Fires of Aggar by Chris Anne Wolfe

even the best of fighters had off-days, and she didn’t want to gamble that Brit or Sparrow might be due for one.
     
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    The square bulk of the tinker-trade wagon was a mere silhouette beyond the light cast by their fire. Ril’s snoozing figure was curled comfortably on the roof of the wagon; her bed was made of grain sacks and fabric bolts that were snugly packed beneath a waterproof tarp. The sandwolf was barely visible amidst the other lumpish shapes, and if anything did manage to get past Ty’s circling sentry, Ril would undoubtedly become an unwanted surprise to any intruder.
    “It doesn’t figure,” Brit mumbled, joining Sparrow and Gwyn at the fire. The canvas and wood of the folding stool creaked as the woman’s heavy frame settled into it. “These three riders have been weaving in and out of the woods, back and forth across the road, for the last two days. They aren’t making any better time than us with the wagon and drays. They’re barely a full-day ahead of us now. My guess is, we’ll meet them come Bratler’s Hoe at the very latest.”
    “They’re obviously looking for something… or someone.” Sparrow idly tapped a stone in the fire ring with a stick. Lips pursed as she concentrated on their little puzzle. She shrugged and shifted some in her cross-legged seat on the ground, easing a muscle. “What do you think of these strange hunters, Niachero?”
    “What I think?” Gwyn’s brow lifted, though her eyes and hands remained steadily engaged in her whittling task. The thin pipe was beginning to actually look like a musical instrument, but only barely. “I think that they are indeed hunters. And I think they are searching for something very particular. What that something is, however, I haven’t a hint.”
    Sparrow said nothing for a long moment, then offered, “Could they have something to do with Khirlan’s troubles?”
    “I’d thought of it.” Brit laced her fingers together as she leaned forward, elbows to knees. “We’re certainly close enough to the district divisions for something to crop up.”
    “A ten-day from the boundary?” Gwyn considered that. It left her unconvinced. “South of Bratler’s Hoe, perhaps. It’s a fair ways between Hoe and that tiny settlement at Millers Crossing. Tinker-trades, lone travelers… Fates’ Jest! A middling sized caravan could disappear in that forested stretch and no one would ever be the wiser. Especially if someone at Millers was part and parcel to the schemes. It’s a full ten-day to the next village along the westerly trail, and at least as far to the first marked settlement, if you cross over into Khirlan.”
    Brit nodded vaguely. “Then again, maybe they’re out scouting for brigands themselves.”
    “A locally organized patrol?” Sparrow didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s so precious that they’ve got to send guards way out here?”
    “Maybe…?” Brit frowned, giving the idea time to focus in her mind.
    Gwyn was ahead of her already. “Could it be the Clan’s started to push this far north? If so, then scouts would be out watching for more serious trouble than the usual brigands are likely to give.”
    “Possibly,” Brit’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Or maybe these three are from the Clan themselves?”
    “You’re suggesting that they’re trailing a few days behind that mead and fur shipment up ahead of us?” Gwyn shrugged. “That would mean they’re waiting for the isolated stretch beyond Bratler’s Hoe before attacking.”
    “And that they’ll be joined by others shortly.” Sparrow shut her eyes and shook her head in disgust. “How did dey Sorormin ever manage their home world treaties with Terran-sorts?”
    “I’ll tell you some day,” Brit chuckled, grey eyes dancing. “But I warn you, the story of the Founding is quite a long one.”
    “I’ll wager it was — long and painful, most likely.”
    Brit confirmed it with a nod.
    “There’s something we haven’t considered