The man—Herald Dirk—raised his hand tentatively. "Your pardon, Majesty," he said, when Faram responded to the movement by pivoting to face him, "but we haven't got the faintest idea of what you have been talking about. Just what is this pledge?"
Faram turned back to Kero. "Well, Captain," he said smiling a little crookedly. "It began with your grandmother and your Clanmother. Would you care to start?"
Kero cleared her throat, swallowed to give herself a moment to think, and began. "It all started—for my grandmother, at least—when she and her blood-oath sister Tarma joined Idra's Sunhawks...."
In the end, she and Daren and Faram took turns explaining the entire story to the Heralds. It was Faram who ended the tale, saying, "—so as you can see, Rethwellan owes you what you came to beg of us. I have to admit that if the Captain hadn't made the question moot, I don't know whether I would actually have continued to allow you to remain in ignorance of that debt. I've been corresponding with my niece Elspeth, and she's a charming child—but joining my country to yours in a war is not a step to make based on how charming one's niece is."
"But—" Talia began, when Faram held up his hand to interrupt her.
"My conscience, at least, is much happier with the secret out in the open, even if my coldly practical side is not. The real problem, my lady, is that the Rethwellan army is composed mainly of foot. That is why we hire mercenary Companies when we need other forces. Even if I could muster them, and start them off for Valdemar immediately, they couldn't possibly be there before...."
He looked to Daren for his answer, and got it. "Spring Equinox, assuming we started on the road tomorrow," Daren said promptly. And the Heralds' faces fell again. "And there's no way we can get them mustered and on the march for at least a fortnight, so they'll arrive later than that. But—"
"But?" said three voices together, as the King raised an eyebrow.
"The Skybolts are mounted—and really, that's exactly the kind of troops you of Valdemar need for the initial encounters. Skirmishers, experts in ambush and strike-and-run, anything to throw Ancar's army off-balance and keep them that way. Kero knows warfare like—like no one except her Clanmother."
He made a little bow in her direction, as she unaccountably blushed. Dear gods, blushing, and at my age! And not for a pretty little compliment, but because he says that I'm a better tactician than anyone but Tarma! Certainly shows where my priorities have gone!
"She may even surpass Tarma by now; it wouldn't surprise me. Between the Skybolts, the Valdemar forces, and Kero's knowledge of tactics, she can distract Ancar for long enough that we'd have a chance to come in to take Ancar's rear. In fact, if I were the Captain, I'd lead them chasing wild hares all over the countryside and have them exhaust themselves to no purpose."
Kero ran the basic plan in her head, and found that she liked it. "Huh," she said thoughtfully. "I think it would work. Especially if we let them get just inside the Border enough so they think they're winning, then lead them up along it. Frankly, Heralds, you're better off with us; we get paid whether we win or lose, and we don't have any national pride tied up with appearing to lose. You might have a hard time convincing your own troops to look like cowards, but my people have done it before, and accept it as good tactics. Daren, if you let me run them ragged, you'd probably make it to us at exactly the right moment. And he won't be expecting you; he'll probably be completely off-guard. I've only got one question—we didn't make any pledges. My lords, my lady, we're mercenaries, and we don't work for free. Who's paying our way?"
"We are," said Talia and the King at exactly the same moment. They looked at each other, and laughed weakly.
"Split the fee," Kero advised. "This is going to be a winter march for us, and winter marches don't come cheaply."
Talia nodded, somewhat to Kero's surprise. "I've done my share of winter marches," she said wryly. "I think I can guess what it will be like, going over mountains in a full Company in winter. We were told about you, Captain, and advised and authorized to hire you. That was our next job; to find you and negotiate. I hope you realize how rare that is."
Eldan? Probably. How can I miss a man so much, when I spent so little time with him, so long ago? Well, whatever, he's getting his wish; he's got me coming up to Valdemar now. I'm just as glad the troops don't know about him, or they'd be placing bets on the outcome of our first meeting. Blessed Agnira, I never thought becoming Captain would mean anything like that!
