Ariosto (31 page)

Nebbiamente sat beside the brazier in the center of the tent, saying he wished to listen to the flames. To one side, on heaps of bearskins, Lodovico addressed Falcone and Fumovisione. Though Nebbiamente said nothing, they were all aware that he heard and understood every word.

“How many would you say there are in the company?” Falcone asked when he had listened to the hideous report.

“Perhaps as many as two hundred. I did not want to come too near them for fear they would try to spear Bellimbusto, or worse, call up the forces of Anatrecacciatore to rouse the birds against me.” In the dirt between the piles of bearskins Lodovico had scratched a crude map and now he was indicating the movement had observed. “If we march tonight and a good portion of tomorrow, we should be able to reach the valley by afternoon. Fighting would be difficult, but it isn’t likely that we would be able to commence any real assault until the next morning. Perhaps these warriors of flint and frost will not want to fight in the dark any more than we will.”

“That may be an error,” Fumovisione cautioned them. “They are not men as we are, but potent beings that are not subject to the same weaknesses and laws that govern us. I fear we must assume that they will fight at any time, in any place, under any conditions, until they are broken and unable to move. We must render them immobile if we wish to vanquish them.”

There was a silence in the tent for a moment as each man grappled with the implications of Fumovisione’s warnings.

“We need catapults,” Lodovico said with a gesture of despair.

“You mean those machines that hurl rocks at walls? They are not any more use than cannon would be.” Falcone glared down at the lines drawn in the earth.

“Then siege machinery of some sort,” Lodovico protested. “There are towers that offer protection and give archers a platform from which to shoot…” He stopped. There is also Bellimbusto. I can take him up, and drop stones on the flint and frost soldiers. I am sorry that there are no petards, for a line of those explosives set up at intervals might be very useful. Most of the time they are used to blow holes in gates and walls, but the principle is the same. We could blast the unnatural things to pieces.”

“But as you say, we have no provisions to make them,” Falcone sighed, which was as great a show of emotion as he would permit himself.

“Wait,” Fumovisione said just as Lodovico was about to get to his feet. “You are too hasty. Give me a moment…” He put his first fingers together under his chin, like a particularly sagacious baby. “I may be able…”

It was at that moment that Nebbiamente spoke at last. If there are other traps, as if for game—nets, deadfalls, and the like—then it may be possible to harm them.”

“No one is going to stand still while you build a deadfall and then walk into it,” Fumovisione said contemptuously.

“No, naturally not,” Nebbiamente agreed with a vague wave of his hand. “Still, it might be possible for one group of warriors to engage these enemy troops and then fall back, with guidance, of course, and lead the troops of Anatrecacciatore into the snares we set for them.” He leaned his head back and stared up into the gloom. “It’s merely a suggestion. I am not a warrior, I am a priest. What can I do?”

Falcone was about to fling an insulting remark at Nebbiamente, then stopped and looked once more at the map Lodovico had made. “Let me see. There is a river, you say?”

“There are two,” Lodovico assured him, “and both are fed by a number of springs. One of the rivers is here, near the eastern slope of the valley, and the other is approximately here”—he pointed out an uneven line—”down the center of the valley. The western slope has a number of springs, though I suppose they will be useless and unhealthy now that the soldiers of Anatrecacciatore have crossed them.”

“What if we use the rivers for our protection?” Falcone suggested, his brow creased in thought. “How do these soldiers fare in water, do you know?”

“There is no way to know,” Fumovisione shook his head. “It may not faze them at all. They would be poor soldiers if they could not get wet.”

“I haven’t seen them cross water, so I can’t tell how much it affects them.” Lodovico stared down at the map again. “Arrows fletched with duck feathers stop them. Or the reanimated skins of fallen warriors. We’ll have to gamble on that.” Though he was apprehensive, he knew he must not reveal it in his manner. He smiled broadly, jauntily. “Our men are strong, well-armed, and committed to this fight. With the help of God, we will prevail.”

Fumovisione looked away, saying remotely, Anatrecacciatore has his god, too, who will aid him.”

“The powers of Satan are not equal to the might of God,” Lodovico assured him, and got slowly to his feet. “We must gather our captains together and alert them to our plans. That way, should anything happen to any of us, these good men may carry on the battle.”

