Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist
far to go for drilling, isn’t it, Erik?’
Erik nodded. He pointed to a pass off in the distance. ‘Send a squad to scout out that rise, so we don’t find a band of Dark Brothers marching over it unexpectedly, and look for tonight’s camp.’ He glanced around, then said softly, ‘Hunting parties tomorrow. Let’s see who knows how to find his own dinner.’
Alfred shivered. ‘This is a cold place to camp.’
‘The farther north we go, the colder it gets.’
Alfred sighed. ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
‘Besides,’ said Erik, ‘we’re almost where I want to be.’
‘And would you be in the mood to share that tidbit, Sergeant Major?’ asked Alfred.
‘No,’ said Erik.
Corporal Alfred rode off, and Erik suppressed a smile. The old corporal had served in the garrison at Darkmoor, for Erik’s father, for fifteen years before they met. He was a full twenty years older than Erik’s twenty-two. He had also been an early convert of Erik’s, having been one of the first picked to accompany the levy of men Erik’s half-brother sent to the Prince, and he was one of the few survivors of that journey. Erik had been forced by circumstance to physically beat Alfred three times, the first when Alfred had sighted Erik in an inn in the town of Wilhelmsburgh and Alfred had attempted to arrest Erik. The second time had been during his first week of training under Erik and Jadow Shati, and the third, when he had gotten too sure of himself and thought he could finally best the young sergeant. Then they had voyaged to the far continent, Novindus, and from there they had returned, two of the five men who survived that expedition. Now Erik trusted the man with his life and knew Alfred felt the same way about him.
Erik considered that odd forged bond of soldiers, men who otherwise might have no use for one another but who after serving together, facing death together, felt like brothers. Then, thinking of brothers, he wondered if James would be able to convince Erik’s half-brother’s mother to cease her attempts to kill him. Erik considered that if anyone could do so, it would be Lord James.
The men marched and Erik considered the coming war. He was not privy to all the plans of Lord James, Knight-Marshal William, and Prince Patrick, but he was beginning to suspect what they would be. And he didn’t like what he was beginning to suspect.
He knew more than most men what was coming, but he had reservations about what would be the price of victory, and as he rode down the small path, he heard one of the men pass the word, ‘Scouts coming!’
A man sent ahead with three others jogged at a good pace past the column of men marching ahead of Erik and stopped before the Sergeant Major. His name was Matthew, and he struggled for breath as he said, ‘Smoke, Sergeant!’ He turned and pointed. ‘Far ridge. About a dozen fires, I think.’
As Erik searched the distant ridge, he started to notice the low hanging smoke, easily mistaken for ground fog at this distance. ‘Where are the other scouts?’
The soldier, catching his breath, said, ‘Mark has moved out, while Wil and Jenks are staying where we first saw the smoke.’ He blew out his cheeks a moment, then said, ‘And Jenks will follow about now, I guess.’
Erik nodded. It was the standard procedure for any encounter with potentially hostile soldiers. The scouts always left camp an hour before the main column, moving along the road in pairs, two on each side, scouting for potential ambush. If any potential enemy was spied, orders were for one man to return, the other to scout ahead. If the advance scout didn’t quickly return, a second would follow, to determine if the first was dead, captured, or observing the enemy. If the latter, the advance scout would return as soon as he was relieved, carrying the most up-to-the-moment intelligence while leaving another pair of eyes to watch.
Erik nodded and wished they were training these men as mounted cavalry. That would start next month, but right now he wished for the speed.
Erik signaled and said, ‘Hand signals only!’
The men at the rear turned to look, then started tapping the men in front on their shoulders, relaying the silent order. Alfred motioned and Erik nodded. He signed that he would ride with the advance scout to the van, while Alfred was to bring up the column. He indicated he wanted two squads on the wings, one to the right and one to the left, and ready for anything.
Erik motioned for the scout to take the lead and he rode after. The man jogged at a good pace, and Erik trotted along after him.
After moving up the road for nearly a half-hour, they found the first of Erik’s scouts, watching ahead. He held up his hand and Erik dismounted. Keeping his voice low, he said, ‘No sign of Jenks or Mark, Sergeant.’
Erik nodded, handing his reins to Matthew. He motioned for Wil to come with him and moved along the trail. Glancing across a small valley, he could clearly see smoke from fires along a distant ridge.
He moved another quarter-mile along the trail, then paused. Something ahead wasn’t right. He listened, then realized that while sound was echoing from all around this narrow pass, it was silent ahead. He motioned for Wil to move to the other side of the trail, then he continued down into the thick brush on his side.
The going was slow as Erik carefully picked his way through the dense undergrowth. The trees in this rocky hillside stood in clumps, with relatively bare spots between. At the edge of one such clearing, Erik saw Wil on the other side of the road. With hand gestures, he indicated Wil should loop around and approach the next group of trees from a position farther off the trail.
Erik watched and waited. When Wil didn’t appear again, Erik was certain he knew where whoever was taking his scouts was secreted. Erik surveyed his own surroundings and decided to move farther down slope.
He backed away from the edge of the trees he had hid within, and after a few scrambling half-slides, he was down at the base of a dry creek. During the next rain this defile would be flooded, he knew, but at present there was only a bit of damp soil underfoot to remind him of the last rain in these mountains.
The scent of smoke was now evident, and Erik knew there had been other campfires closer than the ones that now burned, and he suspected that another company of men had broken camp here the night before. A familiar odor greeted Erik and he glanced up the slope. A good job of hiding horse dung had been accomplished, but to someone who had grown up with the animals the scent was unmistakable. The animals had been staked out a short distance from the clearing where his scouts had vanished. The lingering pungency of horse urine would be gone in another day.
Erik moved to the point on the opposite side of the road where his scout had disappeared, and paused, listening. Again there was a dead spot of sound nearby, as if the animals had left and would not return until the present occupants departed.
Erik skirted the edge of the brush, reached the next grove of trees down the downslope side, and started working his way back to the trail. Suddenly he knew; someone was watching him.
While short on years, he was long on experience in warfare, and he knew that he was about to be attacked. He rolled over as a body landed upon the spot he had just vacated.
The man landed lightly on his feet, despite his intended victim’s not being where he had expected, and as he turned, Erik did the unexpected. He rolled back into the man, yanking him down on top of him.
Few men Erik had met were as strong as he, so he felt more confident with both of them in close than having his opponent upright while he tried to rise. Erik rolled the man over and got on top of him.
His opponent was strong, and quick, but Erik soon had his wrists confined. Seeing no weapon in the man’s hand, Erik released his wrist, drawing back his own fist to strike, but hesitated, as he recognized the man.
‘Jackson?’
The soldier said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
Erik pushed himself off the man and rose to his feet. The soldier was one of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. But rather than the ceremonial uniforms of the palace,