"I do understand, and I appreciate that this shows your confidence in me and mine," she said, hoping her voice sounded businesslike and didn't betray how shaky she felt.
Nods all around the table, and she found herself vowing silently that she would not let these people down. "First things first, since you trust my skill—let's see if we can't work out the actual logistics of this thing...."
"I can't believe this," Kero said out loud, watching from Hellsbane's back as the troops rode past, out of the big double gates of Bolthaven and up the road to Valdemar. She shifted in her saddle, and Hellsbane shifted to match her. It was a good day for leaving; not too cold, under a bright-blue, cloudless sky. Good weather was a good omen, and soldiers are as superstitious as any man.
The Skybolts rode in march-formation; two abreast, which made for a long line, but as long as they were in friendly territory, it didn't matter. It was quite an impressive sight, and the Company looked far larger than it actually was. Every one of them had at least one spare riding animal on a lead-rope behind him, plus his own packhorse. Those with longer strings rode at the head of the column; they'd be breaking the trail, and being able to switch to a fresh horse every time the ones they were riding got tired would keep the column slogging on at a much faster pace than anyone other than Kero guessed. That was one of the Skybolts' tricks; they had more. A lot more. And in this campaign, they'd probably need every one of them.
"You don't believe what, Captain?" Shallan asked, her breath puffing out of her hood in a white cloud. She and Geyr waited patiently beside Kero for the last of the column to move out. The other Lieutenants were spaced at roughly equal intervals along the column, so that there would never be an officer out of effective range to handle an emergency.
"I don't believe them," she said, pointing her chin at the last of the column, passing out of the gates. Now the quartermaster and his pack-strings moved out. Ten years ago, Kero had made the decision that the Skybolts would have no wagons with them. If something couldn't be carried horseback, it wouldn't come with them. Some ingenious, lightweight substitutions had been arrived at, due to the quartermaster's ingenuity. The tents, for instance, that could be packed twenty to a horse. New poles had to be cut each night, but it was worth it.
"There's not near enough bitching and moaning," Kero continued. "Here I am, hauling them out of cozy winter quarters for a midwinter march, a march across all of Rethwellan and over the mountains, and hardly a complaint out of them. What's wrong?"
"They're bored, Captain," said Geyr. "Campaign ended early, they got all their resting out of the way—and half the winter yet to go. They wanted something to do. Besides, the money on this is worth a winter march, and it's not like we're having to cross enemy territory."
"Well, it isn't going to be a Midsummer picnic, either," Kero replied, as the last of the supply-strings moved out. "The Comb isn't a bad range, but I'd rather not cross any mountains in winter. Well, that's the last of them. I'll see you when we camp."
Both Lieutenants saluted, so wrapped up in wool and furs that except for Geyr's black face, Kero couldn't tell them apart. Every trooper in the lot had a new, fur-lined wool cloak for this campaign; normally clothing was their own responsibility, but Kero knew soldiers, and she didn't want to lose a badly-needed fighter to frostbite just because the fool gambled away his cloak the night before. Orders were that the cloaks were Company property, like tents and standard weapons; anyone found using them for gambling stakes would find himself shoveling manure, scrubbing pots, and taking the worst of the ni
ght-watches. Anyone accepting them would get worse than that.
Kero nodded permission to go, and they spurred their horses onto the side of the road, to canter up past the pack-lines. Shallan would be riding just in front of the quartermaster, Geyr halfway down the line. Tomorrow, the two that had ridden first would move back here, and the other officers would all move up a notch, in strict rotation. Except for Kero, who would ride at the very tail. Winter or summer, tailmost was the worst position on the march, which was why she always took it. That was one of the little things that gave her the respect of her troops, as well as their obedience.
She gave Hellsbane a little nudge, and the mare took her accustomed place, so used to it now that she didn't even sigh. As the gates closed behind them, leaving the skeleton training staff and the new recruits deemed still too green to fight in this campaign, Kero settled comfortably into her saddle, and went over everything she had learned once more.
