by Lou Hoffmann
“We’ll leave the horses here,” Thurlock said, unloading oat bags and handing one to Luccan to give to K’ormahk. “K’ormahk could, of course, take to the sky, but we can’t take Sherah any farther, as we won’t have a path wide enough or a slope gentle enough for her to climb. Too bad we’re not riding mountain goats. But here, they’ve got plenty of grass and fresh water and a safe, peaceful place to rest.”
Lucky didn’t worry about K’ormahk. With his magic he could get to safety should anything threaten. But, as marvelous as Sherah was, she was only a mortal horse, as far as Lucky knew. “Thurlock, sir, what if… what if we can’t come back soon?”
“Not sir, Luccan, just Thurlock. And don’t worry. They will take care of each other. And should the very worst happen—I don’t believe it will, given the prophecies, but if it does—they will find their way safely back to the wide world.”
Lucky hesitated to let the words reassure him, but he couldn’t argue. He tied on K’ormahk’s oat bag, patted him, and muttered, “Prophecies, schmophecies,” repeating the same words he’d heard from Thurlock more than once.
He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear, but Thurlock broke out in a sincere and hearty laugh.
“Good point, young man,” he said, the smile still in his voice. “Still, the horses will be fine, and I believe we will too. Let’s have some food and a rest before we move on.”
Their rest was short, but comfortable. Maizie curled up beside Lucky, her soft, even breaths a white-noise counterpart to Thurlock’s snores. The climb that followed, though, proved steep, long, and hot. When at last they reached the summit of a long ridge, Lucky was sweating buckets and sported scrapes in places he didn’t know he had skin.
Maizie had found the climb impossible and had taken off—to find her own path to the top, Lucky hoped. Even Thurlock had gotten winded, but when his breathing calmed, he took Lucky by the elbow and gently pulled him to his feet. “Let me have a look at you,” he said, his tone less querulous and more kindly than Lucky’d heard it for quite some time. After giving him a superficial inspection, he said, “Well, I’m no healer, but I think a little of the good water will cool those cuts a bit and give you back a little strength.”
Lucky gladly accepted the waterskin Thurlock offered. He took a deep swallow, savored the way it felt going down, then took one more before passing it back. “How much farther?” he asked.
“Not far, and now we follow a track that will take us along the ridge here, on this side where there are outcroppings and trees that will keep us hidden. It’s mostly level, and as long as you’re careful not to trip on rocks or roots, much easier. Then one more short climb up, then down, and we’ll be in place. It will be dusk by then. We’ll rest tonight and plan our first attack when we can get a good look around in the morning.”
Lucky nodded thoughtfully, and after a moment decided the only way he’d get an answer to his question would be to ask it. “Thurlock… what am I supposed to do? You said, ‘plan our attack,’ but I don’t think I know much about what to do in a battle.”
“No, you don’t. And I wish you didn’t have to learn so young. But there’s no getting around it, we—the Sunlands and indeed Ethra—need you now. You’ve been faced with many things you didn’t expect over the last year or so, and you’ve managed on every occasion to find the right response. I expect you’ll do the same here.”
Lucky felt like rolling his eyes, except it wasn’t ridiculous, it was reality, so instead he blurted, “I wish my uncle was here!”
Thurlock’s eyebrows drew down in a scowl, and he looked at Lucky from under them. “Hmph, we-e-ll,” he drawled, “I will choose not to be insulted by that.”
Lucky realized then what it might have sounded like. “No,” he said, “I didn’t mean….”
Thurlock’s scowl obviously had not been genuine, because it disappeared instantly and was replaced by a matter-of-fact face and an emphatic nod. “I know, I know. Never mind that. I wish he could be here now too, Luccan. But take heart, he will be here when we need him—as we certainly shall.”
