The Price Of Command

“If you’ll excuse me,” Daren said to the man, who, with the intractable stubbornness of farmers everywhere, opened his mouth to resume his argument—or voice a protest at the interruption. “I promise I’ll come back to you with an answer, but I suspect that what this man has to say will make up my mind, one way or another.”

Before the farmer could say another word, Daren took Quenten’s elbow and led him out of the tent, to a few paces away where they couldn’t be overheard.

“Now, what was this message?” he asked, “And is there any chance that Ancar’s people could know it was you that got it, and not his own mages?”

“Hildre,” Quenten said in satisfaction. “She’s the best there is at identifying and counterfeiting mage-auras. Unfortunately for her, that’s about all she can do—which means she’s useless outside of a group. But for working within a group, she’s priceless. The commander inside Valdemar sent a conventional messenger to the mages on the Border, and they sent the message on here—and trust me, Hildre has them convinced it went to the right person. They’re attacking Selenay at dawn, my lord. He’s sent half of his foot around to the west, and he expects the cavalry to come in on the east and north. Kero and the Skybolts are in the middle of that. We have to do something!”

Daren took a deep breath and stared off at a tree, reviewing all his plans and his capabilities. My foot won’t make it before the fight’s over. There’s no way they can make a march that’s half a day’s ride away in less than a day. And even if we started now, they’d be tired—

—unless—

“Thank you, Quenten,” he said, his plan set. “We’ll do something, all right. With luck, we’ll even get there in time. Tell the mages to get packed up; we’ll be on the march in a candlemark.”

He returned to his tent, and as he expected, the nameless spokesman for the farmers-turned-fighters was still there. “M’lor—” the man said, getting to his feet, his chest puffed out belligerently.

“How many spare horses have you?” Daren demanded. “And can your horses carry double? Are they in any shape for a forced march?”

The man looked bewildered by Daren’s sudden demands. “We had twice’s many horses as men, m’lor,” he replied. “‘Spect we still got that many, an’ lot fewer men. Aye, they be good for a forced march, an’ go double all right.”

“Good,” Daren replied. He looked the man in the eyes. “I won’t lead you, sir. But I will put you in a position to strike back at Ancar. Here’s what we’ll do....”

Enemy to the west, enemy to the south. Kero stood beside Selenay on the gentle hill they’d claimed as the spot for their stand, looked out over the sea of Ancar’s men, and swore under her breath.

Selenay shook her head. “It isn’t over yet, Captain,” she replied, as she fitted her helm over her head. “In fact, it isn’t even begun.”

“Well, my lady,” Kero replied, as she tapped her own helm to be sure her tightly coiled braids were cushioning it properly, “I won’t say it’s finished, but damn if I like the look of the odds.”

“Daren may yet arrive,” the Queen pointed out, fitting her foot into the stirrup and mounting.

And the rivers may flow backward, the moon rise in the west, and Ancarfind a religious vocation. Kero said nothing, though, as she swung herself up into her own saddle. “With your permission, my lady, I’m off. You know the plan, such as it is. We’ll try and cut a path for you and the Heralds, heading west.”

“No,” the Queen replied stubbornly. “Not yet. Not while there’s still a chance we can win this—”

“Win!” Kero snorted. “We can’t even hold them back! The scouts say there’s a force of cavalry coming in from the east; if we go head-to-head with them, they’ll win, their horses are fresher and there’re more of them. The one chance we have to get you out is—”

“Captain!” One of the scouts came riding up, her horse lathered. “Captain, cavalry coming in, now—but they’re riding double, and not all of them are wearing Ancar’s colors.”

Kero swore, and turned to Selenay. “My lady, no more arguments, or I’ll have the Healers knock you out and strap you to your Companion’s back with my own hands. No matter what you think, you’re important to Valdemar, and—”

Kero caught lighting-fast movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned with an exclamation of recognition and astonishment. A small gray shape came hurtling through the massed enemy, then through the Valdemar cavalry, frightening horses and making them rear and dance—startling Companions, and making them snort and raise their heads. It headed straight for Kero, and flung itself through the air in a tremendous leap, landing in the arms she reflexively held out to catch it.