He rode back across the ford in the gentle rain, and with Syr Ydrik and his Irkish knights as an escort and Tapio as a companion, he rode west to the top of the round-topped mountain that dominated the ford.

To the west, in the very earliest light of day, he could see for a mile or more, and the road and the whole vale of the Cohocton seemed to be alive.

Gavin shook his head.

“He’s coming for us,” he said.

Tapio looked. “We will have to fight to cover our retreat.” He shrugged. “If you are correct, man, then he knowsss by now.”

“We need all of Redmede’s people and the Moreans,” Gavin said.

“They’re the back of the column. And get us a caster.”

He waved at Giannis Griatzas, now one of his squires. “Get the Redmedes and all their people.” He thought a moment. “And the Duchess Mogon, if she will come.”

Griatzas bowed and rode off into the rain.

“You will sssacrifice them,” Tapio asked.

Gavin tugged the water out of his beard. “Not if I can help it,” he said. “Look; with this hill in our hands, we can cover the baggage and all the infantry across the ford. And then we slip away; it won’t be easy, but we’ll be on the wrong side of the river and he’ll be caught.”

“Man, if he crosssesss the river, it is we who will be caught.” Tapio smiled and his fangs showed. “But neverthelessss. If he followsss, he is sssurely defeated by disstance.”

“It will be bad, for the rear guard,” Gavin said. He was looking at his own knights.

Loomsack Mountain—Bill Redmede

Duchess Mogon was watching the chaos at the river crossing with increasing annoyance and a good deal of fear when Griatzas found her. But Griatzas was a very mature young man and he knew that he was requesting, not ordering; her beak opened and shut twice with a click, but she didn’t bridle or raise her crest.

“Very well,” she said. “We will come.”

She snapped orders to her household, and almost four hundred wardens rose to their feet. Their plumes were soaked, but the inlay in their beaks and the colour on their hides showed.

She herself sprinted at superhuman speed to where Harold Redmede was getting his people on their feet; sheer exhaustion and long habituation had most of the rangers asleep in the rain.

He flinched a little at her wave front of fear, but then grinned. “You comin’ with us, Your Grace?”

She yawned her beak. “If the bogglins get into our retreat at the ford,” she said, and left the sentence to hang.

“Let’s go, you villains!” Redmede called.

Men cursed; Stern Rachel continued her efforts to light her pipe, ignoring her corporal.