magining such things。
Twenty…four of his men survived Orvilla； with a dozen knives and assorted other small weapons。 They took six mules late the next day from another hamlet； and a broken…backed nag from a small…farmer in an imprudently isolated homestead。 Garcia claimed the horse； miserable as it was。 He left the Asharite farmer and his wife and daughter for his panions。 His own thoughts were a long way north and east already； over the border in Valledo； in the lands between the River Duric's source and the foothills of the Jalona mountains。
There lay the wide rich grasslands where the horse herds of Esperana had run wild for centuries until the first ranchers came and began to tame and breed and ride them。 Among those ranchers the most famously arrogant； though far from the largest or wealthiest； were the Belmonte。 Garcia knew exactly where he was going。 And he also happened to know； from his brother； that the Captain's troops were quartered at Esteren this summer； nowhere near the ranch。
There ought to have been little danger for Belmonte in leaving his home unguarded。 The Asharites had launched no raids north for twenty…five years； since the last brief flourishing of the Khalifate。 The army of King Bermudo of Jalona had been beaten back across the mountains by the Valledans three years before and were still licking their wounds。 And no outlaws； however rash or desperate； would dream of provoking the ire of the celebrated Captain of Valledo。
The ranch ought to have been perfectly safe behind its wooden stockade wall； even if guarded by boys with unbroken voices and a cluster of ranch hands deemed unworthy or too old for a place in the fighting pany。 On the other hand； Rodrigo Belmonte ought not to have ordered the death of a cousin of the de Rada。 He ought not to have whipped the constable's brother。 Such actions changed things。
When Garcia and his men had finally stumbled into Lobar； the first of the forts in the tagra lands； he had demanded and received…though with insolent reluctance…mounts and swords for all of them。 The sweating mander of the garrison had advanced some feeble excuse about being left without sufficient weapons or horses for their own duties or safety； but Garcia had brooked none of that。 The constable of Valledo； he'd said airily； would send them swords and better horses than the swaybacked creatures they were being given。 He was in no mood for debate with a borderland soldier。
〃That might take a long time；〃 the mander had murmured obstinately。 〃All the way from Esteren。〃
〃Indeed it might；〃 Garcia had replied frigidly。 〃And if so？〃
The man had bitten his lip and said nothing more。 What could he have said？ He was dealing with a de Rada； the brother of the constable of the realm。
The garrison's doctor； an ugly； raspy…voiced lout with a disconcerting boil on his neck； had examined Garcia's wound and whistled softly。 〃A whip？〃 he'd said。 〃You're a lucky man； my lord； or else someone extremely skillful was trying only to mark you。 It is a clean cut and nowhere near your eye。 Who did this？〃 Garcia had only glared； saying nothing。 It was pointless； speaking to certain people。
The man prescribed an evil…smelling salve that stung like hornets； but did cause the swelling on Garcia's face to recede over the next few days。 It was when he looked in a reflecting glass for the first time that Garcia decided that appropriate vengeance required the death of the Belmonte children； as well。 After they had been forced to watch him with their mother。
It was the fierce anticipation of revenge that had driven him on from the tagra fort； with only a single day's rest。 He sent four men north to Esteren； to report to his brother and to lay formal plaint before the king。 That was important。 If what he purposed to do was to have legal sanction； such a plaint had to be lodged against Rodrigo。 Garcia was going to do this properly； and he was going to do it。
Two days after his main troop had parted from the four messengers he remembered that he'd forgotten to tell them to have weapons and horses sent back down for the garrison at Lobar。 He briefly considered sending another pair of men north； but remembered the mander's insolence and elected not to bother。 There would be time enough to pass on that word when he arrived in Esteren himself。 It would do the pampered soldiers good to be short of weapons and mounts for a time。 Perhaps someone else's boot might split at the heel。
Ten days later； in a wood on the land of Rancho Belmonte； rain was falling。 Garcia's stocking was sopping wet through his cracked boot； and so were his hair and scratchy new beard。 He'd been growing the beard since Orvilla。 He would have to wear it for the rest of his life； he'd realized by now； that； or look like a branded thief。 Belmonte had intended that； he was certain of it。
Miranda Belmonte； he remembered； was very beautiful； all the d'Alveda women were。 Rodrigo； that mon mercenary； had made a far better marriage than he deserved。 He was about to have visited upon him exactly what he did deserve。
Anticipation made Garcia's heart pound faster。 Soon； now。 Boys and stable grooms were the guardians of this ranch。 Rodrigo Belmonte was no more than a jumped…up fighting man who had been put back into his proper place since the ascension of King Ramiro。 He had lost his rank of constable in favor of Garcia's brother。 That had been only the beginning。 He would learn now the cost of a feud with the de Rada。 He would learn what happened when you marked Garcia de Rada as a mon outlaw。 Garcia touched his cheek。 He was still using the salve； as instructed。 The smell was ferociously unpleasant； but the swelling had subsided and the wound was clean。
The trees were very close together throughout the wood； but the curiously smooth path seemed to wind easily through them； wide enough in places for three men to ride abreast。 They passed a pool of water on their right。 In the grey afternoon the rain fell gently through the leaves； making droplets and ripples in the still surface of the water。 It was said to be a holy place； for some reason。 A few men made the god's sign of the disk as they rode by。
When the first horse fell and lay screaming on the ground with a broken leg； it seemed a malign accident。 After two more such accidents； one of which left a rider with a dislocated shoulder； such an interpretation became less certain。
The path curved north through the sodden； dripping trees； and then； a little further on； swung back to the east again。 In the grey； pale distance Garcia thought he could see an end to the trees。
He felt himself falling； while still in the saddle。
He had time to throw a startled glance upwards and see the bellies of the two horses that had been pacing on either side of his a moment ago。 Then his mount crashed into the bottom of the pit that had been concealed in the center of the path and Garcia de Rada found himself scrambling about trying to dodge the thrashing hooves of a crippled； terrified horse。 One man； quicker than the others； dropped to the ground and leaned over the edge of the pit。 He extended an arm； and Garcia grabbed it and hauled himself up and out。
They looked down at the flailing horse a moment； then an archer released two arrows and the hooves stopped。
〃This is no natural path；〃 the archer said； after a moment。
〃How very clever of you；〃 said Garcia。 He walked past the man； his boots squelching in the mud。
A trip wire claimed two more horses and cracked the skull of one thrown rider； and another pit took down a third stallion before they had reached the eastern end of the woods。 They made it； though； and one had to expect some casualties on a raid of this sort。
Open grass lay before them。 In the middle distance they could see the wooden wall that surrounded the ranch buildings。 It was high but not high enough； Garcia saw。 A skilled rider standing on the back of his mount could scale it； so could a foot soldier boosted by another。 Only with a proper garrison could the ranch be defended from an attack launched by petent men。 As they paused there at the edge of the trees the rain stopped。 Garcia smiled； savoring the mome