ASOTAS - ASOIAF AU

[Noir]

Chapter One: The Empty Village
Part I
Captain Rhazdar zo Khoraz surveyed the remains of the small Lhazareen village through his field glasses. It was nearly noon March 23, 435 AC. Cooking fires should have been burning but the only smoke that he could see came from the roofless granary beside the square.

Rhazdar counted seventeen houses, a small shrine, two granaries, and a communal well. The settlement had been built upon a low rise overlooking a narrow stream, with fields of millet and barley extending south towards the distant hills. Beyond them lay the dry grasslands that marked the eastern approaches to the lands of the Lhazareen. He spied herds of sheep wandering through the dry grass. No carts moved on the road, no one tended to the animals. Six of the houses had burned so thoroughly only their blackened foundations remained.

He lowered his glasses.

"Dothraki," spat out the sergeant beside him, like an insult.

Rhazdar did not answer.

He had reached the same conclusion, though there were some details that complicated that conclusion. The northern frontier has been enduring another miserable season of raids, and village stood within easy riding distance of the grasslands. Still, there was something peculiar about the scene. He could see a cart overturned near the shrine, with what looked like a man's body beneath it. A raid, certainly. But the goats had been left, and the larger granary had not been emptied before someone set it alight.

Dothraki raiders generally had a greater appreciation for plunder.

"According to the magistrate the village was meant to have 21 buildings and 73 people" The captain said.

"Twenty-one, sir, yes, Seventeen houses, two granaries, a storehouse, and the shrine."

"And the population?"

"Seventy-three, yes sir. According to the magistrate, as of last harvest," Belicho shrugged " people move."

"Very well."

Rhazdar returned his field glasses to their leather case.

Rhazdar briefly pursed his lips. "We shall approach from the south. Take twelve men through the village and establish a perimeter on the northern road. I want the surrounding fields searched as well. If anyone is hiding out there, find them."

"Yes, Captain."

"Sergeant."

The man stopped.

"No one is to disturb the bodies until I have examined them."

"Understood, sir."

Sergeant Belicho saluted and turned towards the waiting cavalrymen.

Rhazdar watched him go.

Belicho was a good soldier. He had served as a frontier cavalry man for twenty years, he possessed considerable experience of frontier patrols, and understood his duties without requiring constant supervision. Rhazdar had recommended him for promotion twice, though neither application had yet been approved.

He suspected that Belicho was becoming rather tired of serving under him. He was after all Rhazdar senior in age and experience.

The sergeant was a broad, dark-skinned Ghiscari with a badly broken nose and a thick moustache that curled at the ends. He had a habit of speaking in an overly familiar way with the men, and his uniform was frequently in a state that Rhazdar valued him for his experience and knowledge of the country, though he sometimes wished the man remembered he was serving with the imperial army no a company of free riders.

This morning, the sergeant's collar was unfastened. Rhazdar was embarrassed that he had needed to correct his second in front of the men, but better that than allow for loose discipline.
He hoped he would not have to do so again.

The captain adjusted his gloves and mounted his horse. From atop his horse he took stock of himself making sure all was in order. At was thirty-two years of age he was one of the younger captains of the regiment, he was of medium height, with a lean figure and the handsome, rather severe features common among the old nobility of Ghiscar. His black hair was cut short and carefully parted, and a pencil-thin moustache adorned his upper lip.

His uniform was immaculate. The Imperial Cavalry regiment he was a part of wore beige drill tunics and trousers, with dark green collars and cuffs, polished brass buttons, and brown leather equipment. The officers' uniforms were distinguished by their shoulder insignia, better tailoring, and the narrow gold piping along the collar. Rhazdar's boots had been polished that morning. His belt was properly fastened, his revolver secured in its holster, and his sabre hung from his left hip. He wore a broad-brimmed campaign hat with the crowned stag of the imperial army upon its front. Even here, more than two weeks' ride from Astapor, he saw no reason to neglect his appearance.

The men under his command had learned this quickly.An improperly fastened belt or missing button earned an immediate reprimand. Other officers might make such allowances for impropriety, but not him. Rhazdar believed that discipline began with the smallest things. His men did not always agree, nor his sergeant, but they didn't need to agree.

He mounted and guided his horse down the slope. Twenty-nine cavalrymen followed him. Their own beige coats were dusty from the road, green collars darkened with sweat. Each man carried a Swann repeating carbine in a leather saddle scabbard.
They belonged to the Third Provincial Cavalry Regiment, a formation responsible for patrolling the northern approaches to Astapor and the eastern frontier of the land of the Lhazareen. A land of beset by Dothraki raiders. Their principal duties consisted of escorting merchants, protecting outlying settlements, intercepting raiders, and maintaining order across the more remote districts. It was necessary work, though seldom distinguished.

Rhazdar had commanded the detachment for almost four years. Before that he had served as a lieutenant in the same regiment. He had received excellent evaluations throughout his career, and his superiors had repeatedly praised his organizational ability, knowledge of the region, and competence in the field. None of these qualities had secured him promotion beyond captain. He knew the reason well enough.

The higher appointments in both regular and even in the provincial army remained overwhelmingly in Westerosi hands. The colonel commanding the regiment at Astapor was Ser Roland Fell, a Stormlander who had arrived in Ghiscar three years earlier. Rhazdar did not believe Fell was an incompetent officer, but his knowledge of the province was limited, and his understanding of the frontier had been acquired largely from reports prepared by the men serving beneath him. He had nevertheless received his colonelcy at forty. Rhazdar had been twenty-eight when he first applied for a majority. He had been unsuccessful. He had applied again the following year. And again after that.

The board overseeing such promotions had consistently described him as promising, while recommending that he acquire additional experience before assuming greater responsibility. His ancient blood counted for much in some circles, but in the military, Ghiscari blood either common or noble counts for little and less.

He did not discuss such frustrations with the men. Such complaints were beneath the dignity of an officer.

The army had its faults, but it remained one of the great institutions of the empire, and Rhazdar was, despite its flaws, proud to serve it.

He was equally proud of his family's long history.

The Khoraz were an old Ghiscari house, their ancestry extending back through centuries of noble service to Astapor, both in provincial offices, and military service. His grandfather had possessed extensive lands near Astapor, and his great-grandfather had sat upon the governing council of the city before the final imperial conquest. The family's fortunes had declined somewhat since then, which was part of the reason a man of his standing was serving in a frontier cavalry regiment. Much of its landed wealth had disappeared through inheritance disputes, changing property laws, and the gradual replacement of the old nobility by merchants, industrialists and the encroachment of the Westerosi. Rhazdar's father had retained a respectable estate, but the income was insufficient to support the life his ancestors had once enjoyed. A military career had therefore seemed appropriate.
It offered status, respectable employment, and the possibility of advancement through merit.

At least in principle.

He put the thought aside as the village came into closer view, the hot sun caused the air to shimmer, distorting his vision.
The smell reached them as soon as they entered the settlement. Burned wood, damp ashes, and the unpleasant sweet scent of decaying flesh. A chicken pecked at something beside a broken fence and darted away at their approach. Rhazdar passed a cottage whose door had been smashed inward. Inside scattered clothing and household implements laid across the floor.
Rhazdar raised one gloved fist.

The cavalry halted.

"Corporal Nerez. Take four men and search the western fields. Remain within sight of the village. If you discover tracks, preserve them."

"Yes, sir."
"Trooper Varqo, you will accompany me."

The young soldier straightened in his saddle.

"Sir."

"Sergeant Belicho will secure the northern road. The rest will remain with the horses until instructed otherwise."

He dismounted.

The village was quiet.

A few chickens wandered among the houses, pecking at the ground. A goat stood beside the communal well, its tether dragging behind it. The animal watched the soldiers approach, then returned to chewing a strip of cloth hanging from a broken fence. He continued towards the village square. The first body he saw lay near the well.

It was an elderly man, dressed in a coarse brown tunic and woolen trousers. A deep wound crossed his chest, and several smaller cuts marked his arms. Rhazdar knelt beside him. He stunk, but that was hardly unexpected. The principal wound was curved. An arakh could have made it. He examined the dead man's hands. The fingers were bruised and broken, and a little blood had dried beneath the nails. The old fellow had fought, or tried to at least.

Rhazdar frowned as he rose.

Another body lay near the granary. This one was younger, perhaps twenty, with a narrow face and dark hair. He had been struck in the back, and his body was partly burned. Continuing to search though the village he found a third corpse laying beneath the remains of a cart. Eventually Rhazdar counted five in all. Seventy-three inhabitants. Five bodies. He looked around the square.
There were no other obvious graves or remains, though the burned houses would require closer examination.

He had expected to find more.

"Captain."

Belicho approached from the northern road.

"The village is clear, sir. No armed men. We've found two more bodies in the fields, both villagers."

"Seven dead so far then. Any survivors?"

"None yet. The houses are mostly empty. Some livestock remains, but we haven't found much else."

Rhazdar looked towards the northern road.

"Tracks?"

Belicho briefly took his hat off to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"Horsemen coming in from the north. Wagons came in and out the same way. More traffic than would be expected for a small raid."

Rhazdar was surprised, wagons?

"Wagons?"

"yes, Captain, ehh, three I'd say. Perhaps four. The road is hard but they left some deep ruts in the soft ground by the stream."

Rhazdar frowned.

"If they brought wagons, why wouldn't they steal the grain?"

Rhazdar shook his head. "How many horses do you reckon?"

"ohh, hard to say. Perhaps thirty horses, slightly less or more."

"And the inhabitants? Any sign of them?" They must have gone somewhere…

Belicho hesitated. Rhazdar gestured for him to speak.

"There's something else, sir. I thought you'd want to see it."

He indicated the burned granary.

Rhazdar followed him, though he was starting to get impatient, this better be worth his time.

