Harald (27 page)

"I thought the Ravens were on our side."

"Far as I know they are. Doesn't keep them from buying; can always fight us tomorrow. Emperor's gold as good as anyone else's."

He reached into his pouch, looked at the gold coin in his palm.

"Better. His face on a coin, full weight. Best money I know."

By the next morning the captured horses and their buyers were gone. Where they had been, most of Harald's army—four cacades of cats, a hundred or so nomads, a dozen hostages—formed up outside the gate. Before he left, Harald took a minute to say good-bye to Konstantin.

"Enjoyed your hospitality, stay any longer get a bit thirsty." He gestured at the swimming pool, partly refilled during the past weeks, now again almost empty.

"Leaving one cacade to hold the place. Four or five speak Tengu, most everyone some plainstalk; you and your people, ones that didn't go home with the cavalry, be all right. Rest of us back south to see what Artos has been up to. Wife's brother, friends, keeping an eye on him, but you never know. Time you've healed, fighting all over, everyone home. Come visit; promise I won't shoot you. Top of Mainvale. Wife brews the best beer in the vales."

Three days later, Harald would have settled for the worst. Better yet, water. The wagons, sent south the night before they left, carried one day's water, the hidden barrels, left behind for the final dash to the Oasis, a second. What had accumulated in the collection points along the cliff since they came north made a scant third. Thirsty men, thirsty horses.

Niall called back from the head of the column, angled right off the road. The sun down, they kept going; the full moon gave light enough to see the broad trail of tracks marking the route they had followed coming north. Harald moved up the column, talking quietly with the men.

"Think this is bad; ever hear Conor's story, his trip south?"

No one had.

"Well dry. Waterhole dry. Filled a cup from his skin, time he had it to his lips cup was dry too."

"How'd he make it back alive?"

"Drank straight from the water skin. Skin empty, started to rain. Rained so hard, riverbed flooded, washed him back to the foot of Mainvale. His story, not mine. Night we captured a wagon loaded with wine barrels."

One of the hostages looked blank; Harald repeated the story in Tengu.

Past midnight Niall stopped, pointed. Harald signaled the weary column to a halt.

A wooden pole slanting up from the ground marked the buried cache. Harald took one of the water skins, filled his bowl.

"Little farther, lady mine, all the water you want."

The mare emptied the bowl; he filled it again. Again.

By the time the moon went down they were in sight of the river, by dawn across it.

So was Artos.

It was almost noon before the exhausted riders, having made a wide circle around the Imperial encampment south of the river, rejoined the main army. Half an hour later most of four cacades were asleep on the grass. Hrolf helped Harald unsaddle the mare, rub her down.

"Two