“Abimalk is coming! Truly! My brother’s wife’s father’s cousin is in Abimalk’s army, and he sent to us, to warn us that some of Abimalk’s men are coming down to us!” This was the third man, who scarcely seemed old enough to be an elder.
Snow heard a choking noise from Willow. “Surely, Master Cypress, you can’t intend to face Abimalk!”
Cedar turned to bare his teeth at the other man. “Commander Cypress an’ I have fought i’ many wars against many kings, great an’ small. Some murdering jumped-up hillman an’ his army won’t make a morsel for us!”
“And the matter of payment?” Cypress asked, ignoring this.
“If you rescue us, you’re welcome to all that we have!” offered the youngest elder.
“An’ how much is that?” Cedar asked.
In the end, Cypress and the elders came to an agreement. As the elders headed nervously back toward their town, Cypress raised an eyebrow at the giant. “Cedar.”
“I’ll find the rest of t’ men,” Cedar nodded. Snow had heard seen a few of these other men, but they never collected in one place unless there was work to be done.
“And I’ll search out Abimalk’s spear-rattlers,” Thorn said, emerging abruptly from behind a boulder. “Find out how far off they are.”
“When Fig and Vine come back, they’ll have to fetch the war-gear from the place where it’s hidden,” Cypress told them. “Willow and Snow can help them carry it. Yotam, you’ll come with me. I want a look at the ground around this town we’re supposed to defend.”
**
The Avenger of Blood led his troops through the broad valley. His scouts had cleared a mob of villagers from the slopes; the villagers had planned to attack Abimalk’s forces from atop the cliffs, but instead had been thrown down the cliffs themselves.
Before them the valley curved to the southwest; a second, narrower valley split off toward the southeast. Azri darted up to the Avenger. “The eastern valley goes toward Qir Qatina, Master Zeb, and then one may take the pass to Yanoah. The southern valley goes toward Shilo.”
The Avenger of Blood had grown to manhood dozens of miles from here, so neither Qir Qatina nor Yanoah was a familiar name to him. But Shilo—Shilo was familiar. He eyed the southern valley covetously. He wanted no delay.
But he had many men at his back; they need not all go to one place. He turned to one of the heads of houses and asked, “How many men are in your division?”
“Forty-six, my lord.”
Zeb looked at him coldly. Forty-six was not enough men to secure two towns, yet he couldn’t choose a different division now without looking foolish—as if he had not already known the strength of each—and he did not care to send two divisions to the east.
“If it seems good to you, I’ve thirty men at heel,” piped up a burly man with a well-used bronze sword on his hip. He wore a necklace with four different amulets—a tiny scroll, a little stone anchor, a scrap of ibex horn, and a lion’s tooth. Oyeb son of Sa’ak, his name was called: he was a landless man, a mercenary. “I’ll go up with them to Qir Qatina.”
Zeb stared at him for a long moment. “It is well,” he said indifferently. Then he set his face toward the south and headed down toward Shilo. He could already imagine the smell of sycamore figs on the breeze.
**
The sun disappeared below the hills long before the skies grew dark. Snow ached all over; she had gone with Fig and the rest for the war-gear: five sets of scale-armor, a Cedar-sized cuirass, three swords, two war-axes, and more spears than Snow bothered to count. Not to mention the strange thing that Fig told her was a chariot bow, complete with three quivers of arrows. Willow had brightened at the sight of the bow and insisted on carrying it himself. Since Vine carried the spears—with which he ‘accidentally’ poked anyone who got in front of him—Snow and Fig had split the rest of the armory between them.
Though they were late returning to camp, none of the others had come back yet. While Fig wrapped the weapons in case it should dew in the morning, Snow cooked a pot of lentils over the low fire.
“Now we’ll see some real fighting,” Vine told them. He sat down, then sprang up again to pace. “Scared, Snow? You should be! The warriors we’ll be facing will all be twice your size.”
Snow pressed her lips together and stirred the pot, although it didn’t need it. She had no idea what Cypress would expect her to do in the fighting. She had killed a man before, but killing a stranger who had done nothing to her would be… worse.