The building had suffered less damage than the others. Its stone foundation remained intact, and the fire had failed to spread through the entire interior. Though parts of the roof had fallen across the eastern corner. A soldier stood near the entrance, holding his rifle across his chest. He saluted as the officers approached.

"Sir."

Rhazdar returned the salute.

Belicho led him through the doorway. The granary smelled of wet ash and spilled grain. Sacks had been torn open, leaving barley scattered across the floor. Several wooden beams lay among the debris, their surfaces blackened by fire. Near the rear wall lay another body.

Rhazdar stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw it. The man was unlike any of the other villagers. His corpse was tall and remarkably pale, even for a corpse, especially for a corpse in this country, he had fine features and long black hair tied behind his head. He wore a dark robe of good quality, its fabric embroidered with narrow patterns in blue thread. His lips were dark blue, or purplish. A knife protruded from beneath his ribs. Rhazdar crouched beside the corpse, careful not to kneel in the ash.
Judging by the blood upon the man's clothing and the floor, he had died where he lay. The knife was a simple agricultural blade, with a wooden handle and a curved edge. Probably taken from one of the villagers, or used by one of them. The captain examined the man's hands. They were slender, with carefully trimmed nails. No calluses.

He looked at the face again.

" Not from here that's certain, Qartheen?" Belicho suggested.

"Possibly."

Rhazdar had encountered merchants from Qarth before. Though only from a distance, the man's pale complexion and clothing were consistent with that origin, though neither was conclusive. He could be a particularly pale Westerosi. Varqo entered behind them. He looked at the corpse.

"Blue lips."

Rhazdar glanced at him.
He narrowed his eyes "I can see that, Trooper."

"Begging your pardon, sir. I meant the drink. Ohh, the Shade of the evening. They drink it in Qarth, don't they? The warlocks? Or they did at least once."

Rhazdar considered the dead man in a new light.

He had heard stories of the substance, old stories from before the Second Long Night. Shade of the evening was supposedly an intoxicating drink associated with certain dark mysteries of Qarth. Its effects had been described to him as a child in some children's tales of dark demon worshipping sorcerers. The blue lips were consistent with that legend though Rhazdar had never encountered anyone who admitted to drinking it.

"There could be a hundred other things that can turn a man's lips blue." He said, though he had his doubt, there could be many reasons for blue lips, but for a Qartheen to have them seemed auspicious.

He crouched once again and carefully opened the man's robe. Beneath it, the corpse wore a dark shirt and narrow leather belt. A small pouch hung at his waist. Rhazdar examined the contents. Three silver stags but of clear Qartheen origin, as could be seen on its obverse with the symbol of a lone tower. There was also a piece of folded paper, stained with blood. A little stoppered bottle containing a thick blue liquid. And a small black pendant. The pendant was made of polished stone or glass, shaped into a narrow oval. Its surface bore an unfamiliar symbol, two oddly shaped pale green wings, with black dots in either corner of the wings, similar to eyes.

He turned it over.

There was no inscription.

"Have you seen anything like this?" he asked.

Belicho shook his head.

"No, sir."

"Varqo?"

"No, Captain."

Rhazdar returned the pendant to the pouch and unfolded the paper.
The writing was badly damaged by blood, but several lines remained legible.
The characters, however, were unfamiliar. The writing used characters he didn't recognize. Some seemed similar to old Ghiscari forms, others nothing at all. He knew Astapori Valyrian, High Valyrian and the common tongue, and could identify the ordinary scripts used by merchants from several eastern cities. This was none of them.

Belicho studied the later over the captain's shoulder. "The district magistrate may recognize them."

"The magistrate will recognize the seal on my report. As for this—" Rhazdar wrapped the pendant carefully in a clean cloth. "It goes to the regiment. The colonel may choose to involve the Lidless Eye."

Belicho did not respond, he didn't need to, the army's feelings towards the lidless eye was almost universal. He could understand the discomfort. The Eye operated outside the ordinary military hierarchy, answering directly to the emperor, and took its own view of what information ought to be shared.

Rhazdar folded it again.
"Have this man carried outside. Keep him separate from the villagers. I want the body examined properly when we return to Astapor."

Belicho nodded.
"Yes, sir."

"And make certain none of the men remove anything from him."

The old sergeant gave him a brief look.
"I'll see to it. I leave a man on guard."

Rhazdar stood.

The dead man's blue lips, his whole existence at this village troubled him.
He had every expectation to find evidence of Dothraki raiders. Instead, a Qartheen stranger lay dead in a Ghiscari village more than two week's ride from the nearest major city. It was possible that he had been traveling with the raiders. But why? The Dothraki had little affection for Qarth, and there were more reliable men to hire if he wished for an armed escort. Something was amiss.

Rhazdar brushed a little ash from his gloves.
"Have some of your men search the surrounding buildings again. I want to know whether there are any more foreigners among the dead."

"Yes, Captain."

He returned to the square. The Dothraki had been a persistent problem on the northern and eastern frontier for generations.
Their power was far less extensive than it had once been. The expansion of imperial settlement into the western Dothraki Sea had transformed much of the old grassland. Agricultural colonies, fortified towns, military roads and even some railways had gradually displaced the khalasars that once roamed the region. The destruction of Vaes Dothrak had been the decisive event.
Sixty years earlier, a great Dothraki coalition had attempted to challenge the expansion of imperial authority across the grass sea. The resulting conflict had ended with the destruction of their sacred city by dragon fire. Its ruins still lay upon the plain.
Afterward, most of the surviving khalasars withdrew eastward.

Many eventually accepted imperial authority, settled in designated territories, or entered military service as auxiliary cavalry.
Others continued, to this day, their traditional way of life beyond the settled frontier. Often crossing back into imperial territory to raid. Rhazdar had spent much of his career pursuing them. He understood their tactics reasonably well. Dothraki raiders relied upon mobility, surprise, and their remarkable skill as horsemen. They generally avoided prolonged engagements against disciplined imperial troops, particularly those equipped with modern firearms.

But isolated settlements remained vulnerable to the savages. A khalasar could cross the frontier, plunder several villages, and disappear into the grasslands before a sufficient force could be assembled to pursue it. The provincial cavalry existed largely to prevent such raids. Rhazdar's detachment was unusually well equipped for the task. Each trooper carried a Swann-pattern repeating carbine, manufactured by Dondarrion Industries. The weapon was short enough to be carried comfortably on horseback and operated by a lever beneath the receiver. Its tubular magazine held several metallic cartridges, allowing a trained soldier to fire repeatedly without the laborious process of reloading a muzzle-loading musket or a bolt action rifle like most of the provincial cavalry used.

The carbines were expensive, almost all infantry regiments still relied upon muskets of both smoothbore and rifled variety.
For mounted troops operating far from immediate support, however, the increased fire rate was a considerable advantage. As such cavalry always carried back loaded rifles of one kind or another. Rhazdar himself carried a six-shot revolver, a curved cavalry sabre, and a dagger.

He preferred the sabre.
Any good officer ought to know how to wield a sword.

Nevertheless, he had seen enough men killed by firearms to appreciate the usefulness of his revolver.
His men carried sufficient ammunition for several days of fighting, though he made sure to warn them against wasteful shooting.

Ammunition was not easily replaced on the frontier, particularly Swann rifle cartridges. The regiment's standing instructions recommended that patrols employ Dothraki scouts when operating near the grasslands. Rhazdar had chosen not to do so, he could never abide them, savage, undisciplined, unreliable, that was his experience as a lieutenant. Once he got his own command he put a stop to any notion of him employing such men, and putting his life and safety in their care. Several friendly khalasars outside the frontier maintained agreements with the provincial government, providing scouts, guides, and auxiliary riders in exchange for payment and certain grazing rights, within imperial territory. Other auxiliaries came from within the empire itself from settled and supposedly civilized Dothraki.

Colonel Fell encouraged their employment. Rhazdar disliked the frontier forces overreliance on such men. The Dothraki are excessively proud of skills that any properly trained frontier cavalryman ought to possess. His own soldiers had received instruction in tracking, navigation, and frontier reconnaissance. He saw little reason to depend upon tribesmen who frequently refused to wear regulation uniforms or obey the ordinary requirements of military discipline.
Belicho had suggested employing two Dothraki guides before the patrol departed.

Rhazdar had declined.

Now, looking at the tracks near the northern road, he wondered if the vaunted tracking skills of the savages might have given more clues as to what had happened.

There were several distinct sets of hoofprints. Some belonged to horses wearing iron shoes. Others were made by unshod animals. The distinction did not prove much. Dothraki horses were generally unshod, but so were many of the animals kept by local herders. More interesting were the wagon tracks. Rhazdar crouched beside a pair of deep ruts in the dry earth. The wheels had cut into the ground, leaving clear impressions. He concluded that at least three wagons had passed through the village.

Maybe more.

The tracks led north.
He examined the road for another minute.

"Sergeant." He studied his gloves for any sign of dirt.
Belicho approached.
"Sir?"

"Did you find anything taken from the granary?"
"Nothing obvious. Most of the grain is still inside."

"And the livestock?"
Belicho scratched his stubble filled chin, Rhazdar made a note to order his sergeant to shave.
"Several goats might be missing, based on some of the broken enclosures. Though they could've wandered off."

Rhazdar glanced towards the ruined houses.
"They've left everything else."
Belicho nodded.
"Strange for Dothraki."

"Quite strange" He didn't like it.

The captain rose.

"Have the men found any sign of the inhabitants leaving on foot?"

"Some tracks behind the western houses. Corporal Nerez is examining them now."

He gestured "Show me."

They walked through the village.

A narrow path led between two houses towards a line of scrub-covered hills. The ground was dry and stony, but in several places the dust had preserved impressions of shoes and bare feet.
Rhazdar crouched to examine them.

