The dog normally went on point when sensing danger, until he was attacked or ordered to attack by Baru. Baru and Martin rode past the others, the Hadati ordering the dog forward. Blutark dashed ahead, around a bend between high walls of stone, as the trail cut downward again.
They rounded the turn and pulled up, for in a clearing Blutark faced another Beasthound. The two dogs sniffed at each other and wagged tails. But behind the second dog stood a man in black leather armour, an odd iron mask over his face. He sighted at them down a Bessy Mauler, mounted upon a single long wooden pole. He spoke, the words made unintelligible by the blowing wind.
Baru raised his hands and shouted something, most of the words lost upon the others, but his friendly intentions clear. Suddenly, from above, nets descended, ensnaring all seven riders. A dozen brown-leather-clad soldiers leaped down upon them, and quickly wrestled Arutha’s party from their mounts. In short order all seven were trussed up like game birds. The man in black armour broke down his pole, folding it, and slung it with the crossbow across his back. He approached and gave his own dog and Blutark both friendly pats.
The sound of horses accompanied another detachment of men in brown, this time riders. One of the men in brown spoke to them, in heavily accented King’s Tongue. He said, “You will come with us. Do not speak aloud, or we will gag you. Do not try to escape, or we will kill you.”
Baru nodded curtly to his companions, but Roald began to say something. Instantly hands jammed a gag into his mouth and tied a cloth over his face, silencing him. Arutha looked about, but only nodded to the others. The captives were roughly placed back in their saddles, their feet tied to their stirrups. Without further words the riders turned back down the trail, leading Arutha and the others along.
For a day and a night they rode. Short halts were ordered to rest the horses. While the horses were being tended, Arutha and his companions would have their bindings loosened to lessen the cramping they were all experiencing. A few hours after they had set out, Roald’s gag was removed, much to his relief, but it was clear their captors wouldn’t permit them to speak.
After dawn they could see they had negotiated nearly half the distance between the trail along the crest of the mountains and the foothills below. They passed a small herd of cattle, with three watchful and armed herdsmen who waved, and approached a walled hill community.
The outer wall was sturdy, heavy logs lashed together and sealed with dried mud. The horsemen were forced to make a circular approach by deep trenches about the wall, coming up the hill on a switchback trail. On both sides of the trail the trenches revealed fire-hardened wooden spikes, ready to impale any horseman who faltered. Roald looked about and whispered, “They must have some charming neighbours.”
One of the guards immediately rode in next to him, the gag ready, but the leader waved him back as they approached the gate. The gate swung open, and they discovered a second wall behind the first. There was no barbican, but the entire area between the walls was effectively a killing ground. As they passed through the second gate, Arutha admired the simple craftsmanship. A modern army could take this village quickly, but it would cost lives. Bandits and goblins would be repulsed easily.
Inside the walls, Arutha observed his surroundings. It was a village of no more than a dozen huts, all of wattle-and-daub construction. In the compound, children played, but with serious eyes. They wore gambeson armour or, in the case of a few of the older children, leather. All carried daggers. Even the old men were armed, and one hobbled past using a spear instead of a walking staff. The leader of the company said, “Now you may speak, for the rules of the trail do not apply here.” He continued to speak King’s Tongue. His men cut the straps binding the captives’ feet to the stirrups and helped them dismount. He then motioned for them to enter a hut.
Inside, Arutha and the others faced the commander of the patrol. Blutark, who had continued to run at Baru’s side, lay at the Hadati’s feet, his large tongue lolling out as he panted.
“That dog, is a rare breed, of particular importance to our people,” said the commander of the patrol. “How do you come to have him?”
Arutha nodded to Baru. “We found his master killed by trolls,” said the Hadati. “We killed the trolls and the dog chose to come with us.”
The man considered. “Had you harmed his master, that dog would have killed you or died in the attempt. So I must believe you. But that breed is trained to obey only a few. How do you command?”
The hillman spoke a word and the dog sat up, ears perked. He spoke another and the dog lay down, at rest. “My village had dogs of similar breed, though not so large as this.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”