|
|
|
|
|
|
camp. He hoped none of them would be carried away by temptation and steal enough to wake anyone. He had said no killingif possiblebut made no limits against stealing. Some would have stolen anyway. If he punished them for it, there would have been resentment; if he did not, respect for his orders would have diminished. Leadership was mostly the art of the possible. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Finally there was only one man remaining. Echtor, the underleader, and Simon slipped down the hill, hugging shadows, crouching beside bushes while they chose out another path. The light breeze shook the leaves on the bush beside which Simon had paused. Closer to the perimeter of the camp, another bush was more violently agitated and a low sound like a rising wind filled the air. Simon slid sideways, hesitated, and came upright behind two saplings. He stood perfectly still, knowing that even if a guard looked directly at him, he would not notice anything. The dappled coloring of his garments, broken by the thin trunks and branches and sparse leaves of the saplings, would convince the guard that he was looking between the young trees at the shade-mottled clearing behind. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Again the fitful breeze blew, and the bush off to the right became active again. Simon watched, turning only his eyes from one guard to another. Yes, now! The two nearest the bush were both watching it nervously, hefting their pikes. One started forward and the other fixed his eyes on his comrade to be sure nothing would jump at him out of the darkness. Simon laughed silently and pitched a stone well off in the opposite direction. He saw the head of the guard on the other side turn sharply as the stone hit the ground and Simon ran softly, softly around the guard's back into the camp. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Only a few steps back was an empty wagon, strategically placed for the guards to take shelter in case of an attackmore evidence that the Welsh raiders |
|
|
|
|
|