The Marcher Lord (Over Guard) (14 page)

“
No,” Ian agreed grudgingly, “that’s true.”

“Well, are you going to do it?” Kieran asked, looking behind them. The captain had by this time
noticed and was staring.

“
Yes,” Ian conceded.

“Well, it i
s yours,” Kieran answered, victory in his affirmation.

Ian drew the quick signal for spotting an unknown company back and forth across his yeoman’s display with his first two fingers. He held
up his arm a little to give the visual signal as well, even though it wasn’t really necessary. Their company responded with a small flurry of movement.

It wasn’t a new lesson. Saying the least amount, only the bare bounds of
necessity, would always be far safer than offering up anything more, especially when it wasn’t well-considered or fell outside of what was known for certain. It was a good lesson, one that wasn’t always the best method, depending on the situation, but it was a good lesson that Ian needed to work on more. And maybe more importantly, to become better at discerning when it was best to hold on to it and when it was best to temporarily put it aside. But it was certainly a lesson that he would not have ever wanted to be reminded of in front of Kieran.

“Do you fancy her?” Kieran asked, staring at him.

“Fancy who?” Ian asked. He managed not to grimace as the order to hold formation came through their yeomans. In present conditions, that meant Ian was to hold his present company.

“Don’t be stupid,” Kieran s
aid, looking back as the follow-up order to continue forward at normal speed came, “you know who I’m talking about.”

Ian waited another moment before starting to walk ahead again, still fairly slowly as it was now much more important to keep together properly. He liked that the terrain was so open, but it really would
be a disadvantage for the caravan, the brisa especially, if they ever came to a fight—

“I saw you looking at her,” Kieran went on, “but don’t try seeing her first.”

Ian craned his head back, trying to see if there was anything to the east that might serve as cover—

“It’s best to keep things proper,” Kieran said, “so I’m calling it out now. Anyone who tries before me will
be a bilker.”

“You think the captain will allow any of that?” Ian asked idly, though it was a fair question that he kind
of wanted to know the answer to as well. The approaching party was growing only in thin bits on the horizon. Their party had all the time they needed; they should reform the company into their normal organization. Not that that was going to happen now, after the captain had just sent the order out.

“If he doesn’t
, you don’t have to worry about agreeing,” Kieran said. “Not that she’ll be interested in you.”

“Don’t think so?” Ian jaunted.

“No,” Kieran said.

“Then why are you so
worried about asking me?” Ian asked.

“I’m not,” Kieran frowned at him like he was stupid
, but paused. “I’m just laying it out to everyone. You can just not worry about it, unless you want to make something of it.”

“No, no,” Ian said, shaking his head with
a sober expression. “But who knows? Maybe she’ll have a boring personality.”

Kieran looked at him again, his expression full of scornful scoff.

Ian looked through the magnifier in his yeoman and sighed. At the moment, he wasn’t entirely well liked by more than a couple parts of his company, which was really not at all what he had hoped for. It would get better, and he had notions that it wouldn’t be difficult to ease into Kieran’s good graces. It would just take an unbearable load of ego shoveling. Glancing back at him now though, Ian could find nothing inside him that was willing to take Kieran seriously.

Another order to reform up in their designated flanks snapped in quick succession
to both of their yeomans, mildly shocking Ian.

“Just remember that,” Kieran said as he fell back, “or you’d better be man enough to say it so we can settle it proper
ly.”

Sparing the couple moments to stare back at Kieran,
Ian waited until the earliest moment it was acceptable to turn his attention back to Rory, who was advancing up to his position. It was a little bit of a lax pace, Rory’s head over on what was going on as the caravan continued to adjust to the orders the head Chax was calling out.

“Come on,” Ian
said as Rory came up next to him.

*              *              *              *

It took nearly another twenty minutes before the other group passed them. Neither party deviated much from their courses, though Ian felt like theirs shied away a little to the east. At the closest point, Ian’s yeoman marked out the distance between them at three hundred and sixty-four feet. The one nice thing about having the company hold their positions was that Ian got a front row seat. Which wasn’t much. Each party eyed each other warily, the leaders hailing each other with raised arms, but that was all. Ian never got the feeling that anything was going to happen, but he waited throughout the passing, looking back occasionally when they were past and fell to the responsibility of the company’s rear elements.

While he made sure not to go to great lengt
hs to stare at them, he was able to see the general makeup of their party. They were all human, darkly dressed and visibly armed. They generally looked Bevish except for a couple that Ian guessed were Dervish. In general, they had a swarthy look about them and closely carried guarded expressions.

“I bet they have more
than a few reasons for hoping we don’t stop them,” Ian said aloud.

“They
sure do look like highwaymen,” Rory said, shaking his head. “Too bad we won’t search them. We could manage them.”

“Of course we could,” Ian looked over at him. “But we’d better hope we don’t run into any trouble like that. One of the
Chax or even the margrave’s family would be bound to get hurt.”

“I know that,” Rory said irritably. “I didn’t say I wanted to fight them, I just said we could.”

“Yes,” Ian said, looking back at the Marcher Lord’s daughter. She was on the same brisa as her father, toward the back where the majority of their belongings were. Her father was leaning behind where the lead Chax were directing the brisa, listening to them as they spoke and pointed over the landscape and occasionally the other party that was passing them.

“Fancy her
?” Rory asked.

Ian was kind of getting tired of this. “I don’t even know her.”

“She sure is pretty,” Rory said.

