And how much they trusted her.
She'd noticed that many of her riders still looked more often to her sergeants for guidance than to her. That stung a bit, but then, they were the turma's only seasoned veterans. To their credit, they all showed the strictest respect for her rank, even Braknil, who was old enough to be her father.
In return, Beka was mindful of the fact that without Seregil's patronage and the commission it had won her, sergeant would have been the highest rank she could've hoped for in such a regiment. Some of the other squadrons' new lieutenants—the sons and daughters of Rhiminee lords—seemed to keep this in mind, too, and let her know with the occasional sneer or condescending remark. Fortunately, her brother officers in Myrhini's troop were not among these.
At Keston the regimental commander, Prince Korathan, had taken Commander Perris' Wolf Squadron and split off to follow the coastline.
Commander Klia's squadron headed inland toward the Folcwine Valley. The Folcwine River was the southern leg of the great trade route that ran north all the way to the Ironheart range in the distant northlands. The river was the first prize the Plenimarans were expected to reach for.
That had been two weeks ago; it would be another two before they came to the river.
Turning in the saddle, Beka looked back at the column snaking darkly over the hills behind her: nearly four hundred horsemen and officers of Lion Squadron, the sledges of the sutlers and armorers, provision wains, livestock and drivers.
It was like traveling with a small town in tow. Scouting trips, vanguard duty, even mundane provision runs like this offered a welcome break.
Catching Mercalle's eye, Beka said, "Sergeant, I think the horses could do with a run."
"You're right, Lieutenant," Mercalle answered with the hint of a smile; they both knew it was the restless young riders who needed it more.
Beka scanned the rolling terrain ahead of them and spied a dark line of trees a mile or so off. "Pass the word, Sergeant. At my signal, race for the trees. The first one who gets there has first chance at the taverns."
Mercalle's riders fanned out smoothly, catcalling back and forth to each other. At Beka's signal, they spurred their mounts forward, galloping for the trees.
Beka's Wyvern could easily have outdistanced most of the other horses, but she held back, letting Kaylah and Zir end the race in a tie.
"I hear they always finish together," Marten grumbled as the rest of the riders reined in around the winners. A few of the others smirked at this.
Sexual relations in the ranks were frowned on, and a careless pregnancy got both parties cashiered, but it happened, nonetheless. Still celibate herself, Beka chose to turn a blind eye to who was sharing blankets with who. A number of her riders had come into the regiment already paired, including Kaylah and Zir. Others, like Mirn and Steb, had formed bonds during the march.
"Don't worry about it," Braknil had advised after she'd noticed certain blankets moving late at night. "So long as it's honorable, it'll just make them fight the enemy all the harder. No one wants to look a coward to their lover."
Kaylah and Zir already seemed proof of this; during training they'd competed fiercely against each other and everyone else. Kaylah was a pretty blonde who looked almost too fragile for a warrior's life, but she was like a centaur on horseback, and could match anyone in the turma with a bow. Zir, a young, black— bearded bear of a man, had
Sakor's own sword arm mounted or afoot.
The trees turned out to be a thick pine forest.
Skirting along its edge, they struck a well-packed road that led through in the direction of the town. Just before noon they came out on the far side into a valley overlooking the town. It was a prosperous-looking place, with a palisade for protection and a busy market square.
Their dark green field tunics attracted less attention than their dress tabards might have, but the townspeople still looked askance at their swords, bows, and chain mail.
Better us than the Plenimaran marines, Beka thought, pulling her gorget from the neck of her tunic to show her rank.
Their Skalan gold was welcome enough, however. In less than an hour's time they'd found all the supplies they'd been sent for— parchment, flints, wax, honey, meal and flour, dried fruit and beans, salt, smoked meats, ale, four fat sheep and a pig, oats and winter fodder for the horses-and hired three carters to haul the goods back to the column under escort.
Her riders had also found time to purchase items for themselves and those left behind with the rest of the turma: tobacco, playing cards, sweetmeats, fruit, and writing materials were always in demand. Some even had chickens and geese slung from their saddlebows.
Mercalle shopped for the other sergeants; Portus was partial to nuts and raisins, Braknil to Mycenian cider brandy.
Mercalle glanced up at the sun as the carters secured the last of their load on their sledges and hitched up their oxen teams. "The column should have just about caught up by now. It'll make a shorter return trip for the carters."
"Everyone back?" asked Beka, counting faces.
"All accounted for, Lieutenant."
"Good. You, Tobin, and Arna take the point. The rest of us will ride escort with the sledges. We'll switch off point riders now and then, just to keep them from getting bored."
Mercalle saluted, and galloped off with the two riders. Beka and the rest fell in around the sledges.
No one seemed to mind the slower pace; it was pleasant to saunter along with the sun on their backs and a cold breeze in their faces. Leaving town by the same road they'd entered, they wended their way back up into the pines.
"Do you travel this road often?" Beka asked, striking up a conversation with the lead driver.
The man twitched the reins across his team's broad backs and nodded. "Often enough spring to autumn," he replied, his accent thick as oat porridge. "My brothers and me drive goods up to Torburn-on-the-River. Boats take it on to the coast."
"That must be a long trip at this pace."
He shrugged. "Three weeks up, three back."
"Have you heard much news here about a war coming?"
The carter spared her a sour glance. "I should think we have. Seeing as how we're like to get trampled once again when you lot and the Plenimarans go at each other. There's some say we ought to just trade land with one or t'other of ye, so's ye can fight without bothering us."
Beka bristled a bit at this. "We're on our way east to keep that from happening. Otherwise, your armies will be left on their own when Plenimar comes after your land and the river."
"They ain't took it yet. And you lot ain't never stopped 'em from wading in to try it."
Beka bit back a retort and eased her mount away from the sledge. There was no sense arguing the point. "Marten and Barius, you go take point. Tell Sergeant Mercalle I'll be up to relieve her as soon as the others get back."
"Right, Lieutenant!" Barius said, grinning through his new beard. He and Marten set off at a gallop, cloaks streaming behind them as they raced each other out of sight around a bend in the road.
The sound of their hoofbeats had just faded out of earshot when the scream of a horse raised the hair on the back of Beka's neck. Wheeling Wyvern, she saw Syrtas' mount buck him off behind the third sledge. The horse screamed again, then bolted for the trees.
Rethus reined in beside the fallen man, then slung himself from the saddle.
"Ambush!" they shouted, dashing for cover behind the sledge.
An arrow sang past Beka's horse and struck the side of the lead sledge. A glance told her that this was no military attack. The arrow was double fetched, rather than the military triple vane style, and the fletching was done clumsily, with one white vane and one a ragged brown.