“I came to check the situation,” Newell said honesdy. “I grew resdess in camp. There were no signs that Stonehold would make a major push today so I decided to see if there were any signs of why they were waiting.”
Finishing his speech, Prince Newell unscrewed the top of his wineflaskand offered Joy Spinner a pull of the dry white wine within. The scout accepted, then looked at him squarely with eyes the color of violets.
“Your timing is fine, sir,” she said. “My ancestors must have put you on the road. You see, not long ago I spotted something interesting to the south. I don't dare leave my post to report it—we've had trouble with Stoneholders trying to sUp through here—but I think King Tedric and Duke Allister should know.”
“And your relief?”
“Not due for hours. Even the officer who's checking the posts isn't due for a while.”
“What have you seen?” Prince Newell asked, atinglingin his breast making him certain that this very moment was the beginning of his time to be a hero, even as he had dreamed.
“Let me show you,” Joy said. “Your horse will be safe here.”
They crept through the brash to the basalt outcropping from which Joy had been keeping watch. It was a good lookout, set higher than much of the surrounding area but offering perfect concealment. Joy checked something with her long glass, then handed the glass to Newell.
“Look there, just where I was. Site along the road as it leaves the field along which Stonehold is encamped. The road itself vanishes when the land dips, but it heads roughly south, bending a bit east. I won't say more—I want to know if you see what I do.”
Prince Newell did as Joy had requested, finding the road easily enough. Over the past five days he had pored over the superior interior maps of Bright Bay supplied by Duke Al-lister over the gmmbling protests of some of his advisors. These maps, added to the information Newell had already memorized from Hawk Haven's own maps, came to him as he obeyed Joy Spinner's instructions.
One of the reasons that the Fox River made such an effective barrier between Bright Bay and Stonehold was that it flared out into a broad marshy delta many miles before it met the ocean. In the summer these marshes bred disease. Even in the winter one had to be an expert to navigate them without grief. No large force, especially one with horses and armored troops, could cross through them.
The middle stretches of the Fox were too broad and deep to be forded, even in the autumn when there was no snow-melt to augment the flow and when irrigation of fields had lowered the river further. The Fox was bridged in several places, the nearest of which was due south and east of Good Crossing.
Mason's Bridge was hardly close-—indeed, miles of Bright Bay-held lands lay between their current battlefield and the bridge. Reports from the south, however, informed them that Stonehold had secured Mason's Bridge before the local Bright Bay pickets—hardly more than toll collectors—even knew there was trouble between the countries.
Since then, the other bridges across the Fox—or at least their northern ends—had been secured or destroyed by troops sent out from Silver Whale Cove. These now patrolled the Bright Bay side of the Fox, reducing the chances that Stonehold would abandon their attack on Good Crossing and strike for the capital. This necessary expenditure of troops had further reduced those reinforcements which Bright Bay could bring to the immediate battle and had increased the low morale of the Stalwarts, who once again found them-selves the lesser part of an army defending their own country.
Now Newell traced the road more by memory than by sight, quickly spotting what Joy Spinner had seen. The Stoneholders weren't foolhardy; they knew that the less their opponents could see the better. The troops marching along that road showed no metal that might flash in the sun; their wagons were tarped over to conceal what they carried. The road they traveled was packed, but even so many feet raised a thin column of dust.
Prince Newell drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. “So Stonehold sends reinforcements to augment those who currendy hold the ground south of Good Crossing! Surely Bright Bay's people will rise against them!”
Joy Spinner spat eloquentiy. “The folk of Bright Bay look to the ocean, not the land. Too long have they reUed on Stonehold mercenaries to keep Hawk Haven from claiming their lands for our own. All those poor farmers and herders will look to defend will be their harvest and flocks. If Stonehold's Rocky Band will cross and leave their Uvelihood un-molested, then they will let them pass.”
