Western Watch (3rd Draft)

Chapter 16

"They're just standing around basking in the sun?" asks Charadell. "How many?"

The scout, young and blonde, sits on her horse and shrugs. "About sixty, Domina, and yes, that's exactly what they seem to be doing. There's one in advance of the others and he's watching us. Probably has been for a while." She takes her hat off and pushes a greasy strand of hair away from her eyes.

"Lady Samretta," asks Charadell, "what do you make of this?"

"They're keeping an eye on us, seeing what we'll do."

"I just said that." The scout frowns.

Samretta studies her. Khalnny, barely into her twentieth summer, has been a scout for the last year. She's daring, headstrong, and a little too quick-witted for Samretta's taste at the moment. It's unfortunate that she's one of the Domina's eyes today. "You're certain the group in front is all there are of them?"

"Of course I'm certain," says Khalnny.

You're wrong. There are more, thinks Samretta. Just like the last time I was out here.

"How far behind are the constables?" Charadell asks an aide.

"An hour at least," comes the response. "And they'll be exhausted if they get here that fast, marching under this sun."

No word yet from the two other noble columns either, thinks Samretta. The messengers Charadell had detailed earlier hadn't returned. That could mean nothing, or it could mean they'll never be coming back. She glances at the Domina. Don't you sense a trap? Can't you smell it?

"Not the best of situations," says Charadell. "What say you, Lady Samretta?"

You should wait for the other columns, thinks Samretta. "I think you've caught them alone, Domina." She feels a bleakness come over her. How easily my lies come now, she thinks.

"Very well," says Charadell. "We'll take them." She stands in her stirrups and considers the clan warriors, mere dots in the distance at this point. "Not all of us, though. I'll hold back half our strength, in case all is not as it seems."

"Domina?" asks Khalnny. "May I ride in the attack?"

Well, that saves me suggesting it, thinks Samretta. Not that one less dead soul on my hands will make any difference now.

Charadell nods, and begins snapping out orders.

######

"There they are! After them!"

At the shouted command Rosull – tall, thin, and trembling with excitement – crouches over his saddle horn and spurs his mount into a gallop. Watch brothers and sisters thunder down the dirt road, spilling off into the high grass on either side as they spread out, riding towards the clan. Rosull pulls ahead of the others, his horse has always been fast, and he's young and light. The wind whips his mount's mane into his face, bent so low is he.

He ignores the sweat, the grit blown into his eyes and concentrates on the backs of the fleeing clansmen. Nothing matters except the cowardly savages before him. Nothing matters except putting down as many of the vermin as possible. He hears the snarled shouts from the other nobles. Everyone has heard about Lady Bonswenn and they're here to make the bastards pay.

None of the clan's cursed arrows, thank the Goddess, Rosull thinks. The bastards love their bows and they're bloody good with them. Not today though. The Watch has finally caught the buggers before they can put so much as a single shaft into the air.