HAN RODE at the head of a column of a hundred and eighty elite Mounted Guard, heading west with the rising sun at their backs. They’d camped for the eight hours from true sundown to predawn inside an ancient ruin with pine forest and berry thickets grown dense around it. Han hadn’t known it was there until Zhevi, one of four scouts accompanying the detachment, had let him know it was coming up. Unlike the ruin near the ancient orchard, this one harbored no dark spirit. Instead, it seemed melancholy, as if the fallen stones held bittersweet memories.
Perhaps catching the mood, the soldiers had spoken quietly as they set up camp and saw to chores and dinner, and almost as one they fell silent once it was all done. The watch was set, but nothing disturbed them, and even Han slept dreamlessly and sound.
They’d been on the road more than an hour this morning already, and they continued to make excellent time, which had been Han’s purpose in keeping the group small—just large enough to make a significant impact when they came to battle with surprise on their side. The enemy was planning to swamp the tired troops stationed at the Fallows encampment, flooding down out of the hills without warning, and overrunning the camp in a single swift strike. If he’d been successful in his deceit, they’d think the main army was marching to the Giant’s Hand, and there’d be almost no one to meet their attack on the base camp.
Han had other plans.
He’d been able to communicate with Gerania, who was almost back to her usual health, and quite back to her “take it all in stride” attitude. Together they’d decided that though the encamped troops were in no condition to fight a pitched battle, they could secretly fortify the encampment. The enemy, when they attempted to strike, would find a secure garrison they couldn’t penetrate. They’d be forced to either retreat, or set up to lay siege from positions on the steep slopes on one side, and from open land on the other. Either way, they’d have a fight on their hands. Half the Sunlands’ main force—which totaled about four thousand infantry—would meet them head-on from the north, with the rest in reserve. Han’s mounted column would sweep in from the west, and another cavalry detachment, led by Olmar, would ride in from the east.
Meeting the enemy in force at the North Face Guard encampment had a dual purpose—protecting the garrison there was prime, but also very importantly Han hoped they’d take a serious bite out of the enemy forces. When the battle moved to the Giant’s Hand, as it certainly would, their numbers would be down. It was a solid plan, and Olana had arranged a cherry on top. Droghona warriors, well versed in the irregular tactics Earthborns called guerrilla warfare, would trickle down the North Face and harry the enemy from the high slopes—above the paths they’d have to use to approach the Sunlands’ position.
The strategy would have been sure to win against almost any standard army. The only problem was, Han admitted to himself, the Terrathians weren’t standard. They created soldiers out of death. It worried him, but he comforted himself with knowing the Sunlands had plenty of magic on their side, especially once the fight moved to the Hand.
While Han and his forces were engaged at the North Face, Thurlock and a small, heavily magical unit would already be busy preparing the ground at the Giant’s Hand. When the fight was mainly over at the Guard encampment, Han would leave a detachment, and then move the main body of Sunlands’ soldiers to the Hand via the same east-west pass in the Fallows that the enemy had been using to move their people in preparation for the attack on the encampment.
They’d come close to their destination now, and Han’s column turned south through a tract of ancient fir and cedar, interspersed here and there with stands of sehldar. They followed no road and only occasionally picked up narrow paths or game tracks, but the trunks were widely placed, so the going was relatively quick. The great age of the trees provided for a thickly interwoven canopy overhead, as well as poor lighting and muffled sound on the ground. In other words, it was perfect for a sneak, and
all they had to do was keep going in the right direction.
Ahead was a road running east and west, and by Han’s plan, they’d meet it about ten miles west of the encampment. By the time they got there, scouts would be back with a report as to whether the enemy had made a move. If so, Han’s column would ride hard to join the fray immediately. If not, they’d cross the road after dark, in small groups unevenly timed to avoid notice, and ride into a box canyon called Erihk’s Fall.
The name came from history, when a particularly troublesome invading general came from the north and marched down through the western Sunlands, conquering towns, villages, and manor holds along the way. He marched his army into the canyon, mistakenly thinking at the western end he’d find a pass into the Fallows, where he thought he’d take on the Droghona. But Erihk’s Fall has no western outlet—just a series of closely placed sheer rock walls with a narrow waterfall cascading down it, so when a small army from the Sunlands blocked the canyon in the east, the Droghona above the canyon on three sides had easy pickings. So, the canyon was where Erihk took his fall.