“And judging from the supply wagons,” mused Prince Newell, “the commanders are wise enough to not give the common folk of Bright Bay reason to turn soldier. Stonehold's Rocky Band is well discipUned. They won't loot the lands through which they pass—especially if they know that suppUes await them at the end.”
“And with the supplies being protected by columns of troops,” Joy added, “no farmer will be tempted to turn bandit. They've thought it through all right. Some of their reinforcements may travel more slowly, but everything will get here intact.”
Prince Newell handed Joy the long glass and turned back toward where Serenity waited.
“I wonder,” he said thoughtfully, “just when those wagons started their trip?” He shook himself. Now was a time for action, not speculation. “Scout Spinner, trast my horse and myself to carry the message as swiftly as we can. I think the time for stealth has ended.”
Joy nodded. “Good. I will keep my post. Ride safely, Prince Newell. Doubdess someone else has seen the signs, but we may be first.”
Newell smiled. “First or last, the news is still important.”
As Newell swung into the saddle, Serenity pawed the ground, catching hisrider'sexcitement and eager to be away.
“I will see you in Hope!” Newell cried. Touching his heels to the red roan's flanks, he was away.
He did not look back, nor did he doubt in the least that he cut a perfectly dashing figure.
SERENITY WAS NEARL Y FRESH, for the morning's ride had been easy and the gelding was in good fettle. Newell pressed his mount to speed wherever the road permitted. No matter what he had said to Joy Spinner, he wanted to be the first with the news. Even if he was not, eagerness would count for something.
Both Newell and Serenity were nicely sweated and covered with road dust when they arrived outside of the commanders’ paviUons in the encampment outside of Good Crossing's walls. Stumbling from the saddle on legs tired and sore, Newell tossed Serenity's reins to the first guard he saw. Then he gasped:
“The king, where is he?”
“Within,” the guard replied, “in consultation. What…”
Newell looked sternly at him. ‘Tend my mount, good man. My news is urgent and for King Tedric's ears alone.”
Such vagueness was certain to start rumors. Prince Newell trasted that his dutiful discretion would have the troops swearing to each other that Stonehold was arriving within the hour, armed with war machines meant to batter the walls of Good Crossing until one stone did not stand on another. Why else would a prince ride so hard and look so grim?
Sir Dirkin Eastbranch paused in his steady pacing about the perimeter of the king's pavilion to nod to his subordinate.
“Let the prince pass,” he said.
Pleased, Newell pushed back the curtain door, knowing that in a few minutes he would be able to collapse into a comfortable chair while servants pulled his boots off his aching feet and put a glass of wine into his hand. Such pleasures were good indeed, especially upon what might well be the eve of war.
TWO MEN LISTENED WHILE Prince Newell gave his report. It was a small enough audience, but as one of these men was King Tedric and the other was Duke Allister, the prince felt sufficiently rewarded for his hard ride. He even forgot that his aching feet had not been tended. King Tedric had apparently dispensed with servants for the moment.
When Newell finished his report, King Tedric frowned:
“Estimated numbers?”
“I'm not precisely certain, Your Majesty,” Newell replied. “I was catching gli
mpses through the trees. Several companies, well armed, I believe. I'd guess that when they're added to those Stonehold has pulled from their recent service throughout Bright Bay they'll be a match for what we have gathered here.”
“Your report,” the king said, “confirms speculations that we have had from our spies—reports that to this point have been but rumors. You have done well, Newell.”
The prince bowed and tried to look humble rather than gloating.
Duke Allister managed a wry grin. “Evidently Generals Yuci and Grimsel doubted that Stonehold could defeat us with those forces they already had in place so they risked our own reinforcements arriving while they brought in their troops.”
King Tedric nodded wearily. “A reasonable risk for them to take. The distance from Hope to Eagle's Nest is easily as far as that to Mason's Bridge. Troops from my more northern lands have even farther to travel. Tme we can and have drawn troops from the more southern parts of the kingdom, but we cannot strip our border with Bright Bay any more than you can strip yours with Stonehold.”