Perhaps Cypress would ask her to run messages. She could do that. She had run toward an angry bear; she could run past angry warriors.
Willow snorted. “None of these hillmen know anything about real warfare.” He didn’t bother with a proverb. “There ought to be an exchange of messengers—ground chosen—chariots drawn up in their array.”
“Can’t use chariots in these hills,” Fig pointed out practically. He scooped up some lentils with his fingers then sucked them off thoughtfully. “Hmm.” He reached down again.
Snow swatted his leg. “Keep your dirty fingers out,” she warned him. “Fig, you’ve been with Cypress the longest—do you know what’s going to happen?”
“Cypress is going to call up every murderer and mercenary in these hills, is what’s going to happen,” Vine broke in. He kicked at the fire, scattering sparks; Snow barely rescued the pot. “Then we’ll put Abimalk’s men to the sword till the streams run red with blood!” He hopped from one foot to the other, then lunged past Willow, bouncing aggressively off the older man’s shoulder.
Snow frowned at him. Is he pleased or worried? It was hard to tell with Vine. She turned back toward Fig. “Will Cypress put men on the town walls? Will he—set slingers in ambush?”
“I don’t know why you keep asking him! He’s hardly killed anybody. I killed five men before I even came here,” Vine said insistently, coming back to lean over Snow. He poked her in the forehead. “Five. Men.”
Last week it had been four men. Snow was beginning to wonder if Vine had ever killed anyone at all—though why would anyone lie about such a thing? Did he really think that being a murderer was impressive? She would give anything not to have killed even one man. “Take your hand back,” she told him. “Hungry is the one who offends the cook.”
Willow snorted—probably at her improvised proverb. He turned to the wrapped pile of weapons that lay against the hill, fishing for a particular bundle.
“What are you doing?” Vine shouted, his voice almost a scream. “That’s my pack! Leave it alone!” He lunged at Willow, only to be blocked by Yotam.
“He has no interest in your pack,” Yotam said sternly. “Peace, Vine.” Vine shoved him, but Yotam didn’t lose his balance.
“Certainly less interest than you have in everyone else’s,” Fig snapped. “What’s that clanking in your pack? Is that where my second-best pot went?”
“Why should I want your old pot?” Vine fumed, ripping himself free of Yotam’s grasp. “I have nothing of yours in there! I swear by the O—” He stopped short, his face paling. “Give me that, you—thief!” He lunged at his pack and clutched it in his arms, then ran wild-eyed into the night.
“A guilty conscience makes the heart sick,” Willow quoted smugly.
Snow shook her head and stirred. She had given up trying to understand Vine. He boasted of murder, but hotly defended himself from every charge of theft—though she had seen him steal from Cedar’s cache of beer with her own eyes.
**
Cypress and Yotam returned as the moon rose. Before it had moved a handspan across the sky, Snow had learned more than she had ever wanted to know about defending a town.
“They have a wall, two cubits in some places, three cubits in others,” Yotam told Willow, drawing walls and gates in the dirt.
“Two cubits? I could jump over that,” Vine jittered. His foot scuffed Yotam’s drawing; while the young man redrew it, Cypress tugged Vine back and set him firmly against the slope.
“Better
to fight over the two cubit wall than the three cubit wall—three cubits is high enough to hide an enemy from view but not high enough to stop him.” Cypress reached down to add the line of a brook and stones for hills to Yotam’s drawing. “They have a wheat field here. Thorn can take our slingers—they’ll hide in the wheat and wait for my signal. There should be two dozen of them or more. If there’s time, we’ll bring down acacia and block the gap between these hills here—then they can only come against us from the northwest, unless they scatter along the slopes.”
“Abimalk’s men haven’t been together long; they may not know how to fight as an army,” Yotam said thoughtfully. “Yet they have succeeded in war many times in these last months.”
“If Cedar brings back the name of their leader, will you know him?” asked Cypress.
“How should my master know anything? He is but a youth from a distant village!” That was Willow, who gave Cypress an unexpectedly fierce look from his place sitting by the weapons. Snow wasn’t sure why he bothered with such an obvious lie, though his concern for Yotam almost made her like him.
