Wild card 13

It seemed to Sparhawk that his head had no sooner hit the pillow than Kurik was shaking him awake.

"It's about midnight," the squire said.

Sparhawk sat up in the bed, groaning a little under his breath. "All right. I'm awake."

"I'll go wake the others." Kurik patted Sparhawk on the shoulder. "Once everyone's awake, Berit and I'll go saddle the horses."

Sparhawk dressed himself quickly, more to keep himself from the temptation of resting his eyes, and went downstairs to have a word with the innkeeper. "Tell me, neighbor. By chance, is there a monastary hereabouts?"

The innkeeper scratched his head. "I think there's one near the village of Verine," he replied. "That's... about five leagues from here, I think."

"Thanks, neighbor," Sparhawk said. For a few seconds, as the innkeeper watched him with an increasingly puzzled expression, Sparhawk wrestled with his conscience. "...a standard of behavior that promotes the wellbeing of others... protect the innocent," he muttered softly under his breath.

A sound drew Sparhawk's eyes, and he looked to the stairs to see Berit and Kurik coming down. "Kurik, I need a pen, paper, sealing wax, and my seal," he said suddenly.

Kurik blinked at him. "At this hour?"

"Yes. It's important. We need to get word to Dolmant immediately, and without leaving a trail [i]it[/i] can follow." Sparhawk turned back to face the innkeeper, who was clearly becoming more worried by the second. "Peace, neighbor. I need a favor done, and I need it done as quickly as possible. I need you to deliver a letter to the monastary for me, immediately. I'm sorry for the late hour, but something has come up, and there may be trouble coming this way. So I want you to take a fast horse, supplies enough to last you and your wife for a few days, and as soon as I've finished writing and sealing it, this letter. The monks there will offer you shelter. Can I count on you to do this, and be discrete about it afterwards?"

"Of course, my Lord. Is there... something dangerous coming?"

Kurik returned with the requested supplies, and Sparhawk set himself to writing. "I don't know for certain, but after your hospitality, I'm not willing to take the risk. You have a nice, comfortable inn and your wife keeps a clean house and a fine table. I'll mention this place to my friends in the future, but just in case, I'd like the both of you to be there to take care of them the way you did us."

"I appreciate the consideration, Sir Knight. I'll go wake my wife."

Sparhawk finished the letter, sealed it, and handed it to the innkeeper along with a pair of gold coins. "For the trouble," he said to the astonished and grateful man.

"Thank you for your generosity, my Lord!" the innkeeper's wife said effusively.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Sparhawk said, "and for carrying this message."

Sparhawk and the innkeeper were the last out the door of the inn; the innkeeper hung a sign out front in blocky, inexpert lettering reading, 'Closed while visiting family'. Then, he and his wife hurriedly saddled a stout workhorse that occupied the last stall in the stables and rode off into the night. Sparhawk joined the others.

"That was an abruptly begun family visit," Kalten noted.

"I felt they'd be safer out of the way," Sparhawk said in answer to Kalten's unasked question, "and the letter they're carrying saves us a detour. The monks will send our message to Chyrellos to keep Dolmant on top of the news."

"And this also potentially deprives the Seeker of two extra bodies to control," Sephrenia observed. "Good thinking, Sparhawk."

"We never did ask about those oats," Kurik pointed out.

"Let's grab a bag of them on our way out," Sparhawk replied, stepping up into Faran's stirrup and swinging his leg over to get in the saddle. "I gave the innkeeper two gold; I'm sure he won't mind."

The night was not as foggy as it had been by Cimmura; they were able to make decent time. Sparhawk was hesitant in the night to travel at a canter, lest a horse break a cannon in an unseen gopher hole in the moonlight. They couldn't afford to lose even one of the spare horses, much less a trained warhorse, but the need to move faster kept pressing Sparhawk at the back of his mind. They kept a steady northeasterly course, though, the pace overall better on the inadequately rested horses, and it ate up the miles deceptively quickly. By morning the countryside was beginning to show dry, and even rocky, barren patches. The soil was thin and poor, fit for little more than weeds and a prevalence of thornbushes. A few pools of stagnant water, vestiges of local rain some week or more past, dotted the landscape, accompanied by a scattering of sickly-looking, stunted trees. Much of the travel had been in silence, and at least half of the group was dozing in the saddle.