The one advantage they all had, and one Kero had never been able to count on before, was that all of Selenay's knowledge of their enemy was actually fore-knowledge. Evidently some of these Heralds were able to actively, consistently, see the future. They knew when he would strike, and where.
Mostly. And at least for the next six moons or so. After that, according to Talia, they were seeing "different futures." The Herald had tried to explain that to Kero, something about how what they did now to alter things would affect what had been seen and make different outcomes possible—it had all been too much for Kero. She'd always thought the future was like the past; a path that started somewhere and ended somewhere else, solid, immutable. It was disconcerting to hear otherwise. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of the future being so nebulous and fluid.
It was a pity that they couldn't see what was happening now as well; it would have been useful to know where this army of Ancar's was forming up. If Kero had known that, she could have arranged for a little exercise of the Skybolts' other specialty, the one she didn't talk about.
A few careful assassinations, some sabotage, some meddling with supplies; that was what helped cut the Prophet campaign so short, and let us get her cornered. That, and the strikes from behind, ambushes, and traps until she had to find somewhere she considered safe to make a stand. If you can ruin your enemy's morale, and make him think everyone and everything is after him, it doesn't do your side any harm.... Oh, well, we'll do what we can with what we have.
They had Guild blessing on this one, too, which was no bad thing. She'd checked with the Guild, as required, to find out if Ancar had hired on either Guild free-lancers or Companies, and had gotten a delightful surprise. Ancar had actually had the gall to chase the Guild out of his country and deny them access to Guild members still inside his borders. So as far as the Guild was concerned, it was no-holds-barred, and anything the Skybolts did to Ancar's troops or on his side of the Border was all right with them.
That was really phenomenally stupid, she reflected. Not even Karse or Valdemar have ever thrown the Guild out. They may not be welcome, but they're tolerated, because sooner or later, everyone comes to us. Even Valdemar.
She shook her head over Ancar's foolishness.
But I'd better watch my strategy with him. A fool can kill you just as dead as a wise man, and is unpredictable enough to do so.
She saw something bright in the packs of the horse ahead of her, and recognized some of the paraphernalia strapped to the pack of the final horse in the train as an object belonging to Quenten, a remarkable leather-covered box he kept his books in, that had survived floods, fires, and even being struck by lightning.
That turned her thoughts toward her chief mage. He should be just about ready for Master-status, she thought. Maybe he can figure out my puzzle for me, why there are no mages in Valdemar.
For Talia had confided to Kerowyn, with an unmistakable tone of fear and bewilderment, that Ancar had mages in his employ. She'd looked at Kero as if she expected the Captain to challenge that statement, and had been even more bewildered when Kero had simply nodded.
Bewilderment was a pretty odd reaction to magic, especially when the Heralds had magic of their own—mind-magic that was, from all Kero had ever learned from Eldan, equal in strength and refinement to the powers of any Master of any school Kero had ever met. And probably there were those who were the equal of any Adept as well.
Then again, he didn't seem to recognize real magic when he saw it, even when the Karsites were working it on us and calling it the hand of their god. And I think I remember that it was kind of hard even to talk to him about magic, as if I was saying one thing, but he was hearing something else.
The box swayed from side to side, hypnotically. Hellsbane had already gotten into her "march pace;" a steady, head-bowed walk, an easy motion to match.
Though not what I'd choose if I had a hangover or a twitchy stomach.... I wonder if magic doesn't work inside Valdemar? I think Grandmother said something about that, once. But if that's true, why is Ancar using mages against them? Unless it is true, but he either doesn't know it, or has a way to counteract whatever it is.
Kero gave up speculation as a bad job, and turned her mind toward the immediate future. Instead of supplies, the quartermaster carried cash. Since they would be traveling through exclusively friendly territory and harvests had been good this year, they were going to buy every bit of food they needed, for horse and human alike, except for what they needed to get them over the mountains. That was going to keep them light enough to travel at a good speed, and ensure the locals were always happy to see them.