“Nembosanguinoso is waiting in his tent. Lungobraccio can be sent for. I wish we knew what had become of Coltellomelma. His men worry for him, and that does not bode well for them in battle. Fierovento will be with his priests now, but I will ask him to join us when he has completed his rituals.” Falcone had also risen and inclined his head toward Fumovisione. “Will you speak to the priests and wizards?”

“Naturally, naturally,” was the rather distant reply. The wizard remained seated, gazing at nothing in particular. “I feel that we must soon confront the warriors Anatreccacciatore, and the valley that the Italian describes, I believe, an excellent place to begin the war.”

Falcone set his jaw. “I wish the Cioctau and Iustaga were with us. If Coltellomelma reached Naniaba, they may reach us in time to aid us in this fight. Naniaba the north, and, I think, behind us. It will be hard going for those soldiers if they set out from there. The terrain is tough and mountainous. They will not know where to find us.” He stopped. “I must not concern myself with that.’’

Lodovico, seeing the resignation and strength in the face of the Cérocchi Prince, felt admiration and sympathy for this great leader. Falcone was young and this was his first real test in battle. He had taken the responsibility without flinching and was carrying his burden nobly. “My Prince,” Lodovico said kindly remembering the many times he had had to take orders from less valiant men, “let us send messengers to Naniaba and any other city where we may have allies. It is not too late to do so. If we must fall back, then we will fall back to a strong defensive force, which is wise. Naniaba may be distant, but a few good men, on horseback, should make reasonable time if they are sensible.”

“Very well,” Falcone agreed after a moment’s consideration. “I will ask Lungobraccio and Nembosanguinoso to choose the best of their horsemen for the journey.” Then he turned to Lodovico, smiling. “You are a marvel, my friend. Where others see only defeat and despair, you see a challenge and hope.”

Lodovico dared not confide his fears to Falcone, for the Prince was in need of all the optimism he could find. With a great effort that almost overwhelmed him, Lodovico hooked his thumbs in his belt and forced himself to grin. “There is no reason why we cannot triumph, Falcone. I say this, who have fought Djinni in Arabia and chimeras in the lost regions of India. Those who are true of heart go forth with the light of God within them, and nothing of darkness can stand against them.” As he said this, he thought of his own unconfessed passion for Aureoraggio and felt a gelid fist close in his chest. How could he expect God to lend him the might of the archangel with this sin upon his soul?

Falcone sensed nothing of this turmoil, and gratefully accepted the confident appearance of Lodovico as wholly genuine. He clapped Lodovico on the shoulder. “You are remarkable, Ariosto. I wish I had your certainty and strength.”

“But you do,” Lodovico assured him with feeling. “You may have more than I.”

“If you believe that, you are more of a dreamer than Nebbiamente, there.” This was said with a chuckle and some of the buoyancy of spirit that Lodovico had hoped he might restore in the prince. “Come. The captains are waiting for us, and we must not delay.” With that, he strode to the door of the tent, motioning Lodovico to join him.

“I will read the omens,” Fumovisione announced with a sigh as Lodovico reached the tent door.

“We will need favorable ones,” Lodovico warned him, then followed Falcone out into the dusk.

Lungobraccio lived up to his name—his long arms reached almost to his knees. He was dressed with the same armor as Falcone and he carried a large war axe in his belt. Beside him Nembosanguinos appeared less impressive, for he was smaller in stature and his countenance was less ruggedly distinctive. His eyes, however, held a lambent fury that was lacking in Lungobraccio. Both men rose as Lodovico and Falcone entered their tent.

“There will be battle soon,” Falcone announced without preamble. “Your priests will confirm it, if necessary, but I tell you that it is so. We know the place and Lodovico has seen the enemy. It is for us now to prepare ourselves for the fight.”

“It is well.” Lungobraccio had a deep voice that echoed in his broad chest so that it sounded as if he were speaking into a hollow place. He dropped once more onto his folded legs and waited impassively for Falcone to continue.

Falcone seated himself and at once began to describe what Lodovico had seen. He had just come to the description of the two rivers when Lodovico interrupted him deferentially.

“If you will agree, my Prince, I would like to get my captain of Lanzi to listen, as well. If we all speak together, then more can be accomplished.”