"We're going to need to stop for water soon for the horses," Kurik said by way of greeting as he pulled his gelding up alongside Sparhawk and Faran. "And this doesn't look too promising."

"How much farther do you think they have in them?" Sparhawk asked. Faran flicked his ears back irritably at Sparhawk, who patted his neck in response.

"A few hours before it becomes serious," Kurik said. "But if we find fresh water sooner, we should stop and rest the horses there while we have the opportunity. It doesn't look like we'll get many chances unless it rains soon."

Sparhawk eyed the horizon, the sun just beginning to creep into view. Clouds were thin, but looking like they'd thicken, although none of them looked particularly dark enough to actually bring rain. "Likely going to be overcast late in the day, you think?"

Kurik made his own assessment of the sky, before nodding. "Probably. Going to be a dreary ride. Better than more night travel, though - we'll need to set up camp tonight long enough to get some real sleep and recover our strength."

Sparhawk nodded, scratching his stubble absently. "I could use a shave," he admitted, "If you have the energy in you when we do."

"I'll take care of it."

Cresting a few more shallow hills gave them all a good vantage point, enough that Berit pulled up short. "Sparhawk, do you see that?"

Sparhawk looked in the direction that Berit was pointing; the late morning sun was providing a glare that wasn't doing Sparhawk any favors. "My eyes aren't as good as yours," he admitted. "What do you see?"

"Looks like a road heading east," Berit explained helpfully.

Kurik shaded his eyes and grunted. "I think I see it," he concurs. "Might actually be a good call to take it. We can make better time on it, and it's going more or less the right direction."

"It might give us the opportunity to increase our lead for a little while," Sparhawk agreed.

Sparhawk let Berit lead the way down the hill and over the next ripple in the scrub land towards where the road stretched out, tending east to west with some small variations that followed the contour of the land, for the most part. Sephrenia seemed somewhat tense, pensive. Flute was likewise subdued, her pipes tucked away as she watched the horizon.

When they finally reached the road, they were able to make better time, picking up speed to a gallop. It was nearing noon now, and Sparhawk almost felt like he could feel something staring at his back. A glance over his shoulder revealed nothing. "Sephrenia... do you feel like we're being watched?" he hollered.

"Not at the moment, Sparhawk, no," she shouted her reply over the sound of hoof beats. "Pay attention to your feelings, though. If the sensation increases, let me know!"

He aimed one last glance over his shoulder, before turning his attention fully to the road again.

It was mid afternoon when they came to a river, and the road turned north. After watering the horses, they followed it, searching for a bridge or a ford. Upriver a few more miles, the road bent east again, dipping into and under the river to emerge from the far side.

Beside the ford, there stood a small hut. The man who owned it had heard them coming, and exited, wiping his mouth and eyeing them all speculatively, a sharp-eyed fellow in a green tunic spotted with what looked like meat drippings around a rude woolen cloth that served inadequately as a napkin. "Toll is three coppers per person, two per horse, to ford here," the man said.

Rather than argue with him, Sparhawk just paid the toll, which worked out to just over six silver. "Tell me, neighbor," he said when the transaction was complete, "how far to the Pelosian border?"

"Eh, about five leagues," the sharp-eyed fellow replied. "You can get there by nightfall easily."

"Thanks, neighbor. You've been most helpful."

They splashed on across the ford. When they reached the other side some eighty yards past, Talen urged his horse forward alongside Sparhawk, handing him a small pouch. "Here's your money back," the young thief announced indifferently.

Sparhawk looked at him, startled.

"I don't object to paying a toll to cross a bridge," Talen sniffed. "After all, someone has to build and maintain it. But that guy was just sitting next to a natural shallow spot in the river. He didn't put in any work, so why should he make a profit from it?"

Sparhawk frowned at the small purse. "Was there more in this than my coins?" he asked, checking inside. All his money appeared to be there, but nothing else.

"Must be a slow day," Talen said, shaking his head. "Doesn't really matter; I needed the practice."

