Dreams of Steel

Chapter Sixty-One

Croaker trotted his mount into the garrison encampment above Vehdna-Bota ford, which was a minor crossing of the Main used mostly by locals and open only a few months each year. He dismounted, handed his reins to a gaping soldier who had recognized the Prahbrindrah Drah.

The prince needed help dismounting. The ride had been hell for him. Croaker had shown no mercy. The ride had been little better for him.

“You really do this for a living?” the prince groaned. His sense of humor had survived.

Croaker grunted. “Sometimes you can’t waste time. It’s not like this all the time.”

“I’d rather be a farmer.”

“Walk around. Work out the stiffness.”

“That will irritate the sores.”

“I’ll put ointment on after we talk to whoever’s in charge.”

The soldier now held both horses. And stared. By now others had recognized them. Word flew around like swallows dipping and darting. An officer loped out of the only permanent structure in the compound, gathering his clothing around him. His eyes bugged. He dropped onto his face before his prince.

The Prahbrindrah Drah snapped, “Get up! I’m in no mood for that.”

The officer rose murmuring honorifics.

The prince grumbled, “Forget me. I’m just following him. Talk to him.”

The officer turned to Croaker. “I’m honored, Liberator. We thought you dead.”

“I thought I was, too. For a while. And I need to get that way again. The prince and I are joining your company. We’re not being watched now but we’ll be hunted soon by a distant and wicked eye.” He was sure the search had not yet begun because no crows had chased them during their ride. “When the search passes this way we want to be indistinguishable from your soldiers.”

“You’re in hiding?”

“More or less.” Croaker explained some. He stretched the truth some, bent it some, made it clear that powerful enemies wanted to find him and that the fate of Taglios could hinge on their remaining anonymous till they joined Lady at Dejagore.

“First thing you do,” he told the officer, “is make sure none of your men speak to anyone outside the camp. Our presence isn’t to be discussed at all. Our enemies have spies everywhere. Most aren’t human. A stray dog, a bird, a shadow could carry tales. Every man has to understand that. We can’t be discussed. We’ll take different names and become ordinary troopers.”

“I don’t quite understand, sir.”

“I don’t think I can explain. Take us being here as proof. I’m back, escaped from captivity, and I need to reach the main army. I can’t alone, even disguised. Do you have men who know how to ride?”

“A few, possibly.” Puzzled.

“These horses have to be returned to the new fortress. Hopefully before the hunt starts. They’re a dead giveaway. Their riders should make no stops and should disguise themselves. We don’t want them identified with this company.”

Croaker had not discussed plans while travelling because someone might hear. But the prince got the drift quickly. “You’re going to march this company down to Dejagore?”

“Yes. You and I will be archers in the ranks.”

The prince groaned. “I have less experience walking than riding.”

“And I have a tender ankle. We won’t push.” While Croaker talked his gaze darted, seeking the potential listener. He continued talking to the officer. Again and again he tried to drive home the need for the archers to keep quiet about their mission till they found Lady’s army. One slip could kill them all. He made it sound like the Shadowmasters had all their men and demons out trying to destroy him and the prince and anyone with them.

True in theme, anyway.

The officer rounded up volunteers to return the stallions, impressed them with the need to deliver the animals rapidly, without telling anyone where Croaker and the prince had gone. He sent them off.

Croaker sighed. “I feel safer already. Get me a turban and some Shadar clothes and something to darken my hands and face. Prince, you look more Gunni.”

Half an hour later they were ordinary archers except for accents. Croaker became Narayan Singh. Half the Shadar alive were Narayan Singh. The prince adopted the name Abu Lal Cadreskrah. He felt it would shield him from scrutiny because it suggested mixed Vehdna and Gunni parentage, which could only mean that his mother had been a Gunni prostitute. “No one in his right mind would think the Prahbrindrah Drah could demean himself that far.”

Croaker chuckled. “Maybe so. Get some rest. Use that horse liniment. We’ll pull out as soon as we get stores and transport together.”

A day and a half later, grimly silent, ready for anything, the archers crossed the river. Croaker grew more fearful and excited by the hour. How would Lady react when he turned up alive?

He was scared of the answer.