Роберт Асприн - Forever After

“I think they’ll follow,” she replied, “but if you’ll hand me the lead ropes we’ll make certain.”

Chase complied and with Spite strutting as if he were on parade, she set off for her pitch. Seth would have things struck by now and this would save him the trouble of running for the horses as well. Dove was the boy’s mount, a silvery gray gelding, just a half hand away from the indignity of being classified a pony — a steady, reliable horse, perfect for a boy who hadn’t ridden until a year ago.

Nightsky was another matter. The black Appaloosa mare was nearly as remarkable as Spite and had been Domino’s own favorite until Spite had made any other steed unthinkable. Giving Nightsky to Jord was as much a gift to the horse as to the rider, for it took the horse out of the battle lines where too many good horses were crippled or killed.

Swinging around the fringes of the camp, she quickly came to her pitch. Nothing remained but a small heap of gear they would carry on their own persons, and the fire pit which Seth began to smother with sand as soon as he saw her.

As Jord looked up from the scroll of Gwykander, his warm smile could not distract her from the scarlet bruise that marked his right cheekbone. Domino leaped down from Spite before the stallion could come to a full halt.

“Jord! What happened to you?”

The poet smiled ruefully, his free hand moving to cover the bruise, his almost violet eyes round with feigned ignorance.

“This?” his voice was a measured baritone, schooled through hours of reading aloud. “Why, it was there when I woke up. I thought you might know where it came from, honey.”

Horrified, Domino felt herself blush.

“You mean I might have… last night?”

She searched her memory slightly frantically. Had she gotten too rough again? After years of training to pass as a man, she was just learning how fragile people were.

Jord laughed. “No, Domino, don’t worry. I just was clumsy this morning.”

Seth jerked his head up suddenly.

“I did it, sir. You told me I could take down the tent and I forgot about him being in there. So I pulled up the stakes…”

“And it all came tumbling down,” Jord finished. “Seth, I told you not to worry. I should have been awake. The canvas just stung my skin some, Domino. It’ll be fine.”

Domino leaned to inspect it. “You’ll see Sergeant Chase. He has an ointment that’ll soothe the bruise to nothing by afternoon.”

“I’ll be fine, really…” Jord began.

“That’s an order, soldier,” she snapped, looping her hands in Spite’s mane and leaping astride.

Jord stared at her, then his easy good temper took the fore.

“Aye-aye, General. Say, isn’t Sergeant Chase the horse doctor?”

Domino nodded. “Yes, but he’s also a natural healer and his charms and potions have been collected from every corner of the Realm. I wouldn’t have you see a lesser doctor than the one who treats our horses.”

The silvery trumpeting of the call to assemble saved her from an inappropriate — and awkward — apology. With a nod to Seth and a smile for Jord, she wheeled Spite to take her place in the front center of the Company. Jord either rode with her or dropped back to the supply wagons where he could work on his translations.

Prince Rango had not protested when Jord had petitioned to finish his work, but he had insisted that when the Lakes were reached that Gwykander be sent to its grotto without delay. However, he had never said that they had to proceed with all haste and so, knowing that Jord had a fair amount left to cover, Domino wasn’t pushing the Company overquickly.

To Rafe she merely noted that the Lake regions could be dangerous and exhausting the men and horses made no sense. If the Colonel had reason to think her motives were otherwise, he wisely decided not to say. Fate, however, chose not to make a liar of her.

They were slowly climbing a rise so as not to outdistance the wagons toiling behind, when one of the scouts galloped up.

“General Blaid!” he panted. “Fire and destruction! Bandits! A man…”

“Report, solider!” she barked.

“Yes, sir.” The rider straightened and managed a salute. “We’ve encountered evidence of bandit activity ahead. A small village has been plundered and torched. We found an old man who’d escaped and he’s being brought along more slowly.”

“Any evidence that the bandits are still in the immediate area?” she asked.

“No, sir.”

“Colonel Rafe, take five soldiers and range for any sign of these bandits. Kerran,” she said, turning to the scout, “you go and meet up with the survivor. Unless he’s hurt, have him brought directly to me.”

“Yes, General.”

Not bothering to see which riders Rafe picked, Domino sent word for guard to be tightened around the wagons and for the pace to be accelerated so that they would be out from under this rise before nightfall. Seth materialized beside her and she sent him to make tea as raised voices heralded the return of Kerran and the old man.

“General Blaid,” Kerran hailed her, something like relief in his voice, “here’s the old… Here’s Farmer Dennis.”

The man who rode behind Kerran certainly deserved the epithet “old.” What hair remained to him was more like a wispy memory of hair and his skin was so wrinkled that even his wrinkles bore wrinkles. But his face pruned up with indignation as Kerran started to say “old man” and his scrawny arms tightened around Kerran’s waist so that the solider nearly choked out his introduction.

“General Blaid,” Dennis began in a cracked voice, then he stopped, staring at Domino through narrowed eyes. “You’re not General Blaid. I served with General Blaid in the wars thirty years ago.”

Domino directed Kerran to bring his horse so that Dennis was alongside her.

“That General Blaid was my father, Kerman Blaid,” she explained as she had repeatedly over the course of her career.

Dennis continued to peer at her. “You’re a wench!”

“I am pleased that your eyesight hasn’t failed,” she replied dryly, “I am General Domino Blaid. Now, tell me about these bandits or I swear that I’ll reactivate your commission and then have you flogged for insubordination.”

“Sounds like Blaid,” Dennis muttered, “lass or no. Here’s how it is, Blaid. Two days ago my hamlet — a thriving, taxpaying community of nearly four farming families — was stormed into by some thugs. They demanded gold and goods that we didn’t have — nor would we have given them if we’d had ‘em. They threatened us, but we stood firm. The next day they came back, took what we had and torched what they couldn’t take.”

“ ‘Nearly four families’?” Domino commented.

Dennis suppressed a sniffle. “Aye, my granddaughter, Ami, was to be wed to Gus of Hillville. We had a nice cottage built and a field all turned for them. Now she’s taken and Gus is in Hillville trying to raise an army.”

Rafe rode up just then, his weathered face troubled. “General, a word, please.”

Domino waved Kerran and Dennis back.

“Yes?”

Rafe reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a swatch of familiar-looking green fabric trimmed in black.

“The old man’s people didn’t go without a struggle,” he said, “I cut this from a bandit’s corpse. Cavalry uniform.”

“One of ours,” Domino breathed. “Turncoat or at least someone clad in our colors. I think that these bandits have become our problem.”

Rafe nodded stiff military agreement.

“There’s a secure place to camp a few miles down if we continue to push the wagons. Shall I give the word?”

“Yes.” Domino found that Seth had returned with the tea. “Good, lad. Take the old… Take Dennis back to the wagons with you and make him comfortable. I’ll send someone presently to take a full report from him.”