"Right. And I'd recommend Tony as rear guard; he's the closest we have to a second Tracker."
"Agreed." As he rode ahead, Cortin dropped back to the main group, briefed them, and sent Degas to the rear. This wasn't good ambush country—the woods were open, with the road avoiding rough terrain wherever possible—and they'd be in secure territory when they got within an hour's ride of the retreat; even when the Royal Family was elsewhere, there were security and housekeeping staffs in residence.
When they moved out again, she stayed with the group, all of them alert for unusual movements or sounds. Cortin found herself half-hoping for action, though she also wanted to make it through without having any of her people hurt or killed.
Odeon moved forward cautiously. He agreed with Joanie: even though someone fleeing a prisoner escort didn't necessarily mean trouble, it was a good idea to take a few simple precautions. He studied the other's tracks when he got to them, but they told him nothing he didn't already know. The man had been riding at a walk, and had suddenly turned, galloping away. If it was because of normal apprehension, fine, and no real problem even if he was a wanted criminal; he'd cause them no trouble, and he'd be caught eventually if he kept reacting that way. The problem would arise if he were point man for a group of Brothers or other terrorists—not likely this close to a royal residence, but certainly a possibility.
He wasn't kept in suspense long; within five minutes, he heard a group of riders ahead. They were making no effort to be silent, which didn't prove anything one way or the other; either they were innocent, or they were pretending to be innocent to get close to the Enforcement group. The woods were open enough there was no point in leaving the road to try to eavesdrop on them; if he were close enough to understand words, he'd be close enough to see. So, keeping his hand close to his pistol, he rode forward.
His appearance clearly startled them, enough to get an honest reaction; half of the fifteen or so went for their weapons. He drew and fired at the same time he was turning his horse and urging it to a gallop. Leaning low over the horse's withers, he continued to fire, and was both surprised and gratified to hear a cry of pain mixed with the return fire; it was damn near impossible to hit anything from the back of a running horse even if you tried to aim.
Cortin heard the shots, then rapidly-approaching hoofbeats. So did the rest, and there was no need to give orders; all had been in similar situations often enough to know precisely what to do. By the time Odeon came in sight, Chang and the prisoner were far enough off to the side to be out of the firefight, and the rest were behind good-sized trees. This wasn't exactly what Cortin had had in mind, wanting action—it was more like the kneeling-behind-a-barrier segment of a firing range exercise—but it would do.
When Odeon passed their positions, the team opened fire. Cortin hit two, someone else hit two more, and the terrorists turned into a milling, cursing mob whose return fire was sporadic and poorly aimed. Cortin smiled, continuing to aim and fire as coolly as if she were on the target range. She had no more hits, but others did; three more terrorists fell, and the rest fled, demoralized.
She stood, brushing off her trousers, then reloaded and holstered her pistol. "Anyone hurt?" she called.
"Nope."