comes the captain. Let’s see what he has to say about this.’
Caradoc wasn’t smiling in the least.
‘Curse you, Bran! Haven’t you got a lick of sense inside that ox’s skull of yours? You could have killed him, slugging him like that! Broken his blasted neck! You had every right to challenge him, or come to me or suchlike, but to just –’
‘Captain.’ Nevyn held a hand up flat for silence and arranged a portentous expression on his face. ‘Please, hold a moment! There are peculiar forces playing upon us, dark things beyond your understanding. I strongly suspect that our enemies have been trying to undermine us with strange magicks. Branoic is more susceptible to such evils than most men.’
‘By the Lord of Hell’s crusted balls!’ Caradoc went a little pale. ‘Can you do somewhat about that?’
‘I can, if you’ll turn the lad over to me.’
‘Of course. And I’ll talk to Owaen – don’t trouble your heart about that.’
Nevyn tightened his grip on Branoic’s shoulder and hurried him off before anyone could say a word more.
‘My thanks, Nevyn, for getting me out of that. You know, I’ve felt so odd and grim lately that I could almost believe I was ensorcelled, at that.’
‘You’d best believe it, because it’s probably true.’
Branoic swore, a brief bark of a vile oath.
‘I’ll admit that I was fancying things up a bit, like, for the captain’s benefit,’ Nevyn went on. ‘But it’s more than likely that our enemies are working on us with every foul sorcery at their command. If we start fighting among ourselves their job will be much much easier. Watch yourself very carefully, lad, from now on. If you find yourself getting into another black mood, come and tell me immediately.’
‘I will, sir. I promise with all my heart.’
Yet, as he walked back to camp Branoic found that his spirits had lifted, just as if their enemies had stopped attacking now that their scheme had been discovered.
Since Caradoc was taking Owaen in hand, it fell to Maddyn to ride herd on Branoic, not that he minded the job, especially since the lad seemed to have put his sulk behind him. On the morrow morning Maddyn picked him, along with Aethan and six other men, to ride in his point-squad. The country here was mostly flat and some of the richest earth in all Deverry, thick black loam, well-watered by the network of streams and small rivers that was currently carrying the royal iron down to Cerrmor. Before the civil wars, this area, the Yvro basin, as it is called now, had been covered with small freeholds, all marked out with hedges for want of stone to build fences; now they rode a long time between living farmsteads, and here and there they saw the black skeleton of a burnt-out house standing lonely on the horizon. Once the squad left the main body of the troop and Owaen with it, Branoic became his usual cheerful self, whistling and chattering as they rode along a shade-dappled lane.
‘I hope the prince will be all right without us there, Maddo.’
‘Well, there’s some seventy other silver daggers around him. I think he can spare the likes of us for a morning.’
‘I guess so.’ Branoic seemed utterly unaware of the sarcasm. ‘How much longer will it take to get into Cerrmor territory?’
‘Two days, maybe?’ Aethan joined in. ‘I heard the captain and old Nevyn talking last night. Actually, we’re probably on Cerrmor-held land right now, but we’re still too close to the border to take life easy.’
‘Oh, we won’t be taking life easy for years and years,’ Branoic said. ‘If ever again. The war’s lasted for close to a hundred years already, hasn’t it, and for all we know, it’ll be another hundred before –’
‘Hold your tongue!’ Maddyn snapped. ‘Squad, halt! I hear somewhat.’
Jingling and scuffling the squad pulled up and eventually fell silent. At that point they stood in a twisty lane bordered with a hedge, tangled with grass and burdocks, but by rising in the stirrups Maddyn could see over it. Some hundred yards ahead the lane gave one last twist and debouched onto a wild meadow, where four dismounted riders were standing and holding their horses while they talked, heads together and urgent. Maddyn sat back down fast.
‘Men ahead,’ he whispered. ‘Couldn’t see their blazons clearly, but one of their shields had some kind of green winged beast on it.’
‘Like a wyvern, maybe?’ Aethan said.
‘Maybe. Let’s get back.’
As the squad turned and retreated, Maddyn was cursing the inevitable noise, but if the men he’d spotted did indeed hear them, they never followed. It seemed to take longer than it should to reach the main troop and the barges; when they finally found them, Maddyn realized that the barges had been pulled nose into shore and tied up to hazels. Caradoc came trotting to meet him.
‘Scout came in, Maddo. Looks like trouble ahead. Did you see anything?’
‘We did, and that’s why we’re back. Looked like another point-squad, and one of the men might have been carrying the green wyvern of the Holy City.’
‘The scout said he might have seen a Boar or two.’
Aethan swore under his breath.
‘Bodes ill, bodes ill,’ Caradoc went on. ‘Full arms, lads. We’ll leave the barges here with a token guard.’
‘What about the prince?’
‘He’s safest coming with us. If this warband ahead’s only on the track of the contraband iron, they’ll try to outflank us and strike the barges, so there’s no use in leaving him behind. If they’re after him, as I somehow suspect they are, then they’ll have to fight our whole ugly pack to get him.’
‘We’ll want to circle around ourselves and try for a flank strike. There’s a narrow lane ahead that could trap us good and proper.’
‘All right. Across the fields it is.’
Heading south, they swung out to the east across ploughed land that bore only nettles and dandelions. Since the fields sloped up from the river bed, after a few minutes they were riding along a very low ridge of sorts and could see a reasonable distance ahead of them. To the south, on the same side of the river as they were, a warband was coming to meet them. Swearing under his breath, Caradoc flung up one hand for a halt, then rose in his stirrups to stare and count.
‘About sixty, seventy?’ he said to Maddyn and Owaen. ‘A good enough match, anyway. Well and good, lads. We’ll make a stand and see if they come after us.’
Just across a meadow was another thick hedgerow that would do to guard their rear, and in a shallow crescent they drew up their lines, two men deep, with Caradoc and Owaen in the centre and the prince disposed anonymously in the second rank of the left horn, with Branoic on one side of him and Aethan the other. Even after all these years Maddyn felt faintly shamed as he followed their standard procedure and withdrew, taking shelter in some trees a couple of hundred yards away. For this battle, at least, he would have a crucial role to play as liaison between the troop and the fifteen or so men left behind to guard the barges. The orders were clear: if the scrap went against them,