They continued east along the road. The land and soil was barely any better than the scrubby wasteland on the other side of the river. There were a measly handful of poor farmsteads, wan and struggling things dotted sparsely with shabby looking peasants in muddy brown smocks who labored long and hard to wrest meager crops from the miserly earth and rocky mud. Kurik sniffed disdainfully. "Amateurs," he grunted. Kurik took farming very seriously.

The road past the river steadily deteriorated from gravelly path to rutted track bearing a higher than average quantity of rocks to keep everything more or less discernable from the scattered scrubland. Despite this increased ruggedness, though, it was clear of thorn bushes and well packed, and that was all Sparhawk actually cared to demand of it. Less welcome was the fact that it was steadily beginning to veer south, although after a league or two as the sun was sinking into late afternoon the track adjoined a well travelled and better maintained road heading due east. "A suggestion, Sparhawk?" Tynian said as they slowed.

"Suggest away."

"It might be better if we took this road to the border rather than cutting across country again. Pelosians are sensitive about people who avoid manned border crossings; they're obsessively concerned about smugglers. I don't think we'd accomplish much in a skirmish with one of their patrols beyond offending the local administrators - training guards isn't particularly hard but equipping them isn't free."

"All right," Sparhawk agreed. "Staying out of trouble is probably in our best interests."

The sun was halfway through sunset when they finally passed without incident into the southern end of Pelosia. The farmsteads here were even more sparse and run down than they had been in northeastern Eosia. Houses and outbuildings were universally roofed with sod that extended in a steady decline to the ground, and goats grazed the rooftops. Kurik looked about with evident disapproval, but held his tongue.

With night falling, their alternating trot and canter slowed, the moon not yet risen. From behind, Sparhawk's ears picked up the slightly unsteady sound of hoofbeats, and he felt a surge of alarm. Wheeling Faran about, he squinted his eyes, barely able to make out against the fading red sky the shape of a man on horseback with an axe bit peeking over his shoulder. Berit, who had been riding a quarter mile back to watch their rear. "Sparhawk!" he called out as he approached. "Riders coming up behind us at a gallop, at least a score!"

Sparhawk cursed sulfurously, sitting straighter in his saddle and wishing they'd had time to cut lances. They only had seven combatants, and against a score or more, that meant the odds were three to one against them at the most optimistic. "Do we run or fight?" Bevier asked, one hand clenching tightly around the haft of his Lochaber axe.

"A fight in the dark is an ugly business," Sparhawk said dubiously.

"Even with the short rest we took at the river, the horses are nearing the end of their endurance," Kurik dissented, fiddling with flint and a knife. "We may not have a choice but to stand and fight, unless we want to fight twenty or more mounted men on foot a league down the road instead of mounted here."

"Stand and fight it is, if it comes to that," Sparhawk decided. "Sephrenia, take Talen, Flute, and the pack horses ahead."

"Sparhawk, if this is the Seeker, we are not prepared to deal with it!" she protested.

"Maybe not," he countered, "but it needs a horse to keep pace with us and thralls to harry us. We remove the thralls or even just remove their horses from the equation, and we win this skirmish."

Sephrenia looked both worried and skeptical, but she nodded. "Stay back from it, and if someone becomes entranced by it, strike them hard to awaken them before it gets close enough to deliver its bite. Be careful, all of you." So saying, she turned, taking the reins from Kurik that he untied from the pommel of his saddle, and Sparhawk watched as the small Styric woman led the draft horses further up the road. Talen hesitated, looking back at them, especially at Kurik, Sparhawk noticed, before he turned his horse and followed Sephrenia.

"Well, Faran, looks like you'll get to take out your mood on some of the lot who are responsible for the hard ride," Sparhawk announced to his big roan.

Faran whickered aggressively, stomping a forehoof and bunching his shoulders.

"I figured you'd like that news," Sparhawk commented with a smile before taking a deep breath, clearing his mind, and drawing his sword.

