Instead the lead legionaries attacked the gate guards. Men behind pulled bows and quivers out of the stretchers, started shooting at archers on the wall. The front rank of the pursuing cavalry split, nomads circling the wall, pouring in arrows. Behind them a long column of cats through the gate at a trot. The defenders, surprised, outnumbered ten to one, caught between archers inside and outside the wall, surrendered or died. In a few minutes it was over.
* * *
Konstantin felt hands on his body, a stab of pain. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in one of the bunk houses; someone was leaning over him.
"Arrow's out. Lie still. Don't want to start the bleeding again."
"Who. What. ..."
"Surprise attack; Oasis is ours now. Artos won't be happy. Don't worry; we don't eat prisoners."
"You're speaking Tengu."
"Wake up to someone pulling arrows out of me, helps if they speak something I understand. Here."
The commander drank down the water, closed his eyes a moment, opened them.
"Artos won't be happy with me. How'd you get here?"
"Rode."
"Water?"
"Artos sent water wagons north to meet his cavalry. We used them instead. He took Eagle clan oasis, now we've taken his. When the war is over we can trade, everyone goes home. Fair man, won't blame you. Rest."
The next time the commander woke it was almost dark. Noise of wagon wheels on stone pavement, voices. The door opened. By the light through it he could see that the bunk room held half a dozen wounded. The man coming through was medium height, broad. Lamellar armor.
"Awake again? Water wagons just came in. Between them and what you have, shouldn't die of thirst any time soon. Might even get your cavalry home alive, with luck."
"I don't understand."
"Cavalry you sent south this morning. We dodged them coming north. Wagons did too, not so easy. Artos sent troops with his wagons, folk we borrowed armor from to get through your gate. About now the cavalry is meeting what's left of them. Three days to the river—they don't have the water, not even close. One day back here. Ravens might scatter, head west. Run into some friends of mine if they do. Rest of the cavalry should show up here late tomorrow. Thirsty. My problem, theirs, not yours any more."
"You're Harald."
"And you're Commander Konstantin. Easier for me; we don't use rank badges. You guested my foster son two months back, spoke well of your hospitality. Impressed by your pool, too. Told me all about it."
"And you ..."
"Green fish, nothing like that around here, sounded like something belongs in salt water. My boys, clan brothers, couple of Ladies, dropped by one night to deliver."
Horse Fair
He starts to stink who outstays his welcome
In another's hall
When the Imperial cavalry got back to the Oasis they found the gate shut. After a few arrows from the walls, one of the riders noticed that what was flying above was no longer the gold banner of the Empire. They withdrew out of range to consider the matter.
The gate opened. A man on foot came out, right hand raised and empty, waited. More deliberation before a cavalry officer dismounted, came to meet him.
"Fore you and your friends try to get this place back, come in and look around. Six hundred cats, two hundred Westkin. Bows, behind walls. Water. Rather not kill horses if I don't have to. Or men."
When he got back to the cavalry, the rest of the command group gathered around him.
"Not a chance. They have near as many men as we have, maybe more. Mostly cats. We could make a grand charge and die gloriously, but it'll be outside the walls. We can't siege; they have water, we don't."
"We could send a courier back to base for help."
"By the time he got there we'd mostly be dead. Same thing the other direction."
There was a long pause before someone asked the obvious question.
"What terms are they offering?"
"They get horses, armor, gear. We swear not to fight outside the Empire or against Harald or his allies till we're ransomed—leave a few officers as hostages. We get wagons, water—enough to get us home on foot. One horse for a courier to base to tell them to send supplies and more water to meet us."
"Once we give them everything and march north, what's to keep them from coming after? At least now we have armor."
"Die from an arrow in the ribs, die of thirst, not much difference. Besides, it's Harald."
One of the other officers spoke:
"Buddy of mine was in the army he smashed east of the mountains two, three years ago. They surrendered on terms. He got home alive. I say yes."
They set off the next morning, a long column of men on foot, two wagons. The last were scarcely out of sight when the first group of nomads arrived and set up camp—half a dozen riders, Bear clan pennon. Harald went out to meet them, exchange courtesies. By noon, they had been joined by parties from three other clans, each with its own small camp outside the walls.
Konstantin, shaky but on his feet, watched from the wall, tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Nomads on foot were wandering through the herd of captured horses, looking at them, occasionally leading one away from the water troughs to join a small herd next to one of the camps.
"What's going on?"
The cat who had helped him up the stairs looked blank. Konstantin tried again, this time, slowly and carefully, in the speech of the plains.
"What are they doing?"
The cat grinned:
"Biggest horse market plains ever saw."
