of horse urine would be gone in another day.
Erik moved to the point on the opposite side of the road where his scout had disappeared, and paused, listening. Again there was a dead spot of sound nearby, as if the animals had left and would not return until the present occupants departed.
Erik skirted the edge of the brush, reached the next grove of trees down the downslope side, and started working his way back to the trail. Suddenly he knew; someone was watching him.
While short on years, he was long on experience in warfare, and he knew that he was about to be attacked. He rolled over as a body landed upon the spot he had just vacated.
The man landed lightly on his feet, despite his intended victim’s not being where he had expected, and as he turned, Erik did the unexpected. He rolled back into the man, yanking him down on top of him.
Few men Erik had met were as strong as he, so he felt more confident with both of them in close than having his opponent upright while he tried to rise. Erik rolled the man over and got on top of him.
His opponent was strong, and quick, but Erik soon had his wrists confined. Seeing no weapon in the man’s hand, Erik released his wrist, drawing back his own fist to strike, but hesitated, as he recognized the man.
‘Jackson?’
The soldier said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
Erik pushed himself off the man and rose to his feet. The soldier was one of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. But rather than the ceremonial uniforms of the palace, or even the daily drilling regalia, he was dressed in a dark green tunic and trousers, with a leather breastplate, short dagger, and metal bowl helm.
Erik extended his hand and helped the guardsman to his feet. ‘Want to tell me what this is all about?’
Another voice said, ‘No, he doesn’t.’
Erik looked to the source of that voice and saw a face familiar to him: Captain Subai of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders.
‘Captain?’
‘Sergeant Major,’ said the officer. ‘You’re a bit off your course, aren’t you?’
Erik studied the man. He was tall, but rangy, close to gaunt, in appearance. His face was sunburned and looked like dark leather. His eyebrows and hair were grey, though Erik suspected he was not that old a man. He was rumored to be originally from Kesh, and was counted a fierce swordsman and an exceptional bowman. But like most of the Pathfinders he tended to stay among his own, not mixing with the garrison or Calis’s Eagles.
‘I was told by Prince Patrick to drill my new company and thought I’d wander them a bit through some rougher terrain than just outside Krondor.’ With his chin he indicated the distant smoke. ‘Your fires, Captain?’
The man nodded, then said, ‘Well, take your men north if you want, but don’t come this way, Sergeant Major.’
‘Why not, Captain?’
The man paused and said, ‘That wasn’t a request, Sergeant Major. That was an order.’
Erik wasn’t inclined to argue the chain of command. This wasn’t some noble’s hired mercenary but a Knight-Captain of the Prince’s army, a man with rank equal to Calis’s. Erik thought Bobby de Loungville might have a clever rejoinder in this situation, but all Erik could think to say was ‘Yes, sir.’
Subai said, ‘Your scouts are over there. They need some work.’
Erik crossed the road and found another pair of soldiers standing guard over Wil, Mark, and Jenks. His men were tied up, but not uncomfortable. Erik glanced at the two guards, and saw that one was a Pathfinder and the second another of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards.
‘Cut them loose,’ said Erik and the two guards complied. The three rose slowly, obviously stiff from their confinement, and flexed a bit as the two guards handed them back their weapons.
Wil began to speak, and Erik held up his hand. A faint noise came to him and he recognized it, then another, and a third. ‘Come along,’ he ordered his men.
After they were well away from the Pathfinders, Erik asked, ‘They jumped you from the trees?’
Mark said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
Erik sighed. He had almost been taken that way as well. ‘Well, look up more often.’
The men waited for an outburst, or some other form of recrimination for allowing themselves to be captured, but Erik’s mind was elsewhere.
He mused on the presence of Prince Patrick’s select guard along that distant ridge, working hand in glove with the Pathfinders and their odd Captain. More odd yet was the presence of many soldiers on a distant ridge where every map said there were no trails, and oddest of all were the faint sounds that had carried to Erik. The second had taken him longer to recognize, but he knew it had been the sound of axes felling trees. That and the sound of picks on rock had not come to him as quickly as the first sound, one he knew well from his childhood: the sound of hammers striking iron on an anvil.
As they cleared the ridge to where the remaining scout waited, Jenks made bold to ask, ‘What are those blokes doing over there, Sergeant Major?’
Without thought, Erik said, ‘They’re building a road.’
‘Over there?’ asked Wil. ‘Why?’
Erik said, ‘I don’t know, but I intend to find out.’
The problem was, Erik had a good idea why they were building a road along that distant ridge, and he didn’t like the answer.
Roo scowled.
Karli stood aside, obvious awe on her features, as the Duke of Krondor entered their home. She had met Lord James once before, at a gala Roo had thrown to mark the advent of his success with the founding of the Bitter Sea Company. Outside the door a carriage waited. Four mounted guards, one carrying a spear from which hung the ducal banner, stood holding their horses’ bridles.
‘Good evening, Mrs Avery,’ said the Duke. ‘I’m sorry for the unexpected intrusion, but I need to borrow your husband for a bit.’
Karli
