Oath of Fealty (47 page)

“I will report you to the city as thieves and murderers,” the headman said, less breathless now.

“Then I will report
you
as an arrant liar,” Arcolin said. “We stole nothing and we did not kill four men. We camped away from your village, as you requested; we left our camp clean and ready for use again as pasture. We brought our own supplies; we had no need to steal.”

“Two men from the village came to see you last night. I know they did.”

“They did indeed. Did you send them? Did they tell you that I sent them away? I do not deal with such as they—men afraid of the light, who whisper in the dark.”

“They’re dead,” the headman said. “They never came back from your camp, and this morning they’re dead, over there—” He waved in the general direction Arcolin knew was right. “You must have killed them—we have no weapons to take off heads.”

“You said four were killed—who were the others? And why were four of your people wandering around at night?”

The headman glanced at the other two men, who were still standing slack-jawed, staring at the soldiers. “They—we don’t know—maybe from another village—”

“They spoke to me of a robber band, as if they knew where it was—why not robbers?”

The headman paled. “We—we don’t have robbers here. I told you that.”

“But you do have four dead men. And one with his head cut off, you said. Would farmers from another village have swords?”

“Nay,” one of the other men spoke for the first time. “They don’t have swords no more than we do. But you folk have swords.”

“So we do,” Arcolin said. “But we were camped here last night, and you say the dead men are over there somewhere.” He waved in a direction slightly different from what the headman had indicated.

“Not that way, but there,” the second man said, eager now to correct him and pointing very specifically. Arcolin looked in that direction.

“Where?”

“There’s a mound, maybe sunhand away, and there’s trees on it—it’s not level so no use to clear it for a field.”

Arcolin translated this from peasant estimates of distance to those used by the Company. “And you found dead men there?”

“Aye, that I did. I been sent to track the headman’s bull that broke out last night, and once we were past the ploughland, my dog, he picked up the smell of blood, and I couldn’t call him off. It might’ve been the bull’s, after all.”

“And you found four dead men,” Arcolin prompted.

“Yes, and one with no head—it turned me right up, sir, it did indeed. That was Aren, married to m’wife’s third sister, and her baby coming any time. Noki, the other, he’s m’cousin by m’father’s sister, her husband, they has four, the youngest still at breast …”

“What about the two you didn’t know?” Arcolin asked.

“Never saw them before,” the headman said. He glared at the other man.

“That’s not right,” the third man said. “You spoke to that one with the big sword yourself, that time he come to the village to buy a goose, he said.”

“Be quiet,” the headman said. The other men said nothing, but from the sly looks, Arcolin knew they were enjoying the headman’s discomfort. “They don’t know, sir. They mistook his face. I never saw either of the others, and I still say it must’ve been you—or one of your men—that killed them.”

“I know it was not,” Arcolin said. “Do you think soldiers who have marched all day have nothing better to do than run around the countryside all night finding wandering peasants to kill?” The headman opened his mouth but Arcolin went on. “It’s clear to me that your two villagers stole your bull, took it away to sell to someone, probably a whole group of robbers, and there was a quarrel. The robbers killed your men, and then perhaps another quarrel, and the others made off with your bull, leaving four dead men behind. It’s nothing to do with us, but you might consider that two of your men knew more about robbers in your area than you did.”

“But—but you can’t just leave—” the headman said, as Arcolin lifted the reins and his horse took a step backward.

“My orders from the Cortes Vonja Council are to keep on the move until we drive brigands away,” Arcolin said. “Now they’ve got meat and know we’re in the area, they’ll be away from here. And your two who were in league with them are dead. Go back to work.” He
backed his horse another three steps and spoke to Burek and the men. “Come now; we have work to do. Let these farmers do theirs.” He turned his horse in a showy spin and rode off, not looking back until he was sure they were out of earshot. Then he saw the farmers still standing in the road, the other two apparently haranguing the headman.

“That went well, sir,” said one of the five marching alongside.

“I wonder what he’s going to tell his brigand contact,” Arcolin said. “The next one, I mean. What a whey-faced little wiggler he is, too. I’m afraid that village is in for trouble, unless those two force a new selection.” He looked at the sky. The dawn’s limpid blue had faded to a harder sheen. West, wisps of cloud like wing feathers appeared high up. Sweat tickled his scalp under his helmet.

