On the Black Wind to Baldairn Motte

Part 21.

They slept that night beneath what shelter the trees provided and woke before dawn to continue their march toward Lord Ryndor's keep. By midday, Basilides began to grow worried about the Earl. The old nobleman had not waged a single complaint, but Basilides could tell he was struggling. He took one long step after another behind Everild, staunched his coughing whenever it started, and called halts only when the troops were clearly winded, but Basilides could see the redness in the his face, could hear the short, gasping wheezes between deep breaths. There was little Basilides could do about it, the air was clean, and it was merely a matter of dampness and physical exertion, neither of which they could avoid at this stage in their journey.

For his own part, Basilides tromped on, oblivious to the discomfort of his saturated wool cloak, the soreness in his legs, and the blisters on his feet. He had long ago learned to dismiss such things as discomfort and walked on wordlessly. He kept his mind clear, knowing there would soon be fighting and that his services would be required. The plan as he understood it was for the Earl's men to ambush Lord Ryndor, which seemed foolhardy considering they did not have superior numbers. In Basilides' experience, one soldier fought about as well as another, and—yes—while surprise would be on the Earl's side, the lack of superior numbers for the Earl meant that much was being left to chance, especially since nearly a third of the Earl's numbers were comprised of sailors—good men in a fight whilst on a ship, no doubt, but who knew what to expect of them on land, especially considering they had already proved more loyal to Captain Terryll than their Earl. The Earl seemed unperturbed, however, and Basilides suspected there was more to his plan than he let on.

Several hours past noon, the Earl called a halt and spoke in private with Lord Klaye and Everild. They resumed hiking afterward, taking up a brisk trot for an hour or more, then halted and made camp, again in a copse of trees not far from Gildan's Sprite.

"Sleep well tonight, men," the Earl said. "We've reached Ryndor's lands. In the morning we take him by surprise and take the first step toward defeating Audwin Ernmund."

The men-at-arms gave out a short cry, but there was little enthusiasm in it.

***

Lyrie sat in her tent that evening, eating the soggy bread Everild had brought her. Lord Klaye had left some time before, but Lyrie did not bother to ask Everild where he'd gone. She had not said a word to either of them since the night of the fight on Black Zefferus and had no intention of doing so ever again. Her body was one continuous aching mass, her feet soggy and blistered, her shoulders worn raw from the pack, and her thighs chapped from walking in boy's breeches. Her hair was a knotted mess and she couldn't begin to imagine what her face might look like. Even though it had only been two weeks since Lord Klaye had taken her, the Minx's Den and all the other whores—her friends—seemed like memories from another life, much as the life she had lived before becoming a whore had faded with time. She laughed inwardly at herself for what she had said to Terryll back in Gaulang, that she was glad for war, for an opportunity for heroes to be made. They hadn't even met the northerners yet, hadn't even really began the fight, and she could not things being any worse.

Lyrie laid down wordlessly on her bedmat, more to avoid Everild's sidelong glances than anything else. As weary as she was, sleep did not come easily. When Lord Klaye returned to the tent some time later, she feigned sleep, and he ignored her to hunch down beside Everild.

"I'm scheduled to be on watch after midnight," he said to Everild in a hushed tone. "Once I'm sure the man who's on watch before me is sound asleep, I'll wake you. If anyone else wakes and questions you, tell them you're just going to piss."

"I know what I'm doing, my lord. It would be best we not speak any more of it, not with unwanted ears nearby."

"I'll give the orders, not you," Lord Klaye snapped. "Who cares what she hears?"