Dallas dozed in the saddle, letting Swift set her own pace south under an overcast sky. When Swift stopped, Dallas woke.
Even with the heavy cloud cover, enough mid morning sunlight filtered through for Dallas to clearly see the black cloak wrapped body lying on the path in front of Swift.
He dismounted and carried his staff across to the body. Once he turned it over, he could see the male’s slashed throat, with blood still slowly dripping.
The dripping blood meant he was catching up to them, because it had not fully congealed. How close was he?
Because he did not know how long it took for blood to congeal, he guessed he was an hour or two behind? Or more?
The wound had been cut with a knife, not a star thrower, because there were no puncture wounds either side of the wide slash. That meant Misty had to have been close to the male before she attacked.
He checked the surroundings. Open spaces north and south. A mix of stunted spine covered bushes scattered across the open spaces, tall eucalyptus and weeping willow trees lining the creek to the east, and rocky outcrops to the west.
Either she waited in the trees along the creek bank, or left Sweetie under the trees while she hid among the rocks to the west. Both hiding places were more than eight yards away from the body.
Throwing a knife that far took skill.
He checked the rest of the body and found where her knife first pierced the victim. Blood covered his shirt under his left arm. When the male fell from his horse, she must have run forward and cut his throat, before she retrieved the knife from his ribs.
Misty was good!
Dallas walked around the body, reading the signs in the grass and dirt.
Wagon wheel tracks were almost lost under horse tracks.
He followed the horse tracks around the outcrop of rocks, and behind three spindly trees growing close together, on the western side of the valley. The tracks disappeared down a washout, large enough for six or more horses to wait the return of the slavers.
He also found wet hay, horse droppings, and the remains of a camp fire.
He jogged back to the body and Swift, worried he would not catch up if the slavers kept changing horses, then worried Misty would push Sweetness too far without rest.
She did not know enough about horses to understand Sweetness needed to stop and rest or through exhaustion trip and go lame, or worse, collapse and die. And as Misty could not receive any images Sweetie sent, even if Sweetie sent an image, it would go unheeded.
He decided to follow Sweetie’s tracks on foot, to see if there was any sign of a limp. Hoof prints bunched close together showed where Sweetie stopped a few yards past the body. He noticed Misty’s boot print, then another, leading back towards the body.
Misty was looking for something.
He found the impression of a knife handle in the wet dirt, next to her boot prints.
So she must have missed with her first thrown knife, and got him with her second throw. Then she retrieved the knife that missed.
Why had the other slavers not helped defend the dead male? Not enough left?
Or he was trailing the wagon and the others were out of sight before Misty attacked?
Dallas did not know, but hoped it was because there were fewer in the group than he guessed.
He followed the tracks until Misty stopped again. The toes of her boots dug into the ground, so he guessed she squatted. Then he noticed the small stones arranged in the shape of an arrow head. Pointing south.
Why pointing south, when she had been moving south since the day before?
Of course. She could not communicate with Sweetness, so did not understand Sweetie left the ichur trail for Dallas and Swift to track. It was her way of telling Dallas where she was headed.
He returned to Swift and mounted. “We keep moving south.”
* * *
Any hope of catching up to Misty and Sweetness faded at the next creek.
The rain from the past week had finally flowed south out of the rolling hills and flooded the creek on its way down to the Semp river.
Dallas tried not to lose hope, but after Swift sent an image of Sweetie’s tracks entering the water at the same spot as the wagon and slaver horses, he knew it would take days for the water to recede enough to cross safely.
He dismounted next to a large tree and removed the saddle, bedroll and reins, leaving them under the overhanding branches. Swift grazed on sweet green shoots, while he walked along the edge of lapping water, both looking for a place to cross and a meal.
When he disturbed a brace of flightless fowl, he threw a small ball of ichur towards the smallest bird. The silvery ball landed on the bird’s neck, stunning it. He splashed muddy water on his trousers when he ran across to retrieve the stunned bird, ignoring the calls of the other fleeing fowl. With a deft twist of his hands he broke its neck, before he returned to the camp site to clean and cook the bird.
Then he slept while Swift grazed and rested, ignoring the wet ground, and slightly sour smell of stagnant muddy puddles.
When he woke, he was thinking much clearer.
All he had to do was follow the flooded creek until he found a place to cross, and if not, once he reached the Semp river he could continue west to the old bridge just before the Semp joined the Ern river.
If he did not pick up the wagon tracks once across the old bridge, he could take a day to ride west and another to ride back east. If the slavers continued south, sooner or later he would cross Sweetie’s tracks again, even if he had to travel all the way to Morecrag’s slave markets in their southern port.
Around midnight he heard the sound of water falling onto rocks. He had reached the Semp river.
Swift wove through a crop of tall pine trees in the silvery glow spreading from the top of Dallas’s staff. Her hoofs disturbed spores and decayed leaf litter, so Dallas kept his mouth shut and tried to ignore the smells as he breathed through his nose.
Just beyond the circle of silvery light, three lanterns suddenly spilled candlelight across the cleared area surrounded by tall pine trees. Between Dallas’s ichur light and the lanterns, light flooded the area in front of a border guard post house.
Dallas located two guards waiting with bows pointed towards him.
“Identify yourself!” A third tall male, wrapped in a green cloak, stepped into the lantern light.
Dallas shut off his ichur light, and guided Swift into the cleared area. “Dallas Wood, boundary rider on my parents property. I am following a group of Morecrag slavers who stole some of our workers.”
“No slavers around here.” The guard lowered his bow and took a step closer. “Come into the guard post.”
The other two males kept their strung bows on him until he dismounted. He patted Swift’s neck and whispered, “Wait here,” before he entered the guard post.
The guard who spoke followed him inside, but the other two remained outside.
Mage Raffet sat at a table on the left of the door, reading in candle light. Two more guards slept in bunks at the back of the room.
“Dallas!” Mage Raffet stood, then noticed the guard waiting behind Dallas. “Stand down. I know Dallas.”
The guard walked outside.
“Sit.” Mage Raffet returned to his chair and waited for Dallas to sit. “What are you doing down here?”
“Following slavers who stole women and children from one of our shepherd hamlets.”
“How long ago?”
Dallas was so tired he had to think before he could answer. “Started yesterday afternoon.”
“You rode a lot of miles to get here if you were at your parent’s property yesterday.” The mage raised his eyebrows, questioning Dallas.
“I rode all night and all day, only stopping for a few hours sleep while Swift grazed. Couldn’t cross one flooded creek so followed the swollen creek down here.” Dallas poured himself a mug of wine from the jug on the table, and drank it. “Covered close to one hundred and forty miles from the hamlet.”
“Guards said no riders crossed the bridge today.”
“One wagon, and at least three riders, and possibly a string of spare horses.”
The mage shook his head.
“Then they must have crossed further east.” Dallas stood. “I am wasting time talking. I need to ride east.”
His raised voice disturbed one of the sleeping guards. “Trouble?”
Mage Raffet glanced at the guard. “No trouble. Go back to sleep.”
The male lowered his head and fell asleep before Mage Raffet turned back to Dallas. “New council rules out last week. Only those with authorisation papers, or border guards, can cross the border since the increased activity of slavers further east.”
“Then you had better make me a border guard, because with or without your permission, I intend to cross the border to rescue my workers.”