of course, would handle their own men, just as he'd do the same for the Fighting Band. The camp followers wouldn't be a problem. In their own way, they were also veterans, accustomed to reacting quickly whenever their men told them to do so.
* * *
Adrian began the escape shortly after midnight, taking advantage of a clear sky and a full moon. His camp was far enough away from Franness that it couldn't be seen directly; nor, of course, would anyone be able to hear the sounds of an army on the march. Not as much noise as there was filling the streets of a city being sacked. A relatively mild sort of sack, granted, since Prelotta was making sure the city itself and its populace was not destroyed. But any kind of sack does not lend itself to maintaining sober and alert sentries.
To the disgruntlement of the Vanbert-trained veterans among his men, Adrian ordered the camp left intact instead of dismantled. Pulling apart the temporary fortress would take hours better spent creating as much distance as possible between them and Franness. And there was always the chance that the Reedbottoms would even be fooled through a good portion of the following day, seeing, at a distance, the camp still erect and apparently occupied.
* * *
In the event, there was no pursuit. Save only a small band of Reedbottoms who caught up with them two nights later. But they were more in the nature of a delegation than anything else.
One of Prelotta's chieftains was in charge. When Adrian came up to him, after the chieftain was allowed into the camp which had been erected that night, the man did not dismount. Although he looked as if he wished he could. Reedbottoms always looked a bit awkward perched on saddles.
The chieftain's name was Rawal, and Adrian remembered him as being a rather good-natured fellow. Which, indeed, he was.
"Great Chief Prelotta says you are a fool, Adrian Gellert. But"—here, a magnanimous wave of the hand—"he does not curse you. Although I shall, since you've led me on a miserable
* * *
Adrian began the escape shortly after midnight, taking advantage of a clear sky and a full moon. His camp was far enough away from Franness that it couldn't be seen directly; nor, of course, would anyone be able to hear the sounds of an army on the march. Not as much noise as there was filling the streets of a city being sacked. A relatively mild sort of sack, granted, since Prelotta was making sure the city itself and its populace was not destroyed. But any kind of sack does not lend itself to maintaining sober and alert sentries.
To the disgruntlement of the Vanbert-trained veterans among his men, Adrian ordered the camp left intact instead of dismantled. Pulling apart the temporary fortress would take hours better spent creating as much distance as possible between them and Franness. And there was always the chance that the Reedbottoms would even be fooled through a good portion of the following day, seeing, at a distance, the camp still erect and apparently occupied.
* * *
In the event, there was no pursuit. Save only a small band of Reedbottoms who caught up with them two nights later. But they were more in the nature of a delegation than anything else.
One of Prelotta's chieftains was in charge. When Adrian came up to him, after the chieftain was allowed into the camp which had been erected that night, the man did not dismount. Although he looked as if he wished he could. Reedbottoms always looked a bit awkward perched on saddles.
The chieftain's name was Rawal, and Adrian remembered him as being a rather good-natured fellow. Which, indeed, he was.
"Great Chief Prelotta says you are a fool, Adrian Gellert. But"—here, a magnanimous wave of the hand—"he does not curse you. Although I shall, since you've led me on a miserable