Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [206]
“My lord, it is for your safety. If they have penetrated your disguise—if they have discovered that you are away from Cortes Andres—they will be watching for your return. You said yourself Alured wanted you and what you know; Alured has spies across Aarenis; he sent soldiers to your very doorstep.”
“But that other group—are they not at risk?”
“Not much,” Selfer said. “For one thing, they aren’t Golden Company—we borrowed the uniforms. For another, we know Czardas and that part of Foss Council very well: they will have a long, frustrating chase and no profit from it.”
Now Andressat jogged along with the Phelani cohort, listening to the gossip the troops passed among themselves. He heard about Sergeant Stammel, who had been stricken blind by a demon and yet learned to shoot a crossbow and take up the legend of the Blind Archer. He heard about wagers made, won, and lost, and what the troops thought about the change of leadership of the Company.
“Arcolin’s fine,” one said to another. “He’s not the Duke, though. And it’s too bad we never got to say goodbye to Kieri and give him the cheer he deserves.”
“I could understand leaving the Company to stay with him,” another answered. “But to stay with Captain Dorrin? Selfer’s a fine captain; I wouldn’t have chosen Dorrin.”
“She was never your captain,” someone else said. “Suppose it was Arcolin going away—would you stay with—” The man nodded to the front of the column.
“I would, unless Arcolin asked me particular. Lad’s done well this past summer.”
A grunt came in answer and a warning glance. Andressat saw that “the lad” had reined aside to watch the troop ride past. When it had, he rode to the front again. He did sit a horse well, Andressat had to admit, and his troops liked him.
On the border of Vonja, camped near one of the caravansaries where a few merchant groups were staying, Burek told them he was splitting the group in two. Andressat did not like the campsite; he worried that a spy might overhear Burek. But, as a common soldier, he could say nothing.
“Half will go north, make a half-circle, and half will go south, to do the same. Rendezvous at Foss, in ten days. You will live on field rations, camp in the open.”
“But Captain, the Duke never had maneuvers like this in winter.”
“The Duke’s a king, and Arcolin’s commanding now. He deems it good practice after two years of sitting on your arses in the north that you get more knowledge of lands where we might be hired next year.”
“And I was just gettin’ to know that redhead at the Dragon,” said the man.
“The redhead!” That was another soldier, who punched the speaker in the shoulder. “It’s not hard to get to know her—but that sergeant of Golden Company, Tamis Hardhand, would have somethin’ to say about it.”
Andressat realized that the banter was rehearsed when he saw one of the soldiers stare fixedly at another, who startled and then spoke up. “Captain, how far from the road must we go?”
“That’s up to your field commanders—that’ll be Sergeant Devlin and Corporal Arñe. I’ll expect a rough map of your route, with hazards, trails, watercourses—”
“But sir … we aren’t good—”
“You’ll get better by doing. Arcolin wants more of you able to map. And a journal about each day’s journey. I’ll review those on the way back to Valdaire from Foss.”
“You won’t be with us?”
“I’ll begin with the south group, but then I must go to Andressat. Selfer brought word: Tsaia’s king wants a message taken.”
“You’ll want an escort—” This rather hopefully, from one of the oldest veterans.
“Yes, of course. Especially if the count refuses to see me, I must have someone who can hand over the message. It’s probably just a formal announcement that he’s been crowned, but—kings are kings.”
Andressat squirmed; that had to be a dig at him. Yet he could see how it implied that he was there, in Cortes Andres, and not here, if anyone were listening. In that copse to one side of the camp, for instance.
“I should be at Foss in plenty of time to