It had rained overnight. The ground was heavy and sodden with moisture, the trees were coated with a halo of glistening droplets and slender tendrils of water vapour snaked upward into the morning sky. The clouds had moved on but a stubborn few still lingered on the horizon, as if smugly observing the inconvenience they had caused. The moist and miserable men huddled around a struggling fire, the damp wood resisting every effort to cause it to combust. All the way around the circle the question was asked of how each man was feeling. The near universal answer was as Alter had hoped, a bit stiff but much better than expected. Their elevated recovery rates once again proved essential to their chances of success. Once the horses were readied then they would be on their way again, although the change in conditions added an element of uncertainty to their potential progress.

  “This weather is going to make things so much worse. Just look at the road.” Pavejack complained as he cast a rueful eye towards the muddy trail.

  “Are you kidding me? This is ideal.” Riptide countered as the only chipper member of the group.

  “And why is that?” Walross shot back icily.

  “I mean, sure we’re going to lose some speed going through all that, but remember what we’re chasing. Having to pull heavy wagons or carriages through this muck? Our targets are going to be moving at at least half their normal pace, we can really close the distance in this.” Riptide straightened his back and gave a softly smug look to his audience.

  “That’s assuming the rain hit the roads ahead just as hard as it did here.” Walross protested.

  “The clouds did roll in from the west, I’d say there’s a good chance the entire province got soaked.” Boats replied thoughtfully, having been the only one awake at the rain’s arrival.

  “It’s an advantage, sure, but we should temper our expectations a little.” Alter cautioned. “It doesn’t change the fact that they’ve had a mighty head start. Plus, I don’t think the circumstances are so dire that I would be willing to risk injuring our horses for the sake of gaining an extra hour or two.”

  “Fair point.” Riptide conceded before looking over to the horses. “What do you think? How fast can we travel today?” He called out.

  Farfield’s head popped out from behind one of the breakfast-eating mounts.

  “It shouldn’t be too bad, these horses are trained to charge through mud much deeper than what we’ll encounter today. Still though, there will be an increased risk of one of them slipping and potentially breaking something. My advice, don’t push them too hard and trust them to control their speed. If they all start slowing down, let them. They know a lot more about staying on their feet than you do. Ahh, no offense meant, Sirs.”

  “None taken, your insight is much appreciated.” Riptide turned back to the huddled group. “There you have it, today is a prime opportunity to reel those bastards in.”

  The conversation quickly devolved as finally the sparks of flame took root and a ragged cheer rose at the prospect of food with a singular grain of warmth. Breakfast was produced and lasted approximately twenty seconds. A new record, not that anyone was counting. Once finished, the men quickly stamped out the young fire and packed their sleeping gear into their saddlebags.

  “If you’re all ready to move, you can come over here and I’ll run you through the steps to make sure your horse is fit to travel.” Farfield called.

  The next fifteen minutes was spent at rapt attention as the young ostler explained his craft. They were taught which straps needed tightening after being loosened at night for the horse’s comfort. How to safely and securely attach their bags without causing chafing. The locations of spots on the harness which can wear out faster than anticipated. Finally, the body language and subtle gestures horses make when they’re uncomfortable. All necessary lessons met with vigorous nodding and the unspoken understanding that half of it would be forgotten by the end of the day.

  “What do we reckon? All happy?” Alter asked Tarikell quietly as he finished his adjustments and stepped back to examine his work.

  His horse regarded him with her deep chocolate-coloured eyes filled with the unfathomable depths of unspoken, unspeakable wisdom. One ear flicked lazily to the side, the only indicator that she had registered his question at all.

  “I’ll take that as a positive.” Alter muttered with a bemused snort as he hauled himself upward into the saddle and guided her towards the road.

  The squad gathered and soon they were on their way once more. The thunder of hooves was replaced by a steady squelch and splash as they surged through puddles and muddy lagoons. Trees continued to crowd their flanks, and would do so for the rest of the day if Farfield’s estimate was correct. Alter was glad to be at the front of their double column, a quick glance backward revealed a hail of dirt clods flying upward towards those at the rear. The ideas of fitting the horses with mudguards forced his way into his mind which was worthy of a quick chuckle but no further consideration as the men settled into the steady rhythm of progress.

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  Hours passed. The road continued to wind between low hills covered in dense foliage. Not a soul was met as the unknown distance was trampled beneath them. The western sky was slowly filling with lead grey clouds, promising a fresh batch of rain to come. Having sunk into the expectation of another fruitless day, the squad was understandably excited when the first evidence of their potential quarry appeared.

