“I know enough. Seli dead, my men prisoners, others sieged—”
“No. Stay and hear. Not for long, Cal.” The Duke and the other matched gazes; the young man’s eyes fell first.
“Very well, my lord Duke, since you insist.”
“Go on, Paks. After the captain fell, what then?”
“Then the Honeycat’s men moved in squads, rounding up those who were outside. Some of the Halverics fought, and tried to get back to the fort or protect our men, but they were outnumbered. Some of ours tried to escape, but we saw them fall. Then we heard the portcullis go down, and after a bit we saw ours on the walls along with the Halverics.”
“Where was Captain Ferrault?”
Paks thought back. “I think, my lord—he was inside.”
The Duke grunted. “And you don’t know how big a force the Honeycat left at the fort?”
“No, sir. We thought of trying to sneak back and find out, but Canna had been hit. She said we should shadow the main column and come to you.”
“Canna was hurt? I thought you said you weren’t seen.”
“We weren’t, my lord, not then. But their first sweep around the fort, they shot into the brambles to scare anyone out. It was bad luck she was hit; they couldn’t see us.”
“I see. Now—you’re sure that some of the prisoners were taken with the column?”
“Yes, sir. We couldn’t see it often, because of the sweeps, but on—it must have been the third day—Canna and Saben got a clear look. They said sixty or more prisoners, both ours and the Halverics.”
“And how many enemy?”
“Something over three hundred foot, and a hundred horse, and ten wagons.” The Duke turned to look at the man in green. Paks watched their faces, trying to understand why the man looked so familiar—had he been at Dwarfwatch with the Halverics?
Suddenly she realized that, though taller and not bald, he looked like Aliam Halveric. She looked more closely. His well-worn sword belt was tooled in a floral pattern; his cloak was fastened with an ornate silver pin. If he was a Halveric son, and the captain killed at Dwarfwatch his brother—she shivered.
“Now,” said the Duke, “What time yesterday did you meet the brigands?”
“Afternoon, sir, and starting to get dark.”
“And when did you last see the Honeycat’s column?”
Paks thought, counting the days. “The—the fourth day, sir. They had passed the Guild League road; there’s a village just south, and they burned it. Then we passed the column, the next day, and that was the fourth after we started.”
“How fast were they traveling?”
“Sir, I—I don’t know. Canna said when we were three days from here that it would take them five—but that was before the rain.”
“Yes. With rain—those wagons should be slowed—Cal, tell your father this. I’m leaving today, with the Company, to see if I can catch them on the road. After that, I’ll go north. I’ll do what I can to save his men; I’ll expect to meet him soon. I can’t offer you much escort—”
“Sir, I’ll be fine.”
“Cal, the Honeycat is infinitely devious. Let me send my youngest squire, at least: he’s brave, if pigheaded.”
“Sir, I thank you, but my own escort will suffice.”
“Be careful, then. And Cal—be fast.”
“I’ll kill every horse I own, if I must. May I go?”
“Yes. Luck go with you.” The young Halveric bowed and withdrew. The Duke looked at Paks; she was drinking a mug of soup the servant had brought in. She started to put it down when she saw him looking. “No,” he said kindly. “Go on and finish it; you need that. Paks, the first scouts I sent out last night have come back; they found no trace of your friends or the brigands. I’m not sure they went far enough; I had told them to be back an hour after sunrise. We’ll keep searching, you may be sure. As for you—” he sighed, and sipped from the mug the servant had handed him. “You heard me tell Cal I’m leading the Company out. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch him on the road, unprepared. You’re not fit for this—” Paks opened her mouth to protest, and he waved her to silence. “No. Don’t argue. You’ll stay here. One of my scribes will take down everything you recall—no matter how unimportant—about your journey and the Honeycat. You will not talk to anyone else about it until I give you leave. Not even the surgeon. Is that clear?”
Paks nodded. “Yes, my lord. But sir, I could—”
“No. You’ve had less than half the sleep you need; I’m not risking my only source of information. When the surgeon passes you as fit for duty, there’ll be plenty for you to do.” The Duke’s sudden smile held no humor; Paks shivered. “Now. What can you tell me about their order of march, and the scouts?”
Paks explained the forward and flank sweeps as well as she could. The Duke nodded, and stood. “Very well. Remember that if anyone other than my scribe Arric tries to ask questions, you’ll have a lapse of memory.”
“Yes, my lord.” Paks felt a wave of sleepiness rise over her. She hardly knew when the Duke left, and she slept heavily several hours. The tent was very quiet when she woke, and she fell asleep again quickly. The next time she woke, the lamps were lit, and the surgeon was beside the bed, calling her name.
“It’s partly the stimulant you were given,” he explained when Paks asked why she was so sleepy. “That and the exhaustion from your journey. If you didn’t sleep now—well, you must. Try to eat all Sim brings, and sleep again.”
Paks had trouble working her way through the large bowl of stew and half-loaf of bread. Even swallowing was an effort. She sat up briefly, but sleep overwhelmed her again. She woke in early morning feeling much better. When she asked for clothes to put on, Sim told her she was to stay in bed.
“You’ll be getting clothes when the surgeon says you can get up and not before. That’s the Duke’s orders, so it’s no good looking at me.” He left her to her meal, and Paks looked around the room. It had not registered before that she was in the Duke’s tent—she noticed a carved chest bound with polished metal, a three-legged stool with a tooled leather seat, the rich sleeping furs she lay under—in the Duke’s own chamber. She finished breakfast. When Sim came to take the dishes, Arric the scribe arrived, a slender man of medium height whom Paks had often seen in the quartermaster’s tents.
When he had readied his writing materials, she began to tell her story again. Arric was accustomed to the halting accounts of inexperienced soldiers, and prompted her with pointed questions when she faltered. Paks was surprised when Sim arrived with lunch for them both. After lunch they began again. Paks was beginning to tire when the surgeon came to check on her. He drove Arric off, and Paks slept for several hours. She woke with a huge appetite, ate everything Sim brought, and greeted the surgeon with a demand to be let out of bed.
“Being hungry’s a good sign,” he told her. “You’ll come back fast now. I’ll have Sim bring more food in an hour. Work with Arric a few hours tonight, and you may be able to get up tomorrow. I’ll check on you before breakfast.”
Paks devoured her second supper eagerly, and answered Arric’s questions as fast as she could. She dared not ask if they had had word from the Duke; she thought she heard more noises in camp, and was determined to be ready if he called. She was sure she would not sleep, when Arric finally left, and thought of trying to sneak out of bed and find clothes. The bed was warm, though—and the surgeon woke her as he came in the next morning.
He had brought a bundle of clothes, as if certain she would be well enough. Everything was new, from boots to cloak. She said nothing while he looked her over. He sighed.
“It’s too early, really, but you’ll be well enough if you don’t exhaust yourself again. Eat more than usual for several weeks, and rest when you can. Your wounds are healing cleanly, no trouble there. Dress and come out front.”