Страница 8 из 16
'They're probably tending their wounded and waiting for the snow to stop before they return to dispose of the Tsurani dead,' Gregory said in a hoarse whisper. 'I don't think they know we are here though,' He glanced skyward as the snow slackened.
'Don't risk your life on that thought, my friend,' Tinuva said, again his voice was a drifting shimmer barely heard.
'Circle,' De
De
Having approached the fort from the west, De
As he drifted along the ridge, staying low, he kept the remains of Brendan's Stockade in view. Yet another link to the past lost within the last day, he thought.
The stockade was one of a dozen such along the Yabon frontier, garrisoned out of Tyr-Sog. Unlike the mountains to the east, which were dominated by major passes guarded by the border barons – Ironpass, Northwarden, and Highcastle – the western mountains were shot through with trails and little passes. Smuggling in the west was common, but none of the passes was sufficient for any large-scale invasion southward. So the stockades had been constructed over the years.
Each was owned by a trader or i
Brendan's had been one of the more successful stops on the trade routes; from here one could turn south to the Kingdom proper, west toward Ylith or LaMut, or north for a shortcut route that would eventually lead to Yabon. Now Brendan and his family were certain to lie dead within.
De
Brendan had been a good sort, open-handed to those he liked, always ready to offer a pint and a joint of meat to someone down on their luck. As a boy De
He was, as well, a notorious cheat when it came to gambling, a fact De
The two had been good friends after that, both appreciating the mettle of the other, but never again did they venture into a game of dice or the new craze of cards with numbers and pictures painted on them. During the night march De
After covering two hundred yards the rise of ground dropped down towards a narrow forest stream, partly frozen over. The trail to Mad Wayne's Fort, a position now in Tsurani hands, followed the stream and he paused, looking down on it from above.
There were tracks… and lying by the stream on the far side of the trail was a body, a Tsurani, his throat cut, the ground around him an icy pink.
The three waited for several minutes, carefully sca
De
Nothing.
Gregory landed beside him, swung out his bow and drew it, pointing it up the trail, tensed and ready.
Still nothing.
De
The prints weren't made by the heavy sandals and footcloths of the Tsurani, but by the booted feet of moredhel, men, and the deeper hoofprints of horses and mountain trolls.
What was chilling, though, was that there were prints heading back up the trail and they were fresh, so fresh that droplets of moisture were still oozing into them as ice formed. But not as many as had come in. It was hard to tell – perhaps fifty at most, and no horses.
Battle losses? No, he had not seen any moredhel corpses around the fort. There should have at least been some wounded, drops of blood, a dragging footstep, but these moredhel had been ru
Why the haste?
He looked up. Tinuva was still above him, watchful. De
Tinuva nodded and moved out. De
De
De
Choosing speed over caution De
The task now was to find out which direction the rest of the moredhel had taken. If the band had split up, scattering after the attack to throw off any pursuit, he'd swing his own men in behind the group heading towards Mad Wayne's Fort, finish them, then reoccupy Brendan's. He'd send Gregory and Tinuva back to Lord Brucal's base camp to ask for reinforcements while De