And the drawbridge thumped down. A double handful of woodsrunners in bronze armor stormed forth to put up the best fight they could. Gerin admired their gallantry even as his men thundered toward them. Fighting afoot against chariotry was like trying to spoon up sand with a sieve. The Elabonians rattled by, pouring arrows into their foes, and the woodsrunners could do little but stand and suffer.
They had one moment of triumph: an archer of theirs hit an oncoming horse in the neck. The beast crashed to the ground, dragging down its harnessmate and overturning the car the two horses pulled. Men tumbled over the ground like broken dolls. The three or four Trokmoi still standing raised a defiant cheer. Soon they were dead.
Of the Elabonians in the wrecked chariot, one also lay dead, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Another writhed and groaned with a broken leg and other injuries besides. The third, Parol Chickpea, was on his feet and hardly limping. “By all the gods, I’m the luckiest man alive!” he cried.
Gerin was not inclined to argue with him, but said, “Whether it’s so or not, don’t boast of it. If you tempt the divine powers to take away what they’ve given, they’re too apt to yield to that temptation.”
He did what he could for the warrior with the broken leg, splinting it between two trimmed saplings. The fellow had to be tied aboard a chariot after that, though, which ruined the car’s efficiency and made him cry out at every bump and pothole in the road—and the road seemed nothing but bumps and potholes.
“I should have brought a wagon to carry the wounded,” the Fox said as they made camp that evening in the heart of the land Adiatunnus had seized. “I didn’t want anything to slow us down, but here we are slowed down anyhow by all the fighting we’ve done—and we haven’t really come to grips with Adiatunnus yet.”
“Expecting a plan to run just as you make it asks a lot of the gods,” Van said.
“That’s so.” Gerin fretted despite the admission. He always expected his plans to work perfectly; if they failed, that reflected unfavorably on him, since he had formed them. Life being as it was, few of them came to pass exactly as designed, which left him plenty for which to reproach himself.
Pale Nothos, nearly full, was the only moon in the sky: Math was just past new, and too close to the sun to be seen, while Tiwaz was a waning crescent and ruddy Elleb halfway between full and third quarter. It had been about there in its wanderings through the heavens when the Fox and his men slew the first monster down in Bevon’s holdings, though rain clouds kept him from seeing it then.
Thinking of that monster made him think of the monsters that had joined Adiatunnus. He did not expect the Trokmoi themselves to sally forth against his men at night. He still hoped, though he didn’t really believe, Adiatunnus hadn’t yet learned of his attack. Even if the woodsrunners did know of it, sending men out by night was not something to be undertaken lightly.
But the monsters were something else again. He’d already seen that the night ghosts held no terror for them. They might well try to fall on his warriors when they had them at a disadvantage.
That made him double the watchstanders he’d placed out away from the main campfires. The men he’d hauled from their blankets grumbled. “Go back to sleep, then,” he snapped. “If you’d rather be well rested and dead than sleepy and alive, how could I possibly presume to argue with you?” Stung by sarcasm, the newly drafted sentries went out to take their places.
Sure enough, monsters did prowl the woods and fields; their yowls and screams woke the Fox several times before midnight came. He’d grab for sword, shield, and helmet, realize the creatures were not close by, wriggle around till he was comfortable once more, and go back to sleep.
Then he heard screams that came not only from the monsters’ throats but also from those of his own men. He snatched up his weapons and sprang to his feet. The night was well along; Elleb had climbed halfway from the eastern horizon to the meridian. But Gerin’s eyes were not on the reddish moon.
Its light, that of Nothos, and the crimson glow of the embers showed two of his sentry parties locked in battle with the monsters, and more of the creatures running toward the warriors slowly rousing themselves round the fire.
Gerin shouted to distract a monster from an Elabonian who still lay on the ground snoring. The Fox envied the man’s ability to sleep through anything, but wished he hadn’t put it on display at that exact moment.
The monster swerved from the sleeping warrior and rushed at Gerin. Moonlight glinted from its teeth. Its clawed hands were outstretched to rend and tear. He was acutely aware of having only helm and shield; cool night air blew through his linen shirt and wool trousers, reminding him of what the monster’s teeth and claws would do to flesh so nearly naked.