“Well
, you’d better keep that to yourself,” Ian said, “Anglas already said he gets first go.”

“He can’t do that,” Rory frowned.

“He did,” Ian said, “though I doubt it will go quite that easy for him.”

“I’m not worried,” Rory said. “She’ll be most impressed when I do the best of the shooting.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked. “You think she’s that kind of lady?”

Rory hitched a bit. The
margrave’s daughter was most presently still looking down at her reader again.

“All girls like whoever’s toughest,”
Rory asserted, not quite as certainly.

“And that would be you,” Ian said.

“You can talk all you want before we actually get to do something,” Rory said, “but once we start, you’ll see. Are you from Wilome?”

“Yes.”

“Ha,” Rory looked triumphant, “you haven’t ever been out of the city, have you? I bet you haven’t even shot any animals before.”

“What difference does that make?” Ian said. “An animal gets hit just like anything else.”

Rory laughed a bit. “That’s what you think. It ain’t the same at all. You’ll see. I hope you’re all right, but at least if you’re not a good shot, that’ll leave more for me.”

“We probably won’t get to do that much shooting anyway,” Ian said. “This is Lord Wester’s
excursion. Our first job is to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Rory said, “but the captain said we’ll get plenty of chances when we’re hunting the
herd animals. The long buffalo for sure, I can’t wait to try to get one of those. The captain promised us each a bit of room for any trophies we take.”

“Really?”
Ian asked, looking at the brisa dubiously. “Well, we’ll have to see if you can get one before the trip is over.”

“Ha,” Rory said, “
don’t worry about that. I bet I get at least double of what you’re able to hit.”

“Good luck,” Ian said.
“I bet all that I end up with that it’s more than what you’ll get.”

“It’s a wager,” Rory declared. He stopped for a moment and offered his hand.

Ian shook it firmly. They turned and quietly resumed their marching distance. By this time, the other party was well past and fading behind them, and the order to fall back into a looser formation would no doubt soon follow.

Sneaking a glance over at
his second, Ian remembered that he should’ve probably apologized by now for yesterday. He’d been meaning to, but looking at Rory now it seemed unnecessary. Somehow, he doubted Rory would care all that much if he did; he would actually probably prefer it if Ian didn’t and avoid the awkwardness.

In any case, Ian thought as he readjusted
his pack and watcher’s cloak that spilled around it, he had to be sure to outshoot Rory on this trip or he’d never live it down.

*              *              *              *

They made good headway through the rest of the day, at least given the brisa’s pace. The plains lost some of their uniformity the further they went, occasional dips and small valleys surfacing. All in all it had been a hot, but not absurdly hot day. Their increasing distance from the bits of transplanted civilization they’d left behind was more than enough to fill Ian with a sense of accomplishment when they settled down for their first camp just after five o’clock.

While the rangers had very little preparation for their own sleeping arrangements, being able to sleep anywhere they could take their cloaks, there
were always other things to do. The captain divided them up, half of them helping the lord’s family with their tents and belongings, the other half preparing supper. Ian was selected for the meal chore, the least envied of the two. This was mostly due to the general want to assist the margrave’s daughter, and mess duty was generally despised, even when there were no noble daughters available. Ian had never really appreciated food much past its filling sense, and preparing food was even less estimable. Someday though, he promised as he sat next to their small cooking fire, he’d make it as an officer and be able to delegate it off to the noncommissioned men.

Oddly enough
though, Lieutenant Taylor didn’t seem to mind assisting with at least the more delicate procedures and even some of the menial tasks in addition to overseeing everything. The lieutenant’s face held something akin to a contentment that Ian couldn’t understand as the lieutenant periodically peered over the bubbling stewpot. Looking over at Rory peeling cobers next to him, Ian saw his second didn’t look especially understanding of the lieutenant’s countenance either. But Rory’s forlorn expression wasn’t so much about the joys of food as anticipating the ancient transaction it provided with the stomach.

So while Lieutenant Taylor was engaged with the finer elements, experimenting with a handful of spices he evidently carried
on himself, Corporal Hanley did the bulk of the non-grunt work with a bit less of a passion. He urged Ian and Rory this way and that through the preparations, but he wasn’t especially hard on their variety of culinary shortcomings, which Ian greatly appreciated.

It was Corporal
Wesshire’s flank that got all of the hushed accolades within the company—mostly from themselves, of course, but Ian’s flank conceded the grim acknowledgement that they had the better deal.

The majority of the unpacking was directly administered by the
Chax guides, a couple of them in particular dominating the proceedings. So much so, in fact, that Ian tried to memorize which ones they were for later reference. They did seem to be the individuals who had also been in charge with directing the brisa. The pack animals themselves spent the evening at the edge of camp, gently rolling into each other and periodically making soft humming sounds.

A
n inner circle of activity soon formed that was the most involved with the noble family. Ian knew the reason for this was due to Lord Wester not wanting the Chax dealing with their more intimate belongings, but he couldn’t imagine that the lord really found Captain Marsden to be a great substitute.

“Right here,
My Lord? Is that satisfactory?” and all possible variations of those phrases seemed to be incessantly drifting across the evening air, the captain quite visibly attempting to attend to Lord Wester’s every possible detail.

“Yes, that’s fine,” was the usual answer. From what Ian co
uld catch, the lord was well beyond exasperation. But the margrave stuck to it, leading Ian to surmise that the lord was fastidious about his arrangements, but disinclined to any of it himself.