Keep on the Borderlands

8

It was silent next to the river for some moments. The horse waterers were apparently listening intently. M’Baddah could hear his heart beating, the sounds of horses drinking and shifting their feet on the bank, the faint gurgle of water flowing by. Finally one of the men spoke again.

“It was a fish, like I said. You know what this country’s like. There’s no one about between here and the Keep, especially after sundown.”

“Fine,” the other said. His voice was reedy and sounded sullen. “These brutes done drinking? Because we still got another string to bring down tonight.”

“You’re forgetting orders. Captain doesn’t like it when his black stallion gets restive up there in camp, on account he didn’t get to drink his fill. You don’t want the captain mad at you for neglecting his horse, not if you’re planning to stay here. And you remember what he tells all you new men if he decides you don’t get to stay.”

“I remember. He said we earn his trust before we get to go on any raids, and if any of us tries to leave on our own, we get tossed off that cliff up yonder.” He grumbled under his breath. “You’d think I was a spy from the Keep or something,” he added resentfully.

“Happens I believe you aren’t,” the first man said.

“Well, then—”

“I said I believe you. The captain may be my brother, but he makes up his own mind about things.”

It was quiet for a long moment. M’Baddah shifted his weight cautiously.

“You don’t like how things are, that’s too bad. At least with us, you don’t have to walk perimeter guard that last cold hour before sunrise.”

The sullen man replied, but too quietly for M’Baddah to make out what he said.

“Thought you understood that,” the captain’s brother said. “Fewer men we have wandering around the hillside, less chance the Keep men will see ’em. Besides, we’ve got a sentry box way up high on the mountain. You’ll see for yourself, one of these days, but I can tell you that anyone goes into or comes outta the Keep gates, someone up there sees it.”

M’Baddah could hear the stamping of restless horses, and the captain’s brother spoke again, his voice unexpectedly warm.

“Get enough there, Night? Good horse.”

The ground under the outlander’s body vibrated with the thud of hooves on hard-packed sand, and he heard the scrape of a shod hoof on stone. Sounds of men and horses gradually faded.

M’Baddah counted time with his fingers against one leg. At twenty, he cautiously got to his feet. No one and nothing—then another scrape of hooves against stone, far enough away and above him that he barely heard it above the sound of running water. He crossed back to the rock slab and cautiously waved upstream. The Keep man must have been waiting for that because he immediately came downstream. He was dripping wet.

“That splash—it was you they heard?” M’Baddah asked, one hand continuing to press out the count, a finger at a time.

The man nodded.

“You heard any of that?”

“I was too far away.”

A wary eye to the hillside, M’Baddah quickly filled him in. “Go back to the island,” he said finally. “Tell the others. Send two back to camp with word for Jerdren and Eddis, but tell the rest to remain on the island in case I need them. Tell my son and Willow to come here but to wait for my sign. Those men will come back with another string of horses, but I will be able to hear when they are coming. Tell M’Whan, the usual signal.”

The man merely nodded again and went.

Another count of forty. It was still quiet uphill. M’Baddah signaled, waited for the elf and youth to ford the river, and drew them down the bank a ways.

Willow listened for a long moment. “We’re going up there?”

M’Baddah nodded. “The three of us. We will follow the two bandits when they take the second string of horses back to camp.”

M’Whan was watching the river, though it was getting too dark to see much. “How far up there do you think it is, Father?”

“A distance. I am keeping count.”

Both nodded. Willow eased back into shelter, and M’Whan settled down in the low brush with his father.

They didn’t have long to wait, but this time down, the bandits barely spoke, and as the horses finished drinking, one of them uncovered a dark lantern—just enough to light the path. Then they started back uphill. M’Baddah rose cautiously, as the sounds assured him the party could no longer see him, and was rewarded with a brief glimpse of movement a distance overhead. It vanished into the trees almost at once. He stepped onto the bank, and M’Whan got to his feet as Willow came back to join them.

M’Baddah pointed uphill and whispered, “Stay away from the watering place. Leave no prints.”

He moved out silently, over flat rock and onto wiry grass, his son right behind him, the elf bringing up the rear, a strung bow and arrow bunched in one hand. Just beyond the grass was more stone, and then a rough path—an ankle-deep, shoulder-wide indentation in the dirt. It led away from the water and up, into forest.

