To the Borderers, following them was almost like following a well-traveled road. They stopped and dismounted when they reached the three tethered horses. “Tether mounts,” Kovasch ordered as he looped his reins low around the trunk of a bumber tree with a knot he could undo with a simple yank. “Wait, I’ll be back. Be alert.” He followed the faint traces of men’s footprints to where Haft had the Desert Men under observation. His men tethered their horses, mindful as Kovasch had been to leave them where they could reach grazing. They were well-trained and disciplined, they didn’t need to be told to pair off and form a defensive perimeter once their horses were seen to. When Kovasch reached the place where the footprints turned and disappeared behind the fan tree into the rocks, he stopped and chortled the call of an oriole common in both Skragland and Zobra, but foreign to the north coast of Princedon Gulf. He knew Border Warders would recognize the call and immediately know someone was signaling them; he didn’t know that about Haft and the lancers.