But it was also a great place to hide a small number of soldiers, and that was Han’s intent. He had no fear of ending up trapped in the canyon. He had scouts out along the road between there and the encampment, and he would know if anybody was coming long before they got there. He’d also know when the attack on the Guard encampment came, and when it did, his troops would be ready to move.
“Okay, folks,” he said in his usual casual tone when they got there. “Settle in, but only enough to eat and rest and let the horses do the same. If I don’t miss my guess, the enemy will move when it’s still dark, but near dawn. Make sure you’re ready to be back in the saddle on short notice.”
The moon rose in the hours after midnight, and Han rose with it, dressed, took care of Sim, and made sure his weapons were ready for battle.
He met Zhevi at the edge of their small camp when the younger man came riding on a lathered mount an hour before dawn.
“It’s started, sir,” Zhevi said, breathing hard as he dismounted. He accepted the waterskin Han held out and took a long swallow.
“Details?”
“I don’t have numbers, because they’re funneling down by twos and threes in several places—apparently the terrain they’ve got to cross to get from their perch in the Fallows down to the camp is a little rougher than they bargained for. Their officers are speaking some language I don’t know, but they sound pissed. Overall, though, I’d estimate they’ll be maybe around a thousand strong.”
“Ethrans?”
“Some, but there are some who have weapons I don’t think any nation in Ethra has. They aim these long pipes and blow holes in things. Others throw things and where they land everything explodes.”
This is what Han had feared, and it made his blood run cold to think of his people being torn apart by such things. But about one-third of the infantry were armed with crossbows, and about a third of those were either mechanically or magically enhanced. The latter could likely do nearly as much damage as a rifle from Earth, and the former could fire multiple bolts in rapid succession. Both the cavalry columns included archers who were deadly shots, and the best of them—Han included—had flame arrows in their quivers. Those weapons, the terrain the enemy hadn’t prepared for, and the heavy fortifications inside the tents would all count in the Sunlands’ favor. Gods help the enemy when they got caught in Han’s pincer. Still, too many people would die—on both sides.
And their blood is on my hands.
Han tore his mind away from such useless thinking, and turned back to Zhevi.
“Where’s our first wave?”
“There by now, sir. They were maybe a half mile away when I started riding back here.”
“Any sign of the second Mounted Guard column yet?”
Zhevi shook his head. “I didn’t see them, sir. But the Droghona are already hassling the enemy, picking them off here and there as they try to get down the escarpment and into the camp. And some archers and crossbow soldiers are picking them off from inside the camp.”
Han nodded thoughtfully, chewing his lip, weighing the facts he had against those he didn’t. “All right, well done, Zhevi,” he said after a moment. “Grab something to eat on the ride, get this horse to some water, and get a fresh mount.”
He whistled once for Sim, and another time as a signal for his officers and sergeants. They knew what it meant—It’s time to move. He rode to where he wanted the column to form up behind him and waited, watching his soldiers gather, but thinking of distant worries.
Thurlock and Luccan. Henry. The Earthborn shifters. Henry. Naht’kah. Henry. Blue drakes in West Haven. Henry. All burdens he could do nothing about. He shoved them back to concentrate on the here and now, knowing it was the only way to get himself and the troops he held responsibility for through the coming fight safely. Only one worry kept popping to the fore: What if something happened to Henry? He’d admitted to a blossoming love for the condor shifter such as he’d never experienced. He’d never before had to push a lover from his thoughts when he needed to focus on a fight; it irked him. He forced the anxiety back, buried it, built a wall around it, but it reached overflow volume in a flash and erupted right back into his conscious thoughts. Not only was it inconvenient, but it hurt. His heart threatened to break.
