Blade hoped everything would go well. If it didn't, he would be splattered like a ripe peach on the rocks far below. Elstan's best hope of victory would also be dashed, and much work by many Elstani over the past few days would go to waste.
Haima and Daimarz worked late, helping him pick materials and suggesting design changes. Weavers worked all night waxing what seemed like acres of cloth. Woodcutters did the same, gluing reeds into the twenty-foot poles needed for the glider. There were ten times as many volunteers for the ground crew as Blade could use. Some of them had already tried short flights on easy slopes with the three new gliders.
The other Guilds had still not agreed to join forces with Blade, but at least the weavers and woodcutters had a great deal of faith in him. Their craftsmen could produce more or less anything their materials would let them, if you showed them how, and they did everything Blade asked. These two things made a formidable combination. Blade hoped it would be too formidable for Queen Tressana.
He took several deep breaths, then nodded to the people on the wingtips. They let go and stepped back as Blade began to run. He ran as if he were trying to break a track record, boots thudding on the rock. Already he could feel the air flowing under the wing and the beginning of lift. Then suddenly his boots came down on empty air as the glider rose.
It took off so quickly that the first hundred yards were more dangerous than Blade had expected. The rocky slope was only a few feet below him. A slight miscalculation would bring him back down, probably where the angle of the slope was too great to let him make a safe landing. He'd certainly lose the glider and might go over the edge himself.
He took the risk of dropping the nose slightly, to increase the glide angle and the airspeed. The rock unreeled below him a little faster; then it was gone and there was only empty space below. The voices behind him quickly faded away, and he was alone in the silent sky.
Blade wasn't an expert hang glider, but he'd made more than thirty flights with a Rogallo wing, once staying up more than half an hour. He knew how to fly a glider, how to make one, and how to teach others at least the basics. That was all the Elstani would need for their war with the Jaghdi. If they wanted to continue hang gliding as a sport afterward, they could teach themselves.
He also knew how much pleasure it is to fly without the noise and fumes of a motor, to be one with the sky, a partner of the winds. Exhilaration took control of Blade so thoroughly that he was half a mile from the cliff before he realized it. Then he forced himself to pay attention to his work. Today he was a test pilot.
It was hard to judge heights on a first flight in new territory, but he estimated that he'd dropped no more than three hundred feet in the half mile. That was a good start. He was trying for a ten-to-one glide ratio-ten feet of forward motion for every foot of descent. That was about twice what you'd normally get with a Rogallo wing. However, nothing less would get him safely across the distance that had to be covered.
He was well out of any updraft at the face of the cliff. That sort of thing was always unpredictable anyway. There was no sign of thermals from the sun heating the rocks below either, but he might be a little high for those. They'd have to get the glide angle they wanted without thermals in any case. They'd be flying into battle at dawn, with the rocks below still mostly in shadow.
For a minute the glider seemed to be flying nearly level. Blade decided he could spare the height to try a turn. Slowly he leaned to the left, and the glider tipped that way. When the nose had swung through a sixty-degree arc, Blade straightened up. Good. The glider was stable in a turn. Even though they'd be attacking a target so large that flying in a straight line would be enough to get hits, they still might need the ability to turn to avoid mid-air collisions or to land safely.
Blade flew on the new course for another minute, until he'd passed the halfway point of his flight. Then he made another sixty-degree turn back on to his original course. He wanted to strike the river at the sharpest possible angle, to get across it as quickly as he could. The river was mostly shallow but it was swift and bone-chillingly cold. It would also ruin his glider.
Now he could see Haima and Daimarz and the others waiting for him on the far bank. The glider seemed to be sinking faster and Blade raised the nose slightly to decrease his speed. He didn't want to come down too fast onto one of the patches of rocks scattered across the flats.
The riverbank was still coming at him too fast, though it looked as if he might get across. That wasn't important today, but it would be vital on the day of battle. Anyone who landed on the Jaghdi side of the river then would have several thousand enraged enemies on him in minutes.
The people on the far side were waving, and Blade thought he could hear Haima shouting. He'd seen her win several arguments by sheer lung power.
The riverbank passed below, and Blade wasn't sure if he had the altitude to get across or not. He put the nose down to increase his speed again. If he hit he'd hit fast, but he could afford to hit the water faster than the rocks.
He crossed the river with no more than six feet of altitude to spare. His boots swept over Haima's head so low that she had to duck. Then he pulled up the nose, the glider stalled, and Blade came down to a standing-up landing just beyond the tent.
Haima barely let Blade get untangled from the glider before she threw her arms around him. Daimarz pounded him on the back while the weaver kissed him.
Tressana popped to the surface and pushed wet hair out of her eyes in time to see Jollya dive off the bank. Jollya was not as good a swimmer as she was a rider, but she still made a fine sight, her bare tanned body arching through a shaft of sunlight.
Jollya swam across the pond toward the queen, then treaded water while she glanced over the women guarding the banks of the pond. They looked as alert as anyone could be after two weeks of forcing a path through the forest of Binaark. The amulets held back the killer plants; but they did nothing to fight insects and snakes, level the hills and valleys, bridge the streams, or reduce the damp heat and the foul smells of decay.
Fortunately the end was in sight. The scouts five days ahead reported that they'd seen the last of the plants and the first of the Elstani. That meant ten days traveling, perhaps twelve, for the cavalry. Could this be reduced? Every day saved would be a small victory on its own. The faster the cavalry reached Elstan, the less time the Elstani would have to prepare. With speed added to luck, half of Elstan might fall without a battle.
They could move even faster if they left the wagons behind, but that would mean leaving King Manro as well. There would be grumbling and talk of bad omens. Tressana realized they would have to split up, the women staying with the wagons and most of the cavalry rushing ahead to reach the site of the camp. Tressana turned to Jollya. «Jollya, if I send the men ahead, would the women be able to guide and guard King Manro?»
«Oh, yes. He seems to be stronger than I've ever seen him. He recognizes me whenever I pass by, and calls me 'Dark Jollya.' He seems to be trying to say more, but I can't understand it.»