The seven of them stood their ground, their horses restless at the sudden stop after the long ride, but the animals held their nerve as the low rumble of many heavy hoofbeats grew louder. Kurik anchored a long segmented pole from his saddlebags into the ground, lighting a lantern and hanging it from the hook at the end. It wasn't much light, but Sparhawk was grateful for it all the same. He'd take anything that lessened the confusion of a fight in the dark. "Let's fall back about fifty feet," he said. "Give us space to charge without leaving the light too far behind."

The seven of them did as Sparhawk ordered, falling back to give themselves a running start to reach a full charge. They didn't need to wait long. The thunder of the mounted assailants only faltered briefly as they crested a hillock and caught sight of their small cluster. Sparhawk grimly thought of the concoction that Anthony had sent along with them which Sephrenia had taken custody of, and silently prayed that it would not be needed tonight, but if it was, that it would work well enough to ensure there were no empty saddles after the battle. Sparhawk took the initiative. "Hit their flank and pass!" he announced. "Stay mobile til we whittle them down a bit, don't let them bog you down! Charge!"

"For God and the Church!" cried Bevier, brandishing his axe and spurring his horse forward to join Sparhawk, only a split second ahead of everyone else as they urged their mounts into a rough line, picking up speed and drifting to the left flank of the disorganized knot of oncoming horse and riders.

With the moon not yet risen, the only reprieve to blindness was the single lamp. Sparhawk had misjudged the distance slightly, and the two lines met only thirty feet away from the lantern. The knights' charge slashed at the flank of the oncoming force, bodies ravaged by sharp steel wielded by mounted knights whose expert stances in the saddle let them swing their weapons with the full might of their charging warhorses. Blood sprayed a shiny black in the night, but the only vocalizations were those of exertion from Sparhawk and his comrades and the screams of an enemy's horse. As they peeled away from their attack, Sparhawk glanced over his shoulder, taking what assessment he could of his side. Bevier, Ulath, and Kurik were close behind him; their silhouettes were fairly easy to pick out. Kalten and Tynian came up behind them, with Berit trailing in the rear. Berit's horse was pacing unevenly, and it stumbled, a very bad sign. Thinking back on what Sephrenia had said about the Seeker's thralls, he realized that the horse screaming in the brief clash must have been Berit's; neither horses nor riders had uttered a single sound among the enemy force, even in death. "Kurik, cover Berit!" he snapped out. "Everyone else, reform and take it to them!"

They were turning and coming on as a disorganized mob. Sparhawk hoped to meet them head on with their reduced numbers to shield Berit and Kurik, but his hopes were dashed. In the second clash, half the force engaged with Sparhawk's charge, but the other half rushed past them in the muddy, churning dirt, rushing through the edge of the road and going straight for the two men behind them.

Ulath and Bevier managed to break free, Ulath striking his opponent from his saddle in a dismembering arc that left the man unable to hold his reins, while Bevier's murderous weapon simply severed his own opponent's mount's head, the horse tumbling and rolling, crushing the rider beneath it. The pair of them rode hard to reinforce Kurik and Berit, the latter of whom was now dismounted as his horse kicked feebly on its side in the mud. Sparhawk, Kalten, and Tynian were still outnumbered by what remained of the first half of the enemy force, and Sparhawk grunted as despite his best efforts he felt an enemy blade slip past his guard and stab into his thigh, the unwelcome burning and chill of steel burying itself in his flesh like an old, familiar nightmare. His return stroke parted his attacker's face, who tumbled back limply from his horse, and Faran, sensing his master's injury, reared up with renewed fury to plant both his forehooves firmly into the horse's skull and neck, the animal going limp to the accompaniment of cracking bone.

Tynian was a study in elegant bladework, his defense impeccable as he cut down three attackers in rapid succession, only for his horse to be crowded backward by their mounts who pressed onward without regard for the riders they'd suddenly lost. Sparhawk's sword pierced deep into another rider, this one wearing working mail armor, but the crowding horses threw off Sparhawk's aim, and he felt his sword jam up in his opponent's ribcage and twist out of his grip. He brought his shield up to intercept a farm tool from someone in a bloodied smock, pulling Aldreas's spear from his back and stabbing it into the attacker's belly. Sparhawk felt something hit him in the shoulderblade with the force of a hammer blow, and rings from his mail popped with metallic sounds like small coins as they flew past his left ear. Still, the hardened leather beneath absorbed the remainder of the force, and Faran bucked, a double hoofed donkey kick repaying the unseen foe for daring to hit his master. Sparhawk barely managed to intercept a spear thrust that would have struck Faran in the throat, the spearhead wedging between the metal and wood of his shield's rim, and Sparhawk jerked the shield back, yanking the weapon from his foe's hand before the same metal shield rim crushed the man's skull.

