practised at moving with minimal sound or disturbance to the tall tussocks. Only the scarred spearman stayed close. He urged Kheda on with a jerk of his head, dark eyes as hard as the sharpened black stones that studded the club he carried.
Kheda tried to judge their speed to measure their progress across the plain. The thinning grasses as they arrived at the river bank still took him by surprise. He looked up and down the river to see Naldeth some distance upstream peering through the sparser concealment. The mage jumped down onto the muddy margin of the sluggish water and rapidly summoned up a walkway from the depths. The wild men pressed forward to run across this path and hide themselves once again in the grasses on the far northern side. Kheda scanned the sky apprehensively.
'They're splitting up,' Risala observed.
'It seems we did all understand the map I drew earlier.' Grim satisfaction took the edge off Kheda's trepidation.
The scarred spearman jumped down to the mud and Kheda followed, Risala close behind. The undercut edge of the far bank was already broken down by the hands and feet of the men gone before them. Kheda stood tall to try to make out the cave-dwellers' rocky outcrop. It was still hidden among the fringe of forest beyond the sere plain. The scarred spearman clucked his tongue with irritation and forced the warlord down with an unforgiving hand. Risala was already crouching low. As the yellow grasses filled his vision, a rush of water made Kheda look round. With all the wild warriors safely across the river, Velindre was making her way along the silty path. Naldeth brought up the rear with the muddy waters swirling around his sandalled foot and his steel one as the river reclaimed its course to the sea..
Kheda took a moment to clasp Risala's hand. 'Stay with them now, please.'
As she slipped away backwards, the scarred spearman pushed Kheda on. Wild warriors on all sides were running faster now, sacrificing stealth for speed. A dun-coloured bird sprang up from the tussocks with a shrill cry of alarm and a rattle of wings. A horny-backed lizard dashed across Kheda's path, a thick mouthful of grass still clamped in its jaws.
Lizards that eat grass?
He had no time to ponder this puzzle as the scarred spearman drove him on with a shove in the small of his back. Kheda sweated uncomfortably beneath the greasy ointment disguising his face. His tunic clung to his back and a cloud of tiny black flies clustered around his head. The scarred spearman drew level with the warlord, heedless of the insects crawling around his own eyes and nose. He was intent on the trackless grasses ahead. Kheda noted that the vicious grass blades were scraping at the grease coating his arms and legs but didn't appear to be drawing blood.
So it's protection in more ways than one.
Grateful nevertheless for his cotton tunic and trousers, Kheda pressed on, trying not to slow as the thick vegetation snagged his bow and quiver. Realising the ground was starting to slope gradually upwards, he risked standing a little straighter every few paces to search the rising forest ahead. Soon he could make out individual twisted nut trees and the pale-green sprawls of the fat spiny plants. The tussocks gradually thinned and disappeared, and they had reached the open space separating the grassland from the trees.
The wild men were running flat out, intent on their destination. Kheda spotted a contingent who had cut a diagonal path veering eastwards through the grasses to emerge some way ahead, deeper inland. The scarred spearman pushed past Kheda and the warlord followed,
the breath pounding in his chest. As he ran, Kheda pressed one hand to the neck of his quiver, ready to pull out the first envenomed arrow. The rocky outcrop reared up above the treetops. Mouth dry, Kheda scanned the hollows and shadows for any outline of the lurking dragon.
All you mages have to do is keep the beast off our backs. Then perhaps we can make this a rapid victory with the fewest possible deaths on either side.
Shouts broke out up ahead, startled and belligerent. Kheda heard the distinctive flick of bowstrings and the churr of inexpertly fletched arrows. Fearsome yells cut through the confusion as the fight spread among the trees. Slowing to a walk, Kheda carefully drew one poisoned arrow from his quiver. Wild men rushed past him, intent on joining the battle. Nocking his shaft, Kheda held the bow low, the lethal arrowhead angled away from himself. The scarred spearman looked back over his shoulder, grunting a clear question.
'Go on.' Kheda conveyed his meaning with a jerk of his head. The wild warrior didn't hesitate, hefting his spear up over one shoulder. The warlord took a moment to get his bearings and edged along the shallow slope. As the trees thinned, he saw the open space in front of the bottommost caves. The cave dwellers were mostly lurking in the shadows. A few were crouching behind the barricade of thorny branches they were used to defending from the predatory birds.
So much for drawing the enemy out into the open and scattering them with an arrow storm. Will Naldeth believe me when I tell him every Aldabreshin warlord knows that plans are generally the earliest casualties in any battle?
Arrows hissed through the air and clattered against the stone. Few found targets but the shock of such an unexpected attack clearly disconcerted the cave dwellers. Those in the shadows drew further back and those trapped
behind the thorn barrier cowered lower. The village spearmen shouted and jeered triumphantly.
Those bows give our side confidence. That'1l count for something. If I can pick off anyone who looks like a cave-dweller leader, that'll count for more.
Looking carefully, Kheda soon identified a man among those hiding behind the thorn barricade who was urging his companions back in the caves to action. The savage half-stood and shouted, waving his spear. Cave dwellers clutched spears and clubs and edged forward into the sunlight. Before Kheda could get a clear shot at the shouting man, the newly fledged archers waiting in the tree line loosed another flurry of reckless arrows.
The shouting man ducked hastily back down and the would-be relief force retreated back into the shadows. Taunts from the trees accompanied a second cascade of arrows, this time directed at the thorn barrier. The twisted branches brushed most of the missiles aside but some penetrated to provoke cries of pain. Angry yelling from the heights of the rocky outcrop drowned out a shouted exchange between those pinned behind the outer defences and whoever might be commanding the frustrated warriors in the caves.
Kheda watched intently, his poisoned arrow at the ready. Slingstones came raining down from the uppermost level of caves. The vicious hail tore at leaves and twigs, bouncing off branches and tree trunks. The defenders surged out of the lowest entrances, hurling spears at the attackers, who were now hastily retreating back among the trees.
Kheda saw that some of those fleeing for the safety of the caves were wounded, arms and legs pierced by the stone-tipped arrows. Few of the village archers were shooting with overmuch accuracy but with so many arrows in the air, some had inevitably struck unprotected flesh.
Two men dragged a third towards shelter who had a shaft wedged deep in his back. More arrows pursued them despite the best efforts of the slingshots in the heights. One man fell crazed with pain as he ripped an arrow from his thigh. He stared numbly as his life's blood gushed scarlet from the ragged wound and then collapsed to lie limp and still.
As a fresh shower of arrows clattered ineffectively against the rock face, Kheda let his white-fletched arrow fly. The apparent leader of the men behind the barricade had drifted too far from the safety of the thorns. The inadequacies of the makeshift bow meant that Kheda didn't strike the man in the chest as he had hoped. Instead, the stone head penetrated deep in his belly. The cave dweller looked down, face twisted with rage. Then the pain struck him and he gasped. Kheda waited, his heart pounding. The cave dweller fell to his knees, hands hovering around the arrow. Men risked themselves to drag him back behind the thorn barricade. The cave dweller was past caring, his blank eyes staring up at the sky as his companions seized his nerveless hands, his slack legs sliding through the dust.