Fall of Angels

CIX

GERLICH HOLDS UP his hand, and the column slows to a halt. The early-morning mist rises out of the trees to the east of the road that continues to climb as it turns northward.

“All right, Ser Wizard,” the big man announces. “Get out your glass or whatever you need, and scout out that trail.” He points to a gap between the trees on the side of the road. “I want you to make sure no one is on it.”

“That’s not even a real trail, and it goes right into the mountain,” protests Hissl. “What good will that do?”

“It is a trail,” answers Gerlich. “I’ve scouted it, and it curves through this slope and rocky ridge and comes out right behind the tower-inside their watch posts and defenses. And it’s close enough so that there’s a back way totheir stables. You have the map on that, Nirso.” The hunter nods to the squat armsman riding behind Narliat.

Narliat’s eyes flick from the wizard, who dismounts and eases a padded and leather-covered glass from one saddlebag, to Gerlich and then to the road ahead. His lips tighten.

“Worried, friend Narliat? You have seen what I can do with the blade and bow, and they certainly will not be expecting an attack-especially from here.” Gerlich laughs.

Hissl squats on the ground, concentrating on the glass before him, and the mists that appear. After a time, he rises, wipes his forehead, and repacks the glass.

“Well?”

“There is no one on the trail. It is narrow, but I could see no tracks and no horses.”

“Good.” Gerlich turns his mount uphill, and the others follow.