By the Sword (71 page)

 

Daren stared into the stranger's flat, dead eyes, and asked in frustration, “So what am I supposed to do with you?”

The tent was hot and felt stuffy, yet every time Daren looked at this man, he got a chill down the back of his neck.
Better dead, he'd have been better off dead. Poor bastard.

“Lead us, m‘lor',” replied the nameless man, who until a year ago had been a simple farmer, with no cares of who ruled and who did not. “Lead us. We got nothin, now. Our families is dead, or as good as. Our homes is gone. Our fields is weeds an' wild things. Lead us.”

“Thrice-dead Horneth,” Daren muttered under his breath.
Lead them, he says. Farmers on horseback. Whatever cavalry skills they had vanished when the mage controlling them died. And here I am, with a horde of undisciplined, half-mad farmers with no memory of what to do with swords and lances.

And yet-they were half-mad, and had nothing to lose. Ancar had stolen everything from them, including their names, for none of them remembered exactly who he was. All they had left were the memories of what had been done to them, and to their loved ones, memories so hedged about in rage that nothing the mages could do would erase them, and so those memories had been blocked off until Daren had given the fateful, desperate command to the
earth-put everything back the way it was.

Some things, of course, were impossible; the dead could not be brought back to life, nor memories that had been destroyed be regained. But the troops' minds had been given back to them, and the land was already beginning to heal, free of Ancar's bondage.

“Professionals are predictable,
”, ran one of Tarma's proverbs.
“But the world is full of amateurs.
” So long as he kept his troops out of their way, where was the harm in taking these men with him and unleashing them on Ancar's forces?

“Let me think about this,” he temporized, “I'm not sure I have the right to lead you. You're not my people, and frankly, you may not like my orders. If I don't have any real hold over you, you could decide to strike out on your own, and then where would my plans be?”

“But—” the man began, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Quenten. The mage was excited, his red hair going in all directions, and he made matters worse by running his hand through it every few moments.

“My lord, we intercepted a mage-message from Ancar's commander a few moments ago,” he said. “We—”

Then he noticed the nameless man sitting there, and shut his mouth with a snap.

“If you'll excuse me,” Daren said to the man, who, with the intractable stubbornness of farmers everywhere, opened his mouth to resume his argument—or voice a protest at the interruption. “I promise I'll come back to you with an answer, but I suspect that what this man has to say will make up my mind, one way or another.”

Before the farmer could say another word, Daren took Quenten's elbow and led him out of the tent, to a few paces away where they couldn't be overheard.

“Now, what was this message?” he asked, “And is there any chance that Ancar's people could know it was you that got it, and not his own mages?”

“Hildre,” Quenten said in satisfaction. “She's the best there is at identifying and counterfeiting mage-auras. Unfortunately for her, that's about all she can do—which means she's useless outside of a group. But for working within a group, she's priceless. The commander inside Valdemar sent a conventional messenger to the mages on the Border, and they sent the message on here—and trust me, Hildre has them convinced it went to the right person. They're attacking Selenay at dawn, my lord. He's sent half of his foot around to the west, and he expects the cavalry to come in on the east and north. Kero and the Skybolts are in the middle of that. We have to do something!”

Daren took a deep breath and stared off at a tree, reviewing all his plans and his capabilities.
My foot won't make it before the fight's over. There's no way they can make a march that's half a day's ride away in less than a day. And even if we started now, they'd be tired—

—
unless
—

“Thank you, Quenten,” he said, his plan set. “We'll do something, all right. With luck. we'll even get there in time. Tell the mages to get packed up; we'll be on the march in a candlemark.”

He returned to his tent, and as he expected, the nameless spokesman for the farmers-turned-fighters was still there. “M‘lor—” the man said, getting to his feet, his chest puffed out belligerently.

“How many spare horses have you?” Daren demanded. “And can your horses carry double? Are they in any shape for a forced march?”

