by John Norman
Ichiro winded his horn, with the piercing note of assembly, and the riders, as one, wheeled their sky mounts toward the mountains.
Below us, some two hundred feet below, there were screaming, running men. But in moments their cries were behind us, as was the smoke rising from burning tents.
As planned, following our raid, we withdrew to our base, the new encampment. It was just as well, for there would be little purpose in bringing the cavalry to the holding, and, in addition, I was reluctant to see the disposition allotted to the trapped looters, many of whom were not even armed, their greed having encouraged them to disburden themselves of the inconvenience and weight of weapons, in particular, the lengthy, long-bladed glaive. I learned later of the slaughter wrought in the courtyard, and the casting of bodies, some bound and living, from the outer parapets to the valley below. It was not customary in the islands to take prisoners.
At the encampment, the tarns cotted and fed, I called my high officers, Torgus and Lysander, to my tent, that a vessel of paga might be shared.
“Tarns have been seen,” said Lysander.
“Some knew of them, from the first encampment,” said Torgus.
“But comparatively few,” said Lysander.
“True,” said Torgus.
“But now matters are quite different,” said Lysander. “There is no longer a point in trying to conceal the existence of tarns.”
“They are still exotic, strange here, at least unfamiliar,” said Torgus. “Better to employ them sparingly.”
“But surely employ them!” said Lysander.
“Yes,” said Torgus. “Yes!”
It had originally been hoped that a major land battle with the forces of Lord Yamada, a battle decisive for the outcome of the war, might have been brought about, a battle which might turn profitably on the unexpected appearance of the tarn cavalry, a military arm new to the islands. It had been hoped that its entry into the battle, aside from what might be its contribution in terms of fire power, might induce consternation into the masses of a largely ignorant and superstitious enemy. Would not the arrival of such monsters most easily be understood in terms of preternatural agencies? Indeed, Lord Temmu, shortly after the great ship of Tersites had been wharfed below the holding, had sowed the seeds of such alarms by means of spies, spreading rumors of terrifying winged beasts, demon birds, dragon birds, alleged to be favorable to the cause of the house of Temmu. But unfortunately this project had failed of fruition. First, no major land battle had occurred. Indeed, after the probable betrayal of, and surely the discovery and decimation of, the exploratory expedition launched by Lord Temmu, the enemy had advanced in force, later managing to invest the holding. Thus had the siege begun. The exploratory force had failed to rouse the countryside against Lord Yamada and had been unable to set the stage for a major confrontation in which the surprise of the tarn cavalry might be decisive. It had been unsuccessful in its mission, both militarily and politically. Indeed, its remnants, in retreat, routed and worn, harried and driven, had been fortunate to reach the shelter of the holding. Second, the location of, and the security devices of, the first encampment had been betrayed. It had been stormed by picked troops, following which the tarn cavalry itself had been considerably reduced, this impairing its effectiveness as an agency not only of intelligence and attack, but of supply.
Lysander and Torgus turned to me.
“The holding may now be regularly supplied,” said Lysander.
“Yes,” I said.
“But the siege has not been lifted,” said Torgus.
“No,” I said.
“Will we not carry the war to the enemy?” said Lysander. “It would be easy to strike behind their lines.”
“We will do so,” I said.
“I am pleased that Lord Temmu has finally authorized the use of the cavalry,” said Lysander.
“He has not done so,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Torgus.
“Lord Temmu is under the influence of others,” I said.
“What others?” asked Torgus.
“I do not know,” I said.
Chapter Ten
What Occurred on the Road North;
We Will Later Move South,
Having the Business of War in Mind
The fellow below looked up, startled, the shadow of the soaring tarn blotting out the sun.
I wheeled the bird about.
The line of wagons below was long. I think there must have been a hundred or more wagons.
This was the longest train of its sort we had hitherto encountered.
In parts of the line I did not think they were even aware of our presence.
Tarns descended, the forty of the striking arm.
Each wagon was drawn by ten to twelve peasants, rope lines leading to the broad leather belts across their bodies.
As tarns alit several emitted tarn cries, as though to announce their arrival and claim for their own the ground on which, wings snapping, dust in the wind, they stood.
Men fled.
The scream of the tarn is unmistakable, once one has heard it. It is commonly piercing and redolent with challenge and territoriality. The wild tarn will defend its nesting site against larls and sleen. Its hunting strike can break the back of a tarsk, ten hands at the shoulder. Its beak can tear a head from a body and its talons can tear loose the backbone of a larl. I once saw one in Torvaldsland disembowel a Kur, before the ax half severed its head and the Kur began to feed, one paw thrusting its intestines back into its body, holding them in place. Whereas a human being is not the common prey of a wild tarn, the usual objects of its interests being verr and tabuk, the tarn can be dangerous to humans, particularly if a nest is approached. The tarn commonly kills in hunting by breaking the back of its prey, but it can seize a verr and bear it aloft, to drop it to its death, after which it feeds, or carry it to its nest, where fledglings fight for the meat, the swiftest and most aggressive surviving, often at the expense of its siblings. The domestic tarn, on the other hand, like the domestic sleen, is bred for at least the partial tolerance of humans. It does not require live game. There are different varieties of domestic tarns, some bred for war, some for racing, and some for draft purposes, the haulage of tarn baskets, which may contain cargo or passengers, or, in the case of slaves, slave cargo. A tarnster commonly controls the tarn with reins from the basket, unless there is a line of tarns, tied together, which commonly follows a lead tarn, with its own tarnster and basket. The domestic tarn, given the selections involved and their purposes, like the domestic sleen, is usually larger, stronger, faster, and healthier than its wild cousin. It is bred to be such.
