Owlflight

by Mercedes Lackey

  Snowfire looked both guilty and relieved. “Far too many for us to take in direct confrontation,” he acknowledged. “Yet—I do not know how we are to free your people, otherwise.”

  “But what—what if you baited a big trap for them?” Darian asked. “What if you made a big source of magic, made it show up all of a sudden? Wouldn’t the mage send out men, maybe a lot of them, to try and take it over?”

  “Or loot it,” Wintersky suggested, his sleepy eyes brightening. “If you moved it around a little, he might get the idea it’s portable and send his fighters to loot it for him. He might think it was an artifact someone had found.”

  “And I know traps, lots of traps,” Darian offered in eager triumph, holding out one hand as if he was offering his knowledge as a gift. “My parents and I, that’s what we did. A lot of the animals we trapped were as big as humans, or bigger. We could take a lot of the enemy out with traps, without ever needing to send anybody closer than bowshot. You set a trap that blocks them from going back the way they came, then you make sure that they can’t get back without having to go through all your other traps. That’s called a channeling trap. Maybe we could even fix things up so that the enemy has to divide up into small groups. Why, if we did that, we could just have one bowman up in a tree near each trap, and what the trap didn’t take care of, he could!”

  Snowfire looked at him, and beamed with the most wonderful expression Darian had ever seen.

  Respect.

  And what was more, others among the Hawkbrothers, who had overheard the conversation, were looking at him in the same way—and those who had been too engrossed in their own conversation to hear were whispering questions to those who had. In another few moments, they were all looking at him that way, and silence replaced the murmur of voices in the clearing.

  “Just how many traps do you mean, when you say lots of traps, Dar’ian?” asked Rainwind, a scout only a little older than most of the rest. He stood up and joined Snowfire, a man who was a little more weathered, a little shorter, and a little stockier than Darian’s mentor. “We know some, obviously, but trapping is not the way we usually deal with things. We are more direct and, to be honest, more accustomed to having a superior force. What traps we do use are for snaring game, not stopping soldiers—” He shrugged.

  Darian blinked, and made a quick mental survey of the traps he and his parents had used for large, dangerous, clever animals. “I know by heart maybe six or eight major different kinds that would work against a man—or several men at a time,” he said finally. “Maybe more; we might be able to adapt others I know by disguising them, or we could combine some. I grew up making traps in this part of the Pelagiris. Some of what we caught were probably smarter than these barbarians.”

  Someone whistled through his teeth with admiration.

  “So you’d already know how to adapt the designs to use the local cover!” Snowfire exclaimed, his whole body taking on a new animation.

  Darian nodded. “Entirely using found materials, too,” he said earnestly. “We only carried basic tools with us when we went out trapping, and adapted what we found at the different locations. The most we ever carried were some metal triggering devices and those were mostly just time savers. I can show you some examples of the traps I know if you can stand to watch. I’m not just talking about different kinds of pit-traps. I know how to set a pit-trap to get a lot of people instead of just one or two, I know of snares and drop-nets that will get more than one, a couple kinds of channeling-traps, deadfalls with wood, deadfalls with rock, ankle-traps, leg-breakers, foot-piercers—” He began rattling off the kinds of traps that could be set in such a way that wary enemy soldiers wouldn’t see them until it was far too late, and the eyes of his listeners either widened or narrowed according to the nature of the listener. The others rose to stand around him, until once again he was the center of a circle of listeners. “Trapping is just a different kind of hunting. My father said that it was hunting while absent, using the ultimate in disguise—not actually being there!”

  “If we can do this—if we could lure a good number of their people out—” Snowfire murmured to himself, as his eyes widened.

  “If you can lure them out and we can channel them past the bluff, or through a couple of other places where there’s only one way to go, I can show you where and how to rig a deadfall that will block their way back!” Darian assured him. “There is one place where the river is very deep and dangerous and the path beside it is narrow, and if you can weaken one of the overhangs, we can drop a large piece of the bluff just behind them at that point. Then they’ll have to go the way we channel them.”