The fight was turning decidedly in their favor, now, but the attackers did not falter, fighting to the last, and their horses along with them. Finally, the last animal was put down with an exhausted grunt and a swing of Kalten's blade, and Sparhawk was left to assess his people.

It wasn't good. Ulath and Bevier had managed to rescue Kurik and Berit, but Ulath was nursing a broken arm, Berit was dismounted, and Kurik's right eye was shut tight and streaming blood from the outer corner. From atop a small hill some hundred yards away, the Seeker sat astride its own horse, the distinctive glow of its face making it unmistakeable. It watched for several moments before turning its horse and retreating in the direction it came. None of Sparhawk's force could reasonably catch up to it right now, worn as they were, and they were forced to watch it go.

"Of course it decides to run as soon as the fight gets interesting," Kalten said acerbically. "Sparhawk, you're bleeding."

"It's an occupational hazard," Sparhawk replied pithily. "Berit, are you injured?"

Berit shook his head. "Kurik saw to that. Thank you, Kurik."

Kurik grunted, wiping a trail of blood from his cheek and examining it in the lamplight critically. "No water," he observed. "Might not lose the eye after all."

"We need rest," Tynian said plainly. "The horses won't hold up to another fight, and we've been running ragged for two days now. Add to that our injuries and we're going to have a very bad time if another group like that comes through."

"You're injured?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Mostly my pride... and my foot," he admitted after a moment.

"What happened to your foot?" Ulath grunted, frowning.

"I just about broke it off in their asses," Tynian replied with a grin.

There were a few tired snickers around the group. "We're going to be slowed with only six horses until we catch up to Sephrenia," Kalten said.

"Berit, take my horse," Kurik instructed him. "I can probably run faster than you can right now."

"Not on your life," Berit said instantly. "Keep your horse; I'll just have to use one of the pack horses later." Berit was in the process of unharnessing the riding kit from his horse, which was still breathing in labored gasps, its eyes wild and its mouth streaked with foam. It had given up attempting to regain its feet, and gave a miserable whickering groan as it looked up at Berit.

"Sparhawk!"

The group looked up and towards the road; Sephrenia and Talen were there, trotting closer through the churned mud. Sephrenia was rooting around with one hand in her bags.

"I told you to ride ahead," Sparhawk ground out irritably.

"And we did, until the sounds of the fighting stopped," she replied primly. "It does appear we're going to be testing the effectiveness of your manservant's brew," she observed as she eyed the lot of them critically.

"So it seems," Sparhawk agreed unhappily.

"Will it work on a horse?" Berit asked, gingerly touching the broken off spear lodged in his fallen horse's side. "She's been a good mount, and doesn't deserve to die out here like this."

"Better a horse now than one of us later," Ulath pointed out.

"Push comes to shove, we can get more of the healing... stuff," Sparhawk said. "Time is our most precious resource right now and Berit being without a fighting mount would cost us too much of it. Try it on the horse. And has anyone seen my sword?"

The elixir did work on the horse, it turned out, although administering it had been tricky at first. Sephrenia wound up having to pour some of it onto a sponge, which they stuffed into the animal's mouth. The horse almost immediately began moving with more vigor, as it started enthusiastically chewing the wetted sponge, and before all their eyes the two feet of broken off spear pushed its way free of the wound and fell to the mud. The animal heaved, then rolled itself to get its legs under it, struggling to its feet and shaking itself free of the worst of the mud caking the side that had been on the ground. It wasn't spry, but any means, still clearly tired, but the wound in its barrel had been replaced by a patch of fresh scar, devoid of hair.

Kalten whistled. "That is some potent stuff," he observed.

