The Jester: Hide and Seek (5)

Episode #38: "Riding into the Sunset"

Jul 24, 2024

Prince Lirens fumed. When he had returned to the barracks, he found that, as the king had instructed, Captain Siral had outfitted the entire company for an extended ride. Believing a quarter-company would be sufficient and less of a tactical problem, the commander had chosen to take Lieutenant Serapon’s platoon, a medic, and a wrangler, bringing a total of twenty-four men down to the docks in good time.

It turned out that had been the easy part. Getting the men and their horses across the lake, however, had proved maddening. Despite the king’s express directive to commandeer as many vessels as necessary to ferry them across the lake as swiftly as possible, the process faced an immediate setback because the larger ferries were already out on the water. The largest had just embarked, and one nearly as large had just docked on the opposite side.

Lirens sent Serapon’s sergeants along the dock to find a willing barge captain, but most awaited the delivery of cargo and loathed passing up the business. One captain agreed to take them but only after he had unloaded, a process that would take several hours—fewer if he could find enough stevedores. Finally, locating two smaller ferries able to launch sooner, the prince split the force between himself and Serapon, and with the sun now low on the horizon, the two vessels left the docks within minutes of each other.

The passage across the lake to the little town of Fairbank soothed the prince only a little. Yet, after disembarking, he and his two squads had to wait another quarter-hour on the other, much slower ferry, whose fastidious captain brought it to the dock with agonizing care. Despite Serapon’s urging, the unloading proceeded at a turtle’s pace, as the captain said, “to ensure the horses’ safety.” The remaining light in the sky glimmered faintly in the west when the usually imperturbable but now frazzled lieutenant pulled his squads into line.

At this moment, a tired-looking man of about forty years of age, wearing nondescript clothing and a wide-brimmed leather hat, walked up and bowed to the prince. “Your pardon, lord,” he said with a slight Satelen accent. “I keep watch for the Lady, if you take my meanin’.”

“I do. You’re one of Lady Tiena’s agents,” Lirens acknowledged bluntly. “Any updates on the fleeing coach?”

“Yes, lord,” the man said with a weary dip of his head. “After I sent her my message, I followed it for a time to get its headin’ for you. As I figured, they angled up to hit the West Road, and when they got to it, they took it and picked up speed. They’re goin’ as fast as they dare.”

“Good man!” Lirens said, giving him a smile and flipping him a pound coin. “Have a good meal on me! Excellent information! No guessing needed. Thank you! Serapon! Get us to the West Road as fast as possible!”

The company set out at a quick, steady pace. In the dusk, they could see the lighter northwesterly track that many feet, hooves, and wheels had cut through the grass of the western plain. The unfinished West Road, which began at Bridgeton, struck due west. But from Fairbank, taking the smooth and well-maintained North Road to it added many unnecessary miles to a westbound traveler’s trip. Dukes Mortimor and Forsettis, both of whom governed western provinces, had already urged the king several times to pave the cutoff and extend the West Road to the Tanjar border, but other projects had priority.

When it rose later that night, the waning moon provided enough light for the company to discern the track and, later, the road as they swung toward the Spruce Hills, Margonne’s border with Tanjar. With spare horses in the remuda, they switched mounts frequently, helping them maintain a swift pace. At the sixty-mile mark, Lirens knew that the coach station had fresh draft horses available, of which Désira’s party would undoubtedly take advantage. Yet he also knew that the coach would reach it only after about eight hours of hard travel, which argued for them lingering there, if just for a short time, to rest. He would take every minute gained.

Unfortunately, even with his faster horses, his company would not reach the station until after midnight, and the coach would be well away by then, still three or four hours ahead. Lirens could command the company to go on—and probably would, at least for a few hours—but his own horses and men would need sufficient rest to continue their pace. He let the wrangler call the mount changes and concentrated on planning how he would overtake and subdue the coach.

As he had predicted, the company pounded into the station’s dusty yard about an hour after midnight, waking the sleeping stationmaster and his family. Upon finding Prince Lirens on his doorstep, the man snapped fully alert, shouting to rouse everyone in the house and chivvying them to their duties. Wrapped in her dressing gown, his wife served them bread, cold meat, cheese, and ale, which disappeared in seconds, and his sleepy boys took the wrangler to the barn and its attached corral to check on suitable mounts. If the man had daughters, they wisely remained hidden in their room.

Walking about in the cool air to stretch his legs, Lirens kept the master busy answering questions about their quarry. As the prince had guessed, the coach had rolled in about an hour after sundown. Already nervous about their flight, the fatigued guards had been grouchy and demanding. The horses were sweating and blowing, and a couple of them were shaking. One, the station master complained with some frustration, had sores from an ill-fitting harness.

“They was in bad shape, lord, ill-used,” the stationmaster said, face red with anger and worry. “I’m certain the driver used the whip on ’em. I’ll have to nurse ’em back over the next few days afore they’re ready to pull again.

