“We have seen them.” The human steadied his horse. The young stallion looked handsome and anxious to run.
“Did they have a child with them?” Bronwyn sat back in his saddle and questioned the stranger. He seemed friendly enough. The other human, smaller in stature, remained quiet.
The stranger nodded. “The four of them made a curious group.”
“When did you see them?” Bronwyn tried to steal a glimpse of the clothing the men wore, but flowing cloaks concealed everything, including their swords, if they had any.
“Let me see.” The stranger thought over the answer.
Bronwyn gritted his teeth. This man considered his words far too much before he spoke them. Maybe the other man spoke faster.
“Ah!” The man raised his hand in the air and stuck up his index finger. “It was after we stopped for a ration. Or, I should say, after we started again…Yes! It was then.”
Bronwyn locked his jaw. The stranger obviously didn’t understand the simple question.
“Maskil,” said the large man. “You’re guards from there?”
He nodded. “We’re tracking these men because they kidnapped the child.” Maybe the information would produce an answer faster.
“I have a good friend who’s a guard there.” The stranger chuckled. “He’s lived in the town quite a while. I suppose he’ll take root soon. Maybe you know him. Name’s McGreggor. He’s captain of the guard.”
The sergeant glanced at Rorie. The stranger had to be joking, or he knew nothing about Maskil. For as long as he could remember, Sanderson had held the captain of the guard position. “Maybe you’re confused with another town.”
“No. No. It’s Maskil I speak of. Ol’ McGreggor has been whipping those men into shape for years. He’s a respected dwarf who should be known by you men.”
Bronwyn shook his head. They needlessly wasted his time, but he’d give them one more try. “Exactly what time of day did you see this hauflin?”
“McGreggor’s a dwarf. I thought I said as much.” He shrugged. “I can’t recall the last time. Maybe three years ago.”
“No!” Bronwyn squeezed his reins. Be calm. Take a breath. “The hauflin you passed yesterday. If you’d tell us this, we’ll be on our way.”
The stranger eyed him. “Your manners could stand improvement. I’ll have to speak with McGreggor about this.”
Bronwyn leant forward and glared at him. “There’s no McGreggor at Maskil. Sanderson, a human, is captain of the guard. Either you’re confused or plain stupid.”
The stranger raised his eye brow. “I guess I must be plain stupid. What’s your excuse, Sergeant?” He pulled open his cloak, flipping the edges over his shoulders revealing the black and grey uniform below.
Bronwyn caught his breath. He had called the Dukedom of the South’s captain of the guard stupid. Swallowing hard, he studied Trisham Orme of Petra, Lord Cranton Dunsworth’s right-hand man. Given the ties between the towns, Orme knew well Maskil’s top military personnel. Orme had fooled him, tested him. He had failed.
“I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.” Bronwyn remembered his training. “You acted incompetent and I misjudged you.”
“Next time, Sergeant, I suggest you think before you speak. Anyone can don a uniform and pretend they are from Maskil.”
“Yes, sir.” He swallowed to relieve the pressure in his mouth. “The men we follow abducted my child. We’ve trailed them for three days.”
“It makes it all more important to you to keep a clear head.” Orme looked at him sideways. “You say this is your child? The child they possess is hauflin, not dwarf.”
“She’s my adopted daughter.”
Orme grunted. “They claim she is a boy, a son of this hauflin. But it is a terrible haircut and will draw curiosity.”
“The evidence found at one of their campsites indicated it to be so.” Bronwyn bit his lip. “Did she look well?”
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. We, Lord Finley Dunsworth and I, passed by them about noon yesterday, so you are about a day behind them. If they’re headed for the Midway Keep, they’ll reach it by nightfall tomorrow. From there, it’s a two-day ride to Ellswire. If they head towards Paddy’s Hill, you’ll have a hard go of it. There are many places they can turn off.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Bronwyn. “We’re glad to hear any piece of information that’ll help us.” He noticed Lord Dunsworth kept his cloak about him, unwilling to reveal anything beneath. The dark-haired human didn’t smile, didn’t even appear to have smile lines which might suggest a happy person sat beneath the cloak. Bronwyn understood the lords in Petra weren’t appointed because of their exceptional qualities; they were born into the positions. It meant, strength and wisdom ruled as much as weakness and stupidity. He wondered how the citizens felt about it. Did the lords command respect or was it given freely?
“What is your name?” asked Lord Dunsworth.
The sudden break of silence surprised him. “Sergeant Bronwyn Darrow.”
“Sergeant Darrow, are you new to the rank?”
“No.” He saw no reason to explain further.
Lord Dunsworth grunted. “Either your training is lax or you’re not sergeant material.”
Bronwyn took the comment on the chin. This lord, who became one only because of his father, didn’t have the right to judge his qualifications.
“I’ll speak with Lord Mulryan about this,” said Dunsworth.
“No need to bother,” said Bronwyn. “Lord Mulryan knows I’m more than qualified to hold my position. With all due respect, Lord Dunsworth, you have no right to even hint about having my rank reduced.” He glared at the human to add strength to his words.
Orme watched in silence. Bronwyn sensed the captain of the guard didn’t feel the same as his lord. He wondered if the large human, who had obviously earned his rank, enjoyed taking care of this boy who appeared no older than twenty-five.
“If we were at Petra North, I’d have you thrown in the dungeon for your insubordination.”
“But we’re not at Petra.” Bronwyn gripped the reins and prepared to depart. “We do things a little differently at Maskil. Everyone at the castle earns their rank.”
Before the lord spoke again, Orme put up his hand. “My Lord, it’s best we put our differences aside for the sake of the poor child they seek.” He guided his horse out of the way and motioned for them to pass. “Continue, Sergeant Darrow. I wish you success in your mission.”
Bronwyn nodded. The captain of the guard had retained his patience, as would have Sanderson if presented with the same circumstances. He would learn from this. He’d need it if he ever obtained their rank. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, sir. May your travels be safe.”
Orme nodded at the three. “Good luck, men.” He pulled his cloak around him and began towards Maskil. Lord Dunsworth rode next to him.
Bronwyn kicked his horse, bringing it to a jog. Rorie and Garret fell into step beside him.
“Sir, I’d never have guessed Trisham Orme and Lord Dunsworth would be on The Trail alone this far from Petra.” Rorie glanced back at the pair disappearing from sight.
“You and I both.” Bronwyn looked at him. “I don’t recall Sanderson and a lord leaving Maskil.” Orme didn’t seem concerned he travelled alone, the only protector of Lord Finley Dunsworth. Perhaps the horrible stories of danger on The Trail held more fiction than truth.