“If their leader is from the Refuge, I won’t have met him,” Yotam said evenly. “If he was one of Abimalk’s father’s commanders, I will know him—but I think that the men who served Abimalk’s father would not serve Abimalk.”
The fire died, but Cypress and Yotam still sat, arguing strategy in the bright moonlight. Willow made a suggestion now and then—mostly regarding the use of chariots (which they would not have) and bowmen (who would be few).
Thorn dragged in as the moon began to sink. “There’s no trace of your men in any of their places,” he said grimly. “Not by the Rock, not in the caves at the edge of that Arinnite’s land, not near Taanat-shiloach. I didn’t find them, the dogs’ heads. And the villagers haven’t seen them.”
“I could go to the Hill of Five Stones,” Fig suggested diffidently. “When the sun rises. All sorts of people come there. Someone will have seen Cypress’ men.”
“No need for that,” rumbled a deep voice, and Cedar loomed out of the dark. “I know right where t’ wretches are.”
“Where?” Thorn snapped.
“In Abimalk’s army,” the giant growled. He met Cypress’ eyes, then sighed and rubbed a big hand over his face. “They’ll be here late t’morrow. They’re i’ the force that marches t’ Qir Qatina.”
“Are you certain?” Cypress asked.
“I saw Oyeb.”
“Ayeh.” The leader looked down at the map in the dirt. The moonlight glinted off the stones set to show where the defenders should be: a dozen here, a dozen there… But there would be no dozens.
“Clearly, you can’t go up against them in battle,” Willow said. He sounded as if he were smiling. “Too bad. Better to be living dogs than dead lions.”
“You were never a lion,” Thorn snarled. “Cypress will decide what we do.”
“Oyeb has se’nty or eighty men wi’ him,” Cedar rumbled neutrally. “We ha’ seven, an’ any villagers who’re willing t’ fight, much good they’ll be.”
“Eight, with Snow,” Vine sneered, jabbing an elbow at her ribs. She dodged.
“I counted t’ youth. It’s Willow I’m no’ counting,” the giant told him, smoothing his beard.
“We’ll each say our word,” Cypress decided, his cool voice cutting through the argument. “Cedar.”
Snow frowned and leaned forward. Surely there was no question? Seven men couldn’t hold off seventy, not in a village with a wall so weak a fox could knock it down. So why make each of them say his word? They would all say no. Was it to make sure each of them felt equal guilt for failing to protect the villagers? Yet would blood-criminals feel guilty about the deaths of strangers?
The giant grunted. “Defend ‘em.”
“Afraid of their ghosts?” Thorn sniped under his breath.
Cedar glared at him. “What’s that to me and to you?”
“Thorn.”
“Ayeh.” The scarred man looked away to scan the horizon, ever the watchman. “Fight. We could use the silver.”
Snow looked slowly from Cedar to Thorn, who were carefully not looking at each other or at anyone else. Ghosts, silver—real reasons, or just excuses?
“Fig.”
Fig’s lips twitched. “Oh, fight. Why not?”
“Vine.”
Vine started to laugh. It was a harsh sound. “You’re mad! Mad and drooling! No one would fight odds like that! Is this a test? Are you testing me? Thus then! Let’s fight! Tear them to shreds with our tiny army.”
“Snow.”
Snow straightened abruptly. She hadn’t expected to be asked before Yotam and Willow. She took a slow breath, the cooling night air numbing her lips. She wondered how many families, how many children lived in Qir Qatina. “We should probably change the plan. But we should fight.”
Cedar chuckled. “Change t’ plan, i’ truth.”
“Willow.”
“Life is a breath—breathed out and vanishing. It would be foolish to fight.” Willow stared at Thorn, daring him to say something, but it was Vine who snorted at him—angry that Willow had been brave enough to say the words Vine wished to say, if Snow was any judge.
“Yotam.”
Yotam’s eyes crinkled happily as he looked at the band. “The people of Qir Qatina need someone to defend them. Let us go up and see what happens.” He stole a mirthful glance at Willow. “Truly, is it not said that three hundred men may put ten thousand to flight when they march in the Overpowerer’s army?”
