Blade raised his hand for silence. «What is it that you want?»
Fador'n swallowed, and Blade saw that he was sweating. «Blade, I have been wrong in the way I saw you, the man who may save Elstan tomorrow. For this I have been called a fool. I may be that. I have also been called a coward, and I cannot bear that.»
«I have never called you a coward,» said Blade.
«No, but… Blade, let me be the first man to leap from the cliff tomorrow and throw the Living Fire on the Jaghdi. I beg you-let me prove that at least I am not a coward!»
Blade considered this. The first man off didn't have to be a leader, but he did have to be a better than average pilot. The men following him would have to make much of their judgment of the wind from the way his glider behaved.
«I have never seen Fador'n fly,» Blade admitted. «Daimarz, have you?»
The woodcutter seemed reluctant to answer until Haima gently elbowed him in the ribs. «Come on, lad. The man's asked a question. He wants an honest answer.»
Daimarz sighed. «Fador'n is a very good flyer. He has sometimes made a complete circle before he lands.»
Anybody who could make a 360-degree turn in a three-hundred foot drop was lucky, but he was also good. He wouldn't have all his bones intact otherwise.
«All right, Fador'n. You can be the first.»
Fador'n didn't say anything, and he shook all over. Blade was afraid the man was going to kneel to him. Instead he turned and ran back into the procession and the darkness.
Blade and the others around the fire watched in silence until the last of the procession was past. Two thousand men and women were marching off into the hills to a perch on the cliffs above the Kettle of the Winds. Five hundred were the glider pilots, the rest bearers and guards. When the last of the pilots had flown, the rest would come down the hills and take a position to the northwest of the Kettle. There they would stand between the retreating Jaghdi and the main valleys of Elstan.
The glider pilots who survived would join a small army of men on the far side of the river from the Kettle. Five hundred of the army were woodcutters and weavers. The rest were hardly more than a mob, but a well-armed one and very determined. They were the refugees who'd fled before the Jaghdi advance. They didn't have to wait to get word from Masters to fight. They'd seen their houses burned, their livestock driven off, their crops looted. Many had kin to avenge. Tomorrow they would take that vengeance, if the work of the gliders gave them half a chance.
Five thousand men to fight half again that many. It won't be easy, but it won't be impossible. The Jaghdi are all cavalry, and if they suddenly lose their rolghas…
Blade would have been less optimistic if the Jaghdi had brought infantry to guard the camp. But all the enemy's infantry was in the valley of the Adrim, making faces at the Elstani holding the pass above them. The Elstani made faces back, and occasionally rolled rocks down the hills. Perhaps the guilds who'd refused to believe Blade in time to send men south to help him would do some good after all, now that they saw how the war was progressing.
Now it was time to stop worrying and get some sleep.
Blade didn't get to sleep for quite a while, because Haima insisted on making love with almost desperate eagerness. Blade found himself responding in the same way. Either Chaia's kisses had roused him even more than he'd suspected, or he had the sense that this might be the last time he would hold a woman.
The thought made Blade sit up straight. He wondered if he was getting old. A few years ago he wouldn't have been thinking anything of the kind on the eve of a battle. Or was it that his preference for being alone was finally beginning to weaken? Was it possible that he needed companionship more than he ever had before? That was an even more interesting thought.
He lay back under the furs, and fell asleep listening to Haima's breathing and Lorma's purring.
Chapter 20
The dawn air seemed chillier than usual at the Kettle of the Winds. Blade wondered if this was just his own anticipation of the coming battle, or if the weather was really getting colder. Probably both. He'd talked the Elstani into staking their whole future not only on one battle but very nearly on one weapon. And the year was getting on toward autumn.
Daimarz crawled up beside him, barefoot in order to move silently but otherwise wearing his woodcutter's clothing. Together they looked down the precipitous cliff at the Jaghdi camp, where men and rolghas appeared no bigger than dots. The cooks were hard at work on breakfast, judging from the strings of smoke from the fire pits. One of the night patrols was riding back in with more Elstani prisoners. The day patrols were assembling by the ford, ready to head up the valleys. The patrols looked like insects swarming below.
«Still no sign of the royal banners,» said Daimarz. «Curse it! I want Tressana dead.»
Blade said nothing. The Elstani desire for vengeance on Tressana made sense from their point of view. The more chaos in Jaghd, the better. But would it be a step forward for civilization in this Dimension? Blade doubted it.
Tressana's not being here left Efroin of the Red Band in command. Blade was certain that after Curim's death, Tressana would have appointed Efroin as captain of the men, and that he would prove a dangerously good battle leader. Certainly he'd done well so far, keeping his men together and sending out patrols. No one could be sure how many Elstani prisoners were in the camp, but there might be more than a thousand already. Blade knew that the Elstani wanted their people safe, and they wanted them safe now.
Heavy breathing and feet scraping on stone made Blade turn around. Fador'n was approaching, followed by Borokku, seven more glider pilots, and bearers carrying nine fully assembled gliders. The gliders were flapping precariously in the dawn breeze, and Blade hoped nothing had been broken carrying them up the cliff. Looking beyond the new arrivals, Blade could see a procession of more gliders, bearers, and pilots winding its way toward him. From a distance the bearers looked like ants carrying leaves.
«Since the gliders are going to be all ready when they come up here,» began Daimarz, «do I have to-?»
«Yes,» said Blade. They'd argued the point before. Daimarz badly wanted to be among the first gliders to go. A man who'd be obeyed would be needed on top of the cliffs right through the battle, so Blade wanted him to be among the last. Daimarz agreed, and then tried all week to find a way out of the agreement.
Daimarz sighed. «Blade, you're asking a lot in return for just saving my life.»
«No doubt.»
During this exchange Fador'n was tightening his green belt, and both he and Borokku were checking their gliders. They stood side by side as the bearers strapped the pots of Living Fire onto the carrying straps. Then the two men made their final adjustments and stepped forward to the rock that marked the start of the takeoff run. Blade suddenly found himself more sympathetic to Daimarz. He wished he were on his way too.
Then both pilots were running down the hill. The sound of their boots on stone faded with distance, then died away suddenly as the gliders lifted. They slipped over the lip of the cliff with yards to spare, and swept out into the sky over the Jaghdi camp. Blade let out the breath he'd been holding.
Efroin finished his breakfast of hard biscuits and sour wine, buckled on his sword, and walked out of his tent unattended. Like Tressana, he disliked taking men away from useful work merely to let a chief make a show.
He walked toward the wall of piled stones that separated the rolghas from the men. Nothing more was necessary here, with the cliffs behind and the steep banks of the river everywhere else. The men who got out of his path looked cheerful enough, although short rations were beginning to thin their unshaven faces. He hoped Tressana would come up soon. That would mean more food for both men and rolghas. It would also mean doing something about all those Elstani prisoners. He didn't dare let them go, he didn't want to just kill them, but he'd be cursed if he wanted to go on feeding them much longer. Every bite they ate meant one less for…