Chương 421: 416. The Compound - II

The scout shook his head.

"Not since we've been there. Either he's staying at the second compound, or he's in Kirnos." One of the guards snorted.

"Maybe he knows his end is coming and went there to ask for protection from his daddy." The others sniggered at that, before Feroy raised a finger to tell them to keep quiet.

"Is someone likely to come on this path?" The scout shrugged.

"Can't say for sure—they might or they might not. These bandits don't follow a regular schedule or somethin'." He rubbed at the side of his neck, fingers dirty with dried sap.

"I came here two days ago to wait for y'all, so I don't have the latest, but before I left I saw a pair of clay-carrying wagons being loaded. It's overdue to pass along this track soon. I thought it would've come by today, but it didn't. Perhaps there was some problem." Hudan glanced toward the north again.

"Then we have tonight safe enough to move as close to the compound as we can while walking on the track. Then we'll have to move through the forest tomorrow." The ex-mercenary stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. Tesyb could feel the pieces clicking into place behind Feroy's eyes, the way he always did it—calculating what the other side might notice, what they might expect, before anyone had even thought of it. Then Feroy shook his head once.

"No, we're not walking on the track." Hudan frowned.

"We need to hit the compound before Torhan comes back with who knows how many men. We can't waste any more time. Walking on the track is the fastest way, and nobody's coming here tonight."

"It's also the easiest way to leave traces," Feroy said.

"This many men walking on that packed track? Anyone with eyes will know we were here. And they'll realize there's no good reason for dozens of men to be heading toward the clay mine on foot. It could be any of their men out for hunting who follow this track back and see the trampled dirt, or even Torhan, who will surely get more men to flank us when we are not ready for it." Tesyb felt the reasoning of the former mercenary.

The scout's earlier mention of clay wagons only passing through occasionally had sounded safe enough, but Feroy was right. Thirty men didn't go north on foot on this path. Whether it was new slaves being taken to the compound or clay coming back to Kirnos—everything moved on wagons here. Torhan would likely be on horseback, while there wouldn't be enough hunters in that compound to make the kind of marks on the road which the boots of thirty men would. Hudan nodded after a moment.

"You're right. We can't risk it." The scout hesitated, then gave a slow nod.

"It'll be slower through the forest though."

"It will be," Feroy agreed.

"We'll do it anyway." Feroy turned slightly, scanning the three teams. His hand lifted, giving the familiar signals without raising his voice. The ex-mercenary's group immediately gathered around him. Tesyb responded at once, signaling his line to move closer, keeping his spacing tight and his men quiet. Hudan did the same on his side. The scout moved ahead, stepping into the darker stretch of forest as if he already had the route in his head.

Tesyb followed with his team, eyes fixed on the scout's back as the three groups slipped forward in the fading light.

By the time the light started to thin, Tesyb's legs had gone past the ache and into a dull, steady drag. They had walked until the last of the light yesterday, then moved again before dawn today. The hours blurred together—wet leaves, slick roots, the slow grind of keeping spacing while staying off the wagon track. Rain had come in the middle of the day, heavy enough that it drummed on their straw hats and soaked through sleeves in minutes.

It turned the ground soft and sticky, and the men's boots started pulling free with a wet sound every step. Feroy had finally called a stop under a cluster of large trees where the forest canopy was thick enough to break the worst of it. Water still ran down trunks in thin sheets. Packs and shields leaned against bark. Men kept their heads down and ate fast, hands cold and clumsy. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The rain eased after a couple of hours, but the air stayed thick. By late afternoon, mist hung low between the trees, and the sky was still a flat dark gray. Everything smelled of damp soil and crushed greenery. They stayed far enough from the wagon track that Tesyb only saw it in glimpses through the brush—two parallel ruts of packed dirt, a few broken branches on the sides, the occasional horse droppings.

In the afternoon they heard the rattle first: wooden wheels, iron fittings, the uneven clunk of a load shifting. Feroy signaled hard and low, and the whole group folded into the ground and behind trunks. Tesyb held still, face close to wet leaf litter. The sound grew louder, then steady. He caught a glimpse through a gap—two wagons, both piled high with clay in rough lumps, covered with an oilcloth, the sides smeared and streaked with the earlier rain washing off some of the cargo.

