A horse cantered up behind her. She heard someone dismount, but before she could turn around, strong arms encircled her.
“Why are you out here?” Hoten asked. Her mate for less than a season, Hoten had grown more and more protective of Nacris as the siege dragged on, even as she felt less and less need of him.
“This is my fight. I had to see it! Why doesn’t Zan attack? Ungrah-de can’t carry the day alone!”
“The ogre chief insisted we stand back and witness the prowess of his warriors. Zan agreed, and now they’ve learned a lesson. The villagers are not fools, nor are they weaklings. But the battle isn’t done. While the ogres drew the enemy’s eyes to the west, Zan has sent half the band to storm the north entrance.”
She took his arm in a painful grip and her flint-colored eyes narrowed. “This is my battle, too, Hoten,” she hissed. “I won’t remain in camp like some doddering ancient.”
“I know, I know. Come with me. We’ll fight together.”
He lifted her to his horse’s back and mounted behind her. He laced a broad leather strap around both their waists, tying them together.
For the first time in many, many days, she smiled at him. “Don’t untie me until I’m dead,” she said, taking the reins.
Hoten closed his hands over hers. “Not even then,” he vowed.
8
No one could remember ever seeing Karada so shaken.
The news brought by the village children changed everything. Karada called in Bahco and Pakito, gathering the whole of her band in a hollow beneath three stony hills. She related what the children had told her, that ogres had joined the fight against Yala-tene and, even worse, that the Arkuden had been slain.
“The raiders,” she went on, tendons standing out in her throat, “have a small of band of young, handpicked warriors who wear green face paint. They’re called Jade Men. They entered the village by night and murdered my brother. He was wounded in the leg in an earlier fight and was lying helpless on his bedroll.” Her hazel eyes, normally sharp and clear as melting snow, were rimmed red and filmed with unaccustomed tears.
“They slew him where he lay, stabbed him with obsidian knives...” She could not finish.
After a long and pain-filled silence, Pakito stood. “He was a good man, Karada. We grieve with you.”
She shook her head. “Save your grief.” She raised her dusty, tear-streaked face skyward. “Turn it into rage to expend on the treacherous ones who killed my brother and seek to destroy all he worked for.”
“Aye, Karada.” Hundreds of solemn voices repeated Pakito’s affirmation.
She glanced at Beramun, sitting on the ground between Mara and Balif, and saw the girl’s lovely face was pale and strained from mourning. She turned back to the sea of faces watching her.
“If any of these green-painted killers fall into our hands, I want them slain at once. Do you hear? Take no Jade Men prisoners.” There were nods and shouts of agreement. Karada went on, “With ogres in the field, I’m going to change our order of battle. Those not fit for fighting will stay behind. You’ll not enter the Valley of the Falls until the battle is over.”
There was grumbling among the elder nomads at being left behind, but they understood the wisdom of her plan. If they remained out of reach, they could not be caught and held hostage against Karada. Only one voice rose in protest.
“What are we supposed to do here?” Mara demanded. “Where will we go?”
Karada swept an arm out to encompass the terrain. “Build a hidden camp on the summit of one of these steep hills. Stay there until I return.”
Mara said no more, but her expression was mutinous.
Balif rose. “May I speak, Karada?” he asked.
“No. Yes. Be brief.”
The elf lord folded his arms across his lean chest. “Despite the valor and skill of your warriors, Karada, the odds are lengthening against you. According to Beramun”—he bowed to her—“the raiders already outnumber you. Add to that an unknown number of ogres, and you’re facing a far more potent enemy than you reckoned on.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Karada said. “My honor and my duty to my brother demand that I go.” Standing on the stump of a storm-toppled tree, her bronze helmet glinting in the late day sun, her braid of sun-streaked brown hair falling across her shoulder, she looked like the spirit of war made flesh.
“Will you lead your loyal band to such an uncertain fate?”
“Fate is never certain, as your presence here proves.”
There was chuckling in the crowd, and Balif smiled thinly. “Which brings me to my point: I would like to offer my arm to you, Karada, for the duration of this campaign.”
General astonishment reigned. Beramun reacted first. She clutched Balif’s arm and declared, “Well said! Well done!”
“Quiet!” Karada barked. She crossed the open ground to the elf lord. Beramun quickly withdrew, yielding to the formidable nomad woman.
Nose to nose and eye to eye with Balif, Karada said fiercely, “This is some trick. Do you think I’ll give you back your swords and horses so you can attack us from behind?”
“That’s unworthy of you,” he said calmly. “Don’t be stupid.”
Karada’s hand went to the hilt of her sword. There were gasps from those gathered around; they were sure the insolent Silvanesti was about to die.
“I have not tried to escape,” Balif said. His calm in the face of Karada’s ire amazed Beramun. “I chose to stay with my soldiers and share their fate, whether ransomed or not. What I now propose is that I fight alongside you against these painted raiders and their ogre allies—I and as many of my soldiers as will join me.”
“Ha!” Karada walked away a few steps, whirled, and presented the tip of her sword to Balif’s face. “I see your plan! No. You and your elves will remain behind with the children and elders!”
He shrugged. “As you wish, Karada, but consider: My soldiers are trained warriors. You’ve never defeated Silvanesti troops in open battle—not once in twenty years. Can you afford to ignore so ready a weapon placed at your disposal?”
“Why would you want to help us?” asked Pakito suspiciously.
Balif lifted his head, speaking to everyone in earshot.
“We’ve fought each other a long time,” he said. “We know each other, know our motives and goals. Though we’ve sometimes dueled without quarter, I believe there is an understanding between us—even respect.”
Karada said nothing. Balif forged ahead.
“The raiders represent a grave threat, different from you nomads. For humans to serve the whims of a green dragon is very troubling and would distress the Speaker of the Stars. Add to that their new alliance with ogres, and I see a common cause for us: to defeat these savages and keep them as far from the borders of Silvanesti as possible.”
Pakito’s expression showed he found the elf’s explanation sensible.
It made sense to Beramun, too. “Shouldn’t we stand together on this?” she said quietly to Karada.
The nomads muttered among themselves, some agreeing with Beramun and others hotly ridiculing even a temporary alliance with the Silvanesti.
“Karada, maybe we could—”
“Not a word!” she snapped at Pakito. Lowering her blade, she gazed steadily at the fair-haired elf. “Even if I trusted you, can I trust your lieutenants? Surely they can’t all be as honorable as you.”
“My officers are no less loyal than yours. They will follow me to death or to victory.”
“Will you obey my commands, even if you don’t agree with them?”
“Certainly.” She looked surprised, and he added, “You took me by force of arms and spared my life on condition of ransom. I am honor-bound to obey.”
Her sword declined farther, until the point was hovering just above the ground. “I won’t put you on horses,” she warned him. “You’ll march and fight on foot.”