As the day passed, more buyers appeared. Over one camp Konstantin noticed a Raven pennon. Later, having accepted Harald's invitation to join him for the evening meal, he asked about it.
"I thought the Ravens were on our side."
"Far as I know they are. Doesn't keep them from buying; can always fight us tomorrow. Emperor's gold as good as anyone else's."
He reached into his pouch, looked at the gold coin in his palm.
"Better. His face on a coin, full weight. Best money I know."
By the next morning the captured horses and their buyers were gone. Where they had been, most of Harald's army—four cacades of cats, a hundred or so nomads, a dozen hostages—formed up outside the gate. Before he left, Harald took a minute to say good-bye to Konstantin.
"Enjoyed your hospitality, stay any longer get a bit thirsty." He gestured at the swimming pool, partly refilled during the past weeks, now again almost empty.
"Leaving one cacade to hold the place. Four or five speak Tengu, most everyone some plainstalk; you and your people, ones that didn't go home with the cavalry, be all right. Rest of us back south to see what Artos has been up to. Wife's brother, friends, keeping an eye on him, but you never know. Time you've healed, fighting all over, everyone home. Come visit; promise I won't shoot you. Top of Mainvale. Wife brews the best beer in the vales."
Three days later, Harald would have settled for the worst. Better yet, water. The wagons, sent south the night before they left, carried one day's water, the hidden barrels, left behind for the final dash to the Oasis, a second. What had accumulated in the collection points along the cliff since they came north made a scant third. Thirsty men, thirsty horses.
Niall called back from the head of the column, angled right off the road. The sun down, they kept going; the full moon gave light enough to see the broad trail of tracks marking the route they had followed coming north. Harald moved up the column, talking quietly with the men.
"Think this is bad; ever hear Conor's story, his trip south?"
No one had.
"Well dry. Waterhole dry. Filled a cup from his skin, time he had it to his lips cup was dry too."
"How'd he make it back alive?"
"Drank straight from the water skin. Skin empty, started to rain. Rained so hard, riverbed flooded, washed him back to the foot of Mainvale. His story, not mine. Night we captured a wagon loaded with wine barrels."
One of t
he hostages looked blank; Harald repeated the story in Tengu.
Past midnight Niall stopped, pointed. Harald signaled the weary column to a halt.
A wooden pole slanting up from the ground marked the buried cache. Harald took one of the water skins, filled his bowl.
"Little farther, lady mine, all the water you want."
The mare emptied the bowl; he filled it again. Again.
By the time the moon went down they were in sight of the river, by dawn across it.
* * *
So was Artos.
Ends And Beginnings
The generous and bold have the best lives
It was almost noon before the exhausted riders, having made a wide circle around the Imperial encampment south of the river, rejoined the main army. Half an hour later most of four cacades were asleep on the grass. Hrolf helped Harald unsaddle the mare, rub her down.
"Two days back. Either he got word or figured the cavalry weren't coming. Started before dawn. We lit the bonfires. Must have been filling in the ford somehow where we dug it out—men across in formation. Most of them—rock throwers opened things up a little, we did some damage. Had to pull back.
"Bad part is Newvale. Still don't know how he did it, but by the time the fight started he had men in the mouth of the lower vale, our side the river. Couldn't get our people past. Has the ford, mouth of the vale. Herds probably all made it to the upper vale—boys have been shifting them for weeks, ever since he got here. Lower vale to upper isn't easy. Nothing but boys, women, old men to stop him, though."
* * *
Artos, most of the way up the lower vale with what was left of the second legion, would no doubt have found the news encouraging. From where he stood he could see the steep slope, almost a cliff, that joined the lower vale—pastureland between steep cliffs, on one side the river—with the upper.
"That's where dinner went."
He pointed at the path that zig-zagged up the slope. The top portion was choked with stones. Giorgios, standing on Kiron's other side, responded:
"Drove the sheep up, shut the door behind them. We get to open it."
The commander looked at Kiron, waited.
"We send a turtle up to clear the path?"
"One way. They probably have more stones at the top—hard to hold a shield up over your head when someone drops a boulder on it."
"You brought all the archers. Sweep the top edge of the slope above the path to keep them back. They can still try rolling boulders, but it will be harder, and they'll be blind."
"Helps. He have stone throwers too; captured four yesterday. The boys have been practicing. What are we fighting?"
Kiron stopped a moment to think.
"There were two archers in the cliff across the river. They stopped shooting when the crossbows showed up. If they had a lot, you'd think they would have kept it up—they had cover, high ground. Other than them, we haven't seen a soul. Where are the cats?"