  “And that will be a gauntlet of further traps.” Snowfire’s lips thinned with satisfaction. “It is cruel, perhaps, but have they not earned such an ordeal?”

  “Yes!” Darian responded fiercely. Nodding heads showed that the others agreed with him.

  “Show us!” demanded one of the others; paper and a charcoal stick appeared when Rainwind left the group and returned with them in his hands, and Snowfire conjured a mage-light to give Darian brighter and steadier illumination than firelight. Darian hunched over the first sheet, drawing a map.

  “Here, here’s the village, and here’s the bluff, and here’s where the bluff goes up to the riverbed; far enough from the village that they just can’t call for help.” He sketched in the landmarks with a careful hand. “Now, if we rig a deadfall here, when it’s triggered, it’ll completely block the way back. It’s all sandstone through there; too dangerous to climb the rockpile, or at least that’s what they’ll think. Their only choice will be to climb the cliff, swim the river, or keep going.”

  “What’s to stop them from swimming the river?” Wintersky asked. “Some of them did that when they attacked your village and the bridge burned.”

  “Us,” said Ayshen, as he strolled into the firelight, his sharp teeth set in a grim smile. He had one of his enormous cooking knives in one hand. “Forgive me, Snowfire, but this may be the first time in my memory that there has been a combat where hertasi might be of service. We can swim like fish—how do you think we catch them, so big and so fresh?—and any clumsy human foolish enough to be in the same water with us will not live to learn his mistake.”

  “Or if he does, it will not be for long,” added another hertasi in his shadow, who then ducked shyly out of sight.

  “If they stay out of sight, the enemy won’t even know what’s attacking the swimmers,” Rainwind pointed out. “They’ve never been here before, for all they know, that part of the river could be inhabited by gigantic, man-killing Changed fish. They’ll have no reason to think of traps at that point.”

  : I fancy we can be of service in the woods.: Tyrsell was nowhere in sight, but it was obvious he had been listening to the Council talk. :Exactly how, I am not yet sure, but certainly we will be useful in some capacity. I will have to see the territory, first.:

  “If nothing else, perhaps the dyheli could drive the enemy into further traps,” offered Daystorm, a female scout. “It would be useful to have them in a panic, fleeing from the sound of many hooves. And again—it would just look like animals. It seems to me—”

  “Go on,” Snowfire urged, when the other hesitated.

  “Well,” she said. “It seems to me that we ought to keep things looking like it’s accident or Changed animals as long as possible. If we do that, they won’t actually be looking for traps for a while.”

  “Eventually—” Snowfire began.

  “Oh, eventually, a trap will look like a trap, of course,” she admitted. “But it would be very useful to have them thinking that fate—or the Forest—has suddenly turned against them.”

  “And therrre isss, of courrrssse, myssself,” Kel put in gravely, sounding quite calm—but the pinning of his eyes gave away his excitement. His wings were extended a little, as if he wanted badly to be in the air at this very moment.

  “Not if they have bows,” Snowfire replied sternly. “You are hardly arro
w-proof. And in the air you are a very large target, especially in the day. So was Skandranon.”

  Kel’s only reply was a snort, but it was obvious that Snowfire was going to stand firm. “I am the scout-leader, and you are tacitly working under my command, Kel,” he reminded the gryphon. He didn’t add anything else, but Kel sighed.

  “Verrry well,” the gryphon said, giving in. “Commanderrr.”

  “We have an advantage,” Snowfire continued. “Many of us are Master-level mages; we can help create these traps with magic at a low enough level that working this magic will not immediately attract the attention of the enemy, especially if we shield what we are doing. So we can work quickly, much more quickly than if we did this with hands alone.”

  Darian studied his crude map. “I wish we could get them all with a single deadfall here,” he muttered, and looked up hopefully. “Could you bring down that much rock?”

