Read Online War in Tethyr by Victor Milan, Walter (CON) Velez - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victor Milan, Walter (CON) Velez
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they?"
Zaranda just shook her head. Farlorn flashed her a quick grin, and she felt a tug at her heart, like fingers plucking her sleeve. No, she told herself firmly. All that's between you and him is business. Leave it thus.
Farlorn struck a fresh cord on his yarting.
Riding about twenty yards ahead of Zaranda, Stillhawk suddenly held up a hand.
"What is it?" Zaranda called softly.
Fighting, Stillhawk signed. Up ahead.
Zaranda sighed. Well, 'tis Tethyr. What can you expect? She wasn't yet ready to fall into lockstep behind this baron in Zazesspur, but she did have to admit something needed to be done about the bandits.
After having passed the halfling barricade, the caravan had encountered little trouble. Occasionally it had been shadowed by furtive watchers. Zaranda lacked the wild-craft of her two companions, inborn in the case of Farlorn, gained through painstaking training in Stillhawk's case, but as a veteran campaigner, she had seen her share of reconnoitering and ambush. The covert surveillance had never gone long undetected. In the cases in which it persisted, Stillhawk had slipped off to discourage it-puzzled by his friend and employer's insistence that he take no life unless he was offered violence.
On two occasions Stillhawk detected skulkers actually lying in ambush, and these he dealt with in summary fashion, leaving no survivors to learn new lessons in the need for stealth.
Several larger armed parties with no obvious business had likewise been encountered, including a score of men on horseback, warriors with ill-kept weapons and ragged cloaks. But Zaranda had assembled her caravan with care. To the observer the caravan looked neither unduly large nor prosperous, and while well guarded, was not so much so as to indicate the richness of the pickings. In truth it was formidably guarded indeed: the crossbow-and-halberd guards were all hand-picked fighters, tough and well seasoned, their morale stiffened by good pay, decent treatment, and the prospect of fighting side-by-side with warriors of the ilk of Farlorn, Stillhawk, and Zaranda herself.
The menace it did present to the world was sufficient. Across a turbulent life, Zaranda had observed that predators, whether two-legged or four or more, preferred prey that could be taken with a minimum of risk. Though there were a few tense heartbeats during which Zaranda palmed one of the resinous pellets used in her fireball spell, the large mounted party had scrutinized the caravan with some care and then ridden away.
At least half a dozen times they saw to left or right tall spires of smoke rising into the pale sky. On occasion, Zaranda clamped her jaw shut and set her eyes on the road ahead. She hated those who preyed on intelligent beings, but there was nothing she could do.
Until now, with trouble lying athwart her path. Goldie had pricked up her long, pointy, well-shaped ears, of which she was exceptionally vain. "Louts," she said with authority. "Perhaps a score. Half a mile along the road. From their yelping it seems they harry someone-or thing -like a pack of hounds, not quite daring to close."
Father Pelletyr looked skeptical. "Now, Golden Dawn, dear, prevarication is a sin. How can you tell so much more than our seasoned scout?"
"Because she has ears like the lateen rig on an Amnian fishing felucca," supplied Farlorn. "She ought be able to hear a fly fart at that range."
Goldie cast him an aggrieved look.
Stillhawk signed, She's right. He had his bow across the pommel of his saddle, but hadn't taken an arrow from his quiver. He seemed satisfied that, whatever the disturbance was, it wasn't coming their way.
Zaranda ordered Balmeric and Eogast to get the beasts off the road and into a defensive circle in a field of yellow and white spring flowers. Before she could hear their complaints at the exertion, she wheeled Goldie and was trotting forward again. "Let's go see what transpires."
"Must you always rush headlong into potential peril, Zaranda?"
Zaranda just shook her head. Farlorn flashed her a quick grin, and she felt a tug at her heart, like fingers plucking her sleeve. No, she told herself firmly. All that's between you and him is business. Leave it thus.
Farlorn struck a fresh cord on his yarting.
Riding about twenty yards ahead of Zaranda, Stillhawk suddenly held up a hand.
"What is it?" Zaranda called softly.
Fighting, Stillhawk signed. Up ahead.
Zaranda sighed. Well, 'tis Tethyr. What can you expect? She wasn't yet ready to fall into lockstep behind this baron in Zazesspur, but she did have to admit something needed to be done about the bandits.
After having passed the halfling barricade, the caravan had encountered little trouble. Occasionally it had been shadowed by furtive watchers. Zaranda lacked the wild-craft of her two companions, inborn in the case of Farlorn, gained through painstaking training in Stillhawk's case, but as a veteran campaigner, she had seen her share of reconnoitering and ambush. The covert surveillance had never gone long undetected. In the cases in which it persisted, Stillhawk had slipped off to discourage it-puzzled by his friend and employer's insistence that he take no life unless he was offered violence.
On two occasions Stillhawk detected skulkers actually lying in ambush, and these he dealt with in summary fashion, leaving no survivors to learn new lessons in the need for stealth.
Several larger armed parties with no obvious business had likewise been encountered, including a score of men on horseback, warriors with ill-kept weapons and ragged cloaks. But Zaranda had assembled her caravan with care. To the observer the caravan looked neither unduly large nor prosperous, and while well guarded, was not so much so as to indicate the richness of the pickings. In truth it was formidably guarded indeed: the crossbow-and-halberd guards were all hand-picked fighters, tough and well seasoned, their morale stiffened by good pay, decent treatment, and the prospect of fighting side-by-side with warriors of the ilk of Farlorn, Stillhawk, and Zaranda herself.
The menace it did present to the world was sufficient. Across a turbulent life, Zaranda had observed that predators, whether two-legged or four or more, preferred prey that could be taken with a minimum of risk. Though there were a few tense heartbeats during which Zaranda palmed one of the resinous pellets used in her fireball spell, the large mounted party had scrutinized the caravan with some care and then ridden away.
At least half a dozen times they saw to left or right tall spires of smoke rising into the pale sky. On occasion, Zaranda clamped her jaw shut and set her eyes on the road ahead. She hated those who preyed on intelligent beings, but there was nothing she could do.
Until now, with trouble lying athwart her path. Goldie had pricked up her long, pointy, well-shaped ears, of which she was exceptionally vain. "Louts," she said with authority. "Perhaps a score. Half a mile along the road. From their yelping it seems they harry someone-or thing -like a pack of hounds, not quite daring to close."
Father Pelletyr looked skeptical. "Now, Golden Dawn, dear, prevarication is a sin. How can you tell so much more than our seasoned scout?"
"Because she has ears like the lateen rig on an Amnian fishing felucca," supplied Farlorn. "She ought be able to hear a fly fart at that range."
Goldie cast him an aggrieved look.
Stillhawk signed, She's right. He had his bow across the pommel of his saddle, but hadn't taken an arrow from his quiver. He seemed satisfied that, whatever the disturbance was, it wasn't coming their way.
Zaranda ordered Balmeric and Eogast to get the beasts off the road and into a defensive circle in a field of yellow and white spring flowers. Before she could hear their complaints at the exertion, she wheeled Goldie and was trotting forward again. "Let's go see what transpires."
"Must you always rush headlong into potential peril, Zaranda?"
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