“All right,” said Howland. “Carver, you’re in charge of the village children old enough to use a whippik.”
Grinning fiercely, the kender swaggered back to his spot between Ezu and Khorr and squatted on the floor.
“What other weapons can we make?” asked the Knight.
“Spears,” said Hume.
“Lash a stone to a handle and you have a mace,” said Raika.
“Slings,” said Robien, glancing at Amergin.
“Our friend is deadly with one,” Howland agreed, “but can you teach simple-minded farmers to sling?”
“In a year of practice, yes.”
Howland nodded. “You have twelve days.”
“They’d be better off throwing rocks with their bare hands,” protested Amergin.
Howland sighed. “Try to train them anyway.”
“While you’re working the villagers, Hume and I, with Malek and his brother, are going to look for Rakell’s stronghold and scout it out. If we can, we’ll free some of the captives he’s holding, while thinning his ranks as much as we can.”
“What about defenses for the village?” asked Raika. “Once you attack Rakell, he’ll know we’re around. He may strike back before we’re ready to stand up to him.”
Ezu stood. Smiling as always, he said, “Hello? This one has ideas along those lines.”
Everyone looked at the stranger skeptically. Not intimidated, Ezu continued.
“I’ve been to many places, in many lands. I’ve seen all sorts of fortifications, from high stone walls to the permanent rings of fire around the citadel of Kamkorah …” Temporarily lost in his memories, his voice trailed off.
Howland cleared his throat, and Ezu snapped back to the present. “I may be able to recall some feature we can use to shield these poor people from their tormentors.”
Tired from the long, hot journey, Howland was in no mood to listen to the foreigner’s odd, elliptical speech. “Fine. Study the matter and try to come up with a physical defense for Nowhere.” To Hume he muttered, “At least it will keep the fellow busy and out of our way.”
Howland dismissed his troops until sunset, when they would gather in full conclave with the villagers. “You’re free till then,” he said. “Keep to the village, but stay out of sight! Rakell may have sentinels watching everything that happens here.”
The defenders of Nowhere drifted out until only Howland, Hume, and Raika were left. The old Knight wanted to draw up a sketch-map of the vicinity. He and Hume discussed the lay of the land and ways to defend it. Raika seemed asleep.
“You’d better keep an eye on our world traveler,” she said, her voice flat with fatigue. “I don’t trust him.”
“Seems like a harmless fool to me,” Hume replied.
“Those people were going to hang him for a spy.”
“Which he freely told us,” Howland pointed out.
Raika opened one eye. “The best way to disguise a lie is by telling the truth.”
Howland nodded grudgingly. “Since you don’t have Robien to watch any longer, maybe you want the job?”
She never heard his jest. Raika, her back to both men, was already snoring loudly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The grand meeting of the inhabitants of Nowhere and their new defenders took place after dark. To avoid being seen by Rakell’s scouts, the conclave was held in a barley field west of the settlement. Aside from a few boys left behind to keep watch, everyone trekked silently into the night to meet the warriors come to help them. Hope was in the air. The foreigners and their strange ways seemed full of portent for success.
The villagers sat down in orderly rows, facing Howland’s motley band. Two torches blazed on either side of the Knight, the only light he would permit. When Caeta entered the clearing with her father, Elder Calec, on her arm, Howland bade them sit up front. Once the elder was seated, he began.
“I am Howland uth Ungen, Knight of the Order of the Rose. As you know, we’ve come here to defend you against your enemies, Rakell and his raiders.” He paused, trying to catch every farmer’s eyes before he continued. “This we cannot do.”
The stunned silence that followed extended to his comrades. Hume looked the most stricken of all.
“We cannot do it with the forces we have on hand. I therefore recommend you abandon this village and move elsewhere.”
Howland folded his arms across his chest and waited. For a time the only sound was the crackled of the burning torches. At last Calec coughed a little and raised his creaking voice.
“What deceit is this?” he rasped. “Are you admitting defeat before the fight has begun?”
“I tell what I know to be true,” Howland replied. “This place is indefensible.”
Old Calec struggled to his feet, disdaining his daughter’s supporting hand. “You did not come here to tell us that! Why say it now?”
Howland met the elder’s knowing gaze. “Because the alternative is very hard.”
“I have lived here eighty-eight years,” said Calec. “My father and mother lived here before me, and their parents before them.” He waved a gnarled hand at the folk behind him. “We’re farmers. We know hardship. Every day we draw breath is a battle against drought, disease, and death. What can be harder than that?”
“Just this: To win, to survive, everyone must fight. Everyone.”
The elder spat in the dust. “Give me a stick or a stone, and I’ll fight.”
The farmers and families behind him were not so sure. A loud murmur rippled through their ranks. Their unease was voiced by Bakar. “Why did we seek warriors, if we’re expected to fight anyway? We could have done that all along and saved food and water!”
“Will you not fight for your homes and families?” asked Hume.
Raika snapped, “You’d be slaughtered without us!”
Voices grew louder as accusations of bad faith and cowardice flew back and forth. Khorr had to restrain Raika from punching a farmer who called her craven. Fearing violence, some villagers tried to creep away unnoticed in the dark.
A high, warbling whistle cut through the heated words. It grew in intensity until many had to clap hands over their ears to bear it. Everyone turned to the source of the sound, standing in the rear ranks of the newcomers.
Ezu removed the metal pipe from his lips. The piercing note ceased. Far away, nightbirds screeched, and a rare wolf of the plains howled in lonesome protest.
“What is that?” asked Howland.
“A whistle, as used by the sailors of Ladosh.” He tucked it away in his baggy trousers. “Effective, isn’t it?”
“Unbearable!” said the minotaur. “I thought my head would split!”
“Many animals find it intolerable. Wolves and dogs, for example.” The howls of the wild creatures could still be heard. “And horses.”
“Horses?” Howland understood. “Will your whistle upset Rakell’s cavalry?”
The amiable traveler shrugged.
“May I see it?”
Ezu handed Howland the device. It was brass, about as thick as a woman’s little finger, and eight inches long. The walls of the tube were thick, and two slots were cut in the upper surface, one about a third of the length from the mouth end, the other halfway along. Howland put the whistle to his lips and blew. No sound emerged.
He blew until his face purpled. Ezu gently took the whistle back. “Perhaps it’s not so useful after all,” he said to the mystified Howland.
Now that calm had been restored, Amergin spoke up. “I’m not a soldier,” he began, “but I have fought mounted foes before. There are no walls around my home forest, but no marauder dares enter it.”
“Trees are a good fence against cavalry,” said Hume.
“I speak not of fences or trees,” said the Kagonesti. “Fences can be broken down and trees burned. What my people do to deter attack is lay traps. Many, many traps. Our settlements are ringed with them.”
“Trenches!” offered Hume. “My khan once defended the whole of the Khurman Peninsula with a line of trenches. The land there is desert, loose sand and gravel, with no trees of any kind. We dug two lines of trenches across the peninsula and turned back the horde of ogre warlord Shagrah-de.”