Arutha said, ‘You have the same rooms as before, so rest and I’ll see you at dinner.’
Sensing they were being dismissed, Sho Pi rose and opened the door for Nakor.
After they had left the Earl’s office, Sho Pi said, ‘Master, what did you mean by asking Lord Arutha if he needed to return?’
‘His father ordered him to Rillanon, on a thin pretext of carrying messages to the King,’ said Nakor as they turned a corner leading to the suite of rooms set aside for them. Climbing a flight of stairs, Nakor continued, ‘Arutha knows his father is unlikely to leave Krondor when the fighting starts. He wants to see that his sons don’t stay with their grandfather.’
‘I know war is risky,’ said the former soldier, ‘but why should the Duke’s grandsons be at any greater risk than anyone else?’
‘Because it is unlikely that anyone who is in Krondor when the Queen’s fleet arrives will survive,’ Nakor answered flatly.
Sho Pi remained silent as they reached their quarters.
Erik signaled and the riders stopped. One of his scouts was riding back toward him. He had spent the better part of two months raiding the Border Barons for their best men, and now almost six hundred men rode in three columns spread out over twenty miles and a half behind him. It had been an exhausting ride, and Erik was cursing Calis with almost every mile of it, but he had his men.
Each Border Baron he had visited had read the King’s Warrant with a mix of disbelief and outrage. Each Baron was unique in that he was a vassal of the Crown, answerable to no Earl or Duke. To have a mere sergeant major of the Prince’s garrison walk in with orders to let him handpick men to be taken away, while promises of replacements were vague at best, was more than they could withstand.
Baron Northwarden had even considered attempting to hold Erik for confirmation of the order, but by then Erik had an armed company of nearly two hundred men with him and the Baron thought better of it.
At Highcastle, the Baron merely looked as if another weight had been added to his already abundant burden, and complied with a minimum of complaint. Erik suspected the company of four hundred men wearing the livery of Northwarden and Ironpass also convinced him.
They had ridden through the vast grasslands of the High Wold, home to nomadic tribesmen, herding their sheep and trading with the Barons and those small villages that survived this close to the Northlands. Several times they had found camps recently abandoned, as if the approach of so many armed men had caused bandits to flee into the hills.
After the third such camp had been encountered, Erik had ordered two of the men from Ironpass to ride advance scout. Erik found it slightly discomforting to think of any problems this far within the border of the Kingdom, but of all the lands between the Far Coast and the Kingdom Sea, those lands between the Teeth of the World – the great northern mountain range – and the boundary of the Dimwood were among the most hostile. Raiding parties of goblins and dark elves were known to have traveled as far south as Sethanon in the years before the Riftwar, and no matter the frequency of Kingdom patrols through these areas, they still remained wild and inhospitable.
They were presently riding through light woodlands, leading toward the far denser Dimwood, and now Erik had lost count of the ideal places for ambush he had ridden past.
The first scout reined in and said, ‘An armed camp, Sergeant Major. At least a hundred men.’
‘What?’ said Erik. ‘Did anyone see you?’
‘No, they post no scouts and seemed unconcerned about it; I believe they think themselves alone here.’
‘Could you mark them?’
‘No banner flew and they wore neither uniform nor tabard. They look like brigands.’
Erik dismissed the scout and turned to the man he had named acting Corporal, a sergeant from Ironpass named Garret. ‘I want a skirmish line behind us by fifty yards – half the men. At the first sound of trouble, I want them to sweep in from either side. The rest should ready themselves to hit hard up the middle if needed, by column of two. Get four of your best and ride with me.’
At least a decade Erik’s senior, the man showed no hesitation in taking orders from the younger man. Erik liked his attitude and his discipline and planned on making him a sergeant as soon as possible, because in Garret he sensed someone who’d keep his men alive.
That was the one thing about Calis’s plan Erik grudgingly approved of: the men he had been sent to fetch had been hardened by years of fighting goblins, dark elves, and bandits. Most of them were mountain fighters by experience, and it would take little to meld them into the force Erik already had under his command.
Like the trained soldiers they were, the first twenty men spread out behind Erik. He told Garret, ‘Get ready for trouble.’
Orders were passed, and Erik, Garret, and the four men he had chosen rode forward.
They slowly picked their way through the trees and came within sight of campfires. Close to eighty men lay about or stood talking in a clearing in the woods. A few dozen tents of various size were erected in haphazard fashion, and some men tended cooking fires and saw to provisions near the middle of the clearing. Erik saw baggage wagons and horses staked out near the far edge. To Garret he said, ‘This is no band of outlaws.’
The older soldier nodded silent agreement. ‘We better hit them hard.’ There was no question in his mind; they were heading for a fight. Erik wondered. While it was not quite midday, many of the men were sleeping. Erik held up his hand and spoke softly. ‘They’re waiting for someone.’
‘How do you know, Sergeant Major?’ asked Garret.
‘They’re bored and they’ve been here for at least a week.’ He pointed to a slit trench over to their right.
Garret said, ‘I can smell it. You’re right. They’ve been here for a while.’
‘And unless I’m mistaken, there’s nothing here worth waiting for, so they’re waiting for someone else to show up.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s what I intend to find out.’
He motioned the men forward and they walked their horses to within sight of the camp.
A bored soldier sat polishing his sword and he glanced up as Erik and the others hove into view. His eyes widened and he shouted.
As soon as Erik heard the man’s voice, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he shouted to the rear, ‘Attack!’
Swords were in hands without thought and the sound of the riders coming hard filled the afternoon air. In the camp, men ran to bedrolls and pulled on armor as they could, or grabbed shields and swords, bows and arrows, and the fight began.
As Erik had planned, the column of twos rode into the center of the camp behind him just as the sweeping skirmish line encircled the camp. Men screamed as arrows filled the air and steel rang upon steel as the riders swept into the clearing. Many of the men who rode with Erik were mounted bowmen and quickly picked off targets as men struggled to don armor.
Erik rode down two men as he headed for the center of the camp. Whoever led these men was certain to be there, and he intended to find the leader before some overly eager Kingdom archer skewered him with a bowshaft.
Erik saw the leader.
The man was an oasis of calm as those around him ran in every direction. He shouted orders and attempted to bend his men by force of will into an effective fighting force. Erik put heels to his horse and charged him.
The leader sensed more than saw Erik approach, so intent was he on directing his men. He turned to see the horse and rider almost on top of him and dove to one side, avoiding Erik’s charge.
Erik turned his mount and found the man now armed with sword and shield, quickly retrieved from the ground. Erik knew he faced a tough opponent,