The man looked bewildered by Daren's sudden demands. “We had twice's many horses as men, m‘lor,” he replied. “ 'Spect we still got that many, an' lot fewer men. Aye, they be good for a forced march, an' go double all right.”

“Good,” Daren replied. He looked the man in the eyes. “I won't lead you, sir. But I
will
put you in a position to strike back at Ancar. Here's what we'll do....”

 

Enemy to the west, enemy to the south. Kero stood beside Selenay on the gentle hill they'd claimed as the spot for their stand, looked out over the sea of Ancar's men, and swore under her breath.

Selenay shook her head. “It isn't over yet, Captain,” she replied, as she fitted her helm over her head. “In fact, it isn't even begun.”

“Well, my lady,” Kero replied, as she tapped her own helm to be sure her tightly coiled braids were cushioning it properly, “I won't say it's finished, but damn if I like the look of the odds.”

“Daren may yet arrive,” the Queen pointed out, fitting her foot into the stirrup and mounting.

And the rivers may flow backward, the moon rise in the west, and Ancar find a religious vocation.
Kero said nothing, though, as she swung herself up into her own saddle. “With your permission, my lady, I'm off. You know the plan, such as it is. We'll try and cut a path for you and the Heralds, heading west.”

“No,” the Queen replied stubbornly. “Not yet. Not while there's still a chance we can win this—”

“Win!” Kero snorted. “We can't even hold them back! The scouts say there's a force of cavalry coming in from the east; if we go head-to-head with them, they'll win, their horses are fresher and there're more of them. The one chance we have to get you out is—”

“Captain!” One of the scouts came riding up, her horse lathered. “Captain, cavalry coming in, now—but they're riding double, and not all of them are wearing Ancar's colors.”

Kero swore, and turned to Selenay. “My lady, no more arguments, or I'll have the Healers knock you out and strap you to your Companion's back with my own hands. No matter what you think, you're important to Valdemar, and—”

Kero caught lighting-fast movement out of the comer of her eye, and turned with an exclamation of recognition and astonishment. A small gray shape came hurtling through the massed enemy, then through the Valdemar cavalry, frightening horses and making them rear and dance—startling Companions, and making them snort and raise their heads. It headed straight for Kero, and flung itself through the air in a tremendous leap, landing in the arms she reflexively held out to catch it.

One of Geyr's messenger-hounds. More importantly, it was the odd-looking gray-brindle Geyr had left with Daren.

“Doolie!”
Geyr hurled himself out of his saddle and stumbled toward them. The dog wriggled with happiness, its tail beating against Kero's side like a drumstick, and it finally squirmed out of her grasp to launch itself for Geyr and his lumps of suet—though not before Kero had managed to get the message cylinder off his collar.

She opened it and took out the slip of paper with shaking hands.

“We're on the way—with friends,”
it read.

“Great blessed Agnira on a polka-dot mule!” she breathed. “By the seven rings of Gabora and the rock of Teylar! Someone put that bastard up for sainthood—he's pulled off a friggin'
miracle!”

By now she was shouting, and everyone was staring at her, except for Geyr, who was crooning to his exhausted little dog.

She turned to Selenay, who had pushed her face-plate up, and was looking at her as if she had gone mad; alarmed, and a little fearful.

“That isn't Ancar's cavalry coming in from the west, my lady,” she exulted, trying very hard to keep her grin from wrapping around the back of her head and splitting it in two. “At least it isn't Ancar's cavalry now. It's Daren, and he turned ‘em. I don't know how, but the bastard turned 'em. That must be why they're riding double—that's Daren's foot up behind the cavalry-riders. I know exactly what he's doing; this is a trick we played with tokens, back when we were studying together. He'll have the cavalry come in and drop his infantry in on the southern and eastern flanks to support us, then he'll bring the cavalry in behind behind Ancar's foot, probably on the west.”

