The Conqueror by Louis Shalako

full extent, right up to the cheekbone. This
necessarily involved dropping the reins, something the mounts were at least
trained for. The horses would be guided by knee pressure only.
Hopefully the men could handle it, but they should now be able to
shoot powerfully, well-aimed, and on the instant.
    He waved them in closer, keeping his
voice low.
    “ Okay, lads, I’m staying
right here. Off you go. Just ride up real slow and try not to hit
any of us, right?”
    There were excited nods and eager
expressions as the men tapped their heels against their mounts. The
animals picked up a gentle walk. They fanned out and moved
upslope.
    The animals’ ears pricked
up. Most of the men had some hunting experience—not always on a
horse. Some of them came from very poor households where only a
father and possibly one or two older brothers might ride once in a
while. A military career was sometimes the only career available.
It was better than being a field hand on an older brother’s manor,
and living in a ramshackle cruck house for what would a life that was nasty,
brutish, poor and oftentimes rather short as well.
    The animals had varying degrees of
learning and tractability. The serjeants did the best they could to
match man and mount in some credible manner. After that, it was up
to the troopers themselves. Man and horse trained together, to the
extent that lending or exchanging horses was frowned upon. It could
be done, as long as the serjeant approved of it in
writing.
    Having a horse of their own was one of
the attractions of service. That’s what Lowren had always thought.
They were allowed to use their personal mounts when they visited
home, and on private business on their days off-duty. The policy
had paid off, that and having some good, attractive mounts when the
teams toured the villages on recruiting drives. After seeing the
troops of Windermere up close, he was wondering what he could do in
terms of proper uniforms for his own men. If nothing else, a short
cloak of a distinctive color and some sort of crest for the helmets
would give them a sense of comradeship, and help in identification
in the heat of battle.
    Whatever it was, it had better be
quick, slick and simple.
    It was a question of not enough time,
not enough resources.
     
    ***
     
    On the way there, and especially in the
immediate vicinity of the country house, as his mother called it
without ever having been there, they kept a sharp eye on the
trails. A careful examination of the ground revealed no recent
prints from hooves, men’s feet or even any really big canids. The
native snow-dogs were more prevalent here out on the plains. They
found the gate still tied shut. The knot was special and
distinctive. The majority of the party waited fifty yards back.
Lowren had ordered a couple of the greenest men to ride up, open
the gate and go in.
    Three minutes later, one came back to
the gate, all flushed with the success of his mission.
    “ It’s all
clear.”
    On a nod, they spurred up and went on
in. His compound was surrounded by oak palisades, not meant to
withstand serious siege but the walls sent a certain message to
travelers and the odd party of roving bandits.
    It wasn’t exactly unheard-of for a
certain sort of person to use a remote summer place and then
somehow burn it down. That sort rarely left a note or made
apology.
    With their small train of pack animals
and the three dead swine for their dinner, they had arrived at the
camp a couple of hours before sundown. Lowren kept the place as a
hunting lodge, which was fairly substantial compared to the tents
and even small cabins mounted on wagons favored by some other
nations. A fairly humble dwelling, it was a hundred feet long and
two and a half stories, all wooden walls, heavy oak timbers for the
frame and maple planks prevailing on the exterior. Oaks, maples,
beeches, hardwoods were common enough. Some of the wood for the
house had been taken from the clearing it stood in. There was
nothing