Finally, knowing he was needed, knowing he had a job to do that no one else would manage quite as well, knowing lives depended on him, he applied iron-hard willpower and shoved the troublesome thoughts away. This time, just as he managed that, a shadow blocked the weak rays of the dawn sun to the east. An odd tingle crept over his skin, and he looked to the distant sky in time to see his great black condor winging over the southern Fallows.
“Han!” The word came in Henry’s mind voice.
“Henry! I was just thinking about you.”
“I think maybe I knew that.”
That made Han inexplicably warm, but his mind was still on the battle. “You’re scouting?”
“Yeah. Shifters will be coming into the Hand from the east, as planned. They’re not far away.”
Han had a flurry of unwelcome thoughts in which he envisioned himself sending Henry back to safety. He kept them blocked and told himself, That’s nonsense, Han. Henry has a job to do in this fight, and he’s glad and proud to do it. Just stop.
“Hey,” Henry was saying. “Stay safe, okay, Han? And let’s go fishing when this is over.”
Opening his mind to Henry once more, he smiled a rather special smile in his thoughts. “Sounds like a plan. You too—be safe. And… I didn’t say this before, but I want you to know now. I love you too, Henry. I do. I love you.”
Somehow, having said that, or more likely having not left it unsaid, Han was able to leave his worries for Henry aside. They parted mental company mutually with a thought that had no words, a little like an embrace, a little like a promise.
The soldiers around him were still gathering themselves for the ride to battle, and Han turned his thoughts to Luccan and Thurlock. He opened his mind to Thurlock, and had a strong sense that the old wizard was faring okay. He couldn’t communicate in a straightforward way with him, and he’d decided before they parted ways on the road to keep things easy. He’d told Luccan, “You’ll be my link, okay? I’ll be focusing on what’s before me in the battle, but if you need to reach me, you know how to get through. And I’ll check with you now and then when I can.”
Han mounted up but still had a moment to wait before everyone was ready to move. He took the opportunity to send a thought to Luccan. “Are you and Thurlock all right?”
“Uncle Han,” came Lucky’s relieved-sounding reply. “I’ve been worried about you. Yeah, we’re okay. And Maizie too—I don’t know how she got up the ridge, but she found a way.”
“She had a lot of practice with steep slopes back in Valley City, right? So what’s going on there?”
“It’s kind of boring right now, for me, anyway. Thurlock’s do
ing what he called, ‘preparing the ground.’ You’d think he was getting ready to plant radishes or something. But I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I have a feeling that later I’m going to wish for boring.”
Han laughed out loud, earning him a few pointed looks from nearby soldiers. “Yeah,” he told Luccan. “I think you’re right. And thanks for making me laugh—just because of the way you put it. It’s really not going to be funny in the long run. Luccan, I’m going to be fighting real soon. I don’t expect this battle to last long, and then I’ll make my way up there to you and Thurlock. Meanwhile, do your best to take care of him, but also, especially, allow him to keep you safe. The Sunlands needs you, and I cherish you, and I can’t bear the thought of you getting… hurt.”
The troops with Han included a few veterans of the now-defunct Shahna’s Rangers. They’d formed a new elite band of cavalry within the Mounted Guard, but the rest of the Guard cavalry boasted almost equal skill. Those in Han’s detachment sat their horses now in loose but orderly ranks, ready to ride. Han had his officers move them out from Erihk’s Fall, but they didn’t rush. They’d need the horses fresh for battle, so they rode with restraint, but still they made good time to the clearing outside the encampment, arriving two hours after dawn.
The battle was already underway, the enemy engaged and focused on the twin unexpected elements of a prepared, fortified encampment and the head-on rush of over two thousand Guard infantry. It wasn’t quite time for the pincer yet, but Han didn’t have to wait long to get that stage of the battle plan underway.
A seasoned scout whose name was Herziel rode up from the north, having ridden around the rush of foot soldiers from the east. She pulled her horse up next to Simarrohn. “Sir. Captain Olmar’s wing is in position to ride in, awaiting your signal.”
“Let’s give it, then,” Han said, nodding to Lieutenant L’Ehni, who rode beside him.