Выбрать главу

„Good enough. Show Tompkin where it's at. Give him a look from the top of the hill. He can decide what's the best way to take it."

The attack went smoothly. Tompkin returned to report that the garrison of eighteen, taken by surprise, had fought well but in vain.

„They should have been on their toes," Bragi said. „When you've got a war going you've got to watch your back as close as your front."

The column began skirting the hill during the afternoon.

Bragi remained cheerful. Twenty miles of hills and ten of flatland and he would be pounding on the gates of Throyes. He would camp in the hills tonight, and swoop down in the morning.

„Sire."

Bragi looked where the man was pointing, to his left and the column's rear. Riders were coming in fast. The screen of outriders was folding in behind them.

„That doesn't look good. Halt the column. Trumpets, blow commanders to me."

Gjerdrum arrived first. Bragi told him, „Get up that hill and see what you can see."

The knight wheeled away. Five minutes later the scouts arrived, their horses lathered and winded and stumbling. Their leader swung down and began babbling excitedly in Marena Dimura.

„Hold on, son. Slow down. I can't follow when you talk that fast."

The man jumped up and down and pointed. Bragi still didn't get what he said, but his meaning was obvious enough. There was trouble out that way.

Captain Septien arrived, listened, went grey. „Sire," he said, „there's a Shinsaner cohort headed this way."

„They seen us?"

The chief scout asked, listened. „He doesn't know."

„All right. Damn it all anyway. Baron, take charge here. Get the outriders in. Get the column behind the hill. I'm going up top to watch. You. You. You." He indicated messengers. „Come with me."

He met Gjerdrum halfway up. The knight looked greyer than Septien had. „What is it, Gjerdrum?"

Gjerdrum swallowed, said, „You'd better go see for yourself."

„Bad, eh?"

„Yes."

Bragi ascended to the watchpost. The scout had been right. Five or six hundred men formed a dark stain moving his way. No problem, really, except... except that that was just one of four such stains moving in from different directions.

„Gjerdrum. Think there's more of them?"

„Yes. In the hills. That's where I'd have put them."

„Right. No doubt that they know we're here? That they're coming after us?"

„Not in my mind."

„How did they know? And where did they come from? They're supposed to be tied up down south."

„What will we do?"

„We have the interior advantage. They're scattered. Get down there, take the horse out and smash... that bunch. They're the closest." The armies of the Dread Empire seldom used mounted warriors. Against western heavy cavalry they hadn't ever shown well. „Then come across after this bunch due east of us. Then that bunch there. Knock us a hole we can run out."

„You're going to run for it?"

„Damned right. No point in going ahead when they know we're coming. We won't fight any more than we have to to get away. We get through the gap, we should be able to stay ahead. We're in as good a condition, and they'll have to break through the horse to reach the rest of us."

Bragi scanned the plains again. He was disappointed but not upset. The mood of the day persisted. The trap did not look inescapable. „You bastard, Hsung, you won a round. But I'll get you one of these days. Get going, Gjerdrum. Runner. Message to Baron Hardle. We're going to dig in on this hill till Sir Gjerdrum clears us a way out. Go tell him."

Bragi looked at the approaching enemy again, then ele­ vated his eyes to the sky. There was one small trouble with his scheme. There might not be enough light left for Gjerdrum to open a wide enough gap.

Gjerdrum did crush two of the enemy units before the seeing became poor. But four more groups appeared. No hole big enough opened. „A whole damned legion, must be," Ragnarson murmured. Meaning the force he faced was at least as strong as his own. And, overall, better trained, armed, and disciplined. His men were good, but the soldiers of the Dread Empire were better.

„Well, Baron, looks like I did it this time," he said over a cold evening meal, against a background of grumbling eastern drums. „I put us in a good fix."

Hardle nodded, then surprised Ragnarson by saying,

„But you'll get us out. You always do."

The man's faith was touching. „Maybe. We've got the South Bows and the high ground. We get dug in good tonight and we'll be all right."

He hoped.

Silently, he thought, Varthlokkur, where the hell are you? I'm up to my ass in Tervola. I need a little help here. It's time to quit fooling around.

23

Year 1016 AFE

Nepanthe looked over her husband's shoulder, into a mirror where ghost-shapes on a southern hill dug ditches and erected earthen barriers. Other men moved into posi­ tions surrounding the hill, creating barriers of their own.

„You are going to help him now, aren't you?" Nepanthe asked.

Her son Ethrian stood behind her, a specter of a youth, his eyes dull. He made a strange whimpering sound whenev­ er his gaze crossed the mirror. The baby fussed whenever she heard that sound. Nepanthe crooned to her.

Varthlokkur did not answer her.

Mist's children trooped into the room, leaned on the back of the wizard's chair. „What's that, Uncle Varth?" one asked.

„A battle. In the south."

„Can we watch?"

„You should be in bed. Besides, nothing will happen till tomorrow."

Ragnarson's men launched nuisance strikes all around their perimeter. Their enemies did nothing but drive them off. Nepanthe observed, „It looks like Hsung doesn't really want to fight."

Varthlokkur replied, „He'll unleash his Tervola in the morning. Why fight when the Power can deliver an inexpen­ sive victory?"

„And you won't be there. Will you? You're going to let those men die just because your pride was hurt. You're a fool. Sometimes you disgust me."

„Put the children to bed."

Nepanthe left in a huff, herding the children before her.

Varthlokkur stared into the mirror for an hour. His face reflected a bitter inner struggle. Finally, he swore, „Damn it!" and rose.

He took a small case off a nearby shelf and sat at a table. Within the case lay a bow eighteen inches long and four black arrows half that length. The arrows had silver heads and beaten gold fletching. Their shafts were inlaid with red and white traceries so fine they were barely discernable. The wizard strung the bow with a string of virgin's hair, stared at it for a long time.

He swore again, took up a pen and thin piece of paper. He scribbled something, sanded the message, wrapped it round the shaft of an arrow, touched it lightly with spittle and said a few words. The paper clung tightly.

He rose, bow and arrow in hand, and descended the long stair spiralling down the inside of the tower atop which his workshop perched. He went outside the castle keep, crossed a courtyard, mounted a wall overlooking a two thousand foot drop. His home, Fangdred, crowned the highest moun­ tain in that savage range called the Dragon's Teeth.

He considered the naked stars. They seemed to mock him. Fool, they called him, just as his woman had done. Stubborn fool.

He stared across the ivory-tipped peaks, spoke a few words in the tongue of his youth. He visualized Mist. In moments her face seemed to be floating before him. He laid arrow across bow, let fly at the snickering stars. The shaft vanished into the night, pursued by a deep-voiced moan.