Taren took Seliza's order at the convoy gate while the courier steadied his third exhausted horse, its flanks foaming badly. He knew the merchant crest above her signature from earlier retreats, while sixty drivers and water-haulers lashed their tarpaulins down.
Morning light crept along the breastwork and reached the waiting courier before Taren broke the seal.
The order named eight gold wagons held beside the treasury depot by number.
'Seize the gold, burn the medical tents, leave the wounded and run south, so that's her price.'
He read the signature again while a driver hurried past with poles for another clinic stretcher.
'Read it twice if you like, that last line still means burning people under canvas.'
"Third axle checked!" Tovin hollered from beside a water cart, "we lashed the barrels twice, the clinic won't lose a drop on the climb."
"He lashed them twice, I lashed them the third time."
"You held the rope."