Instead of slashing, he thrust at the creature, to keep the full length of arm and sword between it and him. It spitted itself on the point of the bronze blade. He twisted the sword in the wound, then yanked it free. The monster screamed again, this time with the note of shocked surprise he’d heard so often from wounded men.
As it staggered, he thrust again, this time taking it right in the throat. Blood fountained, black in the light of the moons. The monster stumbled, fell, and did not rise again.
The Fox ran to the next closest fight he could find. He stabbed a monster in the back. It shrieked and whirled to face him, whereupon the trooper it had been fighting gave it a sword stroke almost identical to the one Gerin had used.
Though the monsters were individually more than a match for unarmored men, they had little notion of fighting save by and for themselves. That let the Elabonians slowly gain the upper hand on their attackers. And, like any beasts of prey, the monsters were not enthusiastic about taking on foes who fought back hard. They finally fled into the forest, still screaming in fury and hate.
“Throw some wood on the fire,” Gerin said. “Let’s see what needs doing here and do it.”
As the flames leaped higher, the warriors went around finishing off monsters too badly hurt to run or even crawl away. Several men were also down for good. Gerin, Rihwin, and a couple of others who knew something of leechcraft did what they could for men who had been bitten or clawed.
“Lucky they didn’t go for the horses,” Van said, holding out a gashed arm to be bound up. “That would have spilled the perfume into the soup.”
“Wouldn’t it?” Gerin said. “As is, we’ll have some cars with two men in them rather than three. But you’re right; it could have been worse.”
“It could that,” the outlander said; every once in a while, a Trokmê turn of phrase cropped up in his speech. “Me, I’m just as glad I won’t be clumping along on foot when Adiatunnus and his jolly lads come after us in their chariots. That’ll be tomorrow, unless Adiatunnus is blinder than I think.”
“You’re right there, too,” the Fox said. “We could have run into them yesterday, easy as not I’d hoped we would, as a matter of fact. All these little fights leave us weaker for the big one ahead.”
Van nodded, but said, “We’ve hurt them worse’n they’ve done to us, though.”
“I console myself with that thought,” Gerin answered, “but drop me into the hottest hell if I know who can better afford the hurt, Adiatunnus or me. He brought a lot of Trokmoi south over the Niffet with him, the whoreson, and these monsters only add to his strength.”
“We’ll find out come the day,” Van said, more cheerfully than Gerin could have managed. “For me, though, the only I thing I want to manage is some more sleep.” He set down spear and shield, doffed his helm, wrapped himself in his blanket, and was snoring again while the Fox still stared indignantly.
Gerin could not put the desperate fight out of his mind so easily, nor could most of his men. Some still groaned from their wounds, while others sat around the fire and chatted in low voices about what they’d just been through.
The eastern sky turned gray, then pink, then gold. Tiwaz’s thin crescent almost vanished against the growing light of the background against whic
h it shone. The sun spilled its bright rays over the land. The Fox’s men scratched shallow graves for their comrades the monsters had slain, then covered them over with stones to try to keep the creatures or other scavengers from molesting their remains. The corpses of the monsters, now stiff in death, they let lie where they had fallen.
Drivers harnessed chariots. “Let’s get going,” Gerin said. “What we do today tells how much this strike is worth.”
The first peasant village through which they rolled was empty and deserted. Gerin thought nothing of that till his warriors had already passed the hamlet. Then he realized word of their coming had got ahead of them. If the peasants knew invaders were loose in Adiatunnus’ lands, the Trokmoi would know, too.
“Well, we didn’t really think we could keep it a secret this long,” Van answered when Gerin said that aloud. The outlander checked his shield and weapons to make sure he could get at them in an instant. Gerin told Raffo to slow the pace. When the driver obeyed and the chariots behind came up close enough, he shouted the warning back to them. Then he thumped Raffo on the shoulder. His chariot rejoined Drago’s in the lead.