“But the lady inside!” he continued, wagging his head. “The Shepherd knows I ain’t never seen anythin’ like her. Dressed like she was heading to a party! In silk and jewels! A strikin’ woman to look at, for sure—but then she opened her mouth, and all hell flew out! She wanted food and didn’t like it when it came. Threw it on the floor like a child! She wanted to bathe, Shepherd bless her! She didn’t believe that, out here, we use a horse trough for such. Wantin’ to change into different party clothes, she took over our bedroom and left it a mess. And afore she left, she cursed us for being ‘slovenly’ and ‘uncouth’ and runnin’ a station like it was a pigsty! I tell you, lord, it was the most tryin’ hour of my life! Can I confess it was the first time I wanted to hit a woman?”

“Get in line,” the prince answered with a snort. “If it makes you feel better, she’s like that to everyone. A thoroughly spoiled brat of a woman. I’m only chasing her because she’s wanted for treason and must face the king’s justice. Otherwise, I’d have nothing to do with her. And let me tell you, I’m not looking forward to dealing with her for the few days it will take to return to Palisade.” One of his men came up and handed him bread folded over meat and cheese, along with a tankard of ale.

“It’s none of my business, lord, but is she a Mortimor or Forsettis runnin’ home?” the stationmaster asked. “They come through here often, but I’ve never seen any of them folk act like that.”

“No, good sir, she’s a Tilanta, to the Steward’s shame,” Lirens answered, chewing the last bite of the food, “and we suspect she’s running away to Tanjar. Apparently, she has friends there. We want to catch her before she reaches the border.” He took a long pull on the ale.

“You should catch her in the mornin’,” the man said with a sharp nod. “I reckon you’ll overtake that coach somewhere near the end of the road, some fifty miles this side of the border. If I was you, I’d ride a few more hours tonight and rest your mounts and men for three or four hours, so they’ll be fresher in the mornin’. If she doesn’t want to kill ’em, the Tilanta lady will have to rest her horses, too, a few hours afore dawn. With that coach goin’ at half the speed of your mounts, you’ll be on ’em afore mid-mornin’. I don’t want to tell you your job, but that’s what I’d do.”

“It’s sound advice from someone who knows horses,” Lirens said, finishing the drink, “and near enough to my own counsel. I’m sure my wrangler will agree.” A moment later, the soldier he just mentioned came around the side of the station leading a few horses, and the stationmaster’s sons followed with a few more. While the boys switched saddles and led the most tired horses away, the wrangler made his way to the prince, munching on a sandwich a soldier had just handed him.

“Commander,” he said, “the station has only eight riding horses in any shape to join us, so we’ll just have to switch out the worst of our mounts. I’d suggest a longer rest after a couple of hours at the latest.”

“Very good,” Lirens said. “It sounds like we’re agreed.” His men were spilling out of the station, knowing the commander did not want to tarry there. “Serapon!” he shouted. “Get everyone mounted. We leave in five!”

“Yes, Commander!” the lieutenant answered. “You heard him! Mount up!”

Five minutes later, after paying the stationmaster handsomely for his hospitality, Prince Lirens pulled himself into his saddle and set off again after the coach. The army’s quick-march procedure devoured the miles. Switching horses another seven times, they finally pulled off the road to catch a few hours of sleep. Lirens carried his saddle up a slight rise to use as a pillow, wrapped himself in a woolen blanket, and fell immediately asleep.

Seeming like mere seconds later, he woke to the sounds of a stirring camp. Men were folding blankets, rummaging through their saddlebags for food or a change of clothing, and saddling horses. The chilly morning air had inspired someone to build a small fire of bison dung. One soldier, returning from relieving himself, pointed out where a small stream snaked through the grassland behind a hillock not far away. His sergeant elected him and a couple of his comrades to fill canteens for the rest. The wrangler busied himself with watering the horses, aided by several soldiers.

After eating some rations and downing half his canteen, the prince looked westward. He saw nothing on the horizon, no movement, and not a hint of dust that a coach might throw into the air. Even so, he thought, it will be a nice and cool day for our morning ride.

He picked his way down the slope to the road, where he found his horse saddled and ready, thanks to an enterprising soldier. Before mounting, he addressed his company. “Gentlemen, we are nearing the end of our chase. If everything goes as planned, we should overtake the coach in a few hours. We will take them alive so they can face the king’s justice, but defend yourself as necessary. Assuming the coach will be moving, Lieutenant Serapon, you and your ‘A’ and ‘B’ squads will stop the coach. ‘C’ and ‘D’ will assist me in neutralizing the guards. Am I clear?”

A loud “Yes, Commander!” greeted his ears. He smiled, checked his horse’s girth, and mounted. “Let’s ride!”

