One fact was sure: the man who planned the raid on the camp would not have only one string to his bow. Premian had not ridden these lands before, but he had studied the exquisite maps in the Great Library at Gulgothir, and knew that the area around Temple Stone was rich with hiding-places from which archers could attack his troops or send boulders hurtling down upon them. Under no circumstances would he lead his men headlong into the enemy’s arms. Sitting on his mount, he watched as the scout rode to the high ground. The man reached the top and then waved his arm in a circular motion, indicating the way was clear. Premian led his four companies forward once more.
His mouth was dry. Fishing in his saddle-bag, he produced a small silver coin which he put into his mouth to encourage saliva. The men would be watching him, and if he drank then so would they. According to the maps there was no major water supply in this region, though there were several dry river-beds. Often solid digging produced small seeps which would at least give the horses a drink. Or there might be hidden rock tanks of which the cartographers were unaware. Premian kept watch for bees, who never strayed far from water. So far he had seen nothing. Nor had the horses reacted to the shifting of the hot winds; they could scent water from great distances.
Premian summoned his Master Sergeant, Jomil. The man was close to fifty, and a veteran of Nadir campaigns. Heeling his horse alongside Premian he gave a crisp salute. His grizzled face looked even older now, with its two-day growth of silver bristles. ‘What do you think?’ he asked the man.
‘They’re close,’ answered Jomil. ‘I can almost smell them.’
‘Lord Larness requires prisoners,’ said Premian.’Relay that to the men.’
‘A reward would be pleasant,’ suggested Jomil.
‘There will be one, but do not announce it. I want no recklessness.’
‘Ah, but you are a careful man, sir,’ Jomil said, with a grin.
Premian smiled. ‘That is what I would like my grandchildren to say as I sit with them in the cool of an autumn garden. “He was a careful man.”‘
‘I already have grandchildren,’ Jomil told him.
‘Probably more than you know.’
‘No probably about it, sir.’ Jomil returned to his men, passing the word concerning prisoners. Premian lifted the white horsehair-plumed helm from his head and ran his fingers through his sweat-streaked blond hair. Just for a moment the wind felt cool as the sweat evaporated, then the oppressive heat began again. Premian replaced the helm.
Ahead the trail twisted and Temple Stone came into sight. Shaped like a giant bell, it reared up majestically towards the sky. Premian found it an impressive sight, and wished that he had the time to sketch it. The trail steepened towards a crest. Summoning Mikal, he told him to take his company of twenty-five to the crest and wait for the main body to follow. The young man saluted and led his men away to the east, Premian scowled. He was riding too fast – did he not understand that the horses were tired, and that water was scarce ?
Mikal and his men reached the crest – just in time to see a small group of four startled Nadir warriors running for their ponies. The Lord Gargan had said he wanted prisoners, and Mikal could almost hear the words of praise the general would heap upon him. ‘A gold raq for the man who captures one!’ he shouted, and spurred his mount. The gelding leapt forward. The Nadir scrambled to their mounts and kicked them into a run, sending up clouds of red dust as they galloped down the slope. The ponies were no match for Gothir horses, and it would be a matter of only moments before Mikal and his men reached them. Drawing his sabre, Mikal squinted against the dust and leaned in to the neck of his mount, urging it to greater speed. The Nadir rounded a bend in the trail. . . he could just make them out through the dust-cloud. His horse was at full gallop, his men bunched behind him as he rounded the bend. He saw the Nadir slightly to the left; their horses bunched and jumped, as if over a small fence.