Then an impact triggered his shields, and he turned in his saddle to strike at another assailant. No more than had he slammed the half-staff across the man’s forearm, dislodging the blade, than both the women and the attackers fled down an alleyway less than three yards away. Quaeryt thought that the second attacker he’d struck was cradling an injured arm.
Abruptly, the avenue was empty except for the troopers and their equipment … and two women lying half on the sidewalk and half on the west side of the avenue and two men facedown on the street, one in a pool of blood.
Quaeryt rode around the rear of the wagon, slowed to almost a halt, to see another body on the stone pavement, and two troopers tying up a man with slashes on his arms and blood running from his scalp.
The dead man on the pavement wore a stylish and tight-fitting silk jacket. Quaeryt couldn’t help but stare for a moment, then looked up as Meinyt rode up.
Quaeryt pointed to the dead man. “Quite a coat.”
“Pimp’s jacket,” said Meinyt. “Haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“That can’t be why they put the women up to it. I can’t believe that they were starving.”
“Most likely they weren’t. I wager they thought there was coin in the wagon.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes, when times were hard, the governors in some provinces would toss coppers and silvers along with the bread. You looked like you might be doing the same thing. The whole city probably knows you recovered the treasury.”
“Do you think they’ll try again?”
“You never know. I doubt it. They got close enough to the wagon to see that the barrel was a flour barrel, not one filled with coppers.”
Quaeryt had never thought about the fact that someone would think he was going to toss coins to the crowds. He shook his head. “Toss the wounded one in the wagon for now.” Glancing back, he could see that one of the fallen women had either gotten away or been dragged off. The other one’s head was twisted at an odd angle that indicated she was dead. “Put the dead woman in the wagon. Leave the dead men.”
“You heard the governor,” said Meinyt, adding in a lower voice, “Good idea. The men’s bodies will remind them.”
Neither mentioned the fact that they didn’t want to leave a dead woman, especially a young one, lying on the street.
While a few people watched from windows, no one approached the column or the wagon closely for the rest of the way to the main market square … or even immediately after Meinyt stationed the troopers into a tight perimeter around the wagon.
Given the momentary quiet, Quaeryt rode to the wagon to see what he could discover from the wounded captive, who, he noted, wore a tight-fitting jacket similar to that of one of the dead men.
“Who ordered the attack?” asked Quaeryt.
“Frig you,” muttered the captive.
The ranker holding the man’s left arm twisted it. The captive winced, but didn’t speak.
“He won’t say anything,” said Meinyt, who had just reined up. “If he does, the others will kill him, and it won’t be pleasant.”
Quaeryt smiled coldly. “Then I think we should carry him outside the perimeter, cut him free, and thank him very publicly.”
The wounded man swallowed.
“Of course, if he has something to say, we could take him back to the post, lock him up for a time, and then let him go some night.”
“… tell you … not here.”
“We’ll have to take him back, then,” Quaeryt said.
“FRIG YOU!” screamed the captive, winking as he did.
Quaeryt didn’t like it, but he understood. He also hadn’t said where he’d release the captive. He nodded to the ranker holding the captive, then turned the mare and rode out near the perimeter, where, now that a few older women had gathered, he made the same statement he had at the southern market square.
After a slow beginning, the process of handing out bread and potatoes in the main market square went almost in the same fashion as it had at the south square, with the exception that not nearly so many men stood around looking on. Of the few handfuls who did, Quaeryt wondered how many, if any, had been in disguise in the group that had been part of the diversion in the attempted attack on the wagon. Were they looking for another opportunity … or waiting to see what happened to the captive?
In the end, though, the men drifted away, except for one, who kept looking at the wagon where the captive sat, trussed up.
After another glass and two quints, Quaeryt ordered Meinyt to re-form the column and head back to the post. While several handfuls of people watched them ride back southward, no one approached, and no one begged.
The first thing that Quaeryt noticed when he entered the courtyard of the post was that the anomen was unlocked, the ancient oak doors had been oiled, and the brasswork polished … and that Vaelora stood by the door, smiling, along with three rankers. Her riding clothes were smudged and stained in places.
Quaeryt rode across the courtyard and dismounted, then tied the mare to one of the ancient hitching rings.
The rankers eased away.
“I see you’ve been busy.”
“They did most of the work, but I knew what had to be done and how to do it.”
Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.
“Did you think that Father would train his son and not train his daughters?”
“But why?” Quaeryt’s voice held far more exasperation than curiosity.
“I can explain … I can…”
At that point both Heireg and Commander Zhrensyl strode quickly across the courtyard toward the two of them.
“Governor!” called Zhrensyl. “The rest of your regiment will be here by fourth glass.”
“I’ve got the cooks ready to feed them. Do you know how many?” asked Heireg.
“The entire regiment is four battalions of four companies each, with an extra company of engineers. All the battalions are mounted.”
“No archers?” Zhrensyl’s eyebrows lifted. “No foot?”
“Governor Straesyr’s predecessor in Tilbor only had a company of archers. They were dispatched to Lord Bhayar with the first regiment to leave Tilbor. Another two companies are being trained, but they weren’t ready. They’ll come with the next regiment. The northern regiments don’t have foot.”
“The next regiment? I thought there was only one regiment in Tilbor, two at the most. How many were there in Tilbor?”
Abruptly, Quaeryt realized that Zhrensyl wouldn’t have known, because Commander Myskyl had taken the southern route to Ferravyl, and there was no reason for Bhayar to have circulated what had actually happened in Tilbor. “Governor Rescalyn had been expanding the regiment there in order to train more recruits. That was because of the possibility of trouble with Bovaria.” All of that was true, if not quite in that context. “Governor Straesyr has been continuing that effort.”
“You’d think they’d let us know.”
“It could be that Lord Bhayar didn’t want Rex Kharst to know until the men were trained and battle-ready. He certainly never explained his reasons to me.”
Zhrensyl shook his head. “Don’t know what this world’s coming to, Governor.” He smiled. “But we’ll do our best.”
“I’m sure you will, and I appreciate it. So does Lord Bhayar.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zhrensyl looked to Vaelora. “And thank you, Lady. The anomen hasn’t looked that good in years.” He offered her a broad smile, then looked back to Quaeryt. “Quite a lady you have, Governor.”
“She is quite a lady, but I’m not so sure that she’s not the one who has me.”
“Either way, you’re both fortunate, sir.”