Duke Allister nodded, accepting that despite Hawk Haven coming to his country's aid perfect trast would not occur instandy. Leaving this issue unspoken, he added thoughtfully:
“And what use would a victory be to Stonehold if she lacked the forces to occupy Good Crossing after her troops had taken it? Now they have their greater force and suppUes to sustain them. Doubtless their commanders have left troops back along the road south so that further reinforcements can be brought through as needed.”
“I wonder,” Prince Newell said, attentive despite his honest weariness, “how those wagons managed to come so far so fast?”
Duke Allister sighed. “I suspect that many crossed Mason's Bridge and began the trip north days before the troops, maybe even as early as the very day that Queen Gustin was sent Stonehold's ultimatum. We have active trade with Stonehold—indeed, much of our steel and iron comes from there, for the Barren Lands are metal poor and block our access to the Iron Mountains your own nation mines.”
“So,” Newell frowned, “not even a heavily laden wagon would seem curious—not even if it clanked with quantities offinishedmetal.”
“The only people who would look at those wagons would be the toll collectors, whose interest would be in judging how much each wagon should pay for crossing into Bright Bay,” Duke Allister said. “We can send a pigeon to our garrison near Mason's Bridge for confirmation, but I think we have enough of a working theory to plan upon.”
King Tedric unrolled the best of the maps of Bright Bay.
“Even if,” he said, tracing hisfingeralong the road south, “Stonehold has brought in fresh troops and more supplies, the length of their supply Une home remains their greatest weakness.”
“Yet we can't get our army around the mass of their army to get to those supplies or that road,” Newell put in practically, rather enjoying pointing out the worst aspects of the situation. “Our troops would be spotted too easily as they crossed the open zone around Good Crossing. Generals Yuci and Grimsel did not strike me as tactically dull. They, too, must realize that their supply line is their vulnerable point and will be alert to efforts to harm it.”
“They must,” Allister agreed, “and yet they will wait to lessen their dependence on supplies from home until they have no choice. Looting and pillaging would awaken a new enemy all around them. Farmers armed with pitchforks or old spears scavenged from the family's ancestral shrine may not be much of a threat to a prepared army, but they could become a dangerous nuisance.”
“And with the harvest ready to come in,” Tedric added, “those farmers will be more easily enraged. No one, not even the most peaceful grower of wheat, likes to see an entire year's work vanish into someone else's mouth.”
Prince Newell cleared his throat and asked anxiously, “How long do you think the Stoneholders will give us before they attack?”
“Until tomorrow,” Tedric replied bluntly. “Perhaps they will wait until the next day, but from what you reported their troops were marching steadily, though not at a forced pace. Most should be ready for action after a night's rest.”
“Might they attack tonight?” Allister asked.
“I think not,” Tedric said after a moment's thoughtful pause, “but if they do, we will have ample warning—warning beyond the usual sounds or lights of their approach.”
The king's thin smile held a hint of the indulgent grin he reserved for one favored person.
With a surge of envy, Prince Newell realized that Tedric meant that he expected Lady Blysse to bring Hawk Haven warning. Newell's envy turned into a peculiarly uncomfortable form of fear as he realized that the wolf-woman must have been scouting for the king ever since this war had been declared—and perhaps even before. What might she have seen?
He endeavored to look bluff and hearty.
“It's good to know we'll have warning, Sire. Our men will sleep better for the news.”
“Whatever news you are envisioning spreading, Newell,” the king ordered sternly, “keep it to yourself. One reason that AlUster and I have kept our conferences as small as possible is that we cannot be certain who—especially among Bright Bay's forces—may still feel allied to Stonehold.”
“You must remember,” Allister said a touch sadly, “that until a mere handful of days ago most of my nation's troops viewed Stonehold as a friend and her army as teachers. Al-though most are angry and offended by the recent betrayals, still, there must be some—maybe even some officers—who retain loyalty to those who taught them.”