There were adults, a child too.

He followed the marks with his eyes.

They disappeared among the rocks, further ahead.
"Most likely from the survivors," Belicho said.

Obviously

"most likely, yes."

Rhazdar considered the direction.
The main wagon tracks led north.
These footprints appeared to turn west, away from the any of the roads.

"Find Nerez," he said. "Tell him to join us with his men."

The sergeant saluted.
Rhazdar remained beside the path, with private Varqo.

He looked again at the village. Seventy-three inhabitants. Seven bodies had been found. Perhaps the rest had been carried away. The thought was unpleasant.

The old slave markets of Astapor had been abolished more than a century earlier, following Daenerys Targaryen's conquest. The entire region was now officially known as the Bay of Ghiscar, rather than the repugnant old name of Slavers bay. The practice of slavery was forbidden throughout the empire.

Nevertheless, the history of the region had not been entirely forgotten or abandoned.
There were still stories of illegal slave traders operating beyond the imperial frontier moving men and women though organized crime networks or various savage tribes like the Dothraki Khalasars.
Some kidnapped travelers or villagers and carried them east, where the reach of imperial authority was weaker.
Rhazdar had never personally encountered such a group.
He knew that several had been destroyed by the provincial army during the previous decade.
Perhaps another had emerged.

But the presence of the Qartheen stranger remained an oddity.
Rhazdar looked towards the hills where the footprints lead.

"Captain!"

Corporal Nerez was approaching with four mounted men.
Rhazdar indicated the hills with his hand.

"follow the footprints as best you can and begin searching those hills!"

"Yes sir" Corporal Nerez made an awkward salute from his horse.

Rhazdar watched him and his four men ride beside the tracks before splitting up at the hills having clearly lost any track to follow.
Rhazdar approached the hills more slowly on foot, followed just behind by the private.
Nerez returned to Rhazdar side just as the captain was climbing the first hill.

"We found something, sir!" The corporal seemed pleased.

"What?"

"A little blood on the stones. Looks as though someone went up the ravine."

"How many?"

The corporal looked at him with wide eyes "impossible to say sir. Not many!"

Rhazdar looked at the narrow path.

"Can you follow it?"

"Yes, ser. But ahh uhhm not on horse, Ser."

Rhazdar nodded.

"Then leave two of your men with the horses and lead on."

They left two men to guard the horses.
The remaining two, private Varqo and Nerez followed Rhazdar into the hills.
The terrain became increasingly difficult.
Low ridges of reddish stone rose above narrow gullies, their slopes covered in dry grass and thorny shrubs. Here and there, small trees grew beside the seasonal streams that carried water down from the higher ground.

The afternoon sun was baking hot.
Rhazdar removed his hat briefly to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then replaced it.
He had no intention of allowing the men to see him wandering about bareheaded, nor let the sun cook his brain like an egg.
They followed the tracks for nearly an hour.

At several points, the trail disappeared entirely on the stony ground of the hills.
Nerez and his men was obliged to search the surrounding ground, looking for displaced stones, broken branches, and the occasional impression of a foot in softer earth.
Rhazdar watched him work.

The corporal was a young man from a farming family near Astapor, and he possessed a useful familiarity with the countryside.
His tracking was competent.
Though Rhazdar recalled how Dothraki scouts would often be able to find and follow a trail considerably faster.

The path eventually entered a narrow ravine.
A little stream flowed along its bottom, barely more than a trickle between the stones.
Nerez stopped.

"Sir."

He pointed towards the opposite bank.
There, beneath a low overhang, lay the remains of a small fire.
Rhazdar approached, the ashes were cold.
Beside them were several pieces of broken pottery and a strip of cloth.
Rhazdar examined the site.

Someone had sheltered here. Recently, a day? Two days? The bodies in the village couldn't have been more than two to three days old.
He looked towards the upper rocks.
There were several narrow caves in the hillside.

One lay partly concealed behind a dense growth of thorny bushes. One bush had a small piece of cloth attached.
He raised his hand.
The soldiers halted.

"Nerez. Take two man to the left. I will take the other to the right with Varqo. No shooting unless fired upon."

The sergeant nodded.

Rhazdar drew his revolver.

The men moved carefully towards the caves.

Their boots scraped against the stones.
A bird rose suddenly from the bushes, startling one of the younger troopers who nearly dropped his rifle.
Rhazdar cursed inwardly, but ignored the fool for now.

He approached the opening from the right peeking his head to look inside.
It was dark within.
A little cold air moved through the entrance.

"Imperial Cavalry!" he called in the Astapori vernacular. "If anyone is inside, come out!"
There was no answer.

He waited.

Then something moved in the darkness.
A frightened voice called out.

"Don't shoot!"

Rhazdar lowered his revolver slightly.
"Come out where I can see you."

A figure appeared near the entrance.
It was a woman, perhaps forty years old, dressed in a torn brown gown. Her hair was disheveled, and a bad cut marked one side of her face only partially and poorly bandaged.
She looked at the soldiers.
Her eyes widened.

"You're from Astapor?"

"Imperial Cavalry," Rhazdar repeated. "Are there others inside?"
The woman hesitated.

"Three."
"Tell them to come out."
"They're frightened."

"We have food and water. No one will harm them." He assured

She turned and spoke into the cave.
After a moment, a young man emerged. He supported an elderly woman whose left leg had been roughly bandaged with strips of cloth. A little girl followed them. The child clung to the young man's tunic, staring at the soldiers with wide eyes.
Rhazdar returned his revolver to its holster.

"Corporal, bring the water."

Nerez removed a flask from his belt.
One of the troopers produced a parcel containing bread and dried meat, from his pack.
The survivors accepted the offerings eagerly.

The little girl drank so quickly that the young man was obliged to pull the flask away from her.
"Slowly," he murmured. "You'll make yourself sick!" The girl began crying but he gave it back.
Rhazdar waited while they ate.

He had learned long ago that frightened people were seldom useful witnesses but give them a little food and they might be of some use. The woman sat upon a flat stone near the cave entrance.
Her hands trembled.

Rhazdar crouched before her.
"My name is Captain Rhazdar zo Khoraz. I command the cavalry patrol operating in this district. What is your name?"
"Talarra."
"Are you from the village below?"
She nodded.

"How long have you been here?"
"Two nights. Since they came."

"Who came?"
"The riders."

Like pulling teeth, always the most useless possible answer from civilians.

"Dothraki?"

She shook her head, then nodded. He tried his best not to sigh.

"Some of them."

Rhazdar glanced at Nerez.

"Explain." He made sure to enunciate every syllable.

The woman looked down at her hands.
"They came at night. We heard horses, then shouting. My husband went outside to see what was happening."
She swallowed.
"They struck him down."

"Did they kill him?"
"I don't know." Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes.
Rhazdar waited.

The woman pressed a hand against her mouth.
"I saw him fall. Then they broke the door."
He made note of the contradiction she saw him fall but the door was closed? The windows would surely have been shuttered as well, otherwise they would have just come in from there.

"You saw him through the shutters?"

The woman grimaced.
"I, I… don't remember… I saw him fall…" Tears rolled down her eyes, she cupped her hand against her mouth again and began to sob. "T, T ,T Thheen they b, broke ddown the door, huegh. They grapped me! My little girl!…"

Rhazdar tried to focus her attention back on more practical matters, and prevent a complete hysteria attack.
"What did the men look like?"

Talarra visible tried to pull herself together, frowning in thought.
"Some were. Dothraki I mean. They had the long hair and the curved swords, bows, muskets too. But there were others."
Her body shook when she mentioned the "others"

"What others?"

"Men in dark clothes."

"Like robes?"
"Yes. Long robes. Some had their faces covered."

Rhazdar reached into his coat and removed the small black pendant recovered from the corpse.

"Did any of them wear this?"

The woman's expression changed.
She recoiled slightly.

"Where did you get that?"

"From one of the dead men in your village."

She stared at the pendant with wide eyes, tears drying on her cheeks.
"He's dead?"

"A pale man. Dark robes. Blue lips."

Talarra nodded rapidly, wiping her eyes, careful not to touch the bandage.
"Yes. Yes, that's one of them."

"Did you see how he died?"

She turned towards the young man.
"Marqo."

The young man looked up.

Rhazdar regarded him.
"Come here." He ordered.

Marqo helped the old woman settle against the cave wall, then approached.

He was perhaps eighteen, thin and exhausted, with a shallow cut across his forehead.
"You killed the man in the granary?" Rhazdar asked.

Marqo hesitated.
"He was taking my sister."

"Tell me what happened."

The young man stared at the ground.
"We were hiding in the granary. My mother, my sister, and me. They found us."

Always they, dammit "Who?"

"Three men. Two with swords and one of the pale ones."

"The man with blue lips?"

Marqo nodded and clenched his hands.
"He told the others to take my mother and sister. I had a knife. I stabbed him when he turned away."

He was stabbed in the stomach, not the back though. Rhazdar moved on.
"What happened to the other two?"

"They hit me. I fell. Then someone shouted outside, and they ran out."

That would be unusual, to leave a murdered comrade unavenged, even for Dothraki.

"Did you see where they went?"

"No."

Rhazdar steepled his gloved hands together.
"How did you escape?"

"My mother helped me. I could barely walk, we went through the back of the granary and into the fields."

Rhazdar glanced towards the elderly woman.
"Is that your mother?"

"No. My grandmother. They took my mother."

The captain looked at him for a moment.
"And your sister?"

"They took her too."

"How old is she?"

"Thirteen."

"When was your mother and sister taken, then?"

"in the field they rode us down" He starred at the ground ashamed. "I managed to run. Grandma found me wandering the hills."
Rhazdar made a note in his pocketbook.