It was darker here. M’Baddah stepped aside, so Willow could lead the way, since the elf could see clearly here. They moved quickly, for the path was clear and smooth. It wound between trees and up a gentle slope, then took a sharp turn and began to switchback up steeper ground, littered with fallen trees, rockslides, and boulders.

Willow stopped abruptly and touched his ear—a gesture the outlander could barely make out, it was now so dark. Silence. Then M’Baddah could hear it as well: the clink of a harness, just ahead and a little ways on. A thin, flickering beam of light touched a tree ahead and higher up, then vanished.

“No danger,” the elf whispered, “but we are close enough to them, I think.”

Moments later, he was on the move again, but almost at once, he slid off to the side, behind a huge slab of rock and waited for the other two to join him.

“Fire, ahead there,” he whispered. “I smell it, and I can just hear men’s voices.”

“What now?” M’Whan asked, as quietly. Both he and the elf turned to M’Baddah.

“We wait,” the outlander said. “An hour or so and they will sleep. They do not post sentries, but it will still take all the care and quiet we three can manage. We’ll map the place best we can.”

Suddenly, sharply, he signaled for silence and lowered himself to the ground, dark cloak over him. On the other side of the stone, voices could be heard.

“Down already?” a deep voice asked. “Captain doesn’t want the high sentry left untended.”

A rough voice answered. “Let him keep watch himself, then. There’s nothin a man can see this time of night without a moon, and that Keep’s locked up tight until sunrise anyway, you know that. Any bread left?”

“Might be. P’raps some of Blot’s venison stew.”

The second man snorted. “Won’t be any bread, but plenty of stew. The wretched brat manages plain bread but can’t cook anything else.”

“Shhh! Captain’s brother is everywhere these days, and he don’t put up with anyone giving Blot grief, remember?”

“Huh. Why the captain had to send our only cook on that last raid…!”

“Because the man wanted to go, and that’s his right—was. Same as yours.”

“I know, I know.” Silence. The man spoke finally, his voice quieter. “Any new raids in the planning?”

“Huh. What I hear, they’ll wait as much as five days now.”

“Better send soon,” he grumbled. “It’s fall, the grain carts come in about now. If we’re to winter out here again, we’ll want a proper share of that.”

“By all the gods at once,” the other hissed, “you trying to get us killed? Even his brother don’t try to second-guess the captain!”

“Well, you asked me,” the sentry said as the two men moved away.

M’Baddah waited to be certain both had gone on and only then raised his head. He grinned briefly at his son and the elf.

Middle night saw the three back across the river and struggling to get damp feet into their boots. The sky was clear, the stars casting just enough light to let them pick a path back to the road. Once across it, M’Baddah stepped aside to let Willow lead. Several moments later, he could make out the faint flicker of firelight through the trees and the unmistakable red of Jerdren’s short-cut hair as the man crossed behind the fire. Moments later, they walked into camp.

“We decided against a cold camp,” Jerdren said. “Anything out there can probably smell us out anyway, the fire can’t be seen from the road, and most of us voted against cold stew.” He and Blorys made room for the three. “Mind talking while you’re eating? We know you found someone—couple of men and some horses.”

“We found the camp,” M’Baddah said. He smoothed the dirt before his crossed legs and began drawing a rough map of the camp with his dagger. “The camp itself is a long climb up, on a wide, forested ledge that overhangs the river. A good place for it. The trees are thick enough and the camp set back far enough from the edge that no one could see it until they came upon it. We were fortunate.”

“No,” Eddis said quietly. “You knew the right kind of place to look.”

The outlander cast her a brief smile and went back to his map. Jerdren set aside his cup and rose to look over the man’s shoulder. “The site is compact, built around three central fires. There is a trail, here, the way we came. We could not find another trail leading down from the camp.”

“Then I’ll wager there isn’t one,” Jerdren said.

“We were able to listen to men talking—at the river, outside the camp, and several in the camp itself. They see no reason to keep watch around the camp, merely a man or two awake at night in case creatures or men come upon them. This has apparently not happened, so the camp guard may be awake, but I doubt he is vigilant. There is also a path that leads up, and it climbs very steeply, from what we could see. That goes to the sentry watch we expected, and they do watch the road and much of the Keep from there. There are at least thirty-four men, and I think there may be as many as forty.”

“Two or three apiece, with a few left over?” Jerdren grinned. “I’d call it bad odds for them, wouldn’t you?”

“On ground they’re familiar with and we aren’t?” Blorys asked.

Eddis caught his eye and shook her head. Jerdren shrugged and gestured for M’Baddah to go on.

