“Be careful,” Harak said quickly, as several of the raiders brandished their weapons. “Ungrah-de is wary of humans. He says you can’t trust creatures with such small teeth.”
“Which one is he?” Zannian asked.
A sly look crossed Harak’s features. “Leadership among the ogres is determined by size—a most sensible practice.” He was himself a span taller than Zannian. “Ungrah-de is the biggest ogre here.”
Zannian picked him out immediately and raised his hands in the plainsman’s traditional greeting. “Great Chief! I greet you with open hands!”
Ungrah folded his tree-trunk sized arms. “Huh,” he called down. “You’re very small—smaller even than little Harak. How can you be chief?”
“I am chief by my wits, by my skill with arms, and by the will of my Master, Sthenn Deathbringer of Almurk.”
“Talking of old Sthenn, is he here?” asked Harak.
“Do not speak his name so lightly!” Zannian barked.
“He hasn’t returned yet,” Nacris told Harak. “We don’t know where he is.”
Ungrah clattered down the slope, followed by his towering warriors. Reaching the bottom, he strode toward the anxious raiders. The top of his head was even with Zannian’s, though the raider chief was on horseback.
“It’s well,” said the ogre. “Dragons are not fit company for warriors. They plot and plan and talk too much. I don’t fight beside dragons, only against them.”
The horses rolled their eyes and shied away from the ogres as they congregated around their leader. Ungrah-de noticed Nacris in her litter.
“Cripple,” he said bluntly. “Better to die than live less than whole. If I was crippled like that, I’d crawl off a cliff.” He translated this for his followers. They grunted in approval, sounding like a chorus of enormous boars.
Harak noted Nacris’s anger at the ogre’s high-handed words. “Ungrah-de, it was her idea to enlist your aid,” he said.
The raiders exchanged surprised looks at this bit of information. The ogre chief grunted deeply and shouldered a huge axe. Its head was an enormous chunk of grayish agate veined with lapis.
“Lead us to the place of stones,” Ungrah-de commanded, “to Arku-peli.”
He started down the canyon, his troop at his back. Zannian yelled, “Wait! We must bargain first, so you know what’s expected of you.”
Ungrah paused. “He made promises,” he said, and lifted a gnarled, hairy finger to Harak. “I agreed. The bargain is made. We will kill the enemies you failed to conquer.”
He and his monstrous warriors resumed walking.
Zannian turned, swift as a striking snake, and whipped out his sword. The point came to rest on Harak’s chest. “What did you promise them?” he growled.
Wincing, Harak tried to push the blade away, but Zannian dug in the tip. “Your mother said I should promise them anything for their help!”
“You will not sell my victory to those monsters!” Zannian snapped at Nacris.
“Then win it yourself!” she replied hotly. “Get on your horse and use that bronze blade on your enemies and not your followers!”
She spat a command to her bearers. They hoisted her onto their shoulders and started after the ogres. Harak carefully leaned away from the sword at his breast. Zannian, his eyes on his mother, allowed the blade to drop.
“By my blood, I will take the mud-toes’ village myself!” Zannian vowed. Silence answered his rousing declaration. He looked to his men. They were staring at him with expressions that mixed shock and horror.
“Ogres, Zan?” murmured one, his voice hoarse. “Are we to fight with ogres now?”
Another spoke up. “The spirits of my ancestors will rise in outrage if I fight alongside their murderers!”
“We dishonor ourselves, siding with those monsters!” Hoten said firmly.
Without warning, Zannian struck. The flat of his sword connected with Hoten’s head. The elder raider toppled sideways off his horse, stunned. One captain brought his sword up and thrust it at Zannian. The young chief swung his own weapon; at the end of its arc, the captain’s severed hand fell to the ground, still grasping his sword. The man gave a harsh cry of pain. He fell from his horse.
Zannian whipped his bloodied sword around and snarled, “Any one else dare draw on me?”
The other raiders pulled back out of reach. Only Harak held his ground.
Zannian turned on the smirking young wanderer. “I should slay you as a lesson to the rest!”
Harak lost his affected good nature for once. “Slay me? You should thank me! It wasn’t easy finding Ungrah-de or convincing him to help!” Zannian continued to regard him with hatred, and he added, “You know, if I were you, Zan, I’d hurry after those ogres. If the band doesn’t know they’re coming, they might attack Ungrah when he reaches the river. That would be bad in many ways.”
The truth of those words turned Zannian’s fury into action. “After them!” he ordered. Sullenly, his captains galloped after the marching ogres.
“I’d better go, too,” Harak said mildly. “Ungrah likes me, you see. I can keep things calm between you and the ogres.”
Zannian sheathed his sword with a clang. “Don’t cross me, Harak, or you’ll not live to see the end of this siege.”
“It’s a very bad habit, Zan, threatening your friends.”
“You’re not my friend!”
Harak looked down at the dying raider and the unconscious Hoten sprawled on the ground. “Thank my ancestors for that,” he said, and rode away.
Karada was riding across the high plain with her entire band at her back when the lead riders flushed six men on horseback.
The strangers tried to flee, but Karada’s superior horses overhauled them. Karada herself joined the brief melee, trading spear thrusts and sword cuts with a wildly painted rider. None of the strangers tried to surrender. All fought to the death.
Karada had the six dead men laid out for Beramun to see. The girl needed only a glance to recognize them.
“Zannian’s men! The men who killed my family painted their faces just the same!”
Karada shaded her eyes. “We’re still two days from the Valley of the Falls. Why would Zannian waste men scouting so far east? Is he expecting us?”
“All the messengers from Yala-tene were taken but me,” Beramun said thoughtfully. “Zannian could have learned of our mission from those he captured.”
Karada changed the marching order of her band. Those not fighting—children, elders, the captured Silvanesti—were sent to the rear. Instead of a long, slender column of riders, Karada’s warriors spread themselves out in a wide line, two ranks deep. This would allow them to sweep the savanna as they rode and shield their families, too. Karada kept Beramun by her side, since the girl could help guide them through the mountains. It had been many years since the nomads had traveled so far west.
She divided her fighting force into three parts. Pakito was summoned, and he arrived with Balif still in tow. Karada gave the giant charge of the right wing. Bahco was to have command of the left, and she herself would lead the center. Pakito left Balif with Karada and took his place on the north end of the nomads’ line.
The elf general looked trailworn, his long hair windblown and his fine clothes unkempt. Unlike some of the well-born elves, Balif never complained about his comfort or treatment. He seemed to regard his captivity as an interesting outing, like a prolonged hunting trip.
He looked down at the six dead raiders. “We had word of men like these in the west. Their deeds drove many humans into land claimed by the Speaker of the Stars.”
Karada spared him but a scornful glance. The nomads took up their new formation and surged forward. The wide line scared up all sorts of animals and game. Rabbits, wild pigs, deer, and every bird known on the plains took flight before Karada’s band. Edible game was taken down with arrows and the meat passed back to those on foot. Beramun expressed concern that their bold approach would warn Zannian they were coming.