He asked several further questions, establishing as far as possible the sequence of the attack.

The raiders had entered the village shortly after midnight. The Dothraki horsemen surrounded the settlement while the robed men and their armed escorts moved between the houses. The inhabitants were forced outside. Those who resisted were killed.
Most were bound and taken towards the northern road, some were placed in wagons. The survivors disagreed over the number of attackers.

Talarra believed there had been more than fifty.
Marqo thought there were perhaps thirty.
The elderly woman had seen very little.
The child refused to speak.

Rhazdar listened patiently, occasionally asking them to repeat a detail, though he knew most of the details would most likely be wrong. That was almost always the case with civilians. Talarra's husband was a perfect example, the door and shutters closed, yet she had a clear view of her husband falling, yet she could not remember how?

He was however beginning to seriously doubt that the raid had been planned primarily by a Dothraki Khalasar.
The horsemen appeared to have acted as guards and auxiliaries. The robed strangers had seemingly directed the operation. Dothraki khalasars were rarely willing to accept the authority of foreigners, particularly those who were poor horsemen. Yet these Dothraki had apparently obeyed the strangers without protest.

Rhazdar returned his pencil to the pocketbook.
"Did the raiders take anything besides the villagers?"

Talarra shook her head, then stopped considering and nodded.
Emperor preserve me.
"Not much. Some food. A few goats."

"Money? Jewelry?"

"I don't know." She shook her head.

"Did they search the houses?" He asked slowly.

"Yes."

"For valuables, perhaps?"

"They were looking for people." This time there was no hesitation.

Rhazdar paused.
"What do you mean?"

"They asked how many lived in each house. How many children. Who was missing. They beat them for answers."

She shuddered.

"Did they say why?"

"No."

"Did they mention where they were taking them?"

Talarra shook her head, then nodded "Not quite one of them said, ahh… he said, something like, that they had to reach the others before the next moon. That! They, that they couldn't keep waiting for every village."

"Anything else?"

The woman hesitated, she frowned deeply.

"He said the master would be angry if they brought too few."

Rhazdar wrote it down.
"The master?"

"That's what he said."

"Did any of the men give a name?"

She shook her head.
"Not that I heard."

Rhazdar closed his pocketbook.
He sat back on his heels.
This was no ordinary raid, that much was clear.

The systematic seizure of villagers, the presence of the Qartheen stranger, and the references to some larger gathering suggested an organized enterprise operating across a considerable area.
Most likely a slave-trading conspiracy.

But the methods were strange.
Why take entire families, even the elderly?
Why risk armed intervention by attacking a village so close to an established patrol route?
And why these dark robed Qartheen with their strange symbols?
He pulled out the pendant again.
The black stone felt smooth beneath his fingers.

He had seen similar objects associated with obscure religious orders, particularly those operating in the eastern cities.
Some were harmless. Others had been prohibited under imperial law. The Lidless Eye maintained extensive records of such organizations, though access to those records was restricted, to member of that organization, or those authorized by it.
Rhazdar disliked thinking of the Lidless Eye, its agents were a mystery, accountable only to the emperor they went where they pleased in pursuit of their mandate to gather magical artifacts, lore and to capture any sorcerer or witch they found.
Its agents had the reputation of bogymen. Nevertheless, the dead man in the granary might warrant their attention.

He returned the pendant to his coat.
"Did you hear the men praying?" he asked.

Talarra blinked she looked uncertain.
"Praying?"

"Reciting words together. Chanting." He gestured "Anything of that kind."

She considered, shaking her head halfway before transitioning into a nod.
"Some of them were singing." She looked up at him as though afraid she had given the wrong answer.

"What did they sing?"

"I couldn't understand it." She looked down again.

"Was it Valyrian?"
"No."
"Ghiscari?"
"No."
How would you even know?

Rhazdar glanced towards Marqo.
"Did you hear it?"

The young man nodded.
"Only a little."

"Can you remember anything?"
Marqo hesitated, then repeated several sounds.

The words were unfamiliar.
Rhazdar asked him to repeat them.
He did.

The captain recognized nothing. Most likely gibberish probably nowhere near the actual sounds they made that night. But best to be thorough.

He spoke Astapori Valyrian, High Valyrian, and the Common Tongue fluently, and possessed some knowledge of several neighboring languages acquired through military service.

The words or most likely random sounds resembled none of them.
He wrote them down as best he could.

Perhaps a linguist in Astapor would recognize them, though the chance seemed remote.

"Did the pale man speak the same language?" he asked.

"No" Marqo answered. "He spoke high Valyrian though."

"Could you tell me what he said?"

"He told some of the other robed men to hurry."

Rhazdar was surprised the village boy could recognize the high Valyrian.

Marqo apparently recognized his disbelief he looked towards the cave.
"I learned some from our priest. He shouted something about, I think, something like, the offering had to be prepared."

The captain's pencil stopped.
"The offering?"

"That's what he said…. I think."

Rhazdar narrowed his eyes "What offering?"

"I don't know, ser."

Rhazdar studied him.

The young man appeared frightened and exhausted, but there was no obvious reason to doubt his account. Or rather that the boy believed his account. Whether it was accurate was a different matter.

He put away the notebook. A criminal company abducting villagers was bad enough. A company deliberately collecting adults and children for a ritual suggested a different sort of urgency. The dead Qartheen and his charms had seemed theatrical when Rhazdar first saw them. They seemed less harmless now.

In the Bay of Ghiscar, where the old gods had lost much of their authority following the Long Night, new religious movements occasionally appeared among the rural population. Most of them harmless.
Some worshipped ancient Ghiscari deities.
Others followed eastern mystics or the various interpretations of R'hllor.

Rhazdar had little patience for any of them. He was a follower of the immortal Emperor.
The faith had emerged in the Bay of Ghiscar during the generations following the Long Night. Its adherents rejected the existence of all other gods, holding that Steffon I alone possessed true divinity.
The Seven were false.
R'hllor was false.
The ancient gods of Ghis, Qarth, and the Dothraki were likewise false.
Only the emperor had demonstrated his power through the salvation of all mankind.
Rhazdar considered this self-evident.
The emperor was alive, immortal.
His victories were recorded in history, in the memory of all mankind.
He had destroyed the Drowned God, defeated the Others, fought demons in Stygai and ended the Long Night.
The priests of the Seven and R'hllor might dispute the precise source of his divine might, his power and immortality, but neither denied his divine nature.
Rhazdar had little interest in their theological arguments.

He attended services at the temple of the one in Astapor whenever his duties permitted, paid his annual offerings, and observed the principal festivals of the faith. Most of which coincided with the older festivals of the city.
He was not particularly fond of religious debate.
The emperor required obedience and proper conduct.
That was sufficient service, in Rhazdar's eyes.

These fanatics or slavers or fanatic slavers are a blight that much is clear but it is one thing to enslave another it is another thing to blaspheme and attack the emperors flock in the name of some demonic deity. That would be the worst crime Rhazdar could imagine.

He returned to the present.

"Have you seen any other strangers in the district recently?"

Talarra shook her head.
"Only merchants passing through."

Rhazdar waited moment. "Any wandering priests, perhaps?"

"No." She shook her head.

"Men asking for food or shelter?"

"Not that I remember." She shook her head.

Rhazdar nodded.
"Very well."

He rose.
"Corporal, arrange for these people to be escorted to the village. They will require medical attention a litter must be made for the old lady"

Nerez saluted.
"Yes, Captain."

The corporal turned towards his men, he ordered them to find two branches that could be used to construct a litter using the sleeping blankets the men used.

Rhazdar looked at Talarra.
"You are safe for the moment. My men will help you get south."

She caught his sleeve.
"My husband," tears gathered in her eyes "my daughter." She sobbed.

The captain stopped, slightly annoyed.
"We will find them" he said hopping she would let go.

He glanced towards Marqo.
"We know the direction in which the raiders traveled. We will follow them."

Talarra looked at him with an expression he found difficult to meet. She still hadn't let go.
"Please bring her home."

Rhazdar gently freed his sleeve, trying to put a gentle smile on his face.
"We shall."

He turned away before she could speak again, or worse grasp his uniform again. He checked his sleeve, grime, perfect.

The sun was beginning to descend when they returned down to the village.
Rhazdar spent the next hour examining the northern road and comparing the tracks with the accounts given by the survivors.
There was more than sufficient evidence to pursue.

The raiders had moved north then north east, following the old caravan route towards the higher grasslands.
The wagons had been heavily laden.
Their wheels had left deep ruts in several sections of the road. Thereby leaving the clearest tracks.
There were also clear signs of many horses a large party having passed through the area, possibly as many as 30, by his own estimation. The fact there was such an easy trail to follow worried him. It stunk of a trap, either that or gross overconfidence.
His sergeant who had been following the trail awhile reported that it eventually turned away from the main road.
That was encouraging, it would only make them easier to find, and find them they would. Trap or no trap. Though he would not allow his men to be caught unaware.

While he was looking at the tracks some of his men were digging graves next to the village shrine. The bodies had been covered in cloth.
The survivors had likewise received medical attention from the medical orderly Steffano.

Rhazdar called his officers and senior noncommissioned men together.
Belicho stood beside him, accompanied by Corporal Nerez and corporal Kezzan.
The captain unfolded the map of this section of the frontier upon the flat surface of the wooden table.

"This is our present position," he said, indicating the village.

"The raiders departed along the northern road before turning east near the old well. Here. Their tracks suggest a force of several dozen mounted men, accompanied by as many as three wagons and prisoners."

Belicho leaned forward.
"That puts them towards the old caravan road, sir."

Rhazdar nodded.

The sergeant continued.
"There's a common Dothraki watering ground three days east of here."

"I am aware." Rhazdar studied the map.

