“The fighters are coming out to practice.” Every morning the fighters had limbering and practice sessions before they ate. The fighters were mostly housed in the barns, though some of them had taken over the houses that those of higher rank didn’t want, cramming two and three times as many people into each dwelling as the houses had been intended to hold. But, from all Snowfire knew of their way of life, they were used to cramming themselves together like wolves in a winter den, and probably didn’t think they were suffering from overcrowding. After the practice sessions were over, and the morning meal distributed and eaten, the leaders would pick out men for hunting parties and fishing parties, and the rest would be drilled in formation-combat. That was quite unlike the barbarians Snowfire knew of, who fought as individuals rather than groups. This signified a new and disturbing development, and something that would have to be looked into when he had the time.
If I ever have the time. Well, he’d made notes on all of this, and if everything went wrong, Starfall would take those notes with him as he escaped to safety.
Daystorm collected more of an audience as the morning passed; after all the preparations, the Tayledras were on edge and eager to get into action. Ayshen had somehow found the time to bake more flatbread, and hertasi were passing around rounds of the stuff wrapped around bits of honeycomb. Snowfire took one and munched it without ever taking his eyes off Daystorm’s face.
She took one without ever opening her eyes, but then, she had always had an extra sense where sweets were concerned. “They’re calling the fighters in to eat. Still nothing from the Lutter house.”
“I wish we dared send a bird down to the roof to see if it could overhear anything,” Wintersky muttered to him. Snowfire nodded agreement; he would have given a great deal for a set of ears in - or on - that house.
In no way would he have ever endangered a bird by putting one there, however. Some of the barbarians knew what Tayledras birds looked like, for there had been conflict along the northern ranges with barbarians before this. Even if it somehow escaped notice that the bird in question was much larger than normal, well, bored barbarians with bows tended to make targets out of anything that moved.
Including each other - they seemed to find it howlingly funny to shoot blunted arrows at each other, with the intended target trying to dodge and the bowman trying to hit in an embarrassing and potentially excruciatingly painful place. Snowfire had spent a great deal of time in the past few days, watching their antics through Hweel’s eyes.
He had noted that they seemed to have done a pretty thorough job of looting the village, not that there was much to take. Clothing that didn’t fit or that was for a child or a female was either cut up or put to other purposes. Tools that weren’t needed for immediate field work had already gone to the forge, presumably to be remade into weapons. Food and drink were gone, of course, and there were rapid inroads being made on the ripe stuff in the fields; any objects of metal had been melted down, either to be made into ingots or into arrowheads. Livestock had either been eaten or would be soon, except for horses, which had been taken for the mounted fighters. Anything valuable was presumably in the hands of the leaders by now. There wouldn’t be a great deal for the villagers to salvage when this was over. Hopefully they would be grateful just to escape with their lives.
“Ah! We’re getting some activity!” Daystorm exclaimed. “The leaders are coming out of the house - now they’re heading for the fighters. They’re shouting orders. Most of the fighters are running back to the barns, except for a couple who are going to the houses. Oh, they’re coming back with the leaders’ armor, and here come the rest of the fighters with theirs. Everyone is getting into armor. No, that’s not quite right. Everyone except the mounted fighters is getting into armor - they’re getting ready to send out a raiding force. I think it’s working, Snowfire. He’s taking the bait.”
“Sounds to me that since your illusion only shows pack-animals, he’s keeping his mounted troops behind,” Rainwind observed shrewdly to Snowfire, leaning over and speaking in a low voice to avoid disturbing Daystorm.
“That would make sense,” Snowfire agreed. “It would be best not to risk them on this. He knows that his foot troops can easily overtake a pack-train, and why take the chance of losing a mounted fighter who is much more expensive to replace than a foot soldier? It’s what I’d do.”
“Right, they’re all getting into formation, strapping on their armor,” Daystorm reported. “And packs. They’re taking light overnight packs. So the mage has a pretty good idea of how far the target is likely to get before they reach it.”
Snowfire nodded with satisfaction. That was good; it meant that the mage wouldn’t think anything of it when his troops didn’t make it back by nightfall.
Daystorm continued to report on preparations, and then finally said the words he had been waiting for. “This is it. They’re moving out, and they’re taking the river road, exactly as we wanted them to.”
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. It was time for the next stage, but he didn’t have to tell the others that. Daystorm would leave her crows standing sentry at the village, but Wintersky’s bird would pick up the departing troops as they reached the river. Hweel had already passed word of the departure to Sunstone (or rather, Sunstone’s falcon); Sunstone was stationed at the bluff and would trigger the avalanche blocking the road. Wintersky would count them and pass the number on to Sunstone. Sunstone would wait until the last ranks were in view, then let the stone bluff fall. They had agreed that, although it would be a fine thing if they actually caught some of the enemy under the rock-fall, they wouldn’t actually try for anything more complicated than blocking the path behind them all. It would be a disaster to have even one of the enemy fighters left on the village side of the blockage, for he would return to get help, and the mage would detect the telltale traces of magic in the fallen stone.
