Firebrand

After about an hour of walking, she caught a whiff of wood smoke. A guard stepped out from hiding and challenged Lieutenant Rennard, then let them through. After another half hour or so, they stepped into the encampment guarded by soldiers watching their every movement. The encampment appeared to occupy the grounds and buildings of an old lumber camp. Tents were pitched in precise rows, and there were numerous campfires and soldiers occupied with various tasks, fixing gear, fetching and carrying, honing weapons. Lieutenant Rennard’s scouts suddenly appeared and filed into the encampment behind them. Enver’s count had been accurate.

“Larson!” Rennard shouted. “Tend these horses.”

A soldier trotted up to them and gathered reins and Bane’s lead rope. When she reached for Mist, Enver said, “She will follow. You need not lead her.” And then, “Be wary of the pony. He is quick to bite.”

“Thank you for the warning, m’lord.” Her eyes were large as she took in both Enver and the always elegant Mist.

Karigan made sure to grab her longsword from her saddle before Condor was taken away, and slung it over her shoulder. Rennard led them toward a long, low building that was blessedly warm and dry within. It clearly served as a common room and dining hall for the encampment, with many long tables set up. There was a fireplace on either end, and through the dark gloom, Karigan espied officers seated at the far end deep in discussion. She started forward, and then to her astonishment, a man emerged from the shadows and hastened to her side.

“Rider G’ladheon!” he exclaimed. “Am I ever glad to see you!”

INTUITION

“Master Destarion?” Karigan said in surprise. She had known he’d been reassigned to some rugged post in the north, but she had not expected to ever see him again. He was not a young man, and life with the River Unit had graven new lines into his face, and he had lost considerable weight.

“You made it!” he said.

“Made it?” Had he been expecting her?

“Out of Blackveil, dear woman.”

“Oh, uh, yes.” She noticed that everyone in the building was watching her and Destarion.

“You must tell me all about it,” Destarion said, and then more quietly added, “and how the king is getting on.”

“Of—of course.”

Destarion receded back into the shadows, and Karigan and her companions continued forward and halted before the table of the officers.

“So, Rennard,” said the man in the middle, “what have you dragged in today?”

“A Greenie and her friends, Captain,” the lieutenant said.

“Interesting-looking friends,” the captain said, his keen gaze falling on Estral and Enver.

Karigan stepped forward. “I presume you are Captain Treman?”

“Yes, indeed. And according to Destarion, you’d be Rider G’ladheon. Or do you prefer Sir Karigan?”

“Rider G’ladheon is fine. Please allow me to introduce Lady Estral Andovian, heir of the Golden Guardian, and Enver of Eletia.”

The officers gawked. Finally, the captain said, “What in the name of the gods are a Green Rider, a noble lady, and an Eletian doing here in my woods?”

“King’s business,” Karigan replied. She had no reason to explain, and Treman would know that an explanation was not required.

“Even the Eletian?”

Karigan glanced at Enver. “Er, joint business between our realms.”

“Truly, strange days have come upon us.”

Estral now stepped forward. “Sir, my own business has little to do with the king’s. It was just convenient to travel with Rider G’ladheon and Enver.”

“And what business might that be?”

“I am searching for my father.”

“Lord Fiori? I’d heard he passed through a lumber camp north of here some months ago.”

Estral leaned over the table. “Please, if there is anything you can tell me . . .”

“I don’t believe so, Lady Estral, but I’ll think on it. Why don’t you three sit with me by the fire and maybe we can get something warm in your bellies.”

They drew chairs by the fire while Captain Treman issued orders for food and finished up with his officers. Sitting before a fire, Karigan thought, with a roof overhead, had never felt so good. She nodded off, only to be awakened, in what felt like mere moments later, by a soldier wanting to hand her a mug of hot tea.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and she wrapped her hands around it.

Another soldier brought them meat pasties, still hot from the oven, the dough blackened on the corners. There were also cups of steaming savory broth in which to dip the pasties or sip.

“The lumber camp has a good kitchen,” the captain told them. He dragged a chair over so he could sit with them. “And fortunately, my unit has some good cooks.”

He told them about the encampment while they ate, about the quiet winter with no direct encounters with Second Empire. “One group of them, mainly civilians, are holed up for the winter in the Lone Forest. We’ve seen sign of them a little north of here, but they’ve not dared come this far south in months.”

When Karigan finished eating and was sipping her second cup of tea, the captain asked her about news back in Sacor City. Apparently, little had reached the River Unit since autumn, including the fact that the queen was expecting twins. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Destarion listening to every word.