wouldn’t have worked with most of the hired thugs on the peninsula, nor fealted troops. She wouldn’t share that, though.
Erki looked ready to burst out with something that would wreck it. “Erki, take the rear for a bit, and keep watch,” she said to interrupt him. He nodded and trotted back.
She turned further north and kept them driving until full dark. Jarek argued to keep going, but his own wife spoke up, and others. They were so exhausted the walkers staggered, and the riders could barely stand.
It wasn’t any warmer that night, though the ground was flatter and the grass thick enough to offer some padding. They didn’t dare risk fire. They were a few miles from where the mercenaries had patrolled. Fire could mean the difference between being passed by a few hundred yards away or being seen from miles.
Wake, and move. This distance had taken Erki and her under two days. It was taking three for the caravan, and that was at a speed that strained human endurance.
Toward afternoon, they saw movement to the west, paralleling them. It took most of an hour to discern it was a larger caravan with outriders. Then a messenger bird swooped in, lit on Erki’s shoulder, to his delight and nervousness, and twittered, “Helloooo from Karlinooo.” It stretched out a claw with a tiny note bound to it.
It was a rough map with a list of family groups. Riga read them off loudly. “Fenk the Smith, Nardin the Banwriht ... boneworker? It’s your language in our letters. Rager the Fitter.” She hadn’t talked much to the caravan members, but they muttered and exclaimed in relief that some of their friends and acquaintances were accounted for.
The other caravan was huge. It must be a dozen families, perhaps an entire village. One of the half dozen escorts shouted and broke off. Riga gave a warbling shriek, and reined back.
“Kari!”
“Riga!” Her friend galloped up, and they hugged from horseback, sweaty and dusty and warm to the touch.
“Gentles, this is my friend Karlinu the Quick, Scout Spear.”
Jarek just grunted. Walten nodded, smiled, and said, “Hello.” The others offered greetings.
Karlinu said, “Herald Bellan wants a tally. He’s here, and another Herald is in Gangibrog.”
Riga gestured with her head and moved a bit forward. Kari nodded and paced her.
Once out of earshot, Riga said, “I’ve barely heard of these Heralds before. Why are they so influential? Our entire town has stopped working.” She didn’t want to be presumptuous, but she had a vested interested as part owner of her father’s dock and transfer business. Their safety was also her concern, with all this attention.
“Talk later,” Kari said. “Tally?”
“Twenty-seven. And how is your mother the Swordmistress?” She changed subjects, since she wasn’t going to get an answer.
“Frazzled and harried and snapping as if we’re at drill, even for mundane matters. It’s not just us. Knutsford is about, and the Ugri. The Morit as well.”
“The Morit. I wonder if Brandur ...” She stopped talking and blushed.
Karlinu laughed. “I expect your suitor will be there. But is it wise to be with a man you can easily best with sword?”
“I don’t care. I like him, and he’s not much poorer than we.”
“I must report. Hold on.” Kari reached into her horse’s pack and drew out a bird cage. It took her moments to inscribe a note and whisper another message while she attached the parchment to the bird’s leg sheath. “Fly home, fly home!” she said and tossed the bird skyward.
“Fly hoooome!” it agreed, circling and heading west.
Within the hour, the Herald came up personally. He wore riding clothes that were also white. His mount was a white stallion with vivid blue eyes. Riga hadn’t seen it closely before. Looking at it now, it seemed to stare at her and delve into her thoughts.
“You seem to be doing well, Riga,” he greeted.
She increased her pace and gave him a bare twitch of a rein finger. With a slow nod he moved to pace her. She waited until they had distance to speak.
“They treat me as a girl,” she said, “except when things go bad. Every problem is mine. Either my advice is bad, or I’m na??ve ...”
“They are villagers of a farming culture,” Bellan said. “You are a woman of a trading culture that grew from warriors. I knew this would be a problem, which is why I hurried to gather you all. You’ve done well, no matter how it feels.”
“Now they’ll just feel you’ve taken over,” she groused. She wasn’t sure why she was sharing so much with this stranger. He exuded trustworthiness, though.
“Of course,” he nodded. “But more importantly, they will be safe for now, and your people won’t be burdened with noncombatant refugees as you prepare. I can’t fight for you, but I can clear the field for you.”
Riga didn’t like the sound of that. It made sense that Miklamar was heading their way, but still ...
“Wouldn’t it make sense for your people to join us and fight here, before it reaches your lands?” she asked.
He laughed. “Oh, Riga, Valdemar is weeks away by road, even as fast as my Companion can travel.” He patted the horse’s flank. “I’ll do what I can to help, but Miklamar is no threat to my nation. Our rulers are busy with things close to home. Nothing as important as an empire-building butcher, but far more immediate. It’s one of the tragedies of the world. Your people must deal with this as best you can. Still, I’m glad we were in the area and can offer some help.”
He paused for a moment, as if listening to the air, or his horse. Riga took the time to consider his words. No, she didn’t think her remote town, nor even their small nation, were important worldwide. She’d hoped for more, though.
“There is a war band ahead,” Bellan said.
“Is it the mercenaries?” she asked, half in hope, half in dread.
“They’re on foot, crossing us, probably from the coast road. We can outride them, but the refugees can’t.” Their wagons managed a walking pace at best in this terrain. The children and elders wouldn’t be able to keep up on foot.
“Not the Toughs I met, then.”
“Behind them may be more. We can’t detour that way. We also can’t wait. We’ll have to go through, then ride fast and through the night.” He seemed to shift back to the present. “Please come with me. We need to plan this.”
“Yes, certainly,” she agreed. She turned and called, “Erki! Take point.”
Riga nodded to the others as she approached. No one here saw her as only a girl. Most had felt her blows. Kari, Snorru, Rabal and his uncle Lar, three other men and two women, and the Grogansen boys.
A dozen Kossaki, half youths and women, and the Herald. The army ahead was hopefully less than eight times that size, but might be the van of a far larger force.
“What would you do, Sworddancer?” Lar asked. She realized things were being hashed out and she’d missed some of the talk.
She breathed deeply and stared at nothing. A prayer cleared her mind and she thought.
“I’d shoot arrows from distance and continue until closing. We should dismount close to cause surprise and hopefully break their ranks with fear of the horses.”
“Not bad. We need wranglers. Nor do we want a long fight with infantry. We must hurt them and retreat fast, then look prepared to repeat it. Those levies won’t have the heart for a long fight against professionals, without the mercenaries.”
“We’re to look like professionals?”
“Worse,” Kari grinned. “We’re
She said, “Erki should wrangle and recover bows and glean points, but he’ll complain I’m being protective.” Of course, she was, but it made sense for him as youngest to hold back. He could also ride fastest if need be, to carry a message.