So, the rock would fall, the enemy force would be whittled down. They would soon find that the riverside path that had been so easy to follow deteriorated into a hellish nightmare of washouts, slippery rockslides, and narrow ledges where only one man at a time could pass. The river itself was swift and deep there, and anyone who fell in would fall prey to Ayshen and his friends. Nor would bodies bob to the surface with obvious knife wounds, for Ayshen had weighted ropes to keep them on the river bottom. All that anyone above would know was that those who fell or jumped in were pulled under and never reappeared. That should thoroughly discourage would-be swimmers.
When a path leading inland appeared, it would be welcomed with relief, and the steep ravine with its derelict bridge would seem no great obstacle until the men tried to cross it. Only then would they learn that the sides of the ravine were crumbling clay and gravel, and the bottom was a morass of sticky muck as deep as a man was tall, or perhaps even deeper. It hadn’t always been that way, but ever since Snowfire opened up a spring at the bottom, it was. As difficult as it was to climb down, it was even harder to climb up. They probably wouldn’t lose any men to the climb, but they’d be wet, filthy, and exhausted before it was over.
Meanwhile, the rest of the hertasi and the dyheli were all in place, waiting for the exhausted and demoralized enemy troops to get to the spot chosen for the ambush. The hertasi were making the place look very attractive without making it look like a trap. Signs of old campfires and just enough deadfall wood piled up would leave the impression -that others - perhaps the very caravan they were following - had camped here before. There was a clear, cold spring near enough to the campsite that someone should stumble over it, and between that ready source of water and the wood already at hand, the situation should be too tempting to resist.
But that would be for later tonight. Now it would be another long wait until the enemy troops marched past Sunstone, late this afternoon.
Now that everyone knew the enemy was on the move, the group waiting around Daystorm broke up. Snowfire looked up to find Darian at his elbow, waiting patiently for the scout to notice him
.
“What is it, little brother?” Snowfire asked. “Do you wish to change the plan for tonight?”
“No!” Darian exclaimed. “No - I mean, I - I am afraid. I’m scared, but I don’t want to back out or anything. I just - I just need something to do.”
Snowfire understood only too well the need to have “something to do” before a planned engagement, but he was at a loss to think of anything. Finally he had an inspiration. “Please - practice those exercises in magic I have shown you,” he said earnestly, “and try to think of ways in which they could be used tonight. We will need every weapon at our disposal; remember what I said about the way that a small application of magic can be used to a great effect.”
Darian grimaced a little, but nodded and trailed off to find a quiet place in which to practice.
Hweel, Hweel’s mate Huur, and their young fledgling watched him move off with unblinking gazes. Then Huur yawned hugely, her youngster did the same a moment later, and both of them shut their eyes and hunched their heads down to sleep. They had arrived last night, and were probably exhausted. They had certainly eaten hugely of the bounty that an excited Hweel had provided for them.
Hweel practically radiated contentment as he sat beside his mate and their bumbling youngster. Huur was considerably larger than Hweel, as was usually the case with birds of prey, and Snowfire paused to consider whether he really wanted Huur to bond with him. After all, Hweel was quite a burden; Huur would be worse.
Well, it wasn’t within his power to decide one way or another. It was the bird’s decision, not his. And meanwhile, Hweel was overjoyed to have her beside him and that was no bad thing.
Snowfire had his own ritual of preparation to begin. He had things timed to a nicety, so that his hours would be occupied and his mind would not be idle to make up scenarios of disaster.
First, he ran through his own magic practice, though he didn’t have to think of ways in which small magics would be useful in tonight’s raid, for he had plenty of experience along those lines. All the while he practiced, he sat across from Daystorm, with one ear cocked in case she said anything about activity in the village. He put himself through his paces, pushing to speed up the time it took for him to work a particular piece of magic, by even a fraction of a breath. That was always what he worked toward; it would be useless to try for more power, for he had reached the limits of his ability there - but it was always possible to try for more speed.
By the time he was done, it was about noon; he left Daystorm’s side just long enough to collect food for himself, Daystorm, and Starfall. He left Starfall’s ration just outside the containment shield, though Starfall was so deep in concentration that the Adept never noticed he was there. That was all right; the food was covered and would keep, and Starfall’s bird would keep pests from carrying it off. Then he took Daystorm’s ration to her, and the scout accepted it with thanks.
“There’s nothing unusual going on at all,” she said, tearing off a strip of dried meat with her strong, white teeth. She looked very much like a fox when she did that, and Snowfire wondered if she knew it. “The only thing going on is that the mounted fighters are all practicing, mostly on each other. I think they’re pleased that the foot soldiers are gone; it gives them more space to practice in.”
“That’s probably true,” he agreed, and grinned. “Let’s hope they forget it’s practice and take out a few of their own.”
She laughed, and he turned his attention to his bondbird. :How close are they to the trap?: he asked Hweel, who was in contact with all of the bondbirds.
;Close,: Hweel told him, and showed him what Rainwind’s falcon saw from high above, so high that the men below her would not see even a speck in the sky overhead. It would not be long now until the first of the troops reached the undermined section of bluff.
“They’re getting close,” he said aloud to Daystorm. “Keep a close eye on the Lutter house; if this mage has any way of communicating with the other troops, we’ll find out about it soon.”