"Out on the plain. Bellio's company paid to keep them that way—four men drowned, crossing above the ford night of the attack. I'm betting Harald had all his people at the river to stop us, planned for some of them to fall back up Newvale after we crossed. If I'm wrong, we have a problem. If I'm right, there should be enough herds, stored food, even this early in the year, to feed us for a while."
* * *
From the ledge high up on the south cliff, the scene spread out below—legionaries busy in the lower vale, elders in the upper, steep slope, blocked path between them. Neither group could see the other; the three boys, peering over and between their wall of piled rocks, could see both.
"Your Gran, his friends, they have the roof up. Oddest house I ever saw."
"Said if they had any sense the crossbows would shoot high, drop bolts on their heads. Roof should stop them. Don't need back or sides, wall in front gets in the way. Low roof instead. What are those things?"
"What things? I can't see from here."
Kolskegg scrambled backwards and to one side; Asbjorn took his place.
"See? A little out from the slope—like giant birds. Some sort of engine?"
"Rock throwers; bet they captured them when they crossed the river. Hope your Gran built his roof solid. More than bolts falling on it. Turtle's forming up."
Twenty men, a shell of shields, moving to the bottom of the winding path, up it. Thorvald, the older of the two brothers, spoke.
"Ready, 'Skeg? Almost there."
"Ready. Say when."
"Now."
Kolskegg lifted the flag above their wall, waved it.
"Nothing happening. They don't see me."
He stood up, waved it wildly.
Rocks bounced down the slope; one hit the middle of the formation. Bolts flew back to answer them, rocks from the captured engines. The turtle moved on, leaving two bodies behind.
"Get down, idiot."
"Oh." Kolskeg looked at the bolt sticking through his arm, sat down.
Asbjorn scrambled back.
"Hold still; I have to break off the end, pull it out."
He bound the wound tightly with one of the lengths of cloth from his belt. The other two watched admiringly.
"Don't carry bandages, have to tear up my clothes, another battle when I get home. Grandfather told me. Says he'd rather fight the Emperor any day. What's happening?"
"Turtle's gotten to where the path is blocked, clearing it. We're supposed to signal. Three, one, three, one."
"I'll do it."
Asbjorn took the flag that Kolskeg had dropped, waved it. Bolts flew above him, bounced off the cliff face.
"Why you don't stand up."
"More turtles. They're carrying something."
Asbjorn put down the flag, scrambled back to his place by the wall.
"Ladders. First group clearing the path, other two up the slope either side from the clear part lower down. Hope your Gran thought of that one."
More rocks were bouncing down the slope, aimed at the men clearing the path. Most missed, some didn't. The turtle, a little smaller, crept forward.
"Our turn. Hope it works."
Thorvald moved back from the wall, took a round rock from a pile, put it carefully next to a peg driven into a crack in the cliff, gave it a gentle push. The rock rolled down the cliff face out of their sight, gathering speed, reappeared as a puff of dust on the slope just below the second turtle.
"Close but you missed. They're putting up ladders."
The fourth rock; one of the men at the base of the near ladder crumpled, rolled down the slope, hit the bottom, lay still. More rocks; a second hit. Now both ladders had men on them. Farther up the path, what was left of the first formation was still doggedly moving forwards, clearing rocks, rolling them down.
"Rock throwers have stopped; afraid of hitting their own men."
A figure crawled from under the low roof, out of sight of the attackers. Shield held over his head, long pole in the other hand, he limped across the upper slope. Shield down, pole against the end of the ladder. Another man came out to join him. One of them fell; the other kept pushing. The ladder end slid sideways across the face of the slope, down, shedding bodies as it fell.
"They haven't spotted the other one. Let me by."
Asbjorn, bow out, quiver beside him, kneeling at the end of the wall, looked down at the remaining ladder, the men near its top. He drew, tucking his head under his right arm, right hand at the back of his neck, shot almost straight down. Four arrows, two men hit, before someone below noticed him and bolts started flying up. He leaned back into cover.
"Aunt Cara taught me the trick; lets you shoot down from a rampart without leaning over. Never been on a rampart, but this is close. If you wave the flag again, will they think it means anything?"
"Nope. One signal for starting up, one for getting to the blocked part."
"Do it, other end of the ledge. Distraction. Stay down—don't need to get shot again."
Kolskegg waved the flag; bolts rattled off the cliff beh
ind him. Asbjorn snapped off two fast shots, back into cover.
"Wish big 'Bjorn and his people were back; dozen of us up here it would be easy."
"Dozen cats wouldn't fit here; tight enough for three of us."
"Can't be the only ledge."
"Only one we can get to in the dark. Hard to climb with people shooting at you."
Thorvald's voice from behind him. "My last rock; are they still climbing?"
Harald-ARC Page 23