“There is a large tent here.” The outlander indicated a place just back from the north and southwest fire pits. “It seems to be for their captain to hold meetings. He and his brother also sleep in there. The horse line is south, where the cliffs rise up steeply, and the rest of the men sleep under a long canvas, or in the open, according to their choice. The drop-off is to the north—there. It hangs over the river, I believe, but the edge is near enough the camp that we did not go there.”

He glanced up and nodded to Willow, who took the dagger and his place at the rough-drawn map.

“To the west—here,” the elf said, “I found crates covered in waterproof blankets. They are grain and food stores mostly. I checked what I could of them. No gems, gold, or coins there, but I would say that any wealth must be kept in the captain’s tent. By what I overheard, he trusts very few of his men.”

“The men who attacked you, Jerdren, were from that camp,” M’Baddah went on. “It seems one of you cost them their cook. There was much grumbling over the lack of skills of this Blot, who has taken over his duties.”

Blorys got to his feet and moved to where he could gaze over the elf’s shoulder at the map. “Clear enough. One way in, but they aren’t keeping watch over it—lazy or foolish, I’d say.”

“Perhaps,” M’Baddah said, “but it has worked well for them, until now. One thing you and your men did, Jerdren—they have no plans for another ambush right away. The last one was bad for the men’s morale.”

Eddis smiled at him. “Good work,” she said. “We’ve found their camp, we know what it looks like, and we’ve got a good idea what we’re facing here. I like that. Still…” She frowned at her fingers, then turned to her co-captain. “Jerdren, you may not like this, but hear me out, will you? I’m concerned about numbers. M’Baddah says probably forty of them. I know that you fought some of their men, and you weren’t very impressed, but that doesn’t mean all of them are poor fighters. They’ll be on their home ground, fighting for their lives and a way of life that’s been pretty good for them so far. We’re good in a fight, all of us—we’ve proved that. But I want you to think about what the odds are really going to be like here.”

His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes.

She gave him a cold look. “I’m not done yet, and it’s just a suggestion, but what if we waited for their next raiding party to move out, then ambushed those men before we went after the camp? Say they send out—how many attacked your wagons, twelve? Fine, that’s twelve fewer men when we go after the camp itself. Now, I’d wager we could take the raiders by complete surprise. They’d be thinking ahead to the fight and what they could steal, and never expect to be ambushed themselves, would they?”

“It’s an idea,” Jerdren said. “Has its points. But two things. We can’t be sure what parts of the road a sentry can see from up there. They see us attacking their men, and they’ll know we’re onto them.”

“If we hit them after dark, it won’t matter,” Eddis broke in.

“Sure, but one of them might get away from us in the dark, make it back and warn the camp, and there goes the surprise. I still say forty of them against us is bad odds for them, but only if they don’t expect us. Other thing is, what would we do with prisoners? Tie ’em up and leave ’em for the orcs? Walk ’em up the road to the Keep, where their sentry could see us? I didn’t much like having to order those men executed this afternoon, Eddis.”

Silence. She finally sighed faintly and shook her head.

“Good,” he went on. “Now, I say we send M’Baddah or Willow back up there, maybe a couple of our other quiet-footed men with ’em so more of us know what this place looks like. Make sure this evening was part of a regular pattern. The rest of us be ready, because once the camp’s mostly asleep, we get into position and hit ’em hard, from all three sides, kill those we have to, make prisoners of the rest.” He glanced at one of the spearmen. “The castellan got a lot of dungeon cells?”

“A few,” the man replied, “but they’re large and mostly empty. Keep folk tend to avoid ’em.”

“Good. Maybe we even let a man or two escape, because that way word gets around that men of their kind would do well to avoid the Keep.”

Eddis shifted. There must be a hole in his logic. At the moment though, she couldn’t find it. Sleep on it, she thought.

“We’ll need a real map, M’Baddah. Maybe he can make us one on the back of yours, Jerdren?” She gazed thoughtfully at the smoothed dirt and traced the line of the path up from the river.

Full dark the next night saw the company crouched along the north shore of the river, opposite the large island, waiting for M’Baddah’s all-clear signal. Jerdren lay flat on the island, as near the water as he could go without breaking cover. Eddis was on his right and his brother beyond her, the rest nearby. The ground was cold and damp, and he was about to ease up onto his knees when the jingle of harnesses and men’s low voices froze him in place. It was too far and the water just too loud for him to make out words.