He held to the vision of the river road as seen through the eyes of the circling falcon, watching as the antlike, foreshortened figures crept along at a maddeningly slow pace. The falcon knew exactly where the fall was to take place, and centered her circle on that part of the bluff. There was no way to communicate with Sunstone, but part of Snowfire ached with tension, hoping he would not drop the rockfall too soon. The tiny figures crawled onward, completely unaware of what waited for them. Half of them were past the bluff now, with most of the rest beneath the area where the rock would come down. Most of the rest -
Not yet, Sunstone, not yet. Let them pass -
Now they were either past the fall area, or within it, but there was always the chance that the rock would not fall as they thought, letting one or two escape.
Not yet, not yet -
There! The last of them was past the halfway point!
A little puff of dust at the base of the bluff was all the warning Snowfire had; Sunstone had released the fall.
It began slowly, as these things always did; a trickle of rock from the top, a rumbling sound, then the first signs of the slide. Most of the enemy fighters reacted immediately; they looked up, and ran downriver, away from the village. Three hesitated, started to run toward the village as Snowfire bit off a curse. Suddenly, as a few rocks hit the trail in front of them, they paused, and reversed themselves. But that hesitation was fatal; in the next instant, they were buried beneath a cascade of dirt and rock that ran out into the river. A huge cloud of dust rose and obscured everything, even for a falcon’s sharp eyes, and Snowfire waited impatiently for it to clear.
Finally the strong breeze from upriver cleared it away, and he saw that there would be no passage back across that fall for anyone. They had managed to drop far more than he had estimated across the roadway; until it all settled, it would be insane to try and climb it. The enemy fighters milled around the edge, as if wondering whether they should make some attempt to rescue their three companions. Evidently they decided against it, or their leaders did, for after a bit more confused meandering, they formed back up into ranks, and moved out along the river again.
Snowfire broke contact with the falcon with a feeling of fierce pleasure. “The first stage worked perfectly!” he told Daystorm. “Any sign from the mage that he knows what happened?”
She shook her head. “Nothing at all out of the ordinary,” she reported. “You ought to check with Starfall, though. He might have noticed something.”
That was an excellent idea, and he was not at all loath to follow it. He brushed the dust off his trews and loped up the trail to Starfall’s ekele, hoping that the Adept was not too lost in his work to speak to him.
As it happened, Starfall was just finishing the last of his rations, and greeted Snowfire with a wave of his hand. “We’ve dropped the bluff; it worked perfectly, and they lost three in the rockfall,” Snowfire reported. “Have you noticed anything from the mage?”
“Only that he’s trying harder than before to take control of the lines and nodes from me,” Starfall replied. “He’s getting aggressive; I think he’s getting extra energy from his fighters. Are they doing anything unusual?”
“Only the mounted ones are left; Daystorm says they’re practicing against each other, and that’s unusual, because there isn’t a lot of room for them to practice ordinarily.” Snowfire cocked his head to the side. “From what I saw, the mounted fighters are the least disciplined. Would that be enough to generate extra energy for him?”
“Probably; it isn’t a lot, but these days, when there isn’t a lot of energy to be had, a mage would grasp at anything.” Starfall blinked, and rubbed his eyes. “At least he isn’t practicing blood-sacrifice.”
“I’ll say this much for the barbarians; so far as I know, they don’t tend to stoop to that. They’ll use the power generated by slaughter on a battlefield, but they won’t practice blood-sacrifice. Or at least, not of humans.” He grimaced. “Let’s hope this lot runs
true to form.”
“Dar’ian would never forgive us if anything like that happened,” Starfall muttered, and shook his head. “Well, he’s due for another try, and I need to be on guard; keep me informed if you can.”
Starfall raised the containment shield again, and sank back into his trance. Snowfire left him with his falcon standing watch and returned to Daystorm.
“I think you can drop the close watch on the village,” he told her. “Starfall says the mage hasn’t reacted to what we did at all.”
She sighed with relief. “Oh, good. If I don’t get myself stretched out, I won’t be any use for the raid. I’ll leave the hooligans in place; I don’t need them here, and they’ll call me if something catches their attention.”
“Good plan,” he said approvingly, and went to check on the others.
Wintersky had taken charge of building their packs; each of them would carry an identical load of climbing staff, short bow, arrows, and throwing darts. The idea was not to get into combat, if they could avoid it; the idea was to free the slaves and guard their backtrail. Snowfire wished he had some other sort of magic than the type he had; it would have been so useful to be able to turn water into drugged brandywine and arrange for the remaining barbarians to find it!
Seventeen Tayledras and one adopted boy would be the whole of their army; Nightwind and Kel would remain behind to guard Starfall, with five dyheli and three of the most timid of the hertasi. Wintersky had finished seven of the packs, with ten more to go; he was checking each and every weapon with utmost care as he packed it, and there was a small pile of rejected arrows beside him. Snowfire didn’t interrupt; he had the job well in hand.
Seventeen against how many? We must be mad. Yet if they could just avoid rousing anything or anyone, the odds of pulling this off were good. Or at least, they weren’t insurmountable.
Valdemar Books Page 881