Selenay's eyes widened. “We'll have
Ancar
caught in the same trap he thought he had us in!”

Kero nodded, and pulled her visor down. “That's it, my lady. That dog isn't that much faster than a horse. He'll be in place any moment—”

“Captain!”
Shallan shouted, and Kero turned to see where she was pointing.

Fireworks, great splashes of color, fire-flowers against the blue, rising from three places. And Kero knew instantly why, because it was a trick the Skybolts had used before, when their mages were too exhausted or too busy to send signals—the mages were probably unable to approach the border, much less cross it, but physical fireworks worked just fine, and didn't care about any ‘guardians,“ magic or otherwise. Southeast, due south, and southwest, the fiery fountains signaled Daren's attack on three fronts. And already there was confusion, some milling around, among the fighters within Kero's range of vision. The rest of the Skybolts knew what that meant, and let out a whoop of joy.

Kero caught Geyr's attention, and gave him a hand-signal. He dropped the dog, sent it back to the Healer's tent with a single command, and pulled his horn around from behind his back. “Prepare to charge” rang out clear and sweet against the growing noise from Ancar's troops. Selenay's buglers picked it up, and echoed the command up and down the line.

Kero waited a moment more, as the Skybolts readied themselves. A skirmish charge was not like a regulation charge, and she blessed the gods that her people and Selenay's had ample opportunities to perfect their coordination these past few weeks, for this was the engagement that would count. The Skybolts would be first in—charging the enemy line, firing as they came, only to peel off to right and left, continuing along the line, firing until they ran out of arrows or line, and coming back in a wide arc. Behind them would be the regular cavalry, lances set; Heavy cavalry first, to hit the lines and hopefully break through while they were still recovering from the hail of arrows, then the light cavalry to come up through the breech made by the heavy cavalry. Then the Skybolts would return, this time arcing their arrows high to hit behind the line of fighting, harass those enemy fighters still on their feet in the front lines, and keep the enemy from bringing foot around to engulf the cavalry.

At that point it would probably get to steel, and at that point, Kero herself would join the affray.

The fight was still uneven—but now they had a chance.

:Don't go chasing any Shadow-Lovers, you!:
said a voice in her mind.
:I don't share with anyone!:

She looked behind her; Eldan's Companion Ratha shouldered Shallan's mare aside so that he could take her place. Shallan shrugged, grinned, then made a mocking bow and backed her mare away.

:Nothing.:
She lifted her hand and signaled Geyr, who blew the charge, and behind her, at the Healer's tent, she heard the explosions of their own fireworks. Evidently someone had thought quickly enough to set off their own return signal. Whoever it was, she blessed him.

The first line of archers bore down on the lines, followed by Selenay's heavy cavalry and the Skybolts' light mixed with Heralds and Selenay's light. Dust rose in a blanket from beneath their horses' hooves, making a yellow haze over the battlefield, and making it hard to see anything. Kero counted under her breath; waiting for the archers to reappear.

At the count of one hundred, they came charging up out of the cloud, turned their horses, and prepared to charge again. Kero strung her bow, made sure the quiver at her saddle-bow was full, and spurred her horse to join them just as they made the turn.

She lost Eldan immediately as he vanished in the chaos; she trusted to Hellsbane's sure feet to keep them from going down. They sent arrows up over the solid dam of milling bodies, and hoped they wouldn't hit anything friendly.

Then it was time for sword-edge, as a running line of foot hit them from either side with a shock. Kero cut down at a pikeman trying to hook her out of her saddle; Hellsbane reared and bashed in the skull of another as he hooked her neighbor, a Valdemar regular. A sword came out of nowhere and she parried it, then kicked its owner in the teeth.

Five men converged on her; she got two, and Hellsbane got one—but one got underneath her, because the melee was so thick the mare couldn't maneuver. Kero saw it coming, the same move that had gotten one of Hellsbane's predecessors—and she could do nothing to stop it.