He had no doubt his Kullvordi were resourceful. The unforeseeable things that would inevitably come up, they’d probably handle better than most would. That was pretty much the way the hillsmen lived life. But the more things you foresaw and prepared for in advance, it seemed to him, the easier it would be to handle the rest of it.
Anyway they’d listened; even been impressed and enthused. Partly because he was going to let them fight at last, but even more because they had confidence in him, in his leadership. More confidence than he did. Not that he denigrated what he’d accomplished, from that decisive morning at the House of Heroes, to the confrontations with Slaney and Orthal. And in building and training his company since then. But to him, the challenges ahead seemed much greater. While to his rebels—he’d performed what they considered miracles, and they assumed he’d continue to.
He looked around at the platoon riding quietly through the night. Only occasionally had he heard a murmured exchange or comment. Beyond that was only the soft plod of hooves on dirt and the squeak of leather; they were doing a good job of keeping route security. He could sense no extreme tension, and he’d come to appreciate how sensitive he’d grown to other people’s unexpressed emotions, since Varia and Arbel had worked with him. These guys are a lot more interested in fighting than Slaney’s men were at the fallen timber, he told himself. Even with the cover of forest hours behind us, and a fight ahead that not all of us may live through.
Two well-hated bailiffs had been targeted, whose plundering and humiliation would please the flatlander peasants—bailiffs whose strongholds could be reached in something under a night’s ride from forest, on trails and roads where their travel would raise no alarm. One was well west, a long ride through wild and forested hills. The reeve in that shire was why Three Forks had been fertile recruiting ground, a reeve who’d selected bailiffs as harsh and arrogant as himself. Macurdy had assigned Jeremid to lead that raid; as a third-year Hero, Jeremid was by far his most competent officer. The other bailiwick chosen was a lot nearer, but the ride through open lowlands was longer and seemed more dangerous. That was the one he was riding to now.
In his mind, Macurdy began to review again what he knew about the bailiff’s stronghold. For whatever royal reason, bailiffs weren’t allowed a stockade. What they generally had, or so he’d been assured, was a fence not much taller than he was—a miniature palisade of stout locust stakes set in the ground, with stout oak posts every six feet or so—presumably white oak so they wouldn’t rot. The whole thing was tied together with a growth of thorny rose vines so no one could climb it. There’d be a padlocked wagon gate in front. He hadn’t seen padlocks in this world, but he imagined them as large and heavy. Next to it would be an access gate just wide enough to lead a horse through, barred on the inside, and guarded. Inside were large fierce dogs. This bothered Macurdy more than guards, though his men didn’t seem concerned.
For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything he hadn’t considered, but he kept reviewing doggedly. The biggest unknown at the village, it seemed to him, was how many men the bailiff would have on hand. Bailiffs were allowed eight armsmen on their permanent payroll, but in tax time they hired as many as thirty toughs from other bailiwicks to help collect the taxes. Would they be hanging around guarding the loot? His people seemed semiconfident they wouldn’t, but the possibility troubled Macurdy.
Still, it seemed to him likely that he’d get the loot and out of the village without serious losses. Then, instead of backtracking, they’d turn east. There was supposed to be an east-west road just north of the village, that would get them to the North Fork Road before midmorning. By that time the reeve would have been notified, and have his company on its way from his castle on the river west of Gormin Town. They’d be twice his number, better trained, better armed, and on fresher horses. Of course, by the time they caught him, their horses wouldn’t be so fresh, but his own men would have been in the saddle, or working or fighting, since dusk the evening before, and their horses wouldn’t have much run left in them.