We should meet Daren and the army about halfway between Petras and the Valdemar border, she figured, making rough calculations in her head. And may the gods watch over them. Foot-slogging in winter is as bad as anything I can think of. I bet they'll be glad we broke the trail for them. Let's see; about a moon to the Valdemar border, then at least a fortnight to get across the mountains if I figure on bad weather all the way. Then another moon to get to the capital. Not bad. Better than any other Company I ever heard of, including the Sunhawks. Of course, without the cousins to help me with packhorse breeding, we'd be pulling wagons through this muck, and making the same kind of time as anybody else.
And I don't even want to think about taking wagons over the mountains in the dead of winter.
Hellsbane's eyes were half-closed; Kero suspected she was dozing. Although the road was churned-up muck, it wasn't really too bad, since it was too warm for the stuff to freeze before the hooves of the tailmost horse went through it. Later though, it would be bad.
Let her doze, Kero thought, settling. This is the easy part. Anything from here on is gong to be worse.
Pray gods, not as bad as I fear.
Pray gods, the dreams don't follow me....
Twenty-one
Snow swirled around Hellsbane's hocks, as the wind made Kero's feet ache with cold. Kerowyn huddled as much of herself inside her cloak as she could, and kept her face set in a reasonable approximation of a pleasant expression.
She would not dismount until her tent was set up. Her tent would not be set up until the rest of the camp was in order. The troops could look up from their own camp tasks at any time, and see her, still in the saddle, still out in the weather, for as long as it took for all of them to have their shelters put together.
Wonderful discoveries, these little dome-shaped, felt-lined tents. The wind just went around them; they never blew over, or collapsed, and instead of needing rigid tent-poles, you only needed to find a willow-grove, and cut eight of the flexible branches to thread through the eight channels sewn into the tents. You wouldn't even damage the trees; willows actually responded well to being cut back, and the Company had passed groves they'd trimmed in the past, whose trees were more luxuriant than before they'd been cut.
The hard part, especially in midwinter, was pounding the eight tent stakes into the rock-hard ground to pin the tents in place. Without those eight stakes, the tents could and had blown away, like down pu
ffs on the wind. That was what took time, lots of time, and each pair of troopers was sweating long before the stakes were secure.
And meanwhile, the Captain got to sit on her horse and look impressive, while in reality she wanted to thump every one of her troopers who looked up at her for taking even a half-breath to do so, forcing her to be out in the cold that much longer. She'd rather have been pounding stakes herself; she used to help with setup, before she realized that helping could be construed as a sign of favoritism. Then she set up her own tent, before her own orderlies told her in distress that it wasn't "appropriate."
So she sat, like a guardian-statue, turning into a giant icicle, a sodden pile of wet leather, or a well-broiled piece of jerky, as the season determined.
The sun just touched the horizon, glaring an angry red beneath the low-hanging clouds. No snow—yet. It was on the way; Kero knew snow-scent when she caught it.
A wonderful aroma of roasting meat wafted on the icy breeze, making her mouth water and her stomach growl. In that much, at least, being Captain had its privileges. When she finally could crawl down off Hellsbane's back, her tent would be waiting, warmed by a clever charcoal brazier no larger than a dish, and her dinner would be sitting beside it. She sniffed again, and identified the scent as pork.
Good. The past three weeks it's been mutton, and I'm beginning to dislike the sight of sheep. Then she had to smile; when she'd last been this far north, she'd have sold her soul for a slice of mutton. In fact, most merc Companies would be making do with what they'd brought in the way of dried meat, eked out with anything the scouts brought in. This business of buying fresh food every time they halted had its advantages. Given the opportunity of making twice an animal's normal price, in midwinter when there was no possibility of other money coming in, most farmers and herders could manage to find an extra male, or a female past bearing. Just before they'd gotten into the Comb, in fact, they'd found a fellow with a herd of half-wild, woolly cattle who had been overjoyed to part with a pair of troublemaking beasts at the price the quartermaster had offered.
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