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reputation as a tracker, even if he knew himself to be an amateur compared to the missing scouts. “They’re under an hour ahead of us and must be heading for a rendezvous to be traveling by day. Give me two of your best woodsmen each and follow the trail I mark. Enforce absolute noise discipline; remind your men how tough the smugglers will be if we don’t take them by surprise. They have captives. I’ve seen their tracks. Our quarry may be among them. Do you understand my instructions?”
    Nods all round. He’d trained these men personally. Provided he made allowances for the raw material swept up by the levy, he could depend on them.
    “Good. Go back, and select the two men I need, and be prepared to move out in sequence, ten yards separation. The lead company will deploy scouts and the last company a rear-guard. Keep the archers in between. I’ll use your men as a tail; keep station on the last one.” He could depend on them not losing the trail in this type of country. He had to keep visual contact through a line of men between him and the lead company.
    An hour later, he’d closed up within a hundred yards of the smugglers and caught glimpses of the captives. Hooded, linked by rope in a crude coffle, wrists bound in front of them, there were eight, possibly nine. Two were tall enough to be Red, but the hoods hid their hair and the rear-guard group of smugglers obscured their footprints wherever possible. The whole group bunched up as if they were about to leave the forest trail, probably to some nearby rendezvous, and their scouts were active.
    Time to halt his men.
    The first link in his chain of men watched from the concealment of a large bush and Kamran used hand signals to halt and laager the companies, ending with two fingers in front of his eyes and the circling of his right index finger. The first linking man signaled his understanding and sank to his haunches, waiting for the next man in the chain to join him and pass the instructions back along the line. He’d wait in concealment while Kamran reconnoitered the situation.
    Satisfied with his arrangements, he moved forward cautiously. He still heard the mutter of voices, their noise discipline was atrocious, and it seemed to peak, suggesting someone was passing orders the rest felt compelled to discuss. A good indication they’d reached their turnoff. A dozen more yards and he could see them.
    A handful of men created a false trail beyond the turnoff, suggesting they’d leave watchers, perhaps even an ambush for a small party, while a dozen others concealed all evidence of the main party’s diversion to the north. Kamran sank to the ground, disappearing into a stand of tall grass flourishing in the dappled light from a gap in the canopy high above him. A small gap created by a straggling stand of saplings at its edge gave him a clear view of the area.
    He watched the two groups finish their tasks and fade into the forest. The rendezvous had to be a cave because the ground rose steeply a hundred yards back on that side with the tree line visible through gaps in the trees. He’d not heard of it before, but this area was off the beaten track. Now he must wait until the sentries grew tired, or betrayed themselves with movement. He must know where they hid before making his next move.
    The sound of a scuffle came clearly before a woman’s voice screamed in rage, making Kamran swear under his breath as the sound ended abruptly. There was no mistaking the tone of a High Born. Whoever she was, she just signed her own death warrant and that of every smuggler. The man behind him could not have missed the sound, nor failed to recognize it. Kamran was now committed to attacking the smugglers. If he didn’t, someone would be bound to talk when they returned and sign his death warrant.
    Damn the High Born .
    They were all the same, the males enforced droit du seigneur on the peasant brides and the women took strong peasant men to their beds. In this case, one of