The March North by Graydon Saunders Read Free Book Online Page B

doesn’t take much to borrow a sentry’s eyes; they’re getting better about staying lightly attached even when they’re nearly ritual sentries around a conditioning exercise. There’s a single horseman coming along the road, not raising as much dust as you’d expect and not moving anything like as slowly as the steady lope of the horse would imply.
    “Rust.”
    I am getting to dreadHalt’s benevolent smiles.
    The horse doesn’t look tired; it never does. But it’s got enough dust on it for three days’ ride. Rust, too, who gets a moment to dismount and wind the face-scarf off, dust and breath-mud cascading. Twitch and the gunners head straight over; they would have anyway, but I let them know I want them to hear this. I can hear the Master Gunner telling the sentries to lookoutward with some emphasis, then Hank’s settled acknowledgement of remaining officer of the day.
    “Is there a watch kept on the dry Westcreek?” Rust is dry of voice, surprising so for an Independent, and sketches a sort of this-would-be-a-bow-if-I-could-bend motion at Halt, taking the lemonade glass Halt passes. Something like Rust’s flask, the glass doesn’t seem to get empty.
    It’s Twitch’s turnto look flummoxed. “Not much point; it’s not natural dry, it’s made dry. Anybody goes down into it’s got maybe five minutes before they’re fatally mummified.”
    Rust nods. “These have some considerable sorcerous protection against that effect.”
    “Where are they?” Westcreek is the dry bed of what would be a navigable river. Rust wears too much dust to gauge, the dry Westcreek’s not that far away.
    “They’re lost.” Rust looks very oddly chagrined, saying this. “From Reems, and most extremely lost until I should permit them to be otherwise.” Rust hands Halt a single small five-mark gold coin, and Halt takes it while not saying “I told you you so” with such thoroughness that the small crawling things in the grass must hear it. “It would appear that the Archonate did not take the intended messagefrom our last meeting.”
    Two of the gunners look like they’d like to roll their eyes at that. The other two know enough about Rust to be with Twitch, looking worried. Twitch has been reading some extra history lately, and if you put Rust up against a substantial kingdom the historical good odds aren’t with the kingdom.
    Not a drill day.
    “Rust,
where
are they being lost?”
    Two sweeps of Rust’s hands,muttering darkly, and there’s a falling-from-heaven sort of map, contours and all, and if you squint, and get the standard to help, it’s got little guys in Archonate armour being very, very lost up and down the dust of the dry bed of Westcreek.
    “Sergeant-Major! Return to Westcreek town; sound the alarm, fall in the company in full field kit. March to — ” I have no idea what the road junction iscalled, so I point “ — by the quickest route. Expect messengers. Presume you may be attacked.” That’s going to take all of what’s left of today and a good chunk of tomorrow. “Get them there ready to fight.”
    “Part-Captain! Consolidate your battery, proceed with the company. You’re in command until I rejoin at — ” pointing again “ — full field camp; assume Rust missed the plentiful heavy infantryand some nasty fire-priests the guys in the creek are scouting for.” Rust doesn’t even ruffle. I don’t think Rust missed them, either. Still not how you plan. The standard lets me slide
avoid magical observation
to Blossom without having to say it out loud. Blossom nods, thinking look solidly in place.
    Magic can’t hide itself but it lies well enough.
    “Rust; how long have these guys got beforethey drop?”
    It’s an ornate shrug. “They’ll be pretty dry by the end of tomorrow.”
    “Can you make them selectively less lost? So we can be there waiting when they emerge?”
    Rust nods.
    “All right. You’re already exposed, so we’re going to use you and keep Halt back if