  Snowfire sighed. “Before the Storms, it would have been possible, with a waiting crack-spell, which would create a split at an angle that would cause a slide, when it was triggered. Now—no. That kind of spell, on that scale, wouldn’t remain stable long enough with the way mage-energy is in flux—it depends upon tension through its length. We will probably be able to catch the tailmost rank with what crack-spells we can set, but no more.” Now the Hawkbrother joined Darian in close examination of the map. “It might even be worthwhile to do nothing more than block their way. As Daystorm pointed out, so long as they think the fall of rock is accidental, they will simply carry on with their original mission, and worry about finding a new way back when they’ve obtained what they were sent after. We don’t want them swimming the river, of course, but other than that, we could leave them alone for a while. We could lead them quite a merry chase before we start eliminating them with traps and tricks.”

  Kel laughed, a deep, rumble. “In fact, my frrriendsss, we could let them marrrch unhinderrred and make a night-camp—and rrremove theirrr sssentrrriesss one by one. Sssilently, if posssible.” He examined his talons critically, and held them up, shining redly in the firelight. “Think of the consssterrrnation when the next watch came up, but the onesss to be rrrelieved werrre—poof! Gone!”

  Snowfire looked up at him sharply, with one brow raised. “You,” he said severely, “are an evil creature.”

  :I like it,: Tyrsell countered. :That would be a place where we could be useful. It is no difficult thing for one of us to come upon a man silently and unseen.:

  “I like it, too,” seconded Ayshen. “We might be able to help there, if we aren’t too tired from swimming. Three or four of us could swarm a sentry, and he’d never hear or see us coming.”

  “If we did that,” Windshadow pointed out. “If we triggered the deadfall, set up the traps, and left the harrying to our hertasi and dyheli allies, we could go in that same night and get the villagers out. Even if the barbarians have a way to get messages back and forth, it won’t do them any good. The leader in the village is going to be preoccupied with clearing the blockage, not watching his back, and the leader in the expedition is going to be busy with shadow-fiends picking off his men one by one.”

  “That would also be dividing our forces,” Snowfire objected, then sighed, and scratched his head. “No, it wouldn’t really,” he corrected himself. “The hertasi would be of limited use in a raid on the village, and the dyheli would serve only as targets.”

  :True, and I would refuse that assignment if you were to give it to me,: Tyrsell replied calmly. :This plan plays to all our strengths. Perhaps Kel could come with us?:

  “I can go along as well,” Nightwind offered. “Tyrsell ought to command the group, but I’m not bad with a bow, you know. Kel and I could work together.”

  Snowfire looked as if he was thinking about the proposition very hard, and finally nodded. “It’s the best division of labor,” he agreed. “And the best use of the limited number of fighters we have. Dar’ian can tell us and show us what to do, and once the traps are all in place, we can set the plan in motion.” As Darian looked up at him anxiously, Snowfire patted his shoulder reassuringly. “That will take no more than half a week. Surely your friends can hold out for a few days, can’t they? I know they were being mistreated, but they weren’t in any danger of being handled brutally, were they?”

  Darian wasn’t certain, but he nodded anyway. It won’t do any good to rush in there before we’re ready, he reminded himself. A few more beatings aren’t going to make that much of a difference. Even if it does make a difference—this is better than their alternatives.

  “It’s settled, then.” Snowfire said decisively, then shook his head. “I wish there were another way, but there doesn’t seem to be.” He pointed to Wintersky and Windshadow. “You two go scout with your birds and make us some good maps of the area tomorrow; figure the best direction to herd the barbarians, and where to get them to make a camp, after we block their path behind them.”

  The Hawkbrothers nodded, and Snowfire turned his attention back to Darian. “Now,” he said. “About those traps… .”

  Hours later, hands still smudged with charcoal, Darian stumbled back to the ekele, thinking longingly of bed. He stopped just long enough to wash his hands and face before stripping off clothing that still smelled of horse, getting into a clean set of night clothes, and lying down on the pallet. He was keyed up enough that he didn’t really think he’d be able to fall asleep quickly, but he was either better at relaxing or much more tired than he thought, because he didn’t even remember closing his eyes.

