The Syldoon came to a stop in front of the group and saluted.
“Report, soldier.”
“Got some activity, Cap.”
Braylar stepped forward. “I gathered as much, since you nearly broke your neck racing down here to tell us as much. A few more details would be welcome.”
The soldier replied, “Aye, Cap. Sorry. Baron’s men, seems like they’re breaking camp.”
I couldn’t tell if Braylar was relieved or disappointed. “Pulling out?”
“Can’t say for sure, Cap. They’re pulling the pavilions down, alright, and some of the small tents too. But the command tent is still standing. And given that the commanders generally don’t like to choke on dust or step in shit, seems plenty queer that they haven’t broken that down yet. Plus, a lot of coming and going in the night the last few hours.”
Braylar turned to the beady-eyed Syldoon. “And that didn’t strike you as peculiar? Excessive traffic to Gurdinn’s tent?”
The soldier looked both red-faced and a bit confused. “Gurdinn, sir?”
“The man in the tent receiving so many midnight missives. In the future, please remember this moment the next time I ask you if anything unusual is afoot and be prepared to hurt your neck nodding furiously if you’ve encountered the same level of activity. In addition to preferring to keep their boots clean, commanders only like to be woken repeatedly or kept awake half the night for a phenomenally good reason.” He turned to the rest of our small assembly. “Come. Let’s see what to make of these camp happenings.”
The captain started up the hill as quickly as he could and still maintain his footing in the dark. The two soldiers loped after him and fell in on either side.
Mulldoos looked at Hewspear. “Devils take him, but he’s right too plaguing much.” Then the pair ascended as well.
Vendurro wasn’t struggling as much as the lieutenants-in fact, he seemed pretty adroit at avoiding injuries-but he chose to stay at my side as we followed. I wondered if he feared I’d stumble and roll back down to the bottom, or turn an ankle in the dark. Or possibly he just wanted some company. I imagine if Glesswik had been there, they would have kept pace with the rest.
He elbowed me in the side and nearly sent me toppling, so my safety clearly wasn’t paramount. “Mulldoos ain’t never found a comfort level of no kind with Bloodsounder. Distrusts the thing something fierce, even when it proves itself over and over. Can’t say I blame him-mighty unnatural. But it’s saved us more than once.”
I tried not to let my labored breathing show. “But it’s been mistaken before, hasn’t it? Led him astray.”
Vendurro pointed further up the hill, presumably at the soldiers and the captain ahead. “No more or less than anything else. Either way, he gets it more right than wrong. Lieutenant ought to quit fighting that fact so plaguing hard, no matter how plaguing queer the thing is.”
There might have been something to that. But just then, I was happy not to be wearing armor, despite my earlier misgivings. Trudging uphill in full Syldoon gear didn’t look like much fun, even if Vendurro had the youth and energy and training to show no ill effects.
When we got near the top of the incline, I saw the others had already gone prone and inched up to the edge, helmets off so as not to reflect any moonlight. I dropped to my belly and did the same, creeping forward until I could look down on the hunting lodge and surrounding area.
There were torches on the walls of the compound, and in the tall wooden towers along the wall, and while it was impossible to make out much in the way of detail, the shapes of the priestguards were hard not to miss, and the light glinting off mail or helms.
The besiegers’ small camp had plenty of torches too, away from the tents, and some in the hands of soldiers moving about, so it was even more difficult to discern much, except that there was plenty of activity, and while some figures didn’t catch the light, wearing gambesons, most were in hauberks.
Mulldoos shook his head. “If Gurdinn is down there-”
“He is,” Captain Killcoin countered emphatically, pointing out a figure striding between his men. He had a full hauberk as well with a coat of plates over the top, the rivets winking on and off as they caught the light, and his spaulders, steel vambraces, and finger gauntlets reflecting the fire and moon as well. There was no mistaking him for anyone other than the commander of the forces.
“Fine. That’s him,” Mulldoos said. “But what’s he plaguing playing at? That might not be a castle, but it’s a lot more fortified than any lodge has a right to be.”
Vendurro asked, “He can’t be thinking of attacking, can he? He’d be a fool to, right?”
Hewspear grunted as his ribs pressed against cold ground. “He is a stubborn man, but you’re right-it would be foolish to attack an enemy dug in like that. Especially since he doesn’t have siege engines. This is our first night-perhaps he’s ordered feinted attacks like this the last few nights and evenings.”
Mulldoos mulled that over. “Wear the holy bastards down, you think? Gurdinn’s got more men, for certain. Keeping watch on a wall tweaks your nerves tight as it is, but especially if you think an attack might be coming.”
“Or maybe,” Vendurro offered, “he feints a few nights in a row, until the priest’s guard is either so tired, or right sure it’s nothing but another fake, lets their guard down some.”
“Nah. He ain’t attacking. Like the wizened windmill said, he’s stubborn, but not stupid. Not that stupid, anyway.”
We watched and waited as the pearl light crept over the horizon to the east. The dawn suffused the thin clouds above the treeline. I rubbed my hands together, looking forward to the warmth the sun would bring, and wondered just how long we planned on laying in the dirt waiting for something to happen. I leaned close to Vendurro and tried to ask only so loud for him to hear, “Why would it be so foolish to attack? If it’s not as sound defensively as a castle, that is?”
But Hewspear overheard. “Not a castle, true. But they’d still have to make a break over open ground, arrows raining down, and then try to scale the wall. The defenders, even at a numerical disadvantage, are in a stronger position.”
“What’re you babbling on about?” Mulldoos asked.
Hewspear repeated my question, and Mulldoos looked over at me. I expected some hostility, but he was remarkably restrained. “Gurdinn’s got more men, twice as many, maybe. But he’d lose big numbers charging that wall. Not worth it. No commander orders a siege, even on a fortified hunting lodge. Not unless he’s got to.”
“You mean, if his men are starving or freezing?”
“Don’t go laying siege in the winter, scribbler. But starving, yeah, losing men to desertion, disease. None of which are in play here. Only been here a few days. No call to waste men on the walls at all.”
Hewspear, ever eager to contest his comrade’s opinion, said, “Unless there were other reasons the commander had little choice.”
“Such as?”
Vendurro piped up, “Maybe the commander don’t want to pay a visit to that table in the baron’s playroom you all told me about.”
Braylar said, “No, the Baron might be impatient, even impulsive, but he’s no fool-he would have no wish to see his men’s lives thrown away.”
“Even to capture a man who tried to kill him?”
Braylar shook his head. “Suspects attempted to kill him. That is the key. Suspects. That, and he values Captain Honeycock too highly.”
I watched the torches moving in Gurdinn’s camp. While the men wielding them seemed to be moving almost randomly before, several appeared to be forming up roughly into a square now.
“What if,” I asked carefully, “the High Priest is expecting reinforcements?”
Mulldoos turned and spit against a nearby tree. “Nah. They got their household guard, and some troops on hand. But no army to speak of. Gurdinn might not have one gathered here either, but he’s got a sizable enough force. Henny’s got no reinforcements.”