Belicho continued. "They might be heading for it."

Rhazdar shrugged. "That is a possibility."

Nerez pointed to a narrow line upon the map.
"There's another route through the hills. It rejoins the caravan road farther north."

Rhazdar considered it.
"Could the wagons pass?"

"With difficulty." Nerez squinted. "I am not sure"

The captain looked at the map for another moment. He wanted to pursue immediately but he was reluctant to pursue a force of unknown strength without informing his superiors. Colonel Fell would expect a report. More importantly, the disappearance of so many civilians suggested that the affair might extend far beyond the destruction of a single village.

A larger military operation could become necessary to flush them out. Rhazdar took out his writing case. He wrote a concise report describing the attack, the discovery of the Qartheen corpse, the testimony of the survivors, and the probable direction of the raiders. He requested reinforcements and instructions concerning this possible cult. The report was addressed to Colonel Ser Roland Fell at Astapor.

Rhazdar sanded the ink, folded the paper, and sealed it.
"Nerez."

"Ser."

"You will choose two men to escort the survivors to the district station at Harradan's Crossing. From there, they are to dispatch this report by telegraph to Astapor. Make sure they know to leave to rejoin our force as soon as possible, if practical. We should be easy to follow."

Nerez accepted the letter.
"Yes, Captain."

"The dead stranger is to be transported separately. Ensure his possessions accompany the body."

"Understood."

"Make sure they know not to permit anyone to examine the contents of the pouch without authorization. I want it delivered intact."

The corporal saluted.
Belicho watched the exchange.
When Nerez had departed, the sergeant spoke.
"That leaves us twenty-seven, sir."

"Twenty-seven mounted men of the empire."

"Against at maybe forty riders. Perhaps more."

"I doubt it's that many, Sergeant." He gave the sergeant a look "I would confidently put my men up against a hundred savages if it came to it."

Belicho looked down at the map.
"With respect, sir, we should consider waiting for reinforcements."

Rhazdar was silent for a moment, he could understand the concern, though it seemed a little cowardly. Perhaps that was one reason why old Belicho was still only a sergeant.

The raiders possessed numerical superiority, and their intentions remained uncertain.
But he had no intention of attacking without first establishing the enemy's strength and position, so as to create the most favorable conditions for his men.

"How long before reinforcements could reach us?" He asked, though he knew the answer.

The sergeant answered reluctantly. "Three days, perhaps four. Longer if the colonel has to assemble another detachment."

"And in four days, where will these men be?"

Belicho did not answer.

Long gone.

Rhazdar folded the map.
"We shall follow them at a distance. No engagement will occur unless the elements favor us."

The sergeant nodded.
"Very well, sir." He sounded tired to Rhazdar.

Rhazdar returned the map to its case.
"Have the men prepare their horses. We leave at first light."

Belicho saluted and went to carry out the order.
The captain remained beside the table.
The village was quiet again.

Several soldiers were preparing the bodies for burial, while others gathered the surviving animals and secured the abandoned houses.
The four survivors had been settled beneath a canvas shelter near the well.
The elderly woman was sleeping.
Talarra sat beside the little girl.
The young man, Marqo, stood a little apart, watching the cavalrymen prepare their equipment.
Rhazdar wondered whether the prisoners were even still alive.
If the raiders were selling them into slavery, there was a reasonable chance that they had been preserved for transport.
If the men were cultist of some dark god, the prospects were less certain.

He thought drifted to the dead Qartheen.
The blue lips, the strange unknown writing, the weird black pendant.
He had heard stories of the warlocks of Qarth as a child, it seemed almost like a children's tale come to life, dastardly sorcerers and their savage minions pursued by the emperor's men. He wondered if there wasn't a commendation waiting for him at the end of this.

He doubted the enemy possessed any real magic. The imperial authorities maintained strict controls over dangerous magical practices, any magical practice really. and the Lidless Eye was successful in suppressing unauthorized experimentation. He certainly hadn't heard of any blood sorcery or demon summoning, other than in children's tales.
Though there were rumors occasionally, of illegal religious orders being discovered operating in remote provinces.
Though it seemed to Rhazdar that these were merely criminals employing superstition to frighten their victims.
Rhazdar hoped these men were like that.

He removed his gloves and examined a small stain upon the cuff of his tunic.
Ash.

He brushed it away.

The men were beginning preparations for the night.
He would inspect them and their weapons before they departed in the morning.
Rhazdar looked towards the hills.

Somewhere beyond them, two days' distance at most by slow wagon a company of armed men was transporting dozens of prisoners through imperial territory.
Whatever their purpose, they had murdered imperial subjects, destroyed property of imperial subjects, and violated the emperor's peace.
He would bring them to justice, at first light, they would follow the trail.

 

[Noir]

Chapter One: The Empty Village
Part II — The Pursuit

The sun was barely above the eastern hills when Captain Rhazdar zo Khoraz ordered his men into the saddle.

The horses had been watered, their saddles inspected, and the remaining provisions distributed among the troopers. Rhazdar had personally examined the uniform of each man before allowing the detachment to depart. He found two men in need of shaving and one saddle with a damaged girth. Sadly, there was nothing to do about the saddle.

The owner received a reprimand and the men were told to shave as soon as possible.

He consulted his pocket watch.

five and a half.

"Sergeant Belicho."

"Sir."

"Have the men form into column. Two scouts going ahead, another two on the flanks. I want regular contact with the advance party."

"Very good, sir."

The sergeant turned towards the waiting cavalrymen and began dividing them up.

Rhazdar mounted his horse, a tall chestnut gelding named Honor, and looked back towards the village.

The dead had been buried the previous evening in a small plot near the shrine, and the surviving villagers were already on their way towards Harradan's Crossing under Corporal Nerez's two escorts.

The settlement was deserted once more.

Rhazdar had left a written notice upon the door of the village shrine, warning any returning inhabitants that the area remained under military investigation. He had also given instructions to Nerez men to be given to the district authorities ordering them to dispatch a constable as soon as possible to the village.

It was doubtful that anyone would return before the raiders were apprehended.

He turned his horse towards the northern road.

"Forward."

The column began to move.

Twenty-eight cavalrymen rode out of the village, their horses stirring clouds of reddish dust from the dry earth. The men in their beige uniforms and broad-brimmed campaign hats, with Swann repeating carbines secured in leather scabbards beside their saddles.

The sun caught the brass fittings of their equipment as they passed between the last houses.

Rhazdar rode at the front of the column, with Belicho a few paces behind him.

The road climbed gradually into the hills.

For the first hour, the tracks were easy to follow. The raiders had traveled with several wagons, whose iron-bound wooden wheels had cut deep grooves into the ground. The impressions of horses' hooves surrounded them, and here and there the soldiers found the marks of people walking between the wagons.

The prisoners, Rhazdar assumed.

At several places, the tracks converged so tightly that it was difficult to distinguish one from another.

The raiders had evidently made little effort to conceal their movements.

It bothered him, it was foolish, it was out of the ordinary, even an ambush didn't explain the lack of care for destroying their tracks.

He was also pleased by his men's advance they were making good time, and with the enemy slowed by their wagons he was confident they would catch up in a few days even with the enemy's head start.

Though if the wagons continued north there was a danger they might go into the lands beyond the imperial frontier. Putting his men under a great risk should he choice to pursue them.

For the present, however, he had no intention of exhausting the horses.

He had served long enough to know that an impatient officer could ruin a cavalry detachment in a single day's hard riding.

The morning passed uneventfully.

The countryside gradually changed as they moved northeast.

The cultivated fields surrounding the village gave way to scattered farms, most of them abandoned or burned, then to open stretches of dry grassland broken by low hills and narrow watercourses. The earth became increasingly stony, and the few trees they encountered grew close to the beds of seasonal streams. The imperial frontier was not a land for the weak, it always surprised him that the Lazhareen didn't migrate in great numbers. They were hardy in their own way, he had to admit.

By midday, the land had opened into a broad, arid plain.

Rhazdar could see for several miles.

To the south lay a chain of low reddish hills. Farther east, the grasslands continued stretching towards the core territories inhabited by the Lhazareen, whose pastoral settlements occupied much of the country between the old Ghiscari heartland and the eastern plains and northern plains.

The people of this region were commonly called the Lamb Men by their Dothraki neighbors.

Rhazdar had always considered the name an insult, though he had occasionally used it himself, though never in front of them.

The Lhazareen were predominantly shepherds, raising goats and sheep across the dry uplands. Their villages were usually small, and their principal settlements lay near the few dependable sources of water.

They had long been incorporated into the imperial administration.

Though they retained considerable local autonomy, particularly in districts where the authorities maintained little more than a tax collector and the occasional cavalry patrol. A sensible policy in Rhazdar's opinion there was not much worth governing in these lands.

The Lhazareen were a buffer between civilization and the savages of the north and north east. Barely civilized themselves, in his opinion, though worthy of protection as the Emperor's subjects.

The Dothraki's old raiding routes passed through these lands.

That was why Rhazdar's regiment existed, as much to deter attacks on the Lazhareen as to keep true civilization from harm.

He knew things were better now, raids from the grass sea were rarer and rarer. 60 years ago just after the destruction of Vaes Dothrak things had been truly dire. The Dothraki bunched up in the eastern grasslands were numerous and ferocious.

They penetrated deep into the lands of the Lhazareen. Sometimes even raiding the suburbs of Astapor itself. But year after year of constant effort had whittled the raiders down. Now only the lands of the Lhazareen were truly under threat and mostly only its periphery.

Which was another reason this raid was so unusual. Far too close to Astapor.

He halted the column beside a dry streambed shortly before noon.

The men dismounted and loosened their horses' girths.

Water was distributed, sparingly.

Rhazdar inspected the animals before allowing the men to eat.

