Harald (23 page)

Over the ridge behind them a rider, yelling. Face and leather armor splotched with blood.

"Karl heavies. Behind us. Thousands."

Gavin shouted orders. The legions reversed in place, started back up to the ridge, reached it.

The next ridge, where the legions had been camped, was spotted with bodies, the space between the two ridges a confusion of mounted men and archers fleeing south towards the legions. Gavin saw a runner stumble and fall. One of the Belkhani angled across, up to where Gavin was standing by his banner. His lance was gone, shield broken.

"Where's Ivor?"

"Gods know. Behind the ridge, thousands of them. We were coming up the slope."

The man turned, pointed.

"Smashed us, came along the ridge, smashed the archers. Their archers up there now."

"What happened on the other side of the ridge?"

The man shrugged.

"Wasn't looking that way."

More orders. The legions moved north, up to the final ridge, broken troops rallying behind them. Beyond was the slope, the river, the space between scattered with the bodies of men and horses. Gavin thought he could see heads in the water, horses too.

At the bridgehead a knot of men in the water, some swinging axes, some with shields raised against archers on the fortress wall. Gavin turned, spotted the Hetman, yelled, pointed. The Baskhai streamed down the slope.

From the west along the river a rider, low to the horse's back, more horses behind. The men at the bridgehead mounted, rode east. As Gavin watched, the south end of the bridge, cut from its anchors to the shore, swung in the current, broke free.

Gavin took a long breath, looked around. His legions at least were still safe. The Bashkai. Some archers, some cavalry, had rallied to the legions, some no doubt had made it across the river. Defeat, not catastrophe. In the long run, it was the legions that mattered.

He looked again. Between him and the river, where the wagons of supplies had stood, the slope was empty.

It was almost noon when Caralla, having made a complete circle around the legions, led her half of the host back into camp. Her mother met her.

"It worked. Stephen smashed the cavalry, archers, we took the ridge, shot up what was left both sides of it, kept going. Egil and his friends cut the bridge free, 'Laina got them away."

"Wagons?"

"Stephen's bringing them. Emperor's beer with dinner."

"Resupply first. Kingdom can tie itself to wagons; we don't."

Caralla nodded.

Later that afternoon, while the royal army was celebrating its victory—despite the disappointingly small amount of beer—Egil drew his sister aside.

"I plan to cross tonight, next ford west, make trouble. Need two or three 'taves of Ladies who can swim, get a horse across."

"I'll pass the word. Your camp?"

"Three hours before dusk. Gets us to the ford by dark."

Caralla walked off. Egil turned to a familiar voice.

"Kara and I can swim; she's crossed twice the past month. Knows the other side. We could bring friends."

"Do it. My camp, three hours before dusk."

Farther north, Gavin was solving such problems as he could.

"We have two boats. Wounded over, firewood back."

"Yes sir."

Gavin heard the puzzlement, answered it.

"Karls took our beans and beer, left a lot of dead horses. Better than starving.

"Tonio—can your boys get those trebuchets working?"

"Not with what we have. Lots of wood, but too short."

"What about rafts?"

"Rafts?"

"Lots of wood. Can you make a couple of rafts, ropes from one bank to the other, move stuff?"

"Should work."

"Do it. I'm getting tired of this side of the river."

There was a brief lull. Kyro looked up from the tablets where he was trying to keep track of what was left of the army.

"If it works, we're home."

Gavin shook his head. "We still have to eat. A garrison of two hundred doesn't have supplies for five thousand. There should be more wagons coming in but I don't know how many—we've drained this province already. Only supplies I know about for sure . . . The Hetman. Send someone for him."

In the Kingdom's encampment as the sun set, commanders gathered in the King's tent. Stephen summed up the situation.

"Three legions, light infantry, not much else left. The bridge is a mess. Couple of boats. Their supplies are in our camp. If I were Gavin I'd face the facts, abandon everything heavy, run ropes across the river, swim what I could. They'll still have a hungry time of it their side of the river—especially after Egil's finished. Our job's done."