Again, they made good time. Despite the shortness of the rest, the horses seemed fresher and more spirited. Two hours and about twenty miles passed swiftly, and Lirens grew concerned that he could still see no dust plume before them. Looking back, he saw the dust hanging along their trail, looking like the smoky exhalation of one of the legendary dragons that had once inhabited the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains far to the east. But the countryside was still; only they seemed to be moving.

As they started up a rise, Serapon raised an arm, and the quarter-company stopped, horses blowing. He dismounted, running across the road and up the back of a small hill. Before he reached the top, he cast himself on the ground and crawled to the summit, peering over, scrutinizing the country to the west. In a few minutes, he hurried back to the prince.

“Commander, we are in luck,” he said, a little breathless. “This road ends a few hundred yards ahead at another road running north and south. The coach is just sitting under some trees at the end of the road. The draft horses are out of their traces and standing not far away. I think we caught them napping.”

“I would like nothing better,” the prince grunted. “Sergeant,’ he said to the nearest squad leader, “get up the hill and watch for movement in the camp. Let us know as soon as you see anyone stirring.” The sergeant saluted, dismounted, and followed the still-visible trail Serapon had left in the prairie grass to the hilltop.

“Lieutenant,” Lirens said, “a change of plans. Take two squads and ride with all stealth around this rise to the south. Get behind them to cut off their escape, and if you can, seize their horses. Remember, if you must engage with them, the king says we are to treat them as criminals to be captured, not enemies to be slain. Understand?”

Serapon and his men answered, “Yes, lord!”

“Good,” the prince said. “My squads will ride in as if we are the whole pursuit force, and we will try to keep their attention.”

He ordered the platoon to change mounts. Within several minutes, Serapon’s squads streamed south off the road to make a wide loop around the low hill, using as much natural cover to stay out of sight of Captain Verus’ lookout, assuming he had set a watch. The prince waited another five minutes before mounting and calling his shortened column into a quick trot up the rise in the road and down toward the fleeing traitors’ camp.

Hearing the drumming of the horses’ hooves, Captain Verus himself gave a shout to rouse his men, and they came out of their bedrolls, jamming their feet into their boots and reaching for their swords. With Verus in the center, they formed a ragged line in front of a small fire that had burned down to ashes. Lirens’ two squads fanned out to line up on either side of their commander, who held up a gloved hand to halt them.

“Good morning, Prytan!” Lirens said jovially, leaning on his saddle horn. “I bring you a warm hello from your wife, to whom I briefly spoke at your house yesterday. She wants you to come home alive, so in her name—and the king’s— I request your immediate surrender. It will go better for you and these boys if you do.” He made a show of looking all around. “By the way, where is Miss Tilanta? You seem to be guarding a cold fire rather than a cold woman.”

Captain Verus stole a quick glance over his shoulder to where he knew Désira had been lying near the fire, but he found her blankets empty. His eyes went wide. Cursing “that headstrong, ungrateful woman” bitterly, he threw down his sword and kneeled in the dirt, raising his hands. Grumbling, his men did likewise, with a few of them looking relieved. Several of Lirens’ soldiers dismounted, collected the weapons, patted the six guards down, and clapped manacles on them.

“What about the Tilanta lady?” one sergeant asked. “Should we go after her?”

Prince Lirens shook his head. “She won’t get far. Round up the horses and prepare the coach for our return trip. We’ll return to the station this afternoon and get some food and rest.”

Twenty minutes later, he heard a clamor of shouts, laughter, and whistles coming from outside the camp. High-pitched screams threatening damnation and death to every soldier in Margonne pierced the din. A woman’s voice shouted, “You won’t get away with this! My brother will kill you all, and I’ll help! You are so dead!” The soldiers laughed.

Serapon walked his horse slowly toward his commander, who stood by the coach, unable to check the laugh that exploded from him. The lieutenant had unceremoniously draped Désira over the saddle horn, holding her down with one large hand on the small of her back. Screaming slurs at him and calling down every curse she could think of, Désira arched and bucked to free herself, but she was no match for the strong Leitan. He stopped his horse a few yards from the prince. His sergeants rushed forward and wrestled a fuming, red-faced, disheveled Désira off the horse to face their commander.

“Lord Commander,” Serapon said formally, “I bring you the fugitive from the king’s justice. She was running west, and I immediately took her into custody. I apologize for returning her here across my saddle. I could think of no other way to restrain her and ride my horse.”

“That Leitan monster grabbed me off the ground at a full gallop!” Désira complained. “He nearly broke my neck! I swear I will kill him and all of you! This isn’t how you treat a lady!”

“True,” Lirens said, nodding. “We treat ladies with respect. Traitors and fugitives? Not so much.” He looked at the sergeants. “Manacles, please! Put her in the coach. A sergeant will ride with her at all times. I would suggest you have a gag ready.”

The Jester: Hide and Seek (5)

Episode #38: "Riding into the Sunset"

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