David Weber - War Maid's choice

The wizard knew he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of his own argument, because that was precisely what he was doing. Still, that didn’t make it untrue. Erkan Traram, the commander of Arthnar’s assassins, had the next best thing to two hundred and fifty men under his command, better than four times the strength of the King’s bodyguards. Courtiers, gentlemen in waiting, and their servantss added perhaps another twenty swords to the defenders’ strength, but none of the King’s guests had brought armor with them. So it was entirely possible Traram would sweep over them in his initial rush, despite the rudimentary wall around the hunting lodge. And if he failed, Cassan would be arriving on his heels with better than five hundred armsmen. Finding himself forced to dispatch the King himself would be a less than optimal solution from Cassan’s viewpoint, but it would work just fine from Varnaythus’. In fact, having Trisu and Shahana arrive while Cassan was still in the process of completing the assassination would be even better. Outnumbered though Trisu’s force was, at least some of them would escape with their own version of what had happened, and the probability of a Sothoii civil war would rise sharply if that happened.

“And if they do convince them to run for it before Traram gets there?”

It was technically a question, though Sardohr’s tone made it a statement, and Varnyathus bared his teeth at him.

“As soon as they start to ride out of that lodge, I trigger the kairsalhain,” he confirmed grimly. “It won’t be as clean as we wanted, and I know it’ll warn them someone was willing to use the art, but it looks like Brayahs has already done that, curse him! And at least it’ll also be final, by Carnadosa’s ebon eyes!”

Cassan Axehammer looked up at the cloudless blue sky, squinting at the sun. Summer might be trending into autumn, but he had at least another ten, possibly even eleven hours of daylight, he reflected. That was good-in fact, it was almost perfect.

Ahead of him, Sir Garman Stoneblade, his senior armsman, raised his hand to signal another halt. Cassan started to override the command, but stopped himself. They’d been in the saddle for almot two weeks now, pursuing the “unknown horsemen” who’d chosen to make their way across his riding without permission. The journey had been a long, hard ride, even for Sothoii cavalry troopers, but they’d been making up ground steadily. He’d taken that into consideration when he timed his “discovery” of Arthnar’s mercenaries-it would never have done to actually catch them short of their objective-yet timing was even more critical now. They had to catch the killers in the act, or at least run them to earth before they could escape. Yet even so, Stoneblade was right to rest the horses periodically; they had at least two more hours of hard riding ahead of them, and the last thing they needed was to arrive with their mounts too exhausted to accomplish their mission.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if I had a few damned wind riders I could actually trust, the baron thought bitterly.

There were far fewer wind riders among his vassals and armsmen than most of the other barons-and especially that bastard Tellian! — could claim. That had always been a sore point, one more coal in the fire of his resentment and ambition. Yet there were times it could be an advantage, as well, he reminded himself, and the truth was that this was one of those times, whether he liked it or not. No courser was any man’s vassal. They might bond to someone who was, and share their rider’s fealty at secondhand, as it were, but they themselves owed obedience only to their herd stallions…and the herd stallions owed obedience only to the Crown. He couldn’t have brought a wind rider on this mission even if he’d had one to bring.

Speaking of which…

He shared a quick, meaningful glance with Tarmahk Dirkson, his personal armsman, then trotted over to Stoneblade before he dismounted and gestured for Sir Kalanndros Horsemaster to join them. Both of his captains were typical Sothoii: tall for humans, with fair hair and blue eyes. Stoneblade was twelve years Horsemaster’s senior, and his beard was going gray, although it was hard to see against that blond background. Horsemaster was a bit rangier than Stoneblade and perhaps a bit more ruthless. Both were highly competent, or they wouldn’t have held their positions, but Stoneblade had the better eye when it came to suiting tactics to terrain.

“Yes, Milord?” Horsemaster said as he drew rein beside Cassan and Stoneblade and swung down from the saddle himself.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Cassan growled.

“Milord?” It was Stoneblade this time, and his eyes were hooded but thoughtful as he gazed at his baron.

“All we had to go on when we first realized an organized band of horsemen was crossing the Riding was the messenger from Nachfalas,” Cassan replied. He saw no reason to confuse the issue by mentioning that the messenger who’d brought word of the “unknown mercenary company” which had filtered through Nachfalas had been sent on his own orders. “I’d have been a lot happier if we’d had enough warning to actually intercept them south of Toramos, but there’s no point crying over spilt milk, and at least our scouts cut their trail while it was still reasonably fresh. Still, all we’ve had since then were tracks-tracks where there shouldn’t have been any, from people who sure as hell hadn’t asked permission to trespass on our lands. But now-” He shrugged. “Do you realize where these people-whoever they are-seem to be headed?”

“Into the West Riding, Milord,” Horsemaster said a bit delicately, and it was obvious from their expressions that neither Horsemaster nor Stoneblade had been especially enthusiastic about the notion of crossing the border into the riding of their baron’s most bitter enemy.

Which they’d done late that morning…with no more permission than the mysterious riders they were pursuing. Neither man was familiar with the lay of the land in Tellian Bowmaster’s riding, but the border markers had been clear to see even before they crossed the high road midway between Magdalas and the Spear River, and they felt far from home and dangerously exposed. The only good news, as far as they were concerned, was that whoever they were following had made a point of avoiding villages and towns, picking a route across the vast, empty Wind Plain where no human eye would note their passing. It was one more sign they were up to no good, but Cassan’s captains were clearly happy to be avoiding those watchful eyes in their wake.

“West Riding!” Cassan spat on the ground. “If it was only the West Riding, I’d be overjoyed to let that bastard Tellian worry about it! He’d probably try to lay responsibility for whatever they’re up to on me, of course, but I could live with that. Unfortunately, I think I know where in the West Riding they’re headed.” Both men looked at him, and he coughed out a harsh laugh. “Chergor,” he told them. “They’re headed for Tellian’s hunting lodge at Chergor…and the King.”

The armsmen stiffened abruptly, eyes wide. They stared at him for a moment, then, in unison, shared a quick glance before they turned back to their liege.

“Are you certain, Milord?” Stoneblade asked urgently.

“Certain? How could any man be certain about something like this?” Cassan shot back. “But I’ve been to Chergor. I recognize the terrain, and these bastards we’re following are headed directly towards it, allowing for staying out of sight of the locals. What else could pull a force this size together from out-Kingdom and then send it almost five hundred leagues from Nachfalas? It’s awfully small for an invasion force, now isn’t it? But King Markhos won’t have more than two or three score armsmen with him, and these bastards have to have at least twice that many men!”