"That was also a third of what we had," Sephrenia noted, holding the bottle up to the lamplight. "It does seem he was truthful. A teacup for a mortal wound."

"There are mortal wounds, and then three are mortal wounds," Tynian pondered. "That was a good two feet of spear in the horse. Would it require less for a mortal injury on a human that was less damaging, or is it simply a mortal wound regardless of the size of the creature being healed?"

"I'm more curious about how much of it spilled when the horse was chewing the sponge," Kalten admitted. "Was it the full teacup or-"

"Can we discuss this somewhere else?" Sephrenia asked, clearly becoming more irritated. "The Seeker is alone, now, but every minute we delay here is another minute it has to find more victims and more horses."

"Hey, how many church soldiers were chasing us out of the chapterhouse?" Talen asked, leading his horse up to them. "Because there's twenty two bodies and horses here, and only twelve of them are church soldiers."

"What about the rest of them?" Kalten responded.

"Why were you inspecting them?" Kurik demanded.

"Looks like farmers, except for that toll guy we met at the river," Talen replied. He studiously ignored Kurik's question and subsequent stern look.

"There were at least fifty soldiers in the original group," Berit said. "What happened to the other thirty eight?"

"Dead and left behind, undoubtedly," Sephrenia said, "after they rode their horses to death."

"You said the Seeker is controlled by Azash, right?" Talen asked. "He's not very good at math or planning, is he? He'd have probably hurt us a lot worse if he'd had the full group of church soldiers and just took better care of them, or circled around and laid a trap for us."

"Zemochs aren't known for their long-term thinking or strategic accumen," Sparhawk explained.

"Azash discourages those who are too clever; clever people ask questions instead of following orders blindly and instantly." Sephrenia sniffed derisively.

"Might come back to bite him," Ulath offered. "Trolls and Ogres aren't very good at long-term planning either, which is why we more or less control the region despite their size and strength."

"Quantity can, in large enough doses, make up for quality, and power can make up for strategy, if you have enough of either of them," Sparhawk said by way of speaking to both Talen's and Ulath's talking points. "Little mother, how long will it take the Seeker to gather another force like the one it just sent at us?"

"Probably a few days," she answered. "The farms in the area are sparsely populated, and even draft horses are going to be scarcely available here."

"Then it seems like Azash made a tactical blunder." Sparhawk grimaced, shifting in his saddle. His thigh, now that the fighting was done and his blood had time to calm, was starting to ache fiercely. He rubbed at his thigh absently, and Sephrenia's eyes narrowed.

"Sparhawk, you're bleeding," she observed.

"That is a known side effect of getting stabbed, yes," he commented irritably.

"We need to treat your wound before it gets infected," she said. "In fact, I think I want to give you a small dose of the elixir as well."

"Just clean and wrap it. It'll be fine. I can ride well enough; if you want to feed that stuff to someone besides horses, give it to Ulath. He can't fight effectively with his arm like that," Sparhawk retorted with a nod in the big Thalassian's direction.

"We'd be better served to have all of you in full fighting form," she disagreed. "I think we can expect the Seeker to try again with a smaller force inside of a day. It knows some of you were wounded and 'knows' a horse was killed, but Azash almost certainly doesn't know about the elixir. A smaller force to bleed us a little more before we can get our bearings or rest would likely appeal to him."

"That IS sort of tactical," Kalten commented unhelpfully. He added after a moment, "And if it came at us with an equal force, expecting to finish us off, it'd have an ugly time of it."

"I want us all in full armor," Sparhawk said flatly. "And full barding on the horses, too. We took entirely too many hits during that fight. If we'd been in full armor, we'd have had no trouble with them."

"That's going to wear on the horses a lot more," Kurik noted.

"We have a little time yet before the Seeker becomes a problem we have to deal with again. Let's take advantage of that and get as rested as possible so they'll be able to handle it."

"And a solid meal," Kalten added.

Sparhawk nodded, his own stomach voicing its own discontent. After two days he'd almost begun to wonder if he'd ever feel the need to eat again. "And a meal."

"Wound care before any of that, gentlemen," Sephrenia said.

The chorus of reluctantly agreeing grumbles was her only response.