“Rain later today or tomorrow,” he said. “Good thing it wasn’t last night.”

“Do you really think they stole the headman’s bull?” Burek asked.

“No,” Arcolin said. “I think the headman’s bull doesn’t exist. We came through the village—did you see any bull yesterday?”

“Could’ve been out with the cows.”

“Could have. Except we passed cows with a cowherd and two dogs: no bull. I make it a practice to look in the pens in villages we pass, in case we’re accused of stealing livestock. The headman’s house—second on the left—had a stone-walled pigpen. Sow and litter of piglets on one side; a boar on the other. A fenced pen for cows, but no bull. Most of these villages share a bull between two or three of them. There was a bull in that first village we passed yesterday.”

Burek shook his head. “I’ve been with two other companies, and I never knew a captain to notice more than whether the village had enough to feed us. I’d heard the Duke’s Company was different.”

“The Duke always said you couldn’t tell which information was important until you needed it,” Arcolin said. “And we spent years down here, you know. I had time to learn.”

“I will learn,” Burek said.

Not, Arcolin noted,
I’d like to learn
, or
I want to learn
, or
Teach me
, but
I will learn
. He hadn’t had such a promising junior captain since Ferrault. He wondered suddenly if this was how Kieri had felt after hiring him. He remembered saying almost exactly the same thing, the first time Kieri explained why he’d done something.

“I’m sure you will,” he said to Burek. “Now, tell me what you notice about the fields we pass.”

Burek looked to either side. “Ploughland once,” he said. “Furrows grown over with grass—and grass that grows in damper places. Cow-paths … it’s pasture here. Rougher than behind us.”

“Easier to conceal people and animals in, wouldn’t you say?”

Burek looked again. “Not as flat as it looks at first,” he said. “Yes—that—” He pointed to a sinuous line of thicker growth in a slight hollow. “That could be a hidden stream.”

“When I was here last,” Arcolin said, “this, where old furrows show, was ploughland and that over there was grazed short. There’s a spring in there somewhere—it’s boggy across the way—but a good gravel-bottomed pool. That’s where they watered the village herds, back then. But I don’t see a regular path to it now. The population’s down, from that war, but you’d think they’d still use the water. Now they’re watering cattle upstream from the village. That’s not good practice.”

“I noticed that, yesterday,” Burek said. “I didn’t know this other water was here.”

“Land hereabouts, the water runs generally east—wiggling north or south, but meeting the Immer downstream of Cortes Vonja … it’s all in the Immer drainage. My guess is someone else is using that water now. Someone who knows a trail through the bog on the far side, so they can come to the village through the woods to the east.”

They were almost up with the cohort now; Arcolin waved; the wagon guards signaled ahead and Stammel halted the cohort for them to catch up. The soldiers moved back into their places, and Arcolin spoke to the teamsters and guards.

“We’re being watched,” he said. “I want everyone alert, both sides and behind—notice everything and I’ll take your report at nooning and evening. That headman was lying; the others were scared.”

Once in the lead again, Arcolin changed the formation, putting out flanking scouts for the first time. “We need the practice,” he told Stammel. “I don’t think anyone will attack today, but just in case.”

“Mounted or afoot, sir?” Stammel asked.

“Mounted, so we don’t slow,” Arcolin said. “Stay in sight. I’m most interested in who’s watching from near the road, and in assessment of the cover.”

“Notice the animals,” he said to Burek, when they were moving again. “The scouts are out far enough that they shouldn’t disturb rabbits and birds nearer the road. We should see a little movement of animals into the cover beside the road, but anything moving out of cover toward the scouts means something else is in there.”

Nothing showed for almost a glass, in Arcolin’s estimation. The pasture land continued to roughen; along the line of the unseen stream, brush thickened to a line of scrubby trees. Then, as that bore away eastward, a flock of pink-fronted doves racketed up and away, and downstream of them, another.

Arcolin held up his hand; the cohort halted. “They’d need someone closer,” he said to Burek. On the right, ahead, the ruins of what he remembered as a herder’s night-shelter canted sideways; next to it, a thicket had grown up where he remembered a small cattle pen. “There, for instance. Let’s see what happens when our flanking scout gets closer.”