One showed signs of saddle soreness.

He ordered the equipment adjusted and the affected animals relieved of their heavier loads.

Belicho approached while Rhazdar was examining the last horse.

"Scouts have followed the tracks to a stream, sir. The tracks cross the stream about half a mile north, then turn east."

Rhazdar straightened.

"How fresh?"

Belicho rubbed his clean shaven chin.

"Two days old, perhaps. The wind hasn't disturbed them too much."

"Show me after the horses have rested."

"Yes, Captain."

The sergeant remained beside him.

Rhazdar glanced up.

"Something else?"

"Water, sir. This stream will help some but the country is quite dry beyond it. We've will have enough for another two days if we keep the horses on half rations. After that we'll need to find another source."

Rhazdar was aware of this.

He had already examined the available wells and streams on the district map.

There was supposed to be a spring approximately twenty miles farther east, near an abandoned caravan station.

Unfortunately, the map had been surveyed nine years earlier.

A spring marked on a nine-year-old map could no longer be fully relied upon, and he was unaccustomed to this particular section of the frontier.

"We shall reach the old caravan station tomorrow," he said.

"Let's hope there still water in that spring."

"Indeed."

Belicho glanced towards the waiting troopers.

"There's a watering ground farther north. The Dothraki use it."

"That would take us away from the trail."

"Only by half a day."

"And possibly bring us into contact with a different set of raiders."

The sergeant said nothing.

Rhazdar closed the horse's saddlebag.

"We shall follow the tracks until evening. If the spring proves dry tomorrow, we can reconsider our route."

"Unless those wagons are leaden with water as well as prisoners the tracks will lead us to water all on their own Sergeant."

"Very well, sir."

Belicho turned to leave.

"Sergeant."

He stopped.

"There is a battle ahead for us, no way around, I will not let citizens be taken. Even if we must travel beyond the frontier, we will pursue."

"Understood, Ser."

"And fasten that collar sergeant"

"yes, Ser."

Rhazdar looked after him.

He was aware that some of the men regarded him as unnecessarily severe. Belicho himself had occasionally suggested that the captain's insistence upon correct dress and formal procedure was poorly suited to the frontier.

Rhazdar disagreed.

The heat was unpleasant, certainly. The dust was worse. But these difficulties made discipline all the more necessary.

He removed his gloves and examined his hands.

A little dust had gathered beneath his nails somehow.

He took a cloth from his saddlebag and cleaned them before beginning his lunch.

While following the track across the stream he had his men fill up on water and let the horses drink as much as they needed.

They found the first body late that afternoon.

Trooper Varqo, riding with the advance party, noticed a dark shape beside the road and called for the column to halt.

Rhazdar approached with Belicho and three soldiers.

The corpse lay in a shallow depression halfway beneath a thornbush.

It was a man, perhaps thirty years old, dressed in the coarse clothing of a rural laborer. His hands were bound behind his back with rope, and his bare feet were covered in cuts and blisters.

His face was swollen.

There were several dark bruises upon his shoulders and back.

Rhazdar dismounted.

"Keep the horses back."

The men obeyed.

He knelt beside the corpse and examined it carefully.

The skin was beginning to discolor in the heat, though the body had not yet entered an advanced state of decay.

He estimated that the man had been dead for perhaps two days.

The cause of death was less obvious.

There were no deep wounds and no signs of a fatal blow to the head, there were signs of a beating so that could be it.

The man's lips were also cracked, his eyes sunken, and his tongue badly swollen.

Dehydration, perhaps.

Rhazdar examined the wrists.

The rope had cut deeply into the flesh.

Several of the wounds had become inflamed before death.

He turned the body slightly.

The man's back bore numerous narrow welts, some of which had broken the skin.

Whip marks.

Belicho crouched beside him.

"One of the prisoners?"

"Most likely."

"Looks as though they worked him hard."

Rhazdar did not answer.

He examined the feet again.

The blisters were extensive. Some had burst, leaving raw skin exposed.

The look of it turned his stomach.

The man had walked a considerable distance without shoes.

Perhaps he had become too weak to continue.

Rhazdar rose.

"Search the surrounding ground."

The troopers spread out.

Within a few minutes, they found several discarded pieces of rope, a broken wooden bowl, and a little dried blood upon the stones.

There were also tracks.

Several people had stopped here.

The wagons had, most likely continued along the road, while a smaller group remained behind.

Rhazdar examined the marks.

A pair of boots had approached the body from the north.

Another set of prints lay beside them.

The dead man's knees had left shallow depressions in the earth.

Rhazdar looked towards the corpse.

Someone had made him kneel.

Belicho appeared to have reached the same conclusion.

"Could've been executed."

"Perhaps. But there's no wound. Not one that I can see."

Rhazdar crouched again.

He examined the man's neck.

There were marks along the throat, partly concealed by the discoloration of the skin.

He pressed his gloved fingers against the swollen flesh.

The injury was consistent with strangulation.

He released the body.

"One of them may have used the rope."

Belicho looked down.

"Poor bastard."

Rhazdar stood.

"We will have to leave him."

"Here, sir?"

"Yes. Make a mark on the map, and create small mound of stone so that the district authorities can perhaps identify it later."

Belicho nodded and began issuing instructions.

The men had little enthusiasm gathering stones and creating a mound upon the corpse. They knew any animal scavenger would not be deterred by it.

Rhazdar took out his pocketbook.

He recorded the approximate age of the dead man, his clothing, physical condition, and the position in which he had been found.

The whip marks troubled him.

If the raiders intended to sell the prisoners, such treatment was wasteful. A badly injured captive would command little value, and a dead one none at all.

Perhaps the men were simply cruel.

The Dothraki were often cruel to prisoners, their contempt for coin and their frequent raiding of the Lazhareen meant they rarely felt they had to care much for their prisoners and slaves.

The reports of a gathering and an offering remained in his thoughts.

He closed his notebook.

Once the stones had been gathered and stacked, Rhazdar stood before it and removed his hat.

The men nearby followed his example, though some looked uncertain.

He spoke a short prayer in formal High Valyrian.

"May the Emperor behold this man, whose name is unknown to us. May those who wronged him be brought before His judgment."

He paused.

Then he put on his hat.

"Mount up."

The column resumed its march.

They made camp beside a rocky ridge shortly before sunset.

Rhazdar selected the site because it offered a clear view of the surrounding plain and could be defended without difficulty. A narrow ravine lay to the north, while the southern approach was obstructed by broken ground.

The horses were tethered behind the ridge.

Two sentries were posted on the higher ground, and the remainder of the men prepared a cold meal from their rations.

Rhazdar forbade cooking fires.

The smoke would be visible for miles.

The men accepted the order without complaint, though he heard Varqo mutter that he would gladly have traded a week's pay for a hot supper.

Rhazdar ate beside his horse.

His meal consisted of hard biscuit, dried meat, and a handful of figs.

He washed it down with a little water.

The food was unremarkable, but sufficient.

Afterward, he walked through the camp, inspecting the weapons and equipment.

Several of the men had removed their tunics.

He permitted it.

The day had been exceptionally hot, and there was no advantage in compelling them to wear heavy clothing while resting.

He did, however, insist that their weapons remain within reach and that the sentries maintain proper dress.

A soldier on watch ought to be immediately recognizable as such.

He found Trooper Varqo cleaning his repeating carbine beside a low rock.

The young man had disassembled part of the mechanism and was carefully removing dust from the receiver.

Rhazdar stopped.

"Any difficulty with the weapon?"

"No, sir."

"Then why have you opened the mechanism?"

"Found sand in the action, sir."

Rhazdar took the weapon and examined it.

There was indeed a little grit around the lever and breech.

The Swann carbine was a reliable weapon when properly maintained, but its mechanism required considerably more attention than that of the old single-shot rifles still issued to many frontier units.

Dust could interfere with the feeding of cartridges.

A jammed weapon was a serious liability in a cavalry engagement.

"Good," Rhazdar said, returning it. "Finish cleaning it before dark."

"Yes, sir."

He continued through the camp.

Near the eastern edge, Belicho was sitting with several troopers, studying the district map.

The sergeant rose as Rhazdar approached.

"Captain."

"At ease."

Rhazdar examined the map.

Belicho had marked their route in pencil.

"We're here," the sergeant said, indicating a point near the ridge. "The old caravan station should be another twenty miles east."

Rhazdar nodded.

"Any news from the scouts?"

"They are following the main trail, sir. Still heading northeast."

"Towards the Lhazareen settlements?"

"Looks that way."

Good news for us.

Rhazdar considered the map.

The country ahead was sparsely inhabited.

There were a few shepherding communities, seasonal camps, and abandoned ruins scattered across the hills.

Beyond them lay the broad grasslands.

The raiders might be heading for the eastern frontier, though at the moment they seem to headed for the desert.

Or they might be traveling towards one of the old religious sites that dotted the region.

Many of those places had been abandoned for centuries.

Some had been used by the Ghiscari long before the establishment of the old Freehold. Others belonged to peoples whose names were now known only to scholars.

Rhazdar had little interest in ancient ruins.

But such places could provide shelter for men wishing to avoid the authorities.

He pointed towards a narrow valley marked on the map.

"What's this?"

Belicho leaned closer.

"The Valley of Red Stones. There's an old quarry there."

"Still in use?"

"Not for years. It was abandoned before the last war."

"Any roads?"

"One old cart road, running north from the caravan station."

Rhazdar studied the surrounding terrain.

The quarry lay approximately two days' ride from their present position.

It was sufficiently remote to attract men engaged in illegal activities.

But there was no clear evidence yet that the raiders were heading there, other than their general direction of travel.

He returned the map.

"make sure the scouts inform me the moment the tracks turn fully north"

That would be the most logical direction for the Dothraki, and the most time sensitive for us.