I saw men scattering beneath me.
We did not brandish the banners of Temmu but there would be little doubt in whose interest we flew.
For Ihn I scouted the line of wagons, to the end and forward, and then, near the center of the train I brought the bird down.
One commonly commands from the center.
This shortens the lines of communication.
I had seen no guards.
By now I was sure the investing forces of General Yamada were beginning to feel the straits of hunger. It is not only the prisoners of a siege, confined in a holding, who may suffer such an ugly durance, but also their jailers, if no food is brought to them. General Yamada’s lines of encirclement, ample to resist and turn back any likely sallying forth from the holding, were numerous, thick, and deep. He had, in effect, his armies in the field, and largely concentrated in the area of the holding. There was no way that limited area could indefinitely sustain large numbers of men. Forces of that size, in such a location, must be supplied from without. There was no dearth of food in the several territories claimed by Lord Yamada as we had determined, in supplying the holding by air. On the other hand, these supplies, if unable to reach his men in sufficient quantities in a timely manner, might as well, from the point of the besiegers, anchored in place, not exist. Several days ago we had begun to di
srupt the supply lines of the enemy, striking at supply trains, frightening away draymen, dealing with guards, overturning and burning wagons, seizing stores, and discarding what we could not carry. Our work was often marked by hundreds of birds alighting on the spilled stores, who would soon compete with returning draymen, who would gather what rice they could and carry it away to their villages, where it might be concealed from the tax collectors of Lord Yamada. We would depart, smoke in our wake, leaving behind us the scramblings of hungry men and the cries of clouds of small birds. Soon, if all went well, the siege must be lifted. Even a will of the might of that of Lord Yamada would be unable, indefinitely, to hold thousands of starving men in place. He would have no alternative but to withdraw.
I looked about myself.
Many of the scattered draymen were visible in the fields, several yards off, watching us. This was not unusual. We had no quarrel with such, no more than if the wagons had been drawn by bosk or tharlarion. Too, so positioned, once we departed, they might hurry forth and rush upon the spilled stores. In recent days, and even from the time of the concealed warehouses, it was not unusual for fukuros of rice, in many cases, to find their way back to the very villages of their origin.
I had ordered draymen to be driven from the wagons if necessary, but, insofar as possible, to be left unharmed.
Indeed, it was my hope that local peasantries, from which the draymen would be impressed, might eventually be recruited as allies.
There were, of course, given the wagons, a great many of them.
“Where are the Ashigaru archers?” asked Torgus.
“I do not know,” I said. In scouting the train I had discerned no archers, no guards.
“Why are these wagons not moving at night?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said. Of late, the supply wagons had begun to enter upon the roads only after the descent of Tor-tu-Gor.
Perhaps, I thought to myself, that there be conditions of maximum visibility.
“Bannerman,” said I to Ichiro, “approach our friends in the fields. Greet them. Assure them they are welcome to what we do not take.”
Ichiro complied with this request, and, in a few Ehn, returned.
“They do not respond,” he said.
They were still standing, not moving, in the fields.
“I do not understand,” said Torgus.
“Perhaps they are afraid,” I said.
Who could forget the heads further to the south, aligning the road.
“Perhaps,” said Torgus.
“I do not like it,” I said, looking about.
“Nor I,” said Torgus.
I climbed to the top of a wagon. I saw nothing.
Why had the peasants in the fields not responded to Ichiro?
This seemed anomalous.
Commonly we had little difficulty with local peasantries, from which draymen would be drawn. Indeed, we had often received pertinent intelligences from them. Several had proved invaluable in locating rice, in notifying us of supply trains, the times, the routes, the number of guards, and such. Indeed, I did not doubt but what many of the peasants watching from the fields were no more enamored of the policies and practices of Lord Yamada than the fellows who scouted and spied for us.
“Captain san,” said Ichiro.
“Bannerman?” I said.
“They did not speak,” said Ichiro.
“You indicated that,” I said.
“Why did they not speak?” he asked.
“Why?” I asked.
“Perhaps they would not speak as peasants,” he said.
“Did you see their hands?” I asked.
“Their hands,” he said, “were held in their sleeves.”
“That is a noble posture,” I said.
“Unlike peasants,” he said.
“Alert the men,” I said.
“Yes, Captain san,” he said.
Matters were as I had suspected; nonetheless, as rice was at stake, it seemed well to make sure.
I drew my blade and thrust down at the canvas which covered the contents of the wagon.
As I had feared the blade slipped through the canvas, encountered a layer of rice, supported by another canvas, stretched taut beneath the rice, and then met nothing.
