Nodding while chewing a mouthful of food, James then swallows and says, “Yes. A nation the size of the Empire can lose soldiers and hardly bat an eye. But you mess with its economy and they’ll feel it.”
“As you will,” replies Illan and then his attention is taken by the approach of two of Ceadric’s men.
Finishing his meal, James walks over to one of the campfires set away from the tents where some of those from The Ranch are congregating while they await the order to get underway. Terrance is one and he hands his empty plate back to him.
Stig looks up at his approach and grins. “Is it time for a little payback?” He has his mace in one hand while absentmindedly thumping it in the palm of the other.
Of all those associated with James on this venture, only the pit fighters whom he had bought out of slavery are completely in favor of taking out the slaver compound. The indignity and abuse they endured while in their hands demands retribution.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he replies. They stand there sharing the fire until the word comes a few short minutes later that all are ready. Devin approaches him with his horse in tow and holds the reins while he mounts. Once mounted, James begins moving toward where he knows Illan will ride at the head of the column.
He doesn’t get very far before the force begins to move away from the campfires still burning in the dark without a word. James glances back to the men left behind to maintain the illusion they are still there as they walk to and fro in the fire’s light. Returning his attention back to the fore, he quickly moves through the riders to join Illan and Brother Willim in the lead. The rest of the Hand of Asran rides further back in the column with the others.
As the campfires disappear further into the distance behind them, his anxiety peaks as he waits for any indication the move has been found out. But as minute after minute passes uneventfully, he begins to relax.
A force this size doesn’t exactly move silently and the noise from the horse’s hooves seems to reverberate throughout the night. The tack on the horses prone to jingling has been muffled with cloth to prevent it from making any sound.
They ride in silence for several hours, scouts reporting in periodically only to report that no other forces have been sighted ahead of them. When the sky begins to lighten and still no sight of the enemy has been made, James realizes they may have just pulled it off. By now, their pullout had to have been detected by the enemy. The enemy scouts that were posted around their encampment will not be reporting back in and by now others have most likely been sent to investigate. The men who were left behind to make it appear they hadn’t left were to leave and race to catch up when the sky first began to lighten.
“Should be to Korazan by early tomorrow if we keep a steady pace,” Illan says, breaking the silence. He glances to where James is riding beside him and asks, “Can you check for hostiles?”
“Sure, but they’ll know where we are,” he replies.
Shrugging, Illan says, “Doesn’t matter much now. They know we didn’t go north or south, east would be pointless, so they’re going to send everything this way. Probably will try to crush us quickly with all they have.”
“Alright,” agrees James and then reaches for his mirror.
“Scouts say there’s a road ahead of us a mile or two running north and south,” he says as James gets his mirror into position.
Nodding, James gazes into the mirror and lets the magic flow. The image clarifies and he sees their force from a bird’s eye view. Scrolling the image, he first looks to the west to see what’s ahead. It doesn’t take long to find the road that the scouts reported. “There’s traffic upon it,” he says to Illan. “Regular people and a few caravans.” Glancing to Illan he says, “I don’t think they were expecting us to move this way.”
With a grin, Illan replies, “Good.”
Returning his gaze to the mirror, he scrolls the image still further. As the image moves further from his position, the drain of magic increases. “Doesn’t look like anything ahead of us will present much of a problem,” he says. “There are a few forces on the move but nothing we can’t handle.”
Moving the image, he begins to scan clockwise. To the north rides a band of horsemen heading in their direction, looks to be two score doubtful if they would even try anything against so overwhelming an army. About an hour behind them to the east he finds those riders they left behind at the camp riding hard to catch up. Two to three hours behind them follows the force from Al-Zynn, easily twice the number of those riding with James. The force is entirely made up of cavalry, three brown robes ride with them.
“Our riders made it safely away,” he tells Illan. “They’re about an hour behind us.”
“That’s good news,” he replies.
From behind, Ceadric asks, “What about the force from Al-Zynn and the one that was following us?”
“The army from Al-Zynn rides several hours behind our men, and they’re twice our number with three brown robes,” he says as he scrolls the image to locate the force that had been trailing them. “The others are moving to join with them.”
“Three mages?” Brother Willim asks.
Nodding, James turns his gaze to him and says, “Three.”
“That will make things interesting,” he says.
“Where do they get them all?” James asks as he returns his gaze to the mirror to check to the south.
“They periodically test children and those who show an inclination or talent toward magic are taken to their School of the Arcane,” explains Illan. “From what we understand, not many make it through the training process.”
“I take it that it’s not exactly a voluntary choice?” he asks. The south looks fairly clear of any immediate threat so he returns his mirror to his pack.
“Actually, most desire the prestige and honor that goes with being a mage for the Empire despite the risks involved,” Ceadric adds. “I suppose a few don’t want to go and they’re probably the ones who fail to survive.”
Just then they see ahead a scout returning. As he pulls up to ride beside Illan he says, “The road is just ahead.”
“Are they aware of our approach?” Illan asks.
“Not yet Black Hawk,” replies the scout. “People are still traveling along at a normal pace.”
James gazes to the horizon ahead in the morning light and can just begin to make out those traveling upon the road.
Illan turns to Ceadric and says, “Take your riders and secure the road. Take out any caravans but leave the people alone. We’re not here to kill innocents.” He glances to James and receives an approving nod.
“Yes, sir,” Ceadric replies. Behind him ride two of the four men he’s designated as Raider Captains, both rode with Illan in his earlier campaign. One is Nerun, a grizzled old timer who still retains his strength and wits. The other is Wylick. Six foot six with just a peppering of gray in his hair, he still gives an imposing appearance. The other two captains ride further back with their men, protecting the rear of the column.
Turning back to them he says, “Nerun, take your men to secure the road to the north. Wylick, you take the south.”
“Yes, sir!” Wylick says before he hollers to his men and they race to the south. Nerun and his men gallop to the north.
James watches as the two bands of riders, over two hundred strong each, near the road. The travelers soon take notice of the approaching riders, at first thinking they are forces of the Empire. But then when they finally realize they aren’t, panic ensues as they begin racing for their lives.
Neither of the bands of men strike down the civilians without provocation. A few are taken out when they try to fight them off in a futile gesture. By the time Illan, James and the others reach the road, it’s been cleared and secured. To the north the sound of breaking wood is heard as Nerun’s men begin destroying a twenty wagon caravan.
One of Nerun’s men returns down the road with one of the wagons trailing along behind him. When he reaches Illan he comes to a stop and says, “Nerun thought we might want to save this one.”
“What is it?” Illan asks.
The driver of the wagon, another of Nerun’s men pulls back the tarp and reveals a hundred crossbows with accompanying boxes of bolts.
“Nice,” states Ceadric approvingly.
“Get them distributed among the packhorses,” Illan tells them. “We can’t afford to linger here.”
“Yes, sir,” the rider says. Then he and the wagon move to the center of the column where the packhorses are
