Byar was not, however, supposed to be in the camp.
“I set you watching Jehannah Road, Child Byar,” Galad said firmly. “That duty was not to end for a good four hours yet.”
Byar saluted as he pulled up. “My Lord Captain Commander. We captured a suspicious group of travelers on the road. What would you have us do with them?”
“You captured them?” Galad asked. “I sent you to watch the road, not take prisoners.”
“My Lord Captain Commander,” Byar said. “How are we to know the character of those passing unless we speak with them? You wanted us to watch for Darkfriends.”
Galad sighed. “I wanted you to watch for troop movements or merchants we could approach, Child Byar.”
“These Darkfriends have supplies,” Byar said. “I think they might be merchants.”
Galad sighed. Nobody could deny Byar’s dedication—he’d ridden with Galad to face Valda when it could have meant the end of his career. And yet there was such a thing as being too zealous.
The thin officer looked troubled. Well, Galad’s instructions hadn’t been precise enough. He would have to remember that in the future, particularly with Byar. “Peace,” Galad said, “you did no wrong, Child Byar. How many of these prisoners are there?”
“Dozens, my Lord Captain Commander.” Byar looked relieved. “Come.”
He turned his mount to lead the way. Already, cook fires were springing up in the pits, the scent of burning tinder rising in the air. Galad caught slices of conversation as he rode past the soldiers. What would the Seanchan do with those Children who had remained behind? Was it really the Dragon Reborn who had conquered Illian and Tear, or some false Dragon? There was talk of a gigantic stone from the sky having struck the earth far to the north in Andor, destroying an entire city and leaving a crater.
The talk among the men revealed their worries. They should have understood that worry served no useful function. None could know the weaving of the Wheel.
Byar’s captives turned out to be a group of people with a surprisingly large number of heavily laden carts, perhaps a hundred or more. The people clustered together around their carts, regarding the Children with hostility. Galad frowned, doing a quick inspection.
“That’s quite a caravan,” Bornhald said softly at his side. “Merchants?”
“No,” Galad said softly. “That’s travel furniture—notice the pegs on the sides, so they can be carried in pieces. Sacks of barley for horses. Those are farrier’s tools wrapped in canvas at the back of that cart to the right. See the hammers peeking out?”
“Light!” Bornhald whispered. He saw it too. These were the camp followers of an army of substantial size. But where were the soldiers?
“Be ready to separate them,” Galad told Bornhald, dismounting. He walked up to the lead cart. The man driving it had a thick figure and a ruddy face, with hair that had been arranged in a very poor attempt at hiding his increasing baldness. He nervously worked a brown felt hat in his hands, a pair of gloves tucked into the belt of his stout jacket. Galad could see no weapons on him.
Beside the cart stood two others, much younger. One was a bulky, muscular type with the look of a fighter—but not a soldier—who could be some trouble. A pretty woman clutched his arm, biting her lower lip.
The man in the cart gave a start upon seeing Galad. Ah, Galad thought, so he knows enough to recognize Morgase’s stepson.
“So, travelers,” Galad said carefully. “My man says you told him that you are merchants?”
“Yes, good Lord,” said the driver.
“I know little of this area. Are you familiar with it?”
“Not much, sir,” the driver said, wringing that hat in his hands. “We are actually far from home ourselves. I am Basel Gill, of Caemlyn. I have come south seeking business with a merchant in Ebou Dar. But these Seanchan invaders have left me unable to do my trade.”
He seemed very nervous. At least he hadn’t lied about where he was from. “And what was this merchant’s name?” Galad asked.
“Why, Falin Deborsha, my Lord,” Gill said. “Are you familiar with Ebou Dar?”
“I have been there,” Galad said calmly. “This is quite a caravan you have. Interesting collection of wares.”
“We have heard that there are armies mobilizing here in the south, my Lord. I purchased many of these supplies from a mercenary troop who was disbanding, and thought I could sell them down here. Perhaps your own army has need of camp furniture? We have tents, mobile smithy equipment, everything that soldiers could use.”
Clever, Galad thought. Galad might have accepted the lie, but the “merchant” had too many cooks, washwomen, and farriers with him, and not nearly enough guards for so valuable a caravan.
“I see,” Galad said. “Well, it happens that I do have need of supplies. Particularly food.”
“Alas, my Lord,” the man said. “Our food cannot be spared. Anything else I will sell, but the food I have promised by messenger to someone in Lugard.”