If I say take a short cut,
mbt sport white, we do it -- even if it means walking belly deep through brimstone." Actually, Flenser knew exactly where Vendacious had put lookouts. There was no risk in crossing the open ground here. And he was so tired. The group leader still didn't know quite what Flenser was, but he saw the dark-cloaks were at least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed off humbly, bellies dragging on the ground. The group turned up hill and a few minutes later were walking across open heather. Rangolith's command post was less than a half mile away along this path -- Flenser with Steel walked into the inner keep. The stone was freshly cut, the walls thrown up with the feverish speed of all this castle's construction. Thirty feet over their heads, where vault met buttresses, there were small holes set in the stonework. Those holes would soon be filled with gunpowder -- as would slots in the wall surrounding the landing field. Steel called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to Flenser. "So what does Rangolith say?" "Sorry. He's been out on patrol. He should be here -- I mean,
MBT Sawa,
mbt sport 2 sale, he should be in camp -- any minute." Flenser did his best to conceal his own trips with the scouts. Such recons were not forbidden, but Steel would have demanded explanations if he knew. Flenser with Rangolith's troops sloshed through water-soaked heather. The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool tongues partway under his wretched cloaks. Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were in a slight depression at the edge of a large summer pond. A hundred yards away, a huge patch of a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond, and kept the air pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight from below, yet the site was so high in the hills that from the edge of the depression there was a clear view across three points of the compass, centered on the south. Resupply could be accomplished from the north with little chance of detection, and even if the damn fires struck the forests below, this post would be untouched. Farscout Rangolith was lounging about his signal mirrors, oiling the aiming gears. One of his subordinates lay with snouts stuck over the lip of the hill, scanning the landscape with its telescopes. He came to attention at the sight of Flenser, but his gaze wasn't full of fear. Like most long-range scouts, he wasn't completely terrorized by castle politics. Besides, Flenser had cultivated an "us against the prigs" relationship with the fellow. Now Rangolith growled at the group leader: "The next time you come prancing across the open like that,
BEATS BUTTERFLY, your asses go on report." "My fault, Farscout,
mbt kisumu men," put in Flenser. "I have some important news." They walked away from the others, down toward Rangolith's tent. "See something interesting, did you?" Rangolith was smiling oddly. He had long ago figured out that Flenser was not a brilliant duo, but part of a pack with members back at the castle. "When is your next session with Craddleheads?" That was the fieldname for Vendacious. "Just past noon. He hasn't missed in four days. The Southerners seem to be on one big squat." "That will change." Flenser repeated Steel's orders for Vendacious. The words came hard. The traitor within him was restive; he felt the beginnings of a major attack. "Wow,
DRE BEATS POWERBEATS! You're going to move everything over to Margrum Climb in less than two -- Never mind, that's something I'd best not know." Under his cloaks, Flenser bristled. There are limits to chumminess. Rangolith had his points, but maybe after all this was over he could be smoothed into something less ... ad hoc.
