hear.

“Tell us again what happened when the Honeycat’s force reached the fort: what did the Halverics do, and what did our men do?”

“Yes, sir. I think almost half our men and the Halverics were outside the gates. When the column was sighted, the Halverics’s horn blew. Then a man rode out of the fort—we thought it was the Halveric captain. He seemed to be talking to someone at the head of the column—”

“Had it halted?”

“Yes, my lord. Then he backed his horse a length or so, and raised his arm, and fell from his horse. We thought he’d been shot; they had bowmen.”

The man in green stood abruptly, face pale. “Seli! No!”

Duke Phelan shot him a glance. “Who—?”

“My lord, he—my brother Seliam—you wouldn’t remember him. Seli dead, and by treachery!”

“Cal, I’m sorry. I do remember—a little lad of six or so, perched on your father’s saddle.”

The other man turned his head aside. His voice shook. “My lord, it—it was his first command.” Suddenly he was at the bedside, hand fisted in the sleeping furs at Paks’s throat. “Are you sure it was Seliam? How do you —?”

Duke Phelan reached out and removed the hand. “Let be, Cal. ’Tis not her fault.” The younger man turned away, shoulders hunched. “You thought it was the captain, Paks. Why?”

Paks was frightened. “He—he wore a cloak with gold at the shoulders, my lord; it glittered. And he rode a dapple gray with a black tail.”

“It must be so,” whispered the other man. “Sir, I must go at once. By your leave—”

“Wait. You may need to know more of this.”

“I know enough. Seli dead, my men prisoners, others sieged—”

“No. Stay and hear. Not for long, Cal.” The Duke and the other matched gazes; the young man’s eyes fell first.

“Very well, my lord Duke, since you insist.”

“Go on, Paks. After the captain fell, what then?”

“Then the Honeycat’s men moved in squads, rounding up those who were outside. Some of the Halverics fought, and tried to get back to the fort or protect our men, but they were outnumbered. Some of ours tried to escape, but we saw them fall. Then we heard the portcullis go down, and after a bit we saw ours on the walls along with the Halverics.”

“Where was Captain Ferrault?”

Paks thought back. “I think, my lord—he was inside.”

The Duke grunted. “And you don’t know how big a force the Honeycat left at the fort?”

“No, sir. We thought of trying to sneak back and find out, but Canna had been hit. She said we should shadow the main column and come to you.”

“Canna was hurt? I thought you said you weren’t seen.”

“We weren’t, my lord, not then. But their first sweep around the fort, they shot into the brambles to scare anyone out. It was bad luck she was hit; they couldn’t see us.”

“I see. Now—you’re sure that some of the prisoners were taken with the column?”

“Yes, sir. We couldn’t see it often, because of the sweeps, but on—it must have been the third day—Canna and Saben got a clear look. They said sixty or more prisoners, both ours and the Halverics.”

“And how many enemy?”

“Something over three hundred foot, and a hundred horse, and ten wagons.” The Duke turned to look at the man in green. Paks watched their faces, trying to understand why the man looked so familiar—had he been at Dwarfwatch with the Halverics?

Suddenly she realized that, though taller and not bald, he looked like Aliam Halveric. She looked more closely. His well-worn sword belt was tooled in a floral pattern; his cloak was fastened with an ornate silver pin. If he was a Halveric son, and the captain killed at Dwarfwatch his brother—she shivered.

“Now,” said the Duke, “What time yesterday did you meet the brigands?”

“Afternoon, sir, and starting to get dark.”

“And when did you last see the Honeycat’s column?”

Paks thought, counting the days. “The—the fourth day, sir. They had passed the Guild League road; there’s a village just south, and they burned it. Then we passed the column, the next day, and that was the fourth after we started.”

“How fast were they traveling?”

“Sir, I—I don’t know. Canna said when we were three days from here that it would take them five—but that was before the rain.”

“Yes. With rain—those wagons should be slowed—Cal, tell your father this. I’m leaving today, with the Company, to see if I can catch them on the road. After that, I’ll go north. I’ll do what I can to save his men; I’ll expect to meet him soon. I can’t offer you much escort—”

“Sir, I’ll be fine.”

“Cal, the Honeycat is infinitely devious. Let me send my youngest squire, at least: he’s brave, if pigheaded.”

“Sir, I thank you, but my own escort will suffice.”

“Be careful, then. And Cal—be fast.”

“I’ll kill every horse I own, if I must. May I go?”

“Yes. Luck go with you.” The young Halveric bowed and withdrew. The Duke looked at Paks; she was drinking a mug of soup the servant had brought in. She started to put it down when she saw him looking. “No,” he said kindly. “Go on and finish it; you need that. Paks, the first scouts I sent out last night have come back; they found no trace of your friends or the brigands. I’m not sure they went far enough; I had told them to be back an hour after sunrise. We’ll keep searching, you may be sure. As for you—” he sighed, and sipped from the mug the servant had handed him. “You heard me tell Cal I’m leading the Company out. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch him on the road, unprepared. You’re not fit for this—” Paks opened her mouth to protest, and he waved her to silence. “No. Don’t argue. You’ll stay here. One of my scribes will take down everything you recall—no matter how unimportant—about your journey and the Honeycat. You will not talk to anyone else about it until I give you leave. Not even the surgeon. Is that clear?”

Paks nodded. “Yes, my lord. But sir, I could—”

“No. You’ve had less than half the sleep you need; I’m not risking my only source of information. When the surgeon passes you as fit for duty, there’ll be plenty for you to do.” The Duke’s sudden smile held no humor; Paks shivered. “Now. What can you tell me about their order of march, and the scouts?”

Paks explained the forward and flank sweeps as well as she could. The Duke nodded, and stood. “Very well. Remember that if anyone other than my scribe Arric tries to ask questions, you’ll have a lapse of memory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Paks felt a wave of sleepiness rise over her. She hardly knew when the Duke left, and she slept heavily several hours. The tent was very quiet when she woke, and she fell asleep again quickly. The next time she woke, the lamps were lit, and the surgeon was beside the bed, calling her name.

“It’s partly the stimulant you were given,” he explained when Paks asked why she was so sleepy. “That and the exhaustion from your journey. If you didn’t sleep now—well, you must. Try to eat all Sim brings, and sleep again.”

Paks had trouble working her way through the large bowl of stew and half-loaf of bread. Even swallowing was an effort. She sat up briefly, but sleep overwhelmed her again. She woke in early morning feeling much better. When she asked for clothes to put on, Sim told her she was to stay in bed.

“You’ll be getting clothes when the surgeon says you can get up and not before. That’s the Duke’s orders, so it’s no good looking at me.” He left her to her meal, and Paks looked around the room. It had not registered before that she was in the Duke’s tent—she noticed a carved chest bound with polished metal, a three-legged stool with a tooled leather seat, the rich sleeping furs she lay under—in the Duke’s own chamber. She finished breakfast. When Sim came to take the dishes, Arric the scribe arrived, a slender man of medium height whom Paks had often seen in the quartermaster’s tents.

When he had readied his writing materials, she began to tell her story again. Arric was accustomed to the

Вы читаете Sheepfarmer's Dauther
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату