Page 74 of The Threadbare Queen

“A watcher. They’ve ridden away.” Massi frowned.

“Tuart knows the direction we’re going in. The only reason he’d have posted watchers is to find out how fast we’re moving.” Luc looked ahead, at the clear, open ground that hugged the foothills to the Jatan mountain range, and then to the right, to the area of rolling hills and valleys that the Kassian called the Thousand Hills. “So either the Jatan are doing something they need to finish before we arrive, or they’re waiting for us to get somewhere and need to know the exact timing, maybe to ambush us.”

Massi swore quietly. “I don’t like this.”

Neither did Luc. The sense of fear, of time running out, was a pounding beat in his head now. They needed to change their plans.

He rode into the middle of the open space and then pulled his horse to a stop. His gaze went up the hill in case the watcher had paused to study them a little longer, but there was no sign of them.

Still, when the whole unit slowed at the sight of him, and then stopped, gathering around him, he spoke quietly.

“The Jatan are watching us from the forest slopes.” He was pleased to see no one looked in that direction. “They know where we’re going, so it must be how fast we are going that is of interest to them.”

More than one of the unit understood the implications of that immediately, whistling low under their breath.

“So what are we going to do?” Rafe asked.

“We’re going to go via the Thousand Hills.” Luc let that sink in. “It’s a harder route, but there is less distance to go to reach Cervantes that way. If we push hard, but carefully, if we keep a steady pace, we can be home in less than two days, which is what we’d manage if we stuck to the foothills anyway.”

“With the benefit of being out of the Jatan’s sight,” Massi said.

There was a murmur of agreement.

“Then let’s go.” Luc wheeled his mount around and raced to the right, toward the line of hills in the distance.

Whatever the Jatan were up to, he would thwart them at every turn.

* * *

They flew.

Luc was careful not to overextend, though.

They had to be ready for anything when they emerged from the wide flat valley with its undulating hills. They might have to engage in battle against the Jatan, or help their people in the aftermath of a possible attack.

On the second day, toward the late afternoon, a pillar of smoke in the distance gave him the sinking feeling it would be the latter.

The area up ahead would be on the very edge of Cervantes territory. The first place the Jatan would have reached if they’d come down into Kassia and swept to the east.

The smoke acted as a catalyst to the unit, and everyone went quiet, focused on riding hard, on reaching the first village while the sun was still in the sky.

The valley narrowed as they reached the end of it, so they emerged from between high cliffs and burst out onto an open plain dotted with gimtali trees.

“Who knows this village?” Luc called, and one of the soldiers lifted a hand.

“I’m from Bintinya, which isn’t far from here.”

“Come.” Luc waited for him and they rode in front, while Rafe, Massi and Revek coordinated from behind, watching for lookouts or ambushes.

They reached the small settlement in the last gasp of the day.

A rough hut burned, the thatch smoking sullenly.

Luc had glimpsed movement as they approached, but when they drew to a halt and look around at the small village, there was no one in sight.

“My name is Frebo, from Bintinya.” The soldier who’d ridden with Luc rose up in his stirrups, hands on either side of his mouth as he called out. “My aunt Greta trades here often.”

“Ai, ai!” A man stepped out from behind a hut and walked slowly toward them. “The Rising Wave?”

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