At midday, Relam called a brief halt for a quick meal. The soldiers broke out their rations, dried meat and bread for the most part. Some also had cheese, which they ate sparingly of, trying to save as much as possible. Relam for his part ate with Oreius, feasting on dried meat, cheese, and a crisp apple. Throughout the meal, no one said a word and the only sound on the still air was the sound of raindrops sliding downwards.
Less than thirty minutes later they were on the road again. The rain had intensified, more of it making its way through the trees now. Relam blew several droplets off his nose and shook his head to dislodge others. His cloak, waterproof in mild conditions, was starting to absorb the rain. The soldiers were suffering the same problem, shivering with the damp and cold.
Late in the afternoon, Relam began searching for a campsite large enough for a hundred men. So far, they had passed few substantial clearings, and that did not change as they rode on. Finally, with the sky darkening rapidly and the rain still falling, Relam was forced to accept that they would not find a clearing, and would have to make do with the space between the tightly packed trees.
“Get camp set up!” he called to the soldiers as they dismounted. The cavalry began untying tents from their horses’ backs and looking for suitable places to put them. Sergeants started giving orders, trying to keep their squads together and in good order.
Relam dismounted slowly, groaning, then reached for his own tent. Buck turned and watched him with one eye. “Sorry,” Relam said to the horse. “I can’t do anything about the rain. Horses don’t get tents.”
Buck snorted and pawed the ground agitatedly, shaking his main fiercely and swishing his tail. Relam shrugged and began pitching his tent, a low, lone man affair with a waterproof canvas bottom. It took him only a moment to prop up the roof along the centerline and create a dry triangular space. This done, he tossed the rest of his gear inside to keep it dry and looked around the burgeoning camp.
Green tents were springing up everywhere, like mushrooms after a rain. They sprouted in clusters of five two-man tents, enough for a squadron. The squadrons, without being told, had formed two rings around Relam’s tent, the inner ring composed of four squadrons, the outer ring of six. Oreius had pitched his own tent only a couple meters away, similar in style and construction to Relam’s.
“Not bad,” the old man grunted as he joined Relam. “They certainly know what they’re doing.”
“Yes,” Relam agreed. “I’d like to be rid of this rain though.”
He could not see Oreius’ face beneath his hood, but he guessed the older man was frowning. “A little water never killed anyone,” he replied. “It’s the cold I’m more worried about. If the clouds break tonight, we’ll see the temperatures drop. And there’s no telling how far they’ll drop with us being into the fall season now.”
Relam nodded. “We’ll see I suppose. I’ll gather the sergeants for dinner. Any chance we can get a fire going?”
“No fire,” Oreius said immediately.
The prince frowned. “Why not? Everyone is wet and cold and miserable. A fire would keep us warm and help dry things out a little bit.”
“It could also cost us our lives,” Oreius replied grimly. “We are in enemy territory, boy, and that means we should not do anything to draw attention to the fact that we are here. Like building whacking great bonfires.”
Relam looked away, nonplussed. “Oh,” he said finally. “I guess you’re probably right about that. Anyway, I’ll gather the sergeants and we’ll see if we can find a dry place to sit around here.”
The prince left Oreius standing by their horses, and began moving among the clusters of tents. At each, he would ask for the sergeant, then tell the man that they would be gathering for a meeting at the center of camp. Invariably, the officers would nod their understanding, then continue spouting orders at the men under their command. As Relam was approaching the last group of tents, he noticed that soldiers were leading the horses to a slightly open space on the edge of camp. Making a mental note to picket Buck with the rest, he approached the last squadron, all of whom were standing in a loose circle in front of their tents.
“Sergeant?” Relam asked, looking around.
The soldiers parted to let a bearded man through. “Yes, sir?” he asked, saluting.
“At ease,” Relam replied, waving vaguely for the man to relax. “The officers are meeting at the center of camp in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Shall I bring our guest with us?”
Relam frowned, puzzled for a moment, then remembered the informant. “Yes, bring him,” he replied, nodding decisively. “Tonight, you’ll find out what this is all about.”
A murmur of interest ran around the circle and the soldiers looked at Relam curiously. “Any hints?” one asked.
Relam shook his head. “Of course not.” Then he turned and headed back for the center of camp, where he could see Oreius waiting, standing alone in the light rain.
“The horses are picketed,” he announced, jerking a thumb at the mass of steeds milling about and cropping what grass they could find.
“Thanks,” Relam said, glancing up at the sky. Or rather, the patches of storm clouds he could see through the branches. The rain was slowing down now, but not enough to convince Relam that it would stop any time soon.
“Have you