  Rounding a corner, another clearing turned campground appeared to their right. As they got closer the evidence of recent human activity mounted, and Alter called a halt for some quick investigative work. Three separate ash piles, recent enough to maintain the tiniest hint of warmth, were found in various corners of the space. Areas of flattened grass indicated several tents had been utilised, combined with the tracks of numerous horses. The biggest takeaway however, was the deep ruts and channels driven into the mud of the road. Wagon tracks, and more than one set.

  “See how the lines cross and merge?” Whim pointed out eagerly. “These are heavy, four wheeled transports. Three of them, with two horses pulling each one. I like what we’re seeing here, boys.”

  “If this was their campground last night, how far do you think they could have made it today, Farfield?” Alter asked as he absently kicked at one of the ash piles.

  “If they moved with the eagerness that we’ve shown then we won’t catch them today. Remember, the horses have to work harder while moving through the muck so we’ll be stopping earlier in turn.”

  “Something tells me that isn’t the case.” Vangroover spoke up, pointing back at the road. “Look at where one of the wagons swung onto the road there. One of the rear wheels split the mud ridge the front one made, allowing water to drain from one side to the other.”

  Their curiosity peaked, the men ambled over to the indicated spot and scrutinised the aforementioned break in the ridge.

  “There’s still a little bit of water leaking through.” Pavejack observed.

  “If they left at the same time we did then that water would be long finished moving. They had a late start, perhaps they were stuck waiting for the mud to dry a little before they could set off.” Riptide mused.

  “Does that make sense?” Boozehound turned to Farfield who pondered the question before shrugging.

  “That sounds possible, maybe they’re closer than I thought.” He responded after a pause.

  “Good enough for me. Let’s get going, maybe we’ll make contact today after all.” Alter ordered and the squad hurriedly stumbled back to the waiting horses.

  There was a renewed sense of purpose as they launched back into the pursuit, an exhilaration at the prospect of rounding each corner that presented itself. Minutes passed in eager anticipation as the tracks they followed grew clearer and more recent. Further ground was gained as they came upon a small stretch where much deeper ruts were marked with signs of digging and the slim rectangular imprints of wooden boards. One of the wagons had become stuck here, it must’ve taken them some time and effort to free it.

  “Now that contact is looking more likely, what’s our method of approach?” Boozehound shouted from immediately behind.

  “It’ll depend on their show of force.” Alter called back. “If they look like regular folks then we pull alongside and ask them to come to a stop. If they’ve got armed guards, which I imagine they will if they are who we’re looking for, then we go past them without stopping. Once we’re safely out of sight we find a good place to keep the horses before backtracking on foot. These horses are well trained but I don’t think they’re going to react well to gunfire. Mounted combat is out of the question.”

  “Understood.”

  Alter felt his grip on the reigns tighten subconsciously as they continued. Another straight revealed yet more incidents of a wagon bogging down and needing to be freed. A large puddle whose banks had been breached was still merrily disgorging its contents into the newly made channels. A small pile of horse dung sat amidst the dirt with a thin wisp of steam emanating from its grass-streaked mass. One last bend was rounded, and there they were.

  Just as predicted, three heavy looking wagons with closed canvas roofs struggled their way forwards, pulled by pairs of thick-legged, shaggy haired draft horses. Each wagon had a pair of men walking alongside it, men who were already looking at the approaching riders as the sound of their approach gave them away.

  “Watch out ahead!” Riptide yelled next to him. “Riders passing on both sides!”

  The footmen scuttled into the gaps between horse and wagon as the columns split to pass the much slower vehicles. Alter turned to look as he thundered by, each wagon had a pair of men on their front benches, a driver and a spare. He quickly noticed that each of these men had a sword strapped to one hip. He was also quick to realise that he recognised these weapons. Armaments produced by the Royal Djarel Foundry, shiny and new. Alter allowed himself a tight-lipped smile and waved the squad to continue without slowing. They had their men.

  The columns closed back together as the forward wagon was eclipsed and the squad forged onward until a close together pair of turns slalomed them out of sight. A short distance later they found a small gap in the trees that made for an ideal stopping point. Horses suitably ensconced, orders were given for Farfield to remain while the squad readied their weapons and moved back to the road. The hostile proximity warning had not triggered, these men had no idea what they were rolling into.