Bandits bringing the horses to drink, Jerdren thought. He glanced up at the stars, west to where a little pale gray light still lingered. Right on time. He waited until it was quiet over there once again, then shifted his weight cautiously. Blor at his right elbow eased up to sit cross-legged. Eddis hadn’t moved so much as a finger since her lieutenant had left them.

Across from Eddis, M’Whan rose cautiously, just enough to look out through the branches of the low willow he crouched behind. Eddis tensed, but the youth whispered something to her, and she eased over to talk to Blorys briefly, who tugged at his brother’s shirt sleeve and murmured, “M’Baddah’s on his way back. Willow passed word down that the south shore is clear.”

“Good. We ready?”

“Ready.” Eddis’ whisper reached him. She was on her feet, checking her weapons one last time. A tense silence as the rest of the company made sure they were set, then Willow waded out into the water, Mead and Eddis right behind him.

It was now full dark, but with enough starlight so they could make out each other, provided they stayed fairly close together. There would be no moon.

M’Baddah had gone partway up the trail, but he came back as the last of the company reached shore. Mead and Willow passed him and started up the trail in utter silence. Jerdren beckoned the others close.

“This is it, people,” he murmured. “No talking from here on out. Any questions? Anything?” No reply. “Good. And good fortune to all of us.” He nodded and followed Eddis up the trail.

It was dark under the trees, and very quiet once they got above the river. Eventually, Jerdren was able to make out the least hint of ruddy light above them and to his right, and the faint sounds of men’s voices. Moments later, the party halted as M’Baddah stepped into the path.

The others gathered around the outlander, who whispered, “They are still awake up there, but it is growing quieter. A rest, here. Mead has gone ahead.”

Coarse laughter echoed through the trees. Some of the men up there were drunk, Jerdren thought. Good. Another advantage to us.

He found a place just off the path, between tall tree trunks where the ground was soft, settled his back against a tree, and prepared to wait. As usual, when things were this close to a picked fight, all tension left him. Everything was set—planned as well as it could be—and there was nothing else he could do, except wait. He rubbed his shoulders against thick bark to ease an itch between his shoulder blades. The Keep men who carried closed lanterns moved behind an overhanging boulder to light their candles. The flare of light illuminated the crouching shapes but nothing else, as the men quickly shuttered the openings. Moments later, two of the Keep hunters moved silently up the trail, to wait their opportunity to work their way over to the far side of the camp. Jerdren nodded his approval, then closed his eyes and listened.

Sounds from above slowly faded, though it seemed forever that the drunk men went on laughing and talking. Someone with a hard-edged voice finally snarled a curse, and there was immediate quiet. Jerdren opened his eyes and peered uphill. The firelight was dimmer—someone had banked the fires for the night, probably. When one of the Keep men stood, though, Jerdren tugged at his pants leg and shook his head. The man settled once more.

“Wait,” Jerdren whispered. “Let ’em get to sleep, remember?” He leaned back against his tree once more, gazing around. Now that his eyes had adjusted, and with the faint firelight up there, he could see fairly far into the woods and make out his companion’s faces. The wind picked up briefly, faded away to nothing. The light up there was fading, and he hadn’t heard a sound in some time.

It’s time, he thought, and got to his feet. M’Whan and Willow left moments later to take up positions blocking the path to the high sentry box. Eddis moved out onto the trail, Blorys just behind her. Jerdren joined them and began quietly counting on his fingers, aware Eddis was doing the same thing.

At a slow four hundred, Jerdren checked his sword and daggers one last time, then started up the trail. He stopped just short of the final switchback to listen and count off another slow four hundred. No sound from the camp, still; the others must be in place. He held up a hand briefly, then brought it down, and took the last section of trail at a fast walk.

M’Baddah had been good at description. Jerdren almost felt as if he were looking at a camp he’d seen before. The ground was fairly level, only the western storage and the horse-pickets out of sight. Two fires burned low. The third—near the captain’s tent, mid-camp—was out. He could make out the long canvas shelter and the huddled shapes of men sleeping near the fires. No one moved out there.

He turned. Eddis and Blor were right behind him, the Keep men beginning to slowly fan out on both sides of the trail. He grinned at his brother, held out a hand to Eddis, who briefly gripped his fingers and mouthed “Good luck!” in reply. She moved off to his left, M’Baddah just beyond her. Blorys took his usual place at his brother’s right. Jerdren planted himself mid-trail and drew his sword, slipped two daggers into his belt, and waited.