Cattle, sheep, and a couple of horses grazed on a broad stretch of meadow. They looked up in mild surprise—and the herders with them in dismay—when Elabonian chariots began rolling out. The herdsmen fled for the woods, but they were a long way away.
“Shall we go after ’em?” Raffo asked. “By their red locks, they’re woodsrunners.”
“No, let ’em run,” Gerin said. “They look like men who hardly have their breeches to call their own; they’re no danger to us.”
Van pointed across the meadow. More chariots, these drawn by shaggy ponies and painted with bright spirals and jagged fylfots, came rattling out of the woods there. The men in them were pale-skinned and light-haired, like the herders. Bronze shone ruddy in the morning sun. “You want folk dangerous to us, Fox, I think you’ve found them,” Van said.
Before Gerin could so much as nod, Drago the Bear called from the other chariot: “What do we do now, lord?”
“Pull over to one side, begin to form line of battle, and clear the roadway so the cars behind us can deploy,” Gerin answered. Raffo, who knew his mind well, already had the chariot in motion. Drago’s driver conformed to his movements.
To Van, Gerin murmured, “Now we see how much Adiatunnus has learned from a few years of fighting against Elabonians.”
“Aye, if he’s brought his own army in a great roaring mass, Trokmê style, he’ll swarm down on us before our friends get here,” the outlander said. “Let’s hope he’s set out scouts the way we have, and that they’re waiting for their main body, too.” He chuckled. “The fighting trick’ll work against him this time, not for.”
Much to Gerin’s relief, the Trokmoi across the meadow didn’t whip their horses into a wild charge. Instead, they too sidled out onto the grass almost crab fashion, as if wondering how many cars the Fox had with him and how soon those cars would arrive.
Gerin was wondering the same thing about the woodsrunners. Adiatunnus must have done a fine job of absorbing Elabonian military doctrine, for his supporters began coming out of the woods at about the same time as those of the Fox. The two lines of chariots stretched about to equal length on the meadow. Monsters stood between the cars of Adiatunnus’ battle line. Gerin wondered whether that would do the Trokmê more good than harm; the ponies that pulled the chariots seemed nervous of these fierce new allies.
Adiatunnus cupped his hands and bellowed like a bull. Gerin knew that voice. At the same moment, Gerin raised his arm and then brought it down to point toward the Trokmê line. Drivers on both sides whipped their teams forward.
Chariot battles were generally fluid as quicksilver, and this one proved no exception. The herds in the broad field made teams swing wide to avoid them. The pounding of the horses’ hooves, the rattle and thump of the cars, and warriors’ hoarse, excited shouts panicked the sheep and cattle and made them run wild, spreading more confusion still.
Gerin plucked an arrow from his quiver, nocked, and let fly at Adiatunnus: if the chieftain fell, that would make his followers easier meat. Shooting from the jouncing platform of a chariot car—indeed, standing in the car without hanging on to the rail to keep from being pitched out on your head—was anything but easy, though endless practice let him do it without wondering how he managed. He cursed when the Trokmê did not fell.
An arrow hissed by his own ear; the woodsrunners were aiming at him, too. Here and there, men on both sides pitched out of chariots to sprawl in the thick green grass. Horses went down, too, and often made the cars they drew founder with them. Sometimes warriors would come up from those mishaps unhurt, and go on to fight as foot soldiers.
A monster loped toward Gerin’s chariot. The creature was almost as fast as the horses, and much more agile. Unlike some the Fox had seen, it carried no weapons. Even so, it was clever enough to attack the beasts of burden rather than the men they hauled: the horses could not fight back, and if one of them went down, the chariot was apt to overturn, too.
The Fox shot at the monster from only a few yards’ distance, and turned the air sulfurous when his arrow went wide. Van was on the wrong side of the chariot to attack the creature, and in any case could not reach it with his thrusting spear. The horses squealed and shied away from the monster as it came up on them.
Before Gerin could draw another arrow, Raffo lashed the monster across its outstretched arms with his whip. The thing screeched. The driver hit it again, craack!, this time across its muzzle, just missing one eye. The monster clapped a hand to the wound and fled.