"Yes, Captain."

Rhazdar started to leave, then stopped.

"Sergeant, who is commanding the second watch?"

"Corporal Kezzan."

"He's a recent addition?"

"He's been on patrol out here for seven years, though he joined up with us a few months ago."

"Very good."

Belicho hesitated.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"About the dead man."

Rhazdar looked at him.

"What about him?"

"Do you still think they're slavers?"

"Their precise purpose" He waved his hand up and down "remains uncertain. We'll figure it out soon enough. When we find them." He closed his fist.

Belicho folded the map.

"Seems a strange way to treat them."

"Yes. For slavers, not for Dothraki. Perhaps the robed men don't have as much power as we assumed."

The sergeant looked towards the horizon.

"Marqo said they were talking about an offering."

Rhazdar checked his hands for dirt.

"I remember."

The sergeant continued looking out towards the darkening plain.

"Could be some old Ghiscari cult."

"Perhaps."

"There are stories about the old temples. Sacrifices and such."

"Sergeant, I have no intention of basing an investigation upon children's stories or old tales told by shepherds."

Belicho gave a faint smile.

"Fair enough, sir."

Rhazdar considered the matter.

"If these men belong to an illegal religious order, the Lidless Eye may already possess information about them. We shall know more once the report reaches Astapor."

Belicho nodded.

"Assuming they answer."

Rhazdar looked at him.

"Why wouldn't they?"

The sergeant shifted slightly.

"Just that they don't always tell the army what they're doing."

Rhazdar couldn't dispute that. The Lidless eye obeyed only the emperor, even the Grand Marshall commander of all armed forces of the empire must obey an agent of the eye.

He wished Belicho a good evening and returned to his own bedroll.

The temperature fell rapidly after sunset.

By the time the stars appeared, the heat of the day had given way to a dry, uncomfortable chill.

Rhazdar wrapped himself in his blanket.

He lay awake for some time, listening to the horses moving behind the ridge and the low voices of the sentries.

His thoughts drifted around that of the dead man beside the road.

The rope, the strangulation marks, the whip cuts across his back, the swollen throat. He imagined hearing the man's last moment choking on a rope gurgling from a dry throat, the feeling a fire burning across his back from a dozen cuts.

He had encountered brutality during his service, but something about this affair disturbed him.

The prisoners appeared to have been taken for a purpose unrelated to ordinary profit, it also didn't really fit the Dothraki way either.

Whoever commanded the raiders was prepared to discard those who became inconvenient, but also used three slow easily tracked wagons to transport them.

Rhazdar closed his eyes.

Tomorrow they would continue the pursuit.

---

The spring at the old caravan station was dry.

Rhazdar discovered this shortly after midday, when the detachment reached the ruined buildings that had once served merchants traveling between Astapor and the Lhazareen country.

The station consisted of a rectangular courtyard surrounded by low stone walls, with several roofless chambers and the remains of a stable.

At its center stood a well.

The well had collapsed.

A portion of the stone lining had fallen inward, filling the shaft with rubble.

The dirt around it was dry.

Rhazdar dismounted and examined the damage.

The collapse appeared old.

Several stones bore signs of weathering, and thorny plants had begun growing among them.

He cursed quietly in High Valyrian.

Belicho approached.

"Bad luck, sir."

"How much water remains?"

"Enough for tonight, perhaps tomorrow morning. The horses are the trouble."

Rhazdar looked towards the animals.

Several were already showing signs of thirst.

They had traveled steadily through the heat, and even careful rationing could not prevent their need for water.

He took out the map.

The nearest reliable source was the Dothraki watering ground Belicho had mentioned the previous day.

It lay approximately half a day's ride north.

Rhazdar studied the route.

The raiders' tracks still led north east.

Following them without replenishing the water would be reckless, they couldn't count on the enemy to know what they were doing.

He folded the map.

"Very well. We shall turn north."

Belicho looked at him.

"To the watering ground?"

To Rhazdar's ears the question sounded like an insult.

"Yes." He bit out. "Take eight men and ride ahead. I want the approach examined before the rest of the column arrives."

"Understood."

"And Sergeant?"

"Sir?"

"If there are Dothraki at the spring, you are not to engage them."

Belicho almost smiled.

"Of course, Captain."

Rhazdar ignored the expression.

He was irritated by the time they would lose.

Had he possessed a competent Dothraki scout, perhaps they might have identified a more reliable source of water before reaching the ruined station. They were often canny like that.

But he had chosen his detachment, and he would not complain about the consequences of that choice in front of his men.

He remounted.

The column turned north.

They reached the watering ground in the late afternoon.

It consisted of a shallow pool fed by a narrow stream emerging from beneath a limestone outcrop. The water was muddy near the edges, but the flow was sufficient to supply the horses.

Several small herds of goats grazed nearby.

A group of Lhazareen shepherds watched the soldiers approach from a low rise.

Belicho had already spoken with them.

The shepherds were suspicious and kept their distance but were not openly hostile.

Their leader, an elderly man dressed in a loose woolen robe, approached Rhazdar as he dismounted.

He spoke in halting Astapori Valyrian.

"Soldiers from the city?"

"From Astapor," Rhazdar answered in the same language.

The man nodded.

"You, hunt, riders?"

"We are following a group of men who attacked a village to the southwest."

"Dothraki?"

"Most were Dothraki."

The shepherd spat into the dust.

"They came here."

Rhazdar looked at him sharply.

"When? With wagons?"

"A day ago. Three wagons." He held up three fingers.

"How many men?"

The man spread his hands.

"Many horses."

The man spread his hand wider "Wagons, big!"

"Did they stop?"

"They water took." He made a grasping motion with his hand.

"Prisoners?"

The shepherd hesitated.

Rhazdar waited.

He put his wrist together and lifted them up and shook them back and forth in front of Rhazdar.

"People tied together!" the man said at last. "Men, women. Children."

Rhazdar glanced towards Belicho.

"Did you see where they went?"

The shepherd pointed east.

"Through hills! Dryland."

"How many prisoners?"

The old man looked uncertain, he moved his hands back and forth.

"Many. Half ehh hundred!" He looked up "Mayhaps hundred!"

Rhazdar took out his notebook.

"How were they guarded?"

"Men swords!" He made a stabbing motion. "bows" He mimed shooting an arrow. "fire sticks!" he mimed firing a gun. And then shook his head in disgust. "Some Dothraki. Some other. Not Dothraki!"

"Men in dark robes?"

The shepherd nodded.

Rhazdar felt a small measure of satisfaction.

They were following the correct trail. The enemy must have looped north west after a while, did they get lost? Were they forced by lack of water? Or was this always the intended route? If so it was a circuitous one.

He questioned the man further.

The shepherd confirmed that most of the prisoners had been forced to walk, while some were in the wagons, while the armed men rode or traveled atop the wagons.

Several captives had appeared sick or injured.

One woman had collapsed beside the spring.

The shepherd said he had seen her beaten when she failed to stand.

"What happened to her?" Rhazdar asked.

The man looked down.

"They, her away took."

"Alive?"

He scratched his beard.

"I believe so."

Rhazdar wrote this down, the colonel loved detailed reports, or at least the more exiting detailed reports. This would suit colonel.

He asked whether the raiders had paid for the water or taken any livestock.

The shepherd gave him a bitter look.

"They took six goats."

"Did you resist?"

"We had no weapons."

Rhazdar nodded. The history of the Lhazareen in a nutshell.

"You should report the theft to the nearest administrative station you might be compensated should we be successful in our mission."

The old man seemed doubtful. Rhazdar could hardly blame him.

The district authorities were not known for their speed in compensating rural inhabitants.

He gave the shepherd the address of the nearest administrative station and recorded the man's name.

If they manage to destroy the raiders, some of their plundered wealth could be brought back and perhaps returned though whether Rhazdar would bother transporting the goats or whether they were even alive was another question. They had most likely eaten them already.

Then he dismissed him.

Belicho watched the old man return to his companions.

"Not likely to ever see those goats again," the sergeant remarked.

"Perhaps not."

Rhazdar returned his notebook to its case.

"We shall wake and be on our way before first light"

"Yes, sir."

The captain looked east.

The raiders were perhaps only a day ahead.

Their wagons and prisoners would slow them considerably. His own detachment could travel faster, provided the horses were properly watered. He ordered the men to refill every flask and waterskin. The horses were allowed to drink in stages, and the troopers collected sufficient water for another two days. They made camp nearby. Rhazdar posted additional sentries. The shepherds had confirmed that Dothraki riders frequented the area, and he had no desire to wake in the middle of the night surrounded by hostile horsemen.

The following morning, they continued following the tracks, the enemy seemed to be following in their own tracks backtracking to where they came from. Lending credence to the idea that stop at the watering hold was unplanned.

Not even an hour into their journey Rhazdar and his men found more bodies.

The first lay beside a dry watercourse, approximately six miles east of the spring.

It was a woman.

She had been left beneath the open sky, her wrists still bound with rope.

Her clothing was torn and covered in dust, and her bare feet were swollen.

Rhazdar examined her briefly.

She had died from a wound to the back of the head.

The second body lay farther along the trail.

This one was a young boy, perhaps twelve.

There were no obvious wounds, but his lips were badly cracked and his body showed signs of severe dehydration.

Rhazdar stood beside him for several moments.

He had seen children die before.

During his first years of service, a fever had swept through several frontier settlements, killing dozens before the authorities managed to establish a quarantine.

He remembered helping carry the dead from a temporary hospital.

The boy before him was about the same age as some of those children.

There was also a mission beyond the frontier when he was a fresh lieutenant… but it didn't do to dwell on the past.

Belicho approached.

"Another prisoner?"

"Yes."

The sergeant looked down.

"Poor lad."

