Chapter eighteen
MutinyMud.
The Land of Shining Mud was — muddy.
Seg picked off splotches of dried mud from his uniform and made a face.
“He’s heading for the higher ground away to the west. I’ve kept the scouts after him. But he still outnumbers us, and—”
“Our fellows will be here in time, Seg.”
“Oh, aye.” Seg looked around the camp, which appeared to be slipping beneath the mud, and his orderly — Yando the Limp — brought him up a stoup of ale which Seg knocked back in a swallow. “Oh, aye,” he said, wiping his mouth. “But if we slip up and Garnath catches us before we’re ready — we’re for the Ice Floes of Sicce, my old dom.”
“We’ve run rings around him so far.”
“H’umph! Well, that’s only because you’re—” He stopped, blew his nose, made a face and then hauled his longbow forward to
