"Sounds hoof-thuddingly sensible to me. I'd be happier if I didn't think every last Molthuni commander has reasoned just as you have, and sought the same things-giving the Nirmathi good training in knowing where crossings will be tried, and waiting there in force, with traps to deal with anyone seeking a way across the Inkwater from Molthune."
The Masked nodded. "So we give them a diversion."
"Such as?"
"A fire. Something on fire that's trying to cross the river, or at least floating down it. While we cross where they aren't looking because of that fire."
Tantaerra nodded. "I just knew I'd end up getting wet again. So what do we set on fire? I'm guessing any boats around here are going to be very well guarded-and I doubt that horse's hind end of a Telcanor lord has bothered to even let the soldiers of Molthune know we're coming, let alone ordered them to help us or stay out of our way."
"I share both that guess and that doubt," The Masked replied calmly. "So we'll go looking for a log, and something eye-catching to prop up on it."
"Such as?"
"Such as a screaming, thrashing, on-fire Ahrkholm-or failing that, any handy Molthuni warrior who gives us grief."
"That," a deep voice said out of the darkness very close by, "sounds almost like a cue."
Tantaerra froze, then turned reluctantly to see who'd spoken.
A dozen Molthuni warriors with mud-covered faces and tufts of grass covering their helms and shoulders were rising with menacing slowness out of the tall grass around the hollow, cocked and loaded crossbows aimed at the mounted man and halfling.
"So," The Masked greeted him calmly, "did you hear it all, or must I explain it to you?"
"I'd appreciate knowing just which horse's hind end of a Telcanor lord has sent you two doomed idiots here, and on what task," the deep-voiced Molthuni officer replied. "Oh, and draw no weapons and make no sudden moves, if you don't mind."
"There's another man nearby, somewhere yonder," The Masked said, moving his arm very slowly to point, "who was sent out on the same mission."
"And who you don't trust," the officer replied, smiling thinly. "I'm waiting."
"Lord Krzonstal Telcanor of Braganza sent us," The Masked said quickly, "to recover a gauntlet from the Shattered Tomb, in Hurlandrun, in Nirmathas. On the orders of the General Lords."
"I see," said the officer. "You don't look like the usual sort of agent the Telcanors send to do their bloody-work."
"It's a slow month for Telcanor recruiting," The Masked replied calmly. "We're something like 'found goods.'"
The officer's thin smile grew more full. "Coerced goods, you mean."
The Masked nodded gravely, and the officer looked even more pleased.
"Well, now. It's not often we gain two such splendid horses, and I'm inclined to assist you in your little plan. Both for purposes of entertainment, and because those trees armor the Nirmathi across the river all too well, and I'd love to draw some of them out to where I can sink a few bolts home."
"You'll help us?"
"We'll help you. As it happens, we've two boats that are far too rotten to repair, and the remnants of no less than three Nirmathi rafts. Not to mention some camp refuse and the carcass of a foam-jawed wolf that tried to take down one of our oxen two nights back. I'm inclined to put them all together and give you your fiery diversion. It'll give us light to shoot by."
"Won't the river just carry the flames downstream while the Nirmathi watch? What's to make them shoot?"
The officer's smile turned cruel. "Over years of patrolling, we've made quite a trail along our riverbank. The most troublesome of our soldiers will be detailed to ride along it, with ready crossbows. I doubt the Nirmathi will be able to resist the targets, given how roused they'll be by flames coming right at them."
"Right at them?" The Masked asked, eyes narrowing.
"As close to right at them as you two can manage," the officer replied. "Swimming as hard as you can and towing our fire-barges to the far bank. If you can start a fire there, and burn off some of that cover …well, forest fire or not, I'm always happy to assist intrepid agents of Molthune."
The Masked chuckled grimly. After a moment, the officer joined in.
Tantaerra sighed. "This sort of thing is going to get me killed someday."
Some of the other Molthuni soldiers snickered at that, as they reached for the bridle of her horse.
"Masked man," she asked quickly, "do we?"
The Masked gave her a meaningful look. "Go along with this gallant, generous, and patriotic offer of aid? Of course, and with no dissembling!"
So Tantaerra let out another sigh, relaxed, and let the soldiers reach her down from her horse. They found it necessary to paw at her chest in the process, of course, but she bit back her sharp response-and caught sight of a silver ring that looked familiar on one soldier's hairy-backed hand. Where had she seen one of like design before?
In moments they were all down in the hollow, with the Molthuni going through their saddlebags, amid a ring of sentinels watching for unwanted arrivals. Two of them saw Ahrkholm even before The Masked did, and loosed bolts that hissed through the tall grasses at him, but probably didn't bite home. When several soldiers bounded hastily into that cover to look for him, drawn blades in hand, they found no one.
By then, The Masked and Tantaerra had been handed their saddlebags and invited to dine while they waited for dark.
They accepted, finding the stew and hardbread of the soldiery quite palatable as they sipped watered smallbeer and listened to the hammers and mallets of Molthuni working on the fire-rafts. During their meal, the officer politely asked them endless questions about their dealings with Lord Telcanor and their past careers, and The Masked politely supplied him with endless falsehoods as answers. And asked a few questions of his own, which is how they learned that the war had settled down into a ceaseless, fairly balanced, back-and-forth affair. Molthune mounted foray after foray into Nirmathas, seeking to slay Nirmathi warriors, burn crops, and destroy weapons and fortresses-and then withdrew, because they knew if they tarried overlong, it would mean death by guerrillas and snipers that killed and poisoned before slipping back into the trees. Still, Nirmathas had not the strength to mount any concerted invasion of Molthune, and death by death, season by season, Molthune was emptying Nirmathas of effective opposition. Someday, Nirmathas would again be part of Molthune. As it rightfully should be.
Tantaerra and The Masked nodded and mumbled assent in the right places as the officer warmed to his argument. Why did the stubborn Nirmathi refuse the good roads, better laws, and surer supplies of abundant food and wine that Molthuni citizenship would give them? No sane man would refuse such things! It must be bad leadership, bolstered by the resentment and blood-feuding of all these years of strife, it must, and…
The officer waved his hands, almost spilling his tankard, and Tantaerra saw a silver ring on his hand that matched the one worn by the soldier who'd lifted her down from her saddle. And suddenly she remembered where she'd seen it before: on the plump red finger of one of the bath women back in the Telcanor mansion.
A mark of Telcanor, then. Which meant this officer probably knew all about them, and was intended to help them across the Inkwater-indeed, had probably known it before they blundered into his stretch of riverbank. One fast rider sent out from Braganza before dawn could have forewarned him.
And Tarram had been supplying him with outrageous lies this entire meal! Oh, gods! But how to tell him, before his tongue hastened their common doom?
If she caught his eye and used one hand to rub a finger of the other-the same finger and spot on it where the officer was wearing his …
She did, and was startled to see The Masked wink at her, then-while agreeing aloud with the officer's praise of the benefits of Molthuni society-he casually waved a hand in the man's direction. Tantaerra looked where he was gesturing, and found the officer giving her a smug smile. Damned if the deep-voiced Molthuni didn't wink at her, too!