"Thank you." A puppy nuzzled at his cloak, then mercifully moved away; Flenser was a mass of sores beneath that cover. Perhaps Amdi realized that, or perhaps — more and more Flenser saw a reticence in the children. His comment to Steel had been a slip into the truth: these two really didn't trust him. That was Tyrathect's fault. On his own, Flenser would have had no trouble winning Amdijefri's love. Flenser had none of Steel's killing temper and fragile dignity. Flenser could chat for casual pleasure, all the while mixing truth with lies. One of his greatest talents was empathy; no sadist can aspire to perfection without that diagnostic ability. But just when he was doing well, when they seemed about to open to him — then Ty or Ra or Thect would pop up, twisting his expression or poisoning his choice of phrase. Perhaps he should content himself with undermining the children's respect for Steel (without, of course, ever saying anything directly against him). Flenser sighed, and patted Jefri's arm comfortingly. "Ravna will be back. I'm sure of it." The human sniffled a little, then reached out to pet the part of Flenser's head that was not shrouded by the cloak. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, and his attention drifted back to — — the forest and Rangolith's troops. The group had been moving uphill for almost ten minutes. The others were lightly burdened and used to this sort of exercise. Flenser's two members were lagging. He hissed at the group leader.
The group leader sidled back, his squad shifting briskly out of his way. He stopped when his nearest was fifteen feet from Flenser's. The soldier's heads cocked this way and that. "Your wishes… My Lord?" This one was new; he had been briefed about the cloaks, but Flenser knew the fellow didn't understand the new rules. The gold and silver that glinted in the darkness of the cloaks — those colors were reserved for the Lords of the Domain. Yet there only two of Flenser here; normally such a fragment could barely carry on a conversation, much less give reasonable orders. Just as disconcerting, Flenser knew, was his lack of mind sound. "Zombie" was the word some of the troops used when they thought themselves alone.
Flenser pointed up the hill; the timberline was only a few yards away. "Farscout Rangolith is on the other side. We will take a short cut," he said weakly.
Part of the other was already looking up the hill. "That is not good, sir." The trooper spoke slowly. Stupid damn duo, his posture said. "The bad ones will see us."
Flenser glowered at the other, a hard thing to do properly when you are just two. "Soldier, do you see the gold on my shoulders? Even one of me is worth all of you. If I say take a short cut, we do it — even if it means walking belly deep through brimstone." Actually, Flenser knew exactly where Vendacious had put lookouts. There was no risk in crossing the open ground here. And he was so tired.
The group leader still didn't know quite what Flenser was, but he saw the dark-cloaks were at least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed off humbly, bellies dragging on the ground. The group turned up hill and a few minutes later were walking across open heather.
Rangolith's command post was less than a half mile away along this path — Flenser with Steel walked into the inner keep. The stone was freshly cut, the walls thrown up with the feverish speed of all this castle's construction. Thirty feet over their heads, where vault met buttresses, there were small holes set in the stonework. Those holes would soon be filled with gunpowder — as would slots in the wall surrounding the landing field. Steel called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to Flenser. "So what does Rangolith say?"
"Sorry. He's been out on patrol. He should be here — I mean, he should be in camp — any minute." Flenser did his best to conceal his own trips with the scouts. Such recons were not forbidden, but Steel would have demanded explanations if he knew.
Flenser with Rangolith's troops sloshed through water-soaked heather. The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool tongues partway under his wretched cloaks.
Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were in a slight depression at the edge of a large summer pond. A hundred yards away, a huge patch of a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond, and kept the air pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight from below, yet the site was so high in the hills that from the edge of the depression there was a clear view across three points of the compass, centered on the south. Resupply could be accomplished from the north with little chance of detection, and even if the damn fires struck the forests below, this post would be untouched.
