* * *
"Right now," Idra said quietly, stretched out along a hill top next to Tarma, "The old war-horse should be giving them a good imitation of a tired old war-horse."
The hilltop gave them a fairly tolerable view for furlongs in any direction; they were just beyond the range of Kelcrag's sentries, and Kethry was shielding them in the way she had learned from the example of Moonsong k'Vala, the Tale'edras Adept from the Pelagiris Forest-making them seem a part of the landscape-to mage-sight, just a thicket of brinle-bushes. In the far distance was the pass; filling it was the dark blot of Kelcrag's forces.
At this moment -- as he had for the last two days -- Leamount was giving a convincing imitation of a commander truly interested in coming to an agree-ment with his enemy. Heralds had been coming and going hour by hour with offers and counter-offers-all of this false negotiation buying time for the Hawks to get into place.
"Well, it's now or never," Idra said finally, as she and Tarma abandoned their height and squirmed down their side of the hill to join her company. "Kethry?"
Kethry, on foot like all the rest, nodded and joined hands with her two mage-partners. "Shield your eyes," she warned them. "It'll go on a count of five."
Tarma and the rest of the Hawks averted their eyes and turned their horses' heads away as Kethry counted slowly. When Kethry reached five, there was a flare of light so bright that it shone redly through Tarma's eyelids even with her head turned. It was followed by a second flash, and then a third.
From a distance it would look like the lightning that flickered every day along the hillsides. But Leamount's mages were watching this particular spot for just that signal of three flickers of light, and testing for energy-auras to see if it was mage-light and not natural lightning. Now Leamount would break off his negotiations and resume his attacks on Kelcrag's army, concentrating on the eastern edge. That would seem reasonable: Kelcrag had stationed his foot there; they might be vulnerable to a charge of heavy cavalry. Leamount's own west-ern flank was commanded by Lord Shoveral, whose standard was a badger and whose mode of battle matched his token; he was implacable in defense, but no one had yet seen him on the attack, so Kelcrag might well believe that he had no heart for it.
He was, one hoped, about to be surprised.
One also hoped, fervently, that Kelcrag's mages had not noticed that it was mage-light and not light-ning that had flickered to their rear.
:They've no reason to look for mage-light, mindmate,:
Warrl said soberly. :Kelcrag's wizards are all courtly types. They very seldom think about hiding what they're doing, or trying to make it seem like something natural. To them, mage-light is something to illuminate a room with, not something to use for a signal. If they wish to pass messages, they make a sending.:
"I hope you're right, Furface," Tarma replied, mounting. "The more surprised they are, the more of us are going to survive this."
At Idra's signal, the Hawks moved into a disciplined canter; no point in trying too hard to stay undercover now.
They urged their mounts over hills covered only with scraggy bushes and dead, dry grass; they would have been hard put to find any cover if they'd needed it. But luck was with them.
They topped a final hilltop and only then en-countered Kelcrag's few sentries. They were all afoot; the lead riders coldly picked them off with a few well-placed arrows before they could sound an alert. The sentries fell, either pierced with arrows or stumbling over their wounded comrades. And the fallen were trampled -- for the Hawks' horses were war-trained, and a war-trained horse does not hesitate when given the signal to make certain of a fallen foe. That left no chance that Kelcrag could be warned.
Ahead of the riders, now stretching their canter into a gallop, was the baggage train.
Kethry and her two companions rode to the fore-front for the moment. Each mage was haloed by one of Kethry's glowing mage-shields; a shield that blurred the edges of vision around a mage and his mount as well. It made Tarma's eyes ache to look at them, so she tried not to. The shields wouldn't deflect missiles, but not being able to look straight at your target made that target damned hard to hit.
The two hedge-wizards growled guttural phrases, made elaborate throwing motions -- and smoking, flaming balls appeared in the air before their hands to fly at the wagons and supplies. Kethry simply locked her hands together and held them out in front of her -- and each wagon or tent she stared at burst into hot blue flame seemingly of its own accord.
This was noisy; it was meant to be. The noncombatants with the baggage-drovers, cooks, personal servants, the odd whore -- were screaming in fear and fleeing in all directions, adding to the noise. There didn't seem to be anyone with enough authority back here to get so much as a fire brigade organized.
The Hawks charged through the fires and the frightened, milling civilians, and headed straight for the rear of Kelcrag's lines. Now Kethry and the mages had dropped back until they rode -- a bit more protected -- in the midst of the Sunhawks. They would be needed now only if one of Kelcrag's mages happened to be stationed on this flank.
For the rest, it was time for bow work. Kelcrag's men -- armored cavalry here, for the most part; nobles and retainers, and mostly young -- were still trying to grasp the fact that they'd been hit from the rear.
The Hawks swerved just out of bowshot, riding their horses in a flanking move along the back of the lines. They didn't stop; that would make them stationary targets. They just began swirling in and out at the very edge of the enemy's range, as Tarma led the first sortie to engage.
About thirty of them peeled off from the main group, galloping forward with what must look to Kelcrag's men like utter recklessness. It wasn't; they stayed barely within their range as they shot into the enemy lines. This was what the Hawks were famous for, this horseback skirmishing. Most of them rode with reins in their teeth, a few, like Tarma and Jodi, dropped their reins altogether, relying entirely on their weight and knees to signal their mounts. Tarma loosed three arrows in the time it took most of the rest of her sortie group to launch one, her short horse-bow so much a part of her that she thought of nothing consciously but picking her targets. She was aware only of Ironheart's muscles laboring beneath her legs, of the shifting smoke that stung eyes and carried a burnt flavor into the back of her throat, of the sticky feel of sweat on her back, of a kind of exultation in her skill -- and it was all over in heartbeats. Arrows away, the entire group wheeled and galloped to the rear of the Hawks, already nocking more missiles -- for hard on their heels came a second group, a third -- it made for a continuous rain of fire that was taking its toll even of heavily armored men -- and as they rode, the Hawks jeered at their enemies, and shouted Idra's rallying call. The hail of arrows that fell on the enemy wounded more horses than men -- a fact Tarma was sorry about -- but the fire, the hail of arrows, and the catcalls inflamed their enemy's tempers in a way that nothing else could have done.
And, as Leamount and Idra had planned, the young, headstrong nobles let those tempers loose.
They broke ranks, leaders included, and charged their mocking foes. All they thought of now was to engage the retreating Hawks, forgetful of their or-ders, forgetful of everything but that this lot of commoners had pricked their vanity and was now getting away.