Rakasa inGeiro came plunging through the trees on the snow-colored stallion, guiding him with his legs. He held a sword in one hand and a knife in the other, and the stallion had his ears pinned flat, ready to bite and trample enemies. Behind Rakasa, I saw his father Naroya, and behind him other inGeiro warriors.
“Keep me safe,” Aras said tersely to me, and collapsed, boneless and limp, the sword falling from his hand.
What we might have lost in the moments he was forced to fight for us and for himself, I could not begin to guess. I threw the furs back over him, pushed him into the shelter of the leaning spruce, and put myself in front of him. I had a sword now, and I lunged toward the man who came at me, forcing him back. I let my arm drop as I recovered, and the man took advantage of what he thought was a mistake to come in with a killing stroke, and I surprised him by catching his sword with mine. I jerked his weapon out of his hand, and cut across his belly, and he fell.
Rakasa threw his knife at a bowman, so the man flinched and forgot he had Keyova at his back, and Naroya killed the last of our opponents with three fast arrows, and then at last we seemed to be done with fighting for at least a little. Bara had a cut across the chest, but he was on his feet, snapping at Rakasa, who was trying to make him sit down so he could tend the cut. Many men were dead around us. Most were Ugaro warriors who had been enslaved, but also four of us, including young Tyo, who had been so brave that he had let Aras put sorcery into his mind so he could help rescue me. Keyova knelt by his brother’s body, stricken and silent. Such things happen in war, but it is never easy for a man to see his brother die, or carry that word to their father. Or worse, their mother.
“I will make that gods-forsaken sorcerer die every death,” my father said grimly, breathing hard, looking at Keyova and at Tyo’s body.
“I would be satisfied if he dies one death,” Naroya said, equally grim. “But I do not know how to make that happen. Why did we make those Lau come out from behind their palisade? True, we could not touch them there. But this is not the kind of battle we can win.”
Out on the open slope, the Lau were still coming, still in their formations. Naroya was right: everything we had done to make them leave their fortified camp, and still they were not vulnerable enough. I could not see how Aras had expected that we could do anything but harass them and die.
“Look!” said Rakasa suddenly, his voice stunned. Everyone turned quickly to look.
Up from the south came all the Lau in the world, their horses at a dead gallop, banners floating above them. The ones in front carried the long, heavy lances they use to break a formation.
Lorellan’s formations wavered and then steadied, the sharp calls of the officers coming clearly to where we stood watching.
Unlike our ponies, Lau horses will run into a wall of spears; they are bred for it and trained for it, but even so, they will only do it once. If the formation did not break on the first charge, they would not be able to try again. Also, the horses were galloping uphill, and they had already galloped a long way. I could see their red nostrils and the foam on their necks even from this distance. The Lau breed brave horses, but within Lorellan’s formation, the men in front set the butts of their spears against the ground and stood fast. The bowmen slung their bows and leaned against the men in front, bracing the line where the blow would come.
Then the captive Ugaro warriors flung themselves against that line from behind, and it began to break.
Some of the Ugaro, weaponless as they were, died at once, but not many. Those who had been enslaved were not there to strike against their own people; they were here, dead in the snow around us. I had known that, but I had not realized what it meant. Lorellan ought to have tightened his leashes on the other captives; he should have forced them down, but plainly something had broken his power over them. Plainly Aras had broken his power over them. Now they forced the Lau to turn to defend themselves even as the charge bore down.
Then the inKera warriors all began to fling themselves down on the ground. Naroya hissed between his teeth in shocked disapproval.
“No,” said my father. “That is not cowardice. Those are brave warriors and bring honor to their tribes.”
I did not understand at once. But then as the charge struck, I saw how those warriors tucked themselves low against the beaten snow, their arms over their heads. Most Lau horses are easy-tempered, and no horse likes bad footing, and their riders were shouting, urging them to jump. Many of the horses did jump the men who had fallen down before them.
Lorellan’s second formation was pressing forward. That formation had opened to let what remained of the first through, and the soldiers who had not been killed in that first charge turned again to reinforce the second formation.
“Those Lau are not entirely without courage,” my father said grudgingly. “But those who are our allies cannot charge like that again. Not uphill, on spent horses, with no distance to gather speed.”
“If they did, that other formation would not break,” Naroya agreed. “They have not left themselves vulnerable from the rear.”
I nodded. They were both right.
“Look! Some of the captive warriors still live,” Rakasa observed, pleased. A pause had come, as sometimes happens in battle. The remaining warriors, no longer captives, were trying to get off the open ground. Other Ugaro warriors ran out of the forest to help them get the wounded to better cover beneath the trees.
By this time, the Sun had made his way down toward the horizon. As she had lingered in the sky far into the morning, the Moon now stepped early into the sky to join the Sun. She stood translucent in a sky that glimmered now with the deep, soft light of approaching evening.
The Lau on both sides were collecting themselves into decent order. The banners that snapped in the cold wind were red, with a yellow sun. I said, because perhaps the other men might not know, “That is the king’s banner. The king of the summer country.”
