Birak Epron came up and greeted both Pirvan and Waydol. Behind him his men were drawn up, reinforced to more than three hundred by some of Waydol’s men and deserters from the levies. There was even a rumor of an Istarian cavalry sergeant.
The sea breeze had now risen to a brisk wind, and the company banner rippled and snapped. The breeze was also blowing every form of murk in from the sea, though not letting it pool into vast, impenetrable banks. Jemar’s ships ought to be able to make their way into the cove safely, and ashore the fighting men would not have to fight half-blind.
“I’ve sent out boats to pilot Jemar’s ships into the cove,” Waydol said. “They should also bring word of Darin, if Jemar has sighted him.”
No one cared to put any of the other possibilities into words. Pirvan had wondered if there was anything in the Measure against praying for the survival of outlaws, then decided that he did not care. He would leave nothing undone to turn aside from his friend and comrade Waydol the fate of losing heir, band, and stronghold all in one day.
A mounted messenger came up, trotting as he’d been told to. Pirvan had knocked one galloper out of the saddle with his own fists, and after that, orders about sparing the horses were taken more seriously. Everyone probably feared that Waydol would punch the next galloper.
“Lord Waydol! The Istarians are coming ashore about an hour’s march to the east. Those who saw reckon not less than a thousand.”
The Minotaur nodded. “Then those who face us will be two-thirds levies, if the battle begins now.”
“It might. Beliosaran has a reputation even beyond Istar. He is quite capable of throwing the levies at us, to use us up and spare his own Istarians until the reinforcements arrive.”
“That is the tactics of a butcher, not a captain in war.”
“Do I seem ready to argue?”
Waydol grunted amicably. “No. Just be ready to fight, though. You may dislike fighting the innocent, but half the men will lose heart if you and your lady aren’t in the front.”
As if Waydol’s words had summoned her, Haimya rode up, leading Pirvan’s horse. Thanks to more captures, the knight had now awarded himself a proper cavalry captain’s war-horse, not trained for knightly fighting, but fit for everything else.
“Have we searched the outer camp for women and children?” Pirvan asked. “Deserters can work out their own fate now, but I won’t leave refugees behind.”
“I would rather have held the outer camp with a rear guard,” Waydol said.
Pirvan looked at Birak. They’d argued this point before, and both knew that it was sentiment overruling sound judgment. The Minotaur could not readily bear to give up easily even a trifle of what had been his for so long.
“They’d just surround it with a handful of men, then move on to the stronghold,” Pirvan said. “Then the men in the outer camp would be cut off. We’ve agreed long since that everyone who’s sworn to you should have a chance to make it back through the gap and aboard ship.”
Waydol nodded. He seemed too downcast to speak. Then they all heard trumpets-some as discordant as Waydol’s, others the silver-throated tones of Istarian battle signals.
Drums followed.
And Waydol threw back his head and gave a bellow of challenge and defiance that made all the martial music of the attackers seem like children with toy instruments.
* * * * *
Jemar forced himself not to stand looking over the shoulder of the leadsman as Windsword crept through the gap in the cliffs and into Waydol’s cove. The leadsman had enough work to do, and that work meant life or death for everyone aboard the ship, without his captain dripping sweat on him!
Life or death for more than Windsword, too. If she got out of the channel and struck, it would likely as not block the way for the ships behind. Some might even join her aground. All were following as closely as a file of sheep passing through a gap in a fence, with the pilot boat Waydol had sent out ahead of them all.
At least the channel was wide enough for every ship to use its oars or sweeps. Some of them could only make bare steerageway without wind, but all could navigate in-and Habbakuk grant that they could make it out again.
The last rocks slid past, the channel began to open out into the cove, and Jemar looked up at the cliffs. They surrounded the cove on three sides; the fourth was a more gentle slope, covered with huts, gardens storehouses, and everything else needed for a band of outlaws the size of a fair village. Atop the slope were stables, forges, and a few stone huts that looked older than the rest of the place, or perhaps were just built minotaur-style, which hadn’t changed much since elves had ruled Ansalon.
Jemar looked around the cove, measuring it with a seaman’s eye. If there was enough deep water and the holding ground was good, it had room for twice the ships he’d brought. There also seemed to be a fair number of boats drawn up on the shore, and the ships would be putting theirs over the side even before they anchored.
Another step forward, not to be taken again. They could still fall, though, and from a fatal height.
The anchoring gang could do its work with even less watching by its captain than the leadsman. Now he could remain on deck until the last of his ships was safely through the passage.
Jemar wanted to howl like a maimed wolf. Instead he called for a messenger.
“Go below and see how Lady Eskaia fares.”
“Aye, Captain. We-we’re all praying for her.”
“Well begun is half-done, lad. Now, run!”
* * * * *
The levies came straight out of the mist, and Pirvan and Waydol met them head-on.
At least they did for all of five minutes, long enough to force the levies to deploy from what might be called a column of march into what was no doubt intended to be a battle line.
It took them nearly half an hour and language that made even Haimya blush to make that battle line fit to advance.
By then Pirvan and Waydol had their three hundred men well in hand, and ready to give ground at whatever pace might prove necessary.
Most of the levies carried pikes, spears, or swords. Few had much armor, and the archers were still few and badly scattered.
“Probably no one captain commanding all of them,” Birak Epron said. “Certainly no Istarian, or they’d be better arrayed.”
“Then where are the Istarians?” Waydol asked.
“Probably off to the seaward flank,” Epron said. “Ready to join up with their comrades, then work around our flank and run right up our arse while the levies hold us in front.”
Then the thud of fast-moving horses on damp ground reached their ears-from the right, or landward flank.
Epron spat. “Remind me never to take up prophecy when I’m too old for soldiering.”
Pirvan nodded, and Epron bawled, “Form square to receive cavalry!”
The men managed the feat of not only forming the square, but also moving off at an angle while they were forming, opening the distance between them and the levies. They had just finished when the flank patrols rode into sight, hotly pursued by several score horsemen.
None of them looked like the dreaded Istarian cavalry. This time Pirvan gave the order directly.
“Square-kneel, archers-shoot!”
Unlike their opponents, Waydol’s picked rear guard was well supplied with archers. Indeed, the captains had eagerly sought men who were proficient with more than one weapon, and as a result a good many of the spearholders had bows slung across their backs.
The spears wavered and dropped, the square wriggled and writhed as the archers opened clear lines of sight, then suddenly an arrow-hail soared overhead. It was only a momentary blur against the clouds, and the wind sent some of the arrows badly astray.