The King spoke.

"You don't think it's worth trying to smash what's left?"

"All respect, Majesty, no. They still have teeth. We might do it, but it would cost. Emperor can find men easier than we can."

A brief pause. Stephen spoke again.

"Feeding an army's expensive. My advice, send the southern provinces home—this army isn't invading again any time soon. Leave me Brand, the Order, my people. Enough to keep Gavin from getting bored, deal with any more boats fool enough to come downstream in daylight. I've already sent a few of my extras off. Yosef's boy, the one Harald's fond of, been taking care of the horses for their company, asked leave to go after the battle. Missing his father, maybe."

Caralla in her hammock, eyes closed, a whistle. Dream? She opened her eyes. Again. Out, rubbing her eyes. Downslope the noise of men moving. In the faint light of early morning, a dark mass. She put her own whistle to her lips, blew the alarm, shouted:

"Enemy Attack! Up! Out!"

Under the hammock and its cover her swordbelt, bow, quiver, boots; this near the front she slept in mail.

"Form on me. Slow them."

The rough line of Ladies formed, moved up to the ridge, poured arrows down, withdrew as the legionaries came closer. Back to where the horses were tethered, no time for a saddle. Around her, sisters were finding their mounts. Further back voices, yells. The royal camp was a confusion of men armoring, mounting, tripping over tent ropes. Stephen's voice carried over all:

"Armor, weapons, horse, and out. Forget the tents. Form up on the ridge behind."

The legions moved forward, through the lines of hammocks, into the undefended camp, slashing ropes and canvas to bring down tents. At the far side of the camp they stopped, shields raised against the arrows from the far ridge where a chaos of archers, cavalry, dismounted men putting on armor, was gradually taking order.

Leonora turned to James, buckling on arm harness, sleeping robe showing above his breastplate.

"Things some people will do for a good meal."

The King gave her a puzzled expression. She pointed downhill. The legions were withdrawing. So were the wagons.

"Ours and theirs; only fair." The wagons, what remained of the supplies of two armies, gradually vanished over the ridge.

Once the royal camp was restored to something near normal, the King called council in his tent.

"Tonight's dinner is in Gavin's camp—do we try to fetch it back?"

Leonora looked at Stephen, hesitated a moment, spoke.

"No. They'll expect that, be ready. What Stephen said still holds. My people have supplies for two weeks, his are in their own territory, can manage somehow. Everyone else spreads out, goes home."

Stephen nodded, looked around the circle of lords.

"Make sure your captains remember these are our people—buy, don't take. I have a long memory."

By the time Egil returned, the encampment below the ridge had shrunk drastically. Stephen and Caralla were standing by a mound on the ridge—four lances, pennons flying. The column of riders, tired horses, came to a stop. Caralla answered the unspoken question.

"Early morning yesterday. Bashkai got our pickets; one lasted long enough to give the alarm. People made it out but Gavin has the wagons."

"He'll need them. Two wagon trains—one supplies, one timber. Burned both—and a bridge. Took all the boats we could find back across, sunk them on our side of the river. All safe back—eleven cats, two octaves of Ladies, one boy. Some sacks of beans, courtesy of our friends."

Stephen looked up, startled. "What boy?"

" 'Laina's friend from Forest Keep. He said he had your leave to go."

"He did. I thought he was going home." Stephen walked down the line of riders, stopped by the smallest. Caralla turned to Egil.

"Couldn't you see how young he was?"

"Said he had leave from Stephen. 'Laina, Kara brought him. A little trouble in the river—none the other side. Useful."

"The boy's fourteen, fifteen at most."

"How old was Father when he ran away to Conor's people?"

"That's Father. Hen's a child."

"Don't stay children. Good shot, calm. Wouldn't care to go against the three of them. Hen, Kara don't get you at range, your baby sister deals with the problem. Dangerous lady."

"Ever seen Mother?"

"Hand-to-hand?" Egil shook his head.