I stood up, looking about, and resheathed the blade. I gave no sign of concern or agitation. There was a stirring amongst the men at the side, off from the road. Surely many had marked my action.
“Bannerman,” said I. “Sound ‘Saddles’ and ‘One-strap’.”
Hardly had the first notes rung out than we heard another sound, the war blast of the horagai, and blades in their dozens thrust up through the canvas of dozens of wagons, cutting and ripping, and, emerging from the shreds of rent canvas, were screaming, armed men, many of two swords. At the same time the draymen, whom we had taken as peasantry, uttering the cry “Yamada,” rushed toward the wagons, each bearing a dagger. Other covers on wagons were cast aside and archers stood revealed. From other wagons arose Ashigaru, armed with glaives.
The mighty wings of my tarn struck the air, and I saw one fellow stumble, his forearm over his eyes, lost in a sheet of driven dust, and I was aflight. All about me, and down the lines of the wagons, fore and aft, other tarns sprang into the air. I saw wielded glaives below me, and men looking up wildly, scattered amongst the wagons, and daggers were brandished in vain.
I looked back down.
“Cleverly done, great Yamada,” I thought. “But better to have had fewer wagons, and some guards in evidence.”
The men of two swords were looking up, angrily, their swords already sheathed or sashed.
The sun caught a hundred slivers of light as arrows fell back to earth.
“Bannerman,” I called. “Assembly and four-strap.”
I brought the cavalry down a pasang and a half from the road. This descent, I hoped, would be marked by the men of Yamada’s projected ambush, adding to their frustration. Should they approach we might easily be away before we were within the range of their arrows, let alone their blades, and should they be so unwise as to approach en masse the wagons would be behind them, abandoned, and vulnerable.
Following our landing I summoned Torgus and Lysander to me; when the cavalry had been at full force each would have commanded a Century, or Hundred.
“What losses?” I asked.
“None,” said Torgus. “None,” said Lysander.
“Lord Yamada,” I said, “is clever.”
“Deception,” said Lysander, “is the name of war.” Lysander, I was sure, though I had not pursued the matter, had once been of the scarlet. In his background, I suspected, was a woman, perhaps a slave, and perhaps murder.
“The bait,” said rough-spoken Torgus, “was too tempting.”
“I think so,” I said.
“Had we devoted ourselves hastily and uncritically to the wagons,” said Lysander, “I suspect there would have been few of us left.”
“True,” said Torgus.
“Men and mounts are accounted for,” said Lysander.
“Perhaps we shall not return immediately to the base,” I said.
“How so?” said Torgus.
“I do not think there is enough rice for us to linger about, hoping to secure it,” said Lysander, “and what there may be is heavily guarded.”
“I have something else in mind,” I said, “at least for now.”
“Speak,” said Torgus.
“It is my understanding,” I said, “that the major forces of General Yamada are committed to the siege.”
“That is our intelligence,” said Lysander.
“Which would mean,” I suggested, “the likely vulnerability of certain properties within his domain.”
“We are not sure of this,” said Torgus. “It seems likely, but it is hard to know. He may have large reserves at his disposal. What if he were to be challenged by a risen population?”
“There is little likelihood at present,” I said, “of a native challenge fr
om within his domain.”
“No,” said Torgus. “Men tremble. Yamada rules by force and terror.”
“At the least indication of resistance,” said Lysander, “fearful reprisals would ensue.”
“Only those loyal to Yamada may carry weapons,” said Torgus, “his soldiers, his officers, his police.”
I nodded. One always disarms a populace before its enslavement.
“But others might come by arms,” said Lysander. “We have the road of the sky at our disposal, the darkness of night, the swiftness of tarns.”
“Beware,” said Torgus, “of delivering weapons to strangers. The peasantry may prove loyal to Yamada, if only through fear.”
“In any event,” I said, “as of now, as far as we know, the peasantry is without arms.”
“Very well,” said Lysander. “We shall discount them, as of now.”
“But we need not, do we, discount ourselves?” I said.
“Speak,” said Torgus.
“Are you content,” I asked, “that the operations of the cavalry should be limited largely to reconnaissance, to the securing of supplies, and such?”
“No,” said Torgus.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Lysander, warily.
“Perhaps something more has occurred to you, my friends,” I said.
“Raids, of course,” said Torgus. “We can strike muchly when and where we please. Yamada’s perimeters of defense are lengthy, and his reserves, if he does not fear the peasantry, may well be minimal and scattered.”
“It is my understanding,” said Lysander, “Lord Temmu has not authorized the use of the cavalry.”
“For such a purpose,” I said.
“Why not?” asked Lysander.
“Were that known,” I said, “much else would be clear.”
“We are then helpless,” said Lysander.
“Not at all,” I said.
“How so?” said Lysander.
“Rogue arms,” I said, “are not unprecedented in war.”
“I see,” he said.
In the chaos of war, beasts might come from afar to hunt amongst the ruins. Often bands of brigands, consortiums of irregulars, even bandits, roamed disputed, ill-defended landscapes.