And waited. If something’s gone wrong…. If they knew we were out here all along, if it’s their trap for us… ? If those men weren’t the fools he’d thought them, if they’d been waiting for these invaders and taken each of them as they moved around the outside of the camp…

He bit his lip. It’s your fighting nerves, he told himself angrily. Save it for them, why don’t you? If nothing else, he knew, their mage had an elf’s night vision and both spells and charms at the ready.

He caught his breath in an upsurge of fierce joy. The clearing between the fire pits exploded in a glare of red and green lights, flame and sparks flying everywhere. The noise was deafening. Men came awake yelling in panic or fury, and someone screamed like a girl. Men bolted from beneath the canvas, rolled out of blankets on the ground, fumbling for swords, daggers, and pikes. Two of the Keep men he could see were ready to leap forward, then, but Jerdren gestured them sharply back. We wait here for those men, he thought, and hoped the men remembered his orders.

So far, things were going just as he’d hoped. Bandits milled dazedly mid-camp, though two of them tried to make a dash toward the higher ground. One fell with an arrow in his throat—M’Whan’s, Jerdren thought—and the other turned and ran back to crouch behind one of the fire pits. Suddenly, a short, broad man emerged from the tent, a sword in each hand, and began to curse at them in a loud voice. Another followed, and ran forward to grab one of the men and shake him hard.

“What’s wrong with you men? What was all that noise and light?” he demanded.

“Keep soldiers! I saw ’em! Blue shirts!”

“Save that!” the squat man bellowed and brandished both blades aloft. “Brother, get your squad moving. Make sure they don’t cut us off! You and you, see to the horses! Rest of ye, come with me!”

Some of the men simply broke and ran for the path leading down the east slope. Jerdren grinned broadly and strode forward to intercept the first of them, sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

The closest men yelled a warning and broke off to either side of the path, but one massive brute with a black beard and a curved sword raised his blade and ran straight for Jerdren, bringing the weapon down in a hard overhand. Jerdren parried that stroke and brought his sword back around. The bandit parried in turn. A fast clash of blades, sword to sword, before his dagger slipped under the other’s guard. The man gasped, staggered away, and fell right in front of another who was pelting for the trees. The runner saw him but too late to change course. He fell hard, and one of the Keep men ran a spear through him. Jerdren was already righting another, vaguely aware of yet another charging up on his left, pike in hand.

“Eddis!” he yelled, but her sword had already cut through the pole, and her backswing slashed a long cut across the attacker’s forehead. Blinded by his own blood, he staggered back. Eddis strode forward and lunged, her point catching him high in the arm before she brought the blade around two-handed. He folded in half and fell at her feet. Before the man behind him could reach her, Eddis was back at Jerdren’s side, sword between her knees and the bow in her hands. The string twanged sharply, and the man fell, her arrow through his throat.

“Look out!” Blorys shouted.

Jerdren came halfway around to his right, sword coming down as his dagger came up. The ragged swordsman parried his big blade, and the dagger bounced off a small buckler. Blorys slashed at the man and missed as the bandit brought his sword up and around in a blurring movement. Jerdren ducked, but too late. The blade sliced through his left eyebrow and into his hairline. Blood blinded him. He cursed furiously and brought the dagger up—by luck and guess burying it in the robber’s belly. The man gasped and went down, taking the blade with him. Jerdren went to one knee long enough to snatch up the dying man’s long sword.

Behind him, Blorys shouted, “All right?”

“Fine!” Jerdren said. Blood ran down his face still, but by tilting his head, he had one eye clear.

“Spearmen!” Eddis yelled a warning from his left and tugged at his sleeve. He backed up with her as three men running shoulder to shoulder threw themselves at the path. All carried long boar spears.

“Room!” he yelled back.

Eddis moved away and launched an arrow at the nearest spearman. The man swung his spear wildly, possibly hoping to deflect it. The point sank deep in his eye, spinning him around and dropping him, dead before he hit the ground. Jerdren turned aside as the other two charged at him, let their momentum carry them on, then leaped back to slash at unprotected necks and heads. One man wailed and staggered off into the trees where two of the Keep men put him down for good. The other whirled back around, panic in his eyes as he looked at Jerdren, who was grinning like a madman, his eyes wild and blood running down the side of his face. The man screamed in terror, threw his boar spear aside, and sped on down the trail.