The scout, checking position on the cohort, had reined in; Arcolin signaled her on. “Watch the horse’s ears,” he told Burek. Another five strides, and the horse lifted its head, ears pricked.

“It’s seen something,” Burek said.

“Right,” Arcolin said. The scout loosened her sword and rode on. Two more strides, and four crows lifted from the thicket, cawing. The scout glanced back. Arcolin signaled again; she turned her horse a little away and held position.

“One hand to flank,” he said quietly to Stammel. “Two hands with me. We want him alive, if we can.” To Burek, he said, “Come on—we’ll try to cut him off.” He drew his sword and legged his horse to a hand gallop. Burek caught up with him; they passed the ruin and thicket. Beyond, an ungrazed field had grown up in tall grass and patches of scrub. Arcolin looked to the left—no sign anyone had crossed yet.

“He’s probably got a crossbow,” Arcolin said. “And he’ll probably shoot at us. But if we make him run, he won’t be very accurate.”

“There,” Burek said, pointing to the right. Arcolin, too, saw grass move against the breeze.

“Good eye,” Arcolin said. He legged his horse into a gallop, trusting Burek to follow. The movement ahead quickened. Arcolin yelled; his horse flattened out, crashing through the tall grass and weeds for a point ahead of the movement. He could hear Burek behind him.
The grass stilled—the man was getting ready to shoot. Arcolin shifted his weight; his horse threw a flying change, veering sideways, then another and then he saw the man, struggling to span his bow again. One jump, and Arcolin’s horse was there, skidding to a halt; Arcolin swung his sword, knocking the crossbow from the man’s hand. Burek pulled to a halt on the man’s other side, as the man snatched a short curved blade and swung at Arcolin’s horse.

Burek rode closer, tried to hit the man with the flat of his blade, but the man whirled, and Burek’s horse took a cut on the chest, and reared. One hoof caught the man’s arm; Arcolin swung his cloak over the man’s head as he staggered, blinding him, then leaned over and hit him as Burek had planned. The man dropped. Burek was off his horse and leapt onto the man’s back and pulled his arms back before he could struggle. Arcolin looked back. His tensquad was making its noisy way through the weeds now, halfway to them. He waved to the scout, calling her in, and saw her pass the signal to the hand of men headed for the ruin. Burek’s horse stood quietly, for a wonder, head drooping. Had the blade been poisoned?

He dismounted and walked over to the horse. A bad gash, gaping open, but not life threatening in itself. He took the reins. “Burek, that blade may be poisoned. When the tensquad gets here, try to keep our prisoner from cutting himself on it.”

“Is my horse all right?” Burek asked.

“I’m not sure. He’s quieter than I’d expect.” Arcolin looked the horse over. No other injuries. Sweaty, but they’d galloped and the day was increasingly hot and humid. The horse blew into his hand; Arcolin sniffed. “What’s he like? You’ve had him long enough now.”

“Solid, I’d say. Sound, well trained. Not as spirited as yours. By his teeth, two years older than the seller told me; I got a nata knocked off his price for that.”

“We’ll hope it’s just a quiet disposition,” Arcolin said. Blood dripped freely from the wound; horses always bled a lot, in his experience, and could lose much more blood than a man before falling over.

Devlin arrived with the tensquad; in moments they had the prisoner yanked upright, the cloak off his head, and trussed. Arcolin warned them about the blade, and they left it for him to examine. Burek came over to his horse. “It’s bad …”

“The surgeons can sew it up, if he’s as quiet as you say. You’ll
have to ride your spare.” Arcolin gave the reins of both horses to Burek and went to look at the blade. Like the other, it had no guard but a simple flange; the grip was less ornate, made of wood carved into ribs. The blade was smeared with horse blood; Arcolin sniffed. Under the smell of blood was the odor of something else. He picked the blade up by its grip, and handed it to Devlin. “It’s got something on it, probably a contact poison. Wrap it up and bring it along.”

The prisoner meanwhile had said nothing, made no attempt to escape. Arcolin looked at him, and was reminded of the men in Alured the Black’s camp. Darkly sunmarked, as expressionless as a carving, no fear in his eyes, he might have been standing sentry somewhere instead of being bound in hostile hands. He had an old scar on his face, and doubtless more elsewhere on his body. Arcolin looked him up and down. No change in expression at all.