“That leaves us out, then,” Thorn muttered. Beside him Cedar chuckled soundlessly.
Cypress patted his sword hilt. “I gave my word to the elders that we would defend them. I say we fight.” He bent over and stared at the map. “Now let’s weave a new plan.”
Zayin.
Snow lay down a few hours before dawn, but she couldn’t sleep. Defending a village against attack was surely a righteous act—but it meant that she might have to kill tomorrow. The blood guilt from one death was already so heavy.
Her eyes burned with exhaustion. She stared up at the crescent moon. Overpowerer, are they your people in the village? Perhaps he would save them. But Snow, Thorn, and the rest were murderers; surely he would not protect them. They could all die tomorrow.
Snow felt tears run down her cheeks. No, this won’t do. She got to her feet and crept away from the camp, avoiding the lookout post. There was a clear space down the hillside where Fig had been threshing a few bushels of salvaged millet before all of this began. She could go there and no one would see her cry.
But there was someone there already. Snow paused as soon as she heard the soft murmuring and saw the figure lying face down on the ground. “Overpowerer, you are our refuge and our glory. Do not forsake us, though our strength fails. Do not be far from us, but hurry to help, for you are our shield and our delight. Let us burn for your glory. Make our enemies ashamed and confused. Let them know that you are the breaker of mountains, the bringer of water, the warrior, king of armies…”
She tripped into a patch of vetch as she backed away, and Yotam’s head came up. “Snow,” he said. “Is it peace?”
“Peace.” Snow hesitated. He looked calm in the moonlight. How can he be calm? He was trained with the spear—perhaps he had fought in many battles, as Cypress had. “Are you afraid?” She bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say anything.
He made a thoughtful noise. “Thus. And not thus.”
He was a man for riddles. “What does that mean?”
“My—kidneys are afraid. But my heart is not. The Overpowerer has done many greater things than saving a village from two handfuls of men.” He eyed her, then tapped the ground beside him. She sat down slowly, not wanting to be alone, but not really wanting to talk. “Do you know the story of Yerubba’la and his three hundred? It began when he was threshing in the cistern. The Overpowerer spoke to him…”
Snow hugged her knees and listened to his tale. She had heard it
before—versions of it, at least. In the versions she’d heard, the three hundred men were victorious over a vast army. In Yotam’s version, they never struck a blow; the enemy ran away, terrified by a dream, torches, and a shout. “But—did that truly happen?” she asked.
“Thus. My father was there.”
“One of Yerubba’la’s three hundred?”
“More or less. Lie down and rest, Snow. The sun will rise soon.”
She fell asleep half-listening to Yotam’s prayers.
**
Dawn came. The little band made its way to Qir Qatina, loaded down with their weapons and armor. Cypress sent Snow to watch the approach. “When you see the enemy, run back here to me,” he said, then turned away to organize the defenders. Most of the village men had volunteered to fight. Still, it seemed a pitiful force compared to the number of men that would be coming against them.
Snow wished she had a clump of bushes to hide in as she trotted up onto an outcrop to watch for Abimalk’s men. Before her stretched the narrow valley, gradually widening as it stretched to the north. Behind her was the little village, built into the side of the valley, its wall low and narrow. Fields lay below it and in terraces above it, little groves of carefully-tended trees here and there along the valley floor. Frightened people crowded by the wall, pressing together for comfort. Beyond the village the valley dwindled to nothing, and the road to Yanoah began to wind its way up into the hills.
Snow sat and picked threads from her tunic, waiting.
There! Sunlight on metal, and the sounds of men. She waited five breaths to be sure, then turned and sped back to the village—past Willow and a pair of archers among the olive trees, past Thorn and half a dozen slingers in the grain field, to the opening in the wall that served the village for a gate. “They’re coming!”
“So.” Cypress nodded. “Stay by me. I may need you to carry messages.” Fig, who carried Cypress’ shield, gave her a tight smile. He looked older in his scale armor.
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