A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [30]
“I guess so.” Branoic seemed utterly unaware of the sarcasm. “How much longer will it take to get into Cerrmor territory?”
“Two days, maybe?” Aethan joined in. “I heard the captain and old Nevyn talking last night. Actually, we’re probably on Cerrmor-held land right now, but we’re still too close to the border to take life easy.”
“Oh, we won’t be taking life easy for years and years,” Branoic said. “If ever again. The war’s lasted for close to a hundred years already, hasn’t it, and for all we know, it’ll be another hundred before—”
“Hold your tongue!” Maddyn snapped. “Squad, halt! I hear somewhat.”
Jingling and scuffling, the squad pulled up and eventually fell silent. At that point they stood in a twisty lane bordered with a hedge, tangled with grass and burdocks, but by rising in the stirrups Maddyn could see over it. Some hundred yards ahead the lane gave one last twist and debouched onto a wild meadow, where four dismounted riders were standing and holding their horses while they talked, heads together and urgent. Maddyn sat back down fast.
“Men ahead,” he whispered. “Couldn’t see their blazons clearly, but one of their shields had some kind of green, winged beast on it.”
“Like a wyvern, maybe?” Aethan said.
“Maybe. Let’s get back.”
As the squad turned and retreated, Maddyn was cursing the inevitable noise, but if the men he’d spotted did indeed hear them, they never followed. It seemed to take longer than it should to reach the main troop and the barges; when they finally found them, Maddyn realized that the barges had been pulled nose into shore and tied up to hazels. Caradoc came trotting to meet him.
“Scout came in, Maddo. Looks like trouble ahead. Did you see anything?”
“We did, and that’s why we’re back. Looked like another point squad, and one of the men might have been carrying the green wyvern of the Holy City.”
“The scout said he might have seen a Boar or two.”
Aethan swore under his breath.
“Bodes ill, bodes ill,” Caradoc went on. “Full arms, lads. We’ll leave the barges here with a token guard.”
“What about the prince?”
“He’s safest coming with us. If this warband ahead’s only on the track of the contraband iron, they’ll try to outflank us and strike the barges, so there’s no use in leaving him behind. If they’re after him, as I somehow suspect they are, then they’ll have to fight our whole ugly pack to get him.”
“We’ll want to circle around ourselves and try for a flank strike. There’s a narrow lane ahead that could trap us good and proper.”
“All right. Across the fields it is.”
Heading south, they swung out to the east across plowed land that bore only nettles and dandelions. Since the fields sloped up from the riverbed, after a few minutes they were riding along a very low ridge of sorts and could see a reasonable distance ahead of them. To the south, on the same side of the river as they were, a warband was coming to meet them. Swearing under his breath, Caradoc flung up one hand for a halt, then rose in his stirrups to stare and count.
“About sixty, seventy?” he said to Maddyn and Owaen. “A good enough match, anyway. Well and good, lads. We’ll make a stand and see if they come after us.”
Just across a meadow was another thick hedgerow that would do to guard their rear, and in a shallow crescent they drew up their lines, two men deep, with Caradoc and Owaen in the center and the prince disposed anonymously in the second rank of the left horn, with Branoic on one side of him and Aethan the other. Even after all these years Maddyn felt faintly shamed as he followed their standard procedure and withdrew, taking shelter in some trees a couple of hundred yards away. For this battle, at least, he would have a crucial role to play as liaison between the troop and the fifteen or so men left behind to guard the barges. The orders were clear: if the scrap went against them, the survivors were to retreat back to the barges and die fighting around the prince.
Straight and purposeful the other