Two rough looking men led the small caravan—one on each of the drivers' seats—with weapons kept on the sides, not looking like they expected trouble. The wagons passed and the sound faded soon. Only after Feroy signaled again did anyone move. They rose carefully, checking straps, pulling packs back on, and started walking again. Joric complained for most of the day. It came in bursts—under his breath, then louder when he thought Feroy wasn't listening. His shoes weren't made for this, he said. His knees hurt.

He'd rather be on a road. But he didn't ask to stop for him, and Feroy didn't offer. When Joric fell behind, he pushed himself back into line without being told twice. Now, in the evening, they moved through a patch of trees that grew close together, trunks dark with damp. The ground under them was muddy, churned by their boots, and the mist made it hard to judge distance. The scout up front slowed, then raised a hand. Feroy was near the front of the moving column again.

He slipped forward, quiet, and the rest followed his pace. The scout pointed through the trees.

"Only a few hundred paces more," he said, voice low.

"There's a copse of trees ahead. Good place to rest tonight. I haven't seen any slaves or bandits go in that direction." Feroy looked the way the scout pointed, then nodded once.

"Then that's where we'll stay for now." They moved into the dense patch of trees before long, where the ground rose slightly and the trees formed a thicker screen. The space inside was cramped but hidden, and the undergrowth was heavy enough that it would break up shapes even in the day. When Feroy gave the final signal to stop, relief showed in small ways. A few men let out long breaths. Some rolled shoulders and worked stiff necks. Nobody spoke above a murmur. Then equipment started coming off.

Spears went down first, leaned against trees or laid within arm's reach. Shields came off the backs with a soft thump into mud. Packs were shrugged down carefully so buckles didn't clatter. Swords stayed on belts or were kept beside, but hands stopped resting on hilts. A few of the guards with crossbows wiped water from the wood and checked the strings under their cloaks. People shifted to find drier spots, but there weren't many. The mud took over everything first.

Tesyb lowered his own pack and set it beside a thick root that rose out of the ground like a bent knee. He sat next to his gear on the root. The compound was only a few hundred paces away now. Even with the mist and darkness, it felt too close to ignore or rest easy. Nurobo moved through the men, breath puffing in the cool air. He was still thick around the middle, but he was steady on his feet, and he had a practised way of looking at hands and faces as he walked.

The apprentice medic stayed with him, carrying a small roll of cloth and a pouch.

"Any cuts?" Nurobo asked in a low voice.

"Any blisters that split?" Most men shook their heads or gave short answers. A few showed scraped knuckles or a scratched palm where a sharp branch had rubbed. Nurobo dabbed at one with a cloth and after applying a thin paste of losuvil, he pressed a strip of clean fabric down and tied it up. One guard sat with his leg stretched out, jaw tight. The man had twisted his ankle earlier in the day after stepping in a puddle which was deeper than he expected, and he'd limped for hours without asking for a stop.

The boot was caked in mud up to the ankle, and when he finally loosened it, the skin underneath looked swollen. Nurobo crouched beside him and felt carefully around the joint. The guard's hands clenched in his lap, but he didn't pull away.

"I don't think it's broken," Nurobo muttered, "but you've made it worse walking on it."

"I had to keep up," the guard shrugged, "but I did use my spear for support." Nurobo snorted, then measured out a large pinch of losuvil powder and tipped it into the guard's mouth with two fingers.

"Don't move unless you have to." The guard nodded and swallowed. Tesyb settled nearby, sitting on the large root and letting his boots sink into mud. Around him, men ate in small bites—stale, hard bread, dried meat—whatever they could chew without lighting a fire. Water skins passed hand to hand. The sound of swallowing and quiet breathing carried more than usual in the damp air. He watched Hudan and Feroy step aside with the scout. They spoke low enough that Tesyb couldn't catch any words.

Feroy's head turned once toward the north, then to the east. Hudan made a short gesture towards the compound, too quick for Tesyb to see the full signal. After a while, the scout nodded and after taking a small satchel from Feroy, he slipped away into the trees.