  He woke as Snowfire and Wintersky came in, whispering about something, and propped himself up on one elbow to blink at them. “I’m awake,” he called softly. “Anything I should know about?”

  “We just worked out tentative placing for your traps, and ways for the hertasi to trigger them,” Snowfire told him, raising his voice to a more normal level. “I didn’t expect you to be awake, but I’m glad you are. You made all the right choices today, and you deserve credit for doing so.”

  “Right choices?” Darian repeated, puzzled.

  “Oh, you could have gone charging right into the village, thinking you could free your friends, but you didn’t,” Snowfire said, his voice muffled in the folds of his shirt as he pulled it over his head. “You stayed long enough to make detailed observations, then you came straight back here. You didn’t waste time with accusations and carrying on when you got here, you simply told us what you knew and then offered constructive suggestions. In short, Dar’ian, you behaved in every way as a man and a warrior, and I am very proud of you. We all are.”

  Darian felt his neck heating up and averted his eyes. “Ah,” he stammered, “thank you. I—I don’t want anything bad to happen to anybody, and—” He gulped, and decided to tell the rest of the truth. “The horse brought me out on the top of the bluff, not down at the edge of the village. If I’d been closer, I probably would have done something stupid. But there was no direct way down from there, and, well—that’s probably why I stopped to think.”

  “You still made the right choices.” Snowfire sat down on his pallet, blinking at him with eyes that looked as large and dark as Hweel’s. “That is an important thing for you to know.”

  “Heyla—it’s going to be an early day tomorrow, and the night is only getting shorter for all your talking,” Wintersky pointed out, a little crossly. “We do not all fly owls, here.” He was already lying on his sleeping pad, and he glared pointedly at the mage-light above Snowfire’s head.

  Snowfire chuckled, and the light blinked out. “Good night, Wintersky,” he said. “And good night, Dar’ian.”

  “Hmph,” Wintersky replied, mollified. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Darian said softly. He lowered himself back down onto his pillow, and the next thing he knew, Wintersky was shaking his shoulder, and it was morning.

  * * *

  The day wore on, filled with explanations and examples of trap placement and construction. Around him, there were th
e sounds of wood being chopped, branches split, and snippets of conversation in Tayledras. Darian caught himself feeling like he was playing, once, while he bent and notched saplings for lashing-traps. He felt a pang of guilt, since after all he was engaged in acts of war, to cause pain and even death to those who had done the same to his village.

  My village? I suppose they are, when all is counted up. They weren’t the people I would have chosen to be with, but they were better than—alternatives.

  Yet, making traps was at least something familiar, from a better time in his childhood. It brought back wistful memories of his parents.

  He sighed, thinking about them while he tied off his fourth or fifth lasher, then hacked away steadily at a branch as thick as his upper arm. Things would have been so much better if they were here with him now. His mother always seemed to know the right things to say, or how to touch in just the perfect way to put him at ease. His father was always so strong and capable, with a quick smile.

  “Dar’ian?” a timid voice asked from below a bush. Two small, pebble-scaled hands held out a cup of water from under the cover, and nothing else of the hertasi could be seen. He wiped his brow and murmured a thanks to his largely-unseen benefactor, then drank the cup dry. In a blink, after setting the cup down, it was gone, and a second hertasi voice spoke from behind another bush.

  “Dar’ian, the stakes you requested are stacked on the east side of the red boulder. We hope they will be enough. We go now to prepare the vines.”

  Then there was the slightest rustle of leaves and the sound of scuttling through underbrush, and Darian was alone again.

  Well, I’d better see how many they managed to get done. I’m getting nowhere on this branch, and my arms hurt. If we can’t have enough of these traps ready to stop the soldiers, we might only wind up injuring them enough to enrage them, not discourage them. Darian sheathed his knife and started off toward the place the hertasi had told him of. Hertasi were amazing to him—shy ghosts with astonishing speed and industriousness. What were their parents like? He found it hard to imagine them having families like his, or the Tayledras. And what about the… ?