“And,” Newell added bluntly, “who still hate us.”
“Well,” Allister said, “you were the enemy.”
King Tedric sighed. “Newell, go gather the officers. It's time we gave a briefing.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” Newell replied, saluting smartly.
As he was leaving he heard the king say to Allister:
“I have a thought how we might deal with that supply line. Tell me what you think of this…”
RACE FORESTER CAME TO DERIAN Carter late that afternoon while Derian was checking the shoes and feet of the horses who—if all progressed as anticipated—would carry their riders into battle tomorrow.
At Earl Kestrel's express command, Derian himself wasn't going to fight. He didn't know whether he felt relieved or angry. For thefirsttime since Firekeeper had been given into his charge Derian felt as if he'd been demoted from a man's place to that of a boy.
Because of this, the sight of Race, clean-Uned and military in his scout's uniform, made Derian scowl and dig at the stone lodged in Ox's bald-faced chestnut's shoe with rather more intensity than he should. The normally placid horse shuddered his skin and muttered equine warning. Queenie, who had been sniffing around the horse's heels, flinched away.
“Good afternoon to you, too, Derian Carter,” Race said, leaning against one of the hitching posts and scratching Queenie behind the ears.
“Oh, Race,” Derian said, flinging the stone away and pre-tending to notice the scout for the first time. “I didn't see you coming.”
“And no wonder with that mountain of horseflesh hanging over you,” Race said easily.
Derian, knowing he had been being mde, felt rather embarrassed. He pulled out a curry comb and began grooming the chestnut's coat.
“Ready for tomorrow, Race?”
“I suppose so,” Race said. “For a bit there I thought I might be drafted into the archers at the last moment—someone had been bragging about how good I am with a bow—but the commander of scouts insisted he couldn't spare me.”
“Great.”
“Yes, it is rather nice having people argue over who will get your services.” Race paused. “Isn't it?”
“I wouldn't know,” Derian said stiffly.
“Oh?” Race drew closer and lowered his voice. “Then I must be the first to get to you. Derian, how do you feel about going into battle tomorrow?”
Derian kept his voice equally soft, though he felt like
shouting in surprise and indignation.
“Me? I can't. Earl Kestrel has demanded that I stay with the horses. He says that both his and Duchess Merlin's units are short of farriers and my skill with horses far outweighs my skill with a sword.”
Despite himself, Derian heard the bitterness in his voice.
“As if,” he added, “Earl Kestrel has even noticed how I've kept in practice all these moon-spans.”
“He's noticed more than you might imagine,” Race said, “and he's said no more than the truth. There are few men—especially of your years—who are as good with a horse.”
Derian granted, accepting the compliment but not being particularly graceful about it. Race punched him in the shoulder with affectionate bluster.
“Young idiot,” Race said. “Did you ever think that Earl Kestrel might want to keep you alive? King Tedric has made you one of his counselors. That's important not only to the king, but to the earl. Norwood's been preening ever since you were named—pointing out to his peers whenever he can that he knows how to pick a good man. But whether or not he wants to keep you aUve, that's all out with the wash. There's been a change of plans.”
“Change?” Derian suddenly felt frightened. It was one thing to scowl and brood about being overlooked when you were safely out of danger; it was quite another when that danger was immediate again.
Race nodded. “I was to tell you quietly if my commander hadn't gotten to you. I guess he hasn't. Are you about done with those nags?”
“About.”
“Meet me at our camp,” by this Race meant the new Kestrel camp on the southern bank of the Barren, “when you're done. Make sure you finish up properly because you might not make it back here tonight.”
Derian did as Race had suggested, going over each horse carefully and consulting with the farrier from Hope—the same from whom he and Doc had bought medicine just days before—as to the strengths and weaknesses of the war mounts. These were huge, fierce horses, often intolerant of any but their handler, and working with them took special consideration.
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