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The riders started out heading south east, cutting across the flatlands to the road toward Tancred and Faramund. They searched for any signs of the riders and stopped briefly every few miles if they came upon a farm house or traveler to inquire about one or two fast riders, a tanner and possibly a soldier... There search was turning up nothing, and Coen grumbled and cursed to himself that they had not gone this way. But he would never dare to criticize his lord, even speaking to himself. No, it was not a matter of having more riders covering different areas...it was simply that he had not acted quickly enough; or rather, he had not kept track of his men well enough. And he had not kept his eye on those two troubled men. What had he told himself? That Lithor was dangerous, and it was to be watched what company he kept.
The party was small, but Coen still sent out two men as if they were scouts serving a larger train. One road ahead periodically and reported back, the other might cut to the east or west a ways beside the road and loop around back to the road. Both men were good trackers, and the latter was one of the locals who knew the land well. Neither was to stop and ask questions of anyone unless there was some other sign that indicated the men had been that way. The main party then was slower going, as it periodically stopped to inquire about Erbrand and Lithor.
The front rider came back at a gallop, having just reported only a couple minutes before. Coen brought the party to a halt in confusion as the man approached. "I just watched two men or something disappear into the woods from the side of the road," the man reported ineloquently.
"Then why did you come back here rather than pursue them?" Coen asked angrily, letting his frustration get the best of him.
"Er...the brush is too thick for riding sir. I...thought it best to... If it is them...I mean...two against one..."
Coen sighed. "Forgive me, you are right. But we've already wasted enough time."
With a shout the riders took off at a gallop until the scout signaled that they were getting close. They then slowed to a trot, Coen at the head of the party with the scout, who slowed to a stop and nodded toward the woods to the east of the road.
Coen dismounted and took his sword from his gear to put on his belt and the rest followed suit. He indicated a man to stay behind with the horses, and then prepared to make his way through the brush carefully and as quietly as he could, searching for signs on the way. But he already saw clearly that someone, or likely more than one person, had clumsily plunged into the forest from the road. Coen fingered his sword's pommel.
"Sir," he heard a voice behind him a little louder than a whisper. Coen did not turn around. What was this fool doing? He was talking loud enough for anyone within a hundred meters to hear him! "Sir, above us."
The Captain stopped dead and looked up into the branches of the tree before him. The first thing he saw was a set of shoed feet, and then the body of a boy...and then another...and another. Three boys perched in the branches like birds. Coen's hands dropped to his side and he sighed.
"You two get down from that tree before we shake you down," he shouted, grimacing as he suddenly realized that he had a headache since the morning's drills.
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