Startled, Falcone looked up. “Yes.” His reddish skin did not show color changes easily, yet Lodovico thought perhaps the Cérocchi blushed. “By all means. I should have thought of that myself. Find your Capitano Fabroni at once.”

Lodovico bowed elegantly and went quickly in search of the bivouac of the Lanzi.

It was dark now, and the various groups of warriors gathered around their fires for the evening meal. Here there were pikemen from Annouaigho poaching fresh-caught fish in venison broth. There the Onaumanient had set their bows and knives aside and were laughing as a haunch of wild boar sizzled on a slowly turning spit. Beyond them, soldiers from Giagaia had turned their curved daggers to cleaning partridges and geese before stuffing them with nuts and thrusting them into the coals to roast. Cica Omini sat with their Pau Attan cousins around a huge pot that simmered fragrantly. Lodovico knew that he could stop at any of these gatherings and share the succulent repasts, but he resisted the temptation. There would be time for that later, when he had finished his talk with the captains. His body protested, his mouth watered, but he continued resolutely toward the far side of the camp where the Lanzi gathered.

Massamo Fabroni was cutting meat from the flank of a wild oxen calf which had just been pulled out of its ember-lined bed of leaves. The flesh was pale and the smell delicious, and from the smile on the old soldier’s face, he had been anticipating this meal for some little time. He grinned happily as he saw Lodovico approaching.

“Ariosto! In time to join us. Here.” He turned brusquely to his men. “Make room for the man. He does us great honor to share our table.”

Lodovico hated to disappoint the man, but knew that the sooner he explained the situation, the less insulted the Lanzi capitano would be. “I’m afraid that I must not accept, though to tell you the truth, I would much rather dine with you than do what I must.”

Massamo had just sunk a fork deep into the steaming meat, and he did not look around at once. “How do you mean? There’s plenty.”

“I can see that, and for that reason, I hope there will be some left when you and I are finished with the business that calls us both away from this delicious meal.” Lodovico made a gesture of apology to the other men and addressed Massamo Fabroni. “There is a meeting of the troop leaders, and I must ask you to come with me. We have much to plan before we ready to meet the enemy, and that hour will be upon us in very short order.”

“Battle?” Fabroni asked, his eyes alight. “About time, I say.” He set his rough plate aside, tossed his carving knife to one of his corporales, wiped his greasy hands on his leather leggings and gave Lodovico an eager, voracious grin. “I’m your man for battle, Ariosto.”

Lodovico answered Massamo’s grin with one of his own. “Then we will do well together, for it is to battle that we go.”

Now it was settled. Falcone studied the faces of his captains and raised his brow toward the wizards and priests. Lodovico gripped Massamo’s arm, excitement filling him.

“We depart within the hour,” Falcone said, his eyes filled with a stern satisfaction. “We will march through the rest of the night, pause for a meal at dawn and march until sunset, when we will once again make camp. It is likely that by that time we will be on the hills beyond the valley where the warriors of flint and frost are now ravaging the land. We will make a holding camp, and before first light, we will prepare for battle. Is that the nature of your understanding, captains?”

All but Nembosanguinoso muttered their assent, but the Cicora captain hesitated.

“What is the trouble?” Falcone asked, watching the calm, hot-eyed warrior.

“I am troubled in my mind,” he said simply. “If these warriors are as mighty as the priests and wizards say they are, what is to prevent them from falling upon us in the night and killing us to a man while we sleep? Then our skins will be gathered up for Anatrecacciatore to breathe into and they will be sent in the guise of friends against our allies…” He looked at the others. “We cannot rely on mere guards around the camp, for all that the enemy need do is kill the guard, reanimate the skin and pass on to slaughter those asleep. Should anyone wake, there would be no way to tell what had happened.”

Lodovico had listened to this with great attention. He could not help but agree with the Cicora soldier, and said so. “He’s right, you know. We’re exposing ourselves to more danger than is necessary.”

Falcone turned to him in some ire. “What do we do, then?” We must go forth to meet these soldiers, and we must rest before we start into battle. What can we do but take the best precautions we may and pray that our gods will give us protection against the evil of Anatrecacciatore?”