"You're good. I'm good. Should be—trained enough. Mother, 'Laina, it's like a dance. Why Mother worries, more than she ever did about me. I know I can die. 'Laina, moving, it feels perfect. Still be killed."

"You forgot your armor."

Hrolf closed the door behind him—there were still patches of snow in the fields around Haraldholt and the wind was cold.

"I need armor?"

"Helm at least. My grandson's got a new toy."

Hrolf walked over to the bench on the other side of the fire, sat down, waited.

" 'Bjorn sweet-talked Niall's lady friend into showing him how to build a baby rock thrower. Cousins on the ropes. Damn near brained me this morning."

Asbjorn spoke from the floor beside his grandfather's chair.

"Not even close. Want to come see, Uncle?"

"Use snowballs. Less dangerous."

"They come apart."

As the day darkened, the hall filled—one end Asbjorn and his cousins playing an elaborate game of their own invention, the other end parents, grandparents, assorted relatives. Niall's voice rose above the general racket.

"He says it's forty feet long and twenty wide, all blue and gold with green fish."

Harald abandoned the attempt to make sense of what his grandchildren were doing and came over to the adult end of the fire.

"What is forty feet long and twenty wide, blue and gold with green fish?"

"The Prince's swimming pool, Father. Donal saw it."

"What was Donal doing in the Western Capital?"

"The Oasis, on his way back from visiting Bear clan—after a girl there."

"The Second Prince has a swimming pool at the Oasis? What do they put in it, sand?"

"Filling it with water for the Prince's visit."

"If they haven't filled it yet, how come there are fish? And how did they get them there?" The voice was Asbjorn from beside his grandfather's chair.

The game at the far end of the hall came to an abrupt end, its leader having defected; the players drifted back to the fire and their elders' conversation.

"The fish are tile work. Not just painted—Donal says they stand out a little from the wall. The whole thing is lined with colored tiles. Gold for the Empire, blue for the Prince's banner. Green for fish and seaweed. I want to see it."

"When was Donal there, how full was the pool, and how are they filling it?"

Niall stopped a moment to think.

"Saw him two days ago, down vale. Just come in, maybe six days from the Oasis? A couple of feet of water in the pool when he saw it. Filling it with the extra from the spring, their wells. And he saw a bunch of water wagons come in."

The door to the kitchen—a separate structure built onto the end of the hall—opened. Asbjorn led his cousins into it, back with steaming bowls, pitchers of beer, platters piled with bread. The inhabitants of Haraldholt settled down to the serious business of dinner.

Children off to bed, some of the adults as well, Harald drew his youngest son aside.

"Where is Donal now?"

"My guess, still guesting down vale. Foxes should be coming east in a week or so, no point his going west and back again. Invited him to come home; said he might. You think this is more than a swimming pool."

"Yes. Tomorrow, down to Valholt. Ask 'Liana which of the sisters knows rock throwers best. Both of them up here tomorrow; I'll explain. You head down vale, talk to Donal, bring him back with you."

The next morning, after Niall had set out, Harald found Asbjorn.

"Show me your new toy—from the right side, this time."

Four days later, when Niall came back with his foster brother, Harald and Asbjorn took them into the back pasture. Asbjorn's trebuchet stood four feet at the pivot, nearly ten with the throwing arm vertical.

"I call her Little Bird."

"Biggest bird I ever saw."

"Black Bird's bigger."

Harald's engine was nearly twice the size, its pivot well above even Donal's head.

Asbjorn demonstrated. The arm down, a rock in the sling attached to the end. Four of Harald's grandchildren caught hold of the ropes at the other end of the arm. At Asbjorn's command they pulled together. Their end went down, the long end of the arm up, the rock down range. Under Asbjorn's delighted instruction, the adults, joined by Hrolf, tried to duplicate the performance with the larger machine. The first rock went straight up; everyone scattered as it came down. By the fifth, they were going consistently in the right direction. Harald called a brief halt to stake out the target—a rectangle on the ground forty feet long by twenty wide—and specify rules. The rest of the day was spent throwing rocks.