In the Shadow of the Bear by David Randall

Author:David Randall
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780786753109
Publisher: Argo-Navis

Chapter Four

The Harrow Moors

The next day gray clouds filled the sky. The wind had shifted and a biting breeze blew from the north. Through the chill they rode east on land that sloped gently upward. Here the farms were farther apart, and the farmers carried spears with them as they went to patrol large paddocks where sheep, cows, and horses nibbled at the new grass. It was largely horse country: Clovermead saw no end of them in the rolling greensward.

A farmer bringing hay out to a dozen horses looked suspiciously at Sorrel and Fetterlock as the Yellowjackets passed by. Sorrel said quietly to Clovermead, “These are our raiding grounds. Whenever we Tansyards feel short of horses, we head through the Harrow Moors to seize a horse or five from these farmer-folk. Then they come back through the Moors to reclaim their horses—and if they cannot find the proper thieves, they take them from whichever Horde they find.”

“That hardly seems right,” said Clovermead. “That means they’re just stealing horses from somebody else, not taking back what really belongs to them.”

Fetterlock laughed and said something to Sorrel in Tansyard. Sorrel laughed too, then switched to common tongue: “Fetterlock reminded me of the time that Curvet of the White Star Horde stole a mare from the Horde Chief of Cyan Cross, and left false evidence to convince him that the thief was actually a Red Bar warrior. Five warriors died in battle between Cyan Cross and Red Bar before the truth came out, and by then the White Star Horde was halfway across the Steppes. The Elders deposed the Horde Chief for folly, and since then White Star has had an excellent story to tell about Cyan Cross.”

“And this is something to laugh about?” Clovermead rolled her eyes. “Never mind. It still doesn’t excuse the Low Brandingmen.”

Sorrel shrugged. “You think horse-stealing is a crime; we regard it as a warrior’s virtue. We kill any Low Brandingmen we catch when they come for our horses, but we give them a proper burial. It is a jolly game, and we have killed a great number of each other over the years, like good neighbors. Ah, how little that farmer suspects that I have become an honest soldier of Chandlefort! And what a fine herd he has!” Sorrel tipped his hat to the glowering farmer, and rode on in a good humor.

“These Tansyards are very peculiar,” Clovermead declared loudly. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand them properly.”

“You farmer-folk confuse us just as much,” said Fetterlock.

In the afternoon the clouds parted and a wan sun came out. The riders passed a low stone fort of Low Branding mercenaries, who cantered out quickly to see who the strangers were—looked at Lady Cindertallow’s letter, grunted, and returned to their stronghold. East of the fort the stone road turned into a dirt track. Here the farms were few indeed, and each had a wooden palisade around it. The farmers all were mounted, and they watched the Yellowjackets with surly suspicion. Clovermead saw that some of them had white tattoos in the shape of pikes on their foreheads.

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