And there’s our man to spread the tale, Jerdren thought. That’s enough, I think. He spun back, blades at the ready, but for some moments, no one else came their way. He blotted the cut on his forehead and wiped his eyes clear. Off to his right, three of the Keep men had several bandits huddled on the ground.

Over between the two fires, Mead and M’Baddah confronted the squat man who’d come from the tent. Captain, that’ll be, Jerdren thought. Another spate of fighting over near the ledge, and half a dozen men just beyond the canvas shelter seemed to be readying some plan of attack. Three men running toward the path were stopped by Blor and whoever was off to his right.

Eddis tugged at his sleeve. “You’re cut! How can you see anything?”

“Still got one eye clear,” he yelled back.

“You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on things, overseeing! Like me!” She pulled a rag from her belt. “Hold still! And hold this for me!” She shoved her sword at him, roughly bound the cloth around his brow. He winced and swore as she took back her blade.

“Hurts worse than the cut did, woman!”

“So? You can see properly, can’t you?”

Blorys was coming back, and all at once Jerdren could see Willow and M’Whan, heading into the firelight with five men, two of them limping badly, the other three bound and tied together. There was still some fighting beyond the fire pits, but as he watched, the last of the bandits dropped his boar spear and went to his knees.

“Where’d the leader go?” Jerdren demanded. “Eddis, if you cost us that man, wrapping my head up—!”

“Give it over, Brother,” Blorys broke in. “He’s there, Mead has him bespelled, I think. Got him before he could rally ’em.”

“Oh? Oh. Good.” Jerdren rubbed his forehead, dislodging the bandage.

Blorys tugged it back down into place. “You’re a gory enough sight. Leave it be.” He looked around. “Anyone get past you?”

“One here,” Jerdren said. “On purpose. Other than him—don’t think so.”

“Not here,” M’Baddah said. “Two of ours wounded up here, one badly.”

“Get them into the firelight,” Eddis said. She looked across the clearing as Mead came into the open. “Mead! All clear your way?”

“All clear!”

“Good!” Jerdren called back. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up!”

It took time, building the fires back up, searching out the bodies and the wounded. Their own wounds were mostly minor, though the man M’Baddah tended had suffered a deep cut the length of his forearm.

Ten of the bandits lay dead, another twelve wounded. Several had been taken prisoner without any fight at all, Mead’s spell and the suddenness of the attack having startled them so badly. Their captain was still under Mead’s hold spell and now heavily bound as well. His brother had been badly wounded and was barely conscious. Three men, so far as they could tell, had escaped, and two at least had been unarmed when they fled.

Eddis was moving around the fire, sword still in one hand, checking the knots on the bound men, seeing that their own wounded were taken care of, then that the injured bandits were treated. When Jerdren would have protested, she gave him a cold stare.

“Act like a butcher, and you’re no better than they are. Didn’t you say that once? Besides, we’ll get back to the Keep with them that much faster if we aren’t transporting half-dead men. Unless you’d like to take M’Baddah’s place as executioner this time around?”

She turned away before her co-captain could think of anything to say.

Mead, Willow, M’Whan, and Blorys were walking around the camp—the mage seeking any bandits who might be in hiding, his brother searching the tent for stolen goods, while the other two worked through the men’s blankets and the canvas shelter. As Eddis moved out into the open, Mead came striding past the horse lines and beckoned her.

“There is someone hiding out there by the horses,” he said very softly. “Not a bandit, no fighter. Someone very afraid. I thought perhaps you and I… ?”

Eddis nodded and went with him.

Most of the horses had calmed down, she noticed as they came up to the picket lines, but the two nearest the west end were restless, shoving against their neighbors. She met Mead’s eyes, nodded again, and let him lead the way.

Hay was strewn along the picket lines, but at this end, the stuff was piled high as a horse’s belly. Eddis slowed well short of the stack and gazed steadily at it. Not a trick of her eyes or the firelight—the hay had moved, ever so slightly. She gestured for the mage to go on around, until they had the pile between them. At her nod, the two dove into the stack, grabbing for whatever lay beneath.

A high-pitched yell of fright and rage. Startled, Eddis nearly let go, but Mead had a good grip, and the swordswoman grabbed at a flailing arm, got it by the elbow, and hung on. She shook her head to clear bits of hay from her eyes as she and the mage dragged their writhing captive toward the fire. She stopped dead and stared in complete astonishment at the furious, grubby little creature they held between them.

“Gods bless me,” she said. “It’s a child!”