Along with three or four other chariots, Gerin’s overlapped the end of the Trokmê line. “Come on! We’ll roll ’em up!” he shouted with fierce joy, and led his men around the enemy’s flank. The chaos they created was marvelous to behold—and would have been more marvelous still had the woodsrunners’ line not overlapped his on the other wing. But it did, and the whole battle spun round, a mad wheel of destruction.
The Fox found himself face-to-face with Adiatunnus. The Trokmê had lost his helm somewhere in the fighting; his bald pate glowed red from exertion and sun. His eyes, though, were cold and shrewd, “Well, lord Gerin,” he said with a mocking salute, “we lie athwart your way home now, don’t we?”
“You do that,” Gerin answered in the Trokmê tongue, “but no more than we lie athwart yours.”
Fighting ebbed as the leaders parleyed. Adiatunnus scowled; perhaps he’d hoped to panic Gerin, but he’d failed. He looked over the field. “You’ve hurt us about as bad as the other way round,” he said. “Are you fain to go on, now, or shall we say enough and have done?”
Gerin gauged the field, too. The Trokmê chief had the right of it; the battle was drawn. The woodsrunners had wrecked Mannor Trout’s village, but he’d had his revenge there: he’d hurt Adiatunnus’ lands worse. Fighting till only a handful of men still stood had scant appeal to him, especially with the monsters on the loose.
“Enough—for now,” he said reluctantly, “if you can hold those—things—to a truce to let us separate.”
“That I can, though I’ll thank you for not speaking ill of my friends and allies here,” Adiatunnus said. “And ‘for now’ indeed—we’ll have at each other again, I have no doubt. Och, and when we do, I’ll be after having more in the way of friends and allies, but you, Fox—what will you do?”
Gerin pondered that question as the rival forces warily passed through each other. He was still pondering it when he crossed back over the border into his own holding, and when he came home to Fox Keep. Ponder as he would, though, he found no answer that satisfied him.
VIII
“My poor ear,” Rihwin moaned for what had to be the five hundredth time. Gerin prided himself on being a patient man, but when his patience snapped, it snapped spectacularly.
“By all the gods, I’m sick to death of listening to your whining,” he growled, and grabbed Rihwin. The southerner tried to twis
t free, but Gerin was the best wrestler in the northlands. He twisted one of Rihwin’s arms behind his back and started frog-marching him toward the shack where he worked his magics.
“What are you doing?” Rihwin yelped.
“I am going to fix that ear of yours, one way or the other,” the Fox said. Rihwin hadn’t struggled hard till then, but he started to. Gerin twisted his arm up a little higher. Rihwin gasped as he felt his shoulder joint creak.
Inside the shack, Gerin slammed him down onto the one rickety chair in front of the table where he labored at his sorcery. He’d managed to overawe Rihwin, which wasn’t easy. The southerner made no effort to bolt. In a small voice, he repeated, “What are you doing?”
“What I said I’d do: use the law of similarity to build that ear of yours back to where it’s the same as the other one. The spell should be simplicity itself: what could possibly go wrong?”
Now Rihwin did try to rise. “I’d really rather not find out. Given the choice between a half-trained wizard—which, you must admit, is a charitable description of your talents—and keeping silent about my mutilation, I opt without hesitation for silence.”
Gerin slammed him down again. “You’ve said that before, over and over. You’ve gone back on your word, too, over and over. Now, don’t be a donkey—just sit there and I’ll set you right in no time. Unless you’d rather I tried that operation you described—”
“No,” Rihwin said hastily. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” He had the look of a man sitting down to gamble against a fellow notorious for using loaded dice.
“I know what I have to do,” Gerin answered, which was not quite an affirmative. He flipped through the vellum pages of a codex until he came to a cantrip which was a general application of the law of similarity. Then he paused a while in thought. Suddenly he smacked one fist into the other palm. “The very thing!” he exclaimed. He turned to Rihwin. “I’m going out to find something to tailor the spell to your very problem. You’d better be here when I get back.”
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