Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

“If you go that way, we won’t call you hostile,” he said. “But we don’t speak for our employer.”

“Good to know we might only be killed for money, not for care, mercenary,” she said. Four of them. She might take the smallest down before she died, if she was quick. She held the shiver to a bare twitch.

“Keep moving,” Balyat advised. “We report tonight.”

“Fair enough,” she said, and meant it. With luck and speed, a few hours would have them safe. If not, at least they would suffer a quick, clean death from professional warriors, not the nauseating horrors of the Empire’s troops.

“I hope not to meet again, Kossaki,” Balyat said and turned his mount.

As she turned, she smiled slightly to herself. A renowned troop of mercenaries seemed to accept her as warrior, even though inferior.

Civilians were harder to persuade, though. They always wanted to tell you how to conduct a fight, while not fighting themselves.

The look on Jarek’s face as she returned was interesting. It wasn’t one of trust, but it might have a glimmer of respect.

“Who were they?” he asked.

“Oh, just some mercenaries,” she smiled. “I told them who I was, and they agreed to let us pass.” It wouldn’t have worked with most of the hired thugs on the peninsula, nor fealted troops. She wouldn’t share that, though.

Erki looked ready to burst out with something that would wreck it. “Erki, take the rear for a bit, and keep watch,” she said to interrupt him. He nodded and trotted back.

She turned further north and kept them driving until full dark. Jarek argued to keep going, but his own wife spoke up, and others. They were so exhausted the walkers staggered, and the riders could barely stand.

It wasn’t any warmer that night, though the ground was flatter and the grass thick enough to offer some padding. They didn’t dare risk fire. They were a few miles from where the mercenaries had patrolled. Fire could mean the difference between being passed by a few hundred yards away or being seen from miles.

Wake, and move. This distance had taken Erki and her under two days. It was taking three for the caravan, and that was at a speed that strained human endurance.

Toward afternoon, they saw movement to the west, paralleling them. It took most of an hour to discern it was a larger caravan with outriders. Then a messenger bird swooped in, lit on Erki’s shoulder, to his delight and nervousness, and twittered, “Helloooo from Karlinooo.” It stretched out a claw with a tiny note bound to it.

It was a rough map with a list of family groups. Riga read them off loudly. “Fenk the Smith, Nardin the Banwriht ... boneworker? It’s your language in our letters. Rager the Fitter.” She hadn’t talked much to the caravan members, but they muttered and exclaimed in relief that some of their friends and acquaintances were accounted for.

The other caravan was huge. It must be a dozen families, perhaps an entire village. One of the half dozen escorts shouted and broke off. Riga gave a warbling shriek, and reined back.

“Kari!”

“Riga!” Her friend galloped up, and they hugged from horseback, sweaty and dusty and warm to the touch.

“Gentles, this is my friend Karlinu the Quick, Scout Spear.”

Jarek just grunted. Walten nodded, smiled, and said, “Hello.” The others offered greetings.

Karlinu said, “Herald Bellan wants a tally. He’s here, and another Herald is in Gangibrog.”

Riga gestured with her head and moved a bit forward. Kari nodded and paced her.

Once out of earshot, Riga said, “I’ve barely heard of these Heralds before. Why are they so influential? Our entire town has stopped working.” She didn’t want to be presumptuous, but she had a vested interested as part owner of her father’s dock and transfer business. Their safety was also her concern, with all this attention.

“Talk later,” Kari said. “Tally?”

“Twenty-seven. And how is your mother the Swordmistress?” She changed subjects, since she wasn’t going to get an answer.

“Frazzled and harried and snapping as if we’re at drill, even for mundane matters. It’s not just us. Knutsford is about, and the Ugri. The Morit as well.”

“The Morit. I wonder if Brandur ...” She stopped talking and blushed.

Karlinu laughed. “I expect your suitor will be there. But is it wise to be with a man you can easily best with sword?”

“I don’t care. I like him, and he’s not much poorer than we.”

“I must report. Hold on.” Kari reached into her horse’s pack and drew out a bird cage. It took her moments to inscribe a note and whisper another message while she attached the parchment to the bird’s leg sheath. “Fly home, fly home!” she said and tossed the bird skyward.

“Fly hoooome!” it agreed, circling and heading west.

Within the hour, the Herald came up personally. He wore riding clothes that were also white. His mount was a white stallion with vivid blue eyes. Riga hadn’t seen it closely before. Looking at it now, it seemed to stare at her and delve into her thoughts.

“You seem to be doing well, Riga,” he greeted.