Rhazdar examined the boy's clothing.

There was a little embroidered pattern along the collar, the sort commonly worn by Lhazareen shepherding families.

He crouched and checked the pockets.

Empty.

The boy had been traveling without shoes.

His feet were badly damaged.

Rhazdar looked towards the distant hills.

So close to the watering hole yet dead, most likely from lack of water? What the hell were these raiders doing?

It would appear the raiders made little provision for their prisoners.

He stood.

"We must continue."

Belicho hesitated.

"Sir, what about another mound?"

Rhazdar turned towards him.

"We are too far from anything no one will bother going this far to bury them once this is over, and we haven't the time. If we want to catch them."

Rhazdar looked at the waiting cavalrymen.

Several had dismounted and were watching from a short distance.

He understood their frustration.

They had spent two days pursuing an enemy they had not yet seen, through difficult country, in uncomfortable heat.

The discovery of the dead had done little to improve morale.

"Ten minutes, Sergeant. Gather some men to find the stones. The rest will water the horses."

Belicho saluted.

"Yes, Captain."

Rhazdar returned to his horse. He took out his field glasses and examined the plain. The trail continued east, passing between two low ridges before disappearing into a shallow valley. Beyond it lay a chain of reddish hills. The country was becoming increasingly barren.

He could see little vegetation apart from thornbushes and scattered patches of dry grass. The hills were marked by dark openings where erosion had cut into the stone. Some might have been caves. Others could have been the remains of ancient quarries.

Rhazdar lowered his glasses. He wondered how the raiders intended to sustain so many prisoners in such country. The wagons might carry provisions, but the captives would require absurd quantities of water. They must want at least some of the prisoners to survive. Why else go through all this trouble?

Perhaps there was another spring ahead.

He consulted the map.

The nearest marked source lay more than two day's ride away.

That seemed insufficient.

He studied the hills again.

There might be an unrecorded well.

Perhaps they know the location of several such sources, or maybe they didn't care.

The confusion surrounding the raiders goals were aggravating.

The heat of the barren arid landscape was oppressive, and the fine dust found its way into clothing, equipment, and weapons.

Several horses had developed minor sores.

When they finally made camp one trooper complained of stomach pains, while another had suffered a mild fever during that night.

Rhazdar ordered both examined by the detachment's medical orderly.

Neither was sufficiently ill to be left behind.

He permitted the men to remove their jackets during the hottest hours, provided their shirts remained properly fastened and their weapons were maintained.

His own tunic had become stained with dust.

He brushed it whenever they halted, though the effort was increasingly futile.

Belicho watched him cleaning the cuff after their midday rest.

"Could leave it until we're back in Astapor, sir."

Rhazdar continued brushing.

"The dust will work into the fabric."

"There's plenty more where that came from."

Rhazdar glanced up.

The sergeant's own tunic was coated in dust.

His thick moustache had lost much of its usual shape, and the collar of his shirt was stained with sweat.

"You might consider cleaning your own equipment, Sergeant."

"I intend to, sir."

"When is that Sergeant?"

Belicho looked towards the plain.

"When we stop riding through this dusty country."

Rhazdar regarded him for a moment.

"We depart in a few minutes."

"Very good, sir."

The sergeant went to collect the men.

Rhazdar mounted.

He was not entirely displeased with Belicho.

The man was competent, and a sergeant who occasionally spoke too freely was preferable to one who concealed difficulties from his captain. He had meet such officers before; they were always a disaster in the making.

Still, Rhazdar thought brushing the dust of his uniform, there were limits.

The afternoon brought a change in the trail.

The tracks had begun to divide.

Rhazdar halted the column.

He dismounted and examined the ground.

The tracks leading north east were deeper and more numerous, with ruts in the ground made by the wagons wheels.

The prisoners had almost certainly continued in that direction.

The eastern trail appeared to have been used by a smaller mounted party.

Rhazdar crouched beside one of the tracks.

The soil had been disturbed recently.

He touched the edge of the impression.

It was still sharp.

Perhaps made that very morning.

Belicho joined him.

"Two parties, sir."

"Yes."

"Looks as though most went north east."

Rhazdar nodded.

He looked towards the eastern narrow passage between the hills.

"How many took the other route?"

Belicho examined the ground.

"Ten horses, perhaps a dozen."

Rhazdar considered this.

The smaller party might be a patrol.

It could also be an escort moving ahead to secure the route.

Or perhaps the raiders maintained a separate camp nearby.

He took out his field glasses.

The narrow passage climbed into a region of broken hills.

There were several places where men could conceal themselves among the rocks.

Beyond them, the land rose towards a broad plateau.

Rhazdar could see little from the road.

He lowered the glasses.

"Sergeant, I want four men to track the eastern trail for a few hours to make sure this isn't some trap. The rest will follow the northeastern tracks."

Belicho looked at him.

"Are we ignoring the smaller group?"

"Perhaps. Much depends on what we find to the northeast."

The sergeant nodded.

"Very well."

Rhazdar selected four experienced troopers and instructed them to be as inconspicuous as possible.

They were to avoid contact with the enemy and report any movement they might see.

The remainder of the detachment continued northeast.

The passage narrowed as they climbed.

The ground became increasingly rocky, forcing the horses to proceed at a walk.

After another mile, Rhazdar ordered the men to dismount and lead their animals.

He did not like the terrain, the were no clear wagon trails to follow one the rocky ground. He wondered how they had moved the wagons through these hills. With great difficulty no doubt.

The hills provided excellent opportunities for ambush, and the narrow route would prevent his cavalry from maneuvering effectively if attacked.

He sent two men ahead on foot.

The rest followed at intervals.

The sun was low enough that the eastern slopes had begun to fall into shadow.

Rhazdar studied the surrounding rocks.

There were some signs of recent movement.

A broken branch.

Several disturbed stones.





He motioned for the men to continue.

The scouts returned shortly before sunset.

Rhazdar was waiting beneath a rocky overhang when Trooper Varqo appeared from the eastern slope.

The young man approached quietly and saluted.

"Captain."

Rhazdar returned the salute.

"Report."

"Camp ahead, sir. About three-quarters of a mile beyond the ridge."

"How many?"

"Didn't get a proper count. At least thirty men. Perhaps forty."

Rhazdar ground his teeth.

"Mounted?"

"Some. They've got horses tethered near a group of tents."

"Any wagons?"

"Three wagons, Ser."

"Prisoners?"

He shook his head. "Didn't see any, sir."

Rhazdar considered this.

"What kind of camp?"

"Several tents around an old stone building. Looks like a ruin. There's a fire, but they've kept it low."

"Any guards?"

"six on the western approach. Another four near the horses."

"Uniforms?"

"No, sir. Some in robes. Others in Dothraki riding clothes."

Rhazdar glanced at Belicho.

The sergeant was listening carefully.

"Could you identify the robes?" Rhazdar asked.

"Dark, sir. One man had blue markings around his mouth."

Rhazdar felt a flicker of satisfaction.

"Very good."

He took out his map.

The ruin was not marked.

That was hardly surprising.

The district survey had omitted several smaller settlements and abandoned structures throughout the region.

He examined the nearby terrain.

The camp lay in a shallow basin surrounded by low hills, with a narrow approach from the west and another path leading east.

The eastern route appeared to continue towards the Valley of Red Stones.

Rhazdar traced it with one finger.

If the smaller body of raiders had moved east, this party might be waiting at a secondary route this entire place might be a camp used for maintaining communications between separate groups, or a temporary holding area.

He looked at Varqo.

"Did you see any sign of the prisoners having passed through already?"

"The wagons are one clue, that they might still be here, the terrain is rocky so there aren't a lot of tracks to look at, they might be keeping them in the ruin."

"Any tracks leading east?"

"Several. The ground was too hard to tell much, and we had to keep our distance."

Rhazdar nodded.

"Very well. Get some water."

Varqo saluted and withdrew.

Belicho crouched beside the map.

"Thirty to forty men, perhaps. We could take them, though it won't be easy."

"Certainly."

"They won't be expecting cavalry this far out. This quickly either."

Rhazdar looked towards the ridge.

The camp occupied a defensible position, but its occupants apparently had not established a particularly strong perimeter.

If Varqo's account was accurate, the western approach was guarded by only six men.

A sudden attack might overwhelm them before they could organize resistance.

The difficulty would be preventing the enemy from escaping through the eastern passage.

Rhazdar had no desire to destroy the camp without learning what its occupants knew.

He needed prisoners.

He needed information about the men who had organized the raids.

And he needed to discover where other captives might be stored.

"We shall observe them tonight," he said.

Belicho nodded.

"Attack in the morning?"

"yes. Baring anything unforeseen." Rhazdar folded the map. "Yes, we attack at dawn."

"I want a closer examination of the approaches before that. Have Varqo take two men and establish an observation post above the western entrance. No fires. No unnecessary movement."

"Yes, Captain."

"Make sure the men have a filling dinner, it will get rough tomorrow."

Belicho rose.

Rhazdar remained beside the overhang.

The light was fading quickly.

Beyond the ridge, large group of raiders waited in a camp in one of the most remote part of the imperial frontier.

Rhazdar suspected that the smaller party had continued farther east to their main camp, though that was just a hunch.

For the first time since leaving the ruined village, he knew precisely where at least most of the raiders could be found.

He had twenty-seven men available for the operation.

The enemy appeared to possess a similar number or slightly greater number.

The terrain was unfavorable for cavalry.

And the men in the camp were unlikely to surrender merely because he demanded it.

He began considering how best to surround them. From the eastern side of the basin, beyond the darkening hills, a faint thread of smoke rose into the evening sky. Rhazdar watched it for a moment.

Then he called for Sergeant Belicho.

He wanted to understand the ground while there was still some light with which to see.