“So,” said my father, acknowledging this.
Even after what had happened, our enemy’s position was strong: he held the high ground. But I could not imagine how he could recover now. His king knew Lorellan was his enemy; and many more men rode under the banner of the Sun. Long, clear horn notes sounded. I did not know the signals, but the music of those horns made my skin tighten and shiver.
The lines of the summer king’s army shifted and gathered and began to move, slowly now. The last of the Sun’s light flashed on the points of their spears. They were walking slowly, but gathering speed. As they came to fallen Ugaro or Lau, they stepped over them without pausing. When they met Lorellan’s men, I did not know what would happen. The summer king’s Lau were more numerous, but they would have to walk up almost the full length of that hill to engage, and then they would have to fight uphill against enemies armed and shielded as they were. I thought the Lau might well struggle on that hill all night, if they were too stubborn to break off. At least fighting might keep them warm.
Then Aras made a sound as though he had been struck. Everyone looked, and I knelt beside him, but of course I could not see anything wrong. It was plain to me that Aras was meeting some sorcerous attack now, an attack none of us could help him win. His face was tight with effort or pain. His eyes opened, but his gaze did not focus on me or on anything I could see.
My father hissed. I turned, and discovered that half the summer king’s soldiers had turned against the other half. They were fighting one another, and Lorellan’s men were advancing down the hill toward them. The horns called out again and again, but the summer king’s soldiers did not draw back from their mad battle against their own people. I could hear them shouting, and screaming. One after another, the horns were falling silent.
My father hissed again, but I was not even surprised. I had not realized it before, but now I discovered that I had always felt in my heart that Lorellan would win. Aras was losing his part of the battle, or he had lost it. The strain showed on his face. I could not see what he was doing, but the effort
of it was plain. He had always said Lorellan was the stronger of them in sorcery.
Lorellan was there, high on the hill, shielded from any attack by the men he had made his slaves. He was advancing slowly, but he would not stop, and before him his enemies tore at one another because he had made them his fools.
In the forest, Ugaro warriors began to raise their voices, singing like wolves, but we had seen plainly, we had always known, that Ugaro were not going to break the Lau. In not very long, I thought he would take these new Lau as his slaves as well—those that survived. Some of the fighting was easing now, but not in a way that promised anything good.
It was very much like all the worst stories my people had told about sorcerers. I wanted to shake Aras, order him to stop our enemy, but if anything would have been more useless and probably more harmful, I could not imagine what it could be. I looked up instead, at the luminous sky and the lowering Sun and the translucent Moon. She rested near the horizon, round and beautiful and serene, untouched by the struggles of men. We could pray to her, but not for victory in battle. The Moon is not a warrior, and she understands women better than men.
Then I thought again. I knelt by Aras, set my hand against his cheek, turned his face to mine, and said very quietly, “We may die, but he need not win. Aras. We may not be able to win victory, but we need not be defeated. Can you hear me? Can you tell the inKera women the thing that is in my mind?”
He opened his eyes. His gaze locked with mine. He said, “I don’t know them well enough to find them now,” and then he closed his eyes again. I closed mine as well, in despair.
Then a single voice rose, far away, but so high and pure the sound of it came clearly. I knew that voice. Somewhere in the forest below, my sister sang to the Moon in a voice like the voice of one of her children the stars; like the voice of one of the wolves who are also her children and honor her as we do; like the voice of the high wind that cuts across the high, sharp stone of the Knife. It was not a warrior’s song. It was a song that asked not for courage nor for honor nor for victory, but for peace.
The breeze died. High above, I could hear the air become still and clear as ice. I could feel it start to fall.
Out in the open country, some of the Lau suddenly flung themselves onto their tall horses and fled south, their brave horses leaping instantly into a terrible pace that might carry them out from under the falling cold, if it did not break their hearts. Other Lau staggered where they stood and stood bewildered, trying to understand where they were and why they had been fighting their companions.
Above, near the crest of the hill, I saw Lorellan clearly at last. He had abandoned his people. He was on his black horse, the animal stretching out into a gallop down the long slope. I wished someone might shoot him, I wished I had a bow and was near enough to shoot him myself, I longed to be standing in his way with a sword in my hands and my brother and my father at my back, ready to cut the legs out from under that fine horse of his and then cut the sorcerer to pieces before he hit the ground ... it was impossible. If he could get clear, then he would; there was no time for anyone to stop him. The fengol was dropping fast, very much faster than I had ever felt it come before. The clear, pure voice of my sister carved the stunning, crystalline cold into long, smooth phrases of song.
Though I knew it could not make enough difference to matter, I dropped down to cover Aras with my body, pressing him into the deep snow, putting my back to the falling cold. Someone dropped down on top of me, and someone else flung a cloud of snow over us, and someone said furiously, “Get to shelter yourself!” I could not even pray the fengol might not drop so fast. I covered my face with my arms and prayed for peace.
The soft hammer came down. It kissed the earth. I held my breath. I had forgotten to warn Aras to hold his breath. I thought very hard that he should not breathe, even though his furs and my body should protect him for a moment and then nothing would protect him and it would not matter whether he breathed or not. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, but the peace of the fengol came into my heart and even though I knew we would freeze and die, I was not afraid . . .
. . . it lifted as fast as it had fallen. The fengol never lifts so fast. But this time the gods raised up their hammer almost before it had touched the earth. I felt it rise, and I was still alive. I could hardly believe any of us were still alive, but my father’s weight came off me as he got to his feet. He shook the snow away, reaching down his hand to me. I let him pull me to my feet and looked at him carefully, but he seemed well enough, though from the cautious way he stretched, I knew the cold had struck against his back deeply enough to bruise.
All around, everyone else was getting up as well. Naroya’s coat was missing. He had thrown it over Bara and his son, who had sheltered on the windward side of a fir where the snow had drifted deep. Naroya had been cold-struck at least as hard as my father; I could see the bruising on his arms where he had covered his face with them to take the stroke of cold where it might do less harm. Now Rakasa gave the coat back to him, frowning, but unable to shout at him for taking the greater risk on himself because a young man cannot shout at his father and a young warrior cannot shout at his warleader. I knew exactly how he felt.
A Lau who took such damage from the cold ... I turned fast, but Aras was already putting back the furs, moving slowly to get up.
Taking his hand, I lifted him to his feet, then steadied him when he staggered. I was worried, but he closed his hand on my arm and managed to straighten. The peace of the fengol lingered in his face, but he looked very, very tired. So far as I could see, there was no bruising from the cold that had fallen across us, but I was not entirely certain what such damage might look like on a Lau.
I asked him, “Aras, are you well?” I did not dare ask him anything else.
He turned his head to look into my face. His voice came weary and slow, but every word certain. “Lorellan is dead. He died when the cold came down.” He added as an afterthought, “I’m perfectly all right, Ryo. Even a Lau can’t freeze that fast through so many layers of fur and Ugaro.”
I sat down in the snow and leaned against the spruce that had sheltered us, too spent to manage another word. Too spent to think. But the peace of the fengol seemed once again to come into my heart, and spread from the center of my body to my fingertips, and beyond, outward into the wintry forest.
-31-
We walked slowly down from the place we had sheltered and out onto the open land. Lau and their horses lay everywhere, stiff and glittering with frost. I could never have counted so many. It was impossible to distinguish now between the ones who had fought for Lorellan and the ones who had fought for the summer king. The bodies of Ugaro warriors lay here and there as well, but my people had mostly died of wounds, not of the fengol cold. Their blood had frozen into shining beads and pools on the snow.
“I tried to tell them to run,” Aras said wearily. “Those Lorellan had in his grip couldn’t hear me. But some of my people listened.” He nodded toward men who were now coming cautiously out onto the packed snow, walking in quiet awe among the many dead. Most of them were Ugaro warriors, but there were surprisingly many Lau as well.
Aras followed my gaze toward the mingled Lau and Ugaro. “Yes, I asked your people to shelter them, any Lau who threw down his weapons and asked for help. I begged my people to throw down their weapons and ask. There was so little time. I’m amazed so many survived.” He drew a slow breath and let it out. “Some of my people managed to get out of range, thankfully. The fengol struck only here.”
I looked at him, but I said nothing.
We went on, still slowly, until we found Lorellan.
He had not gotten nearly far enough to escape the cold. The fengol had come first to the high places, as it will, and he had been only halfway down the slope when it took him. On his horse, he had been even more exposed than a man on the ground. The stallion had been galloping so fast and Lorellan had fallen so hard that his frozen body had shattered when it struck the groun
d. His head lay many paces from where the horse had fallen. His face was much broken, but I recognized him. I had not realized before how he did not look like any other Lau to me. I should have been glad to find his head, I was glad of it, but I could not bear to touch it.
My father picked it up and looked at it in silence. Then he said to Aras, “You can take it back to your people. We will not want it here in our country. If the decision were mine, I would crush the skull to grit and scatter the grit in living water. But no doubt your people have your own customs.”
“Yes,” said Aras. “Thank you. It should go to my king.” But he did not reach to take it. I could not tell whether he felt the same revulsion I did. He glanced at me. Then he looked past me and smiled. “Ah, Lucas! I thank the gods.”
Lucas Samaura was walking toward us, and my brother Garoyo. I was very glad to see him well and went to him so I could make certain he had not been hurt. His arms were bruised from the cold, and probably his back and shoulders as well, but other than that, he was perfectly well. “Etta?” I asked him.
He smiled at me, gripping my arms and pushing me back so that he could look at me in turn. “Recovering,” he told me. “Her mind is still in the sky.”
I nodded. Our sister had never truly sung before, not like that. I was not surprised she had not yet recovered. “You found our sorcerer’s nephew. The Lau were polite?”
This time Garoyo laughed. “They behaved like civilized people, Ryo—eventually. Going among them in their own country was an interesting experience.”
I smiled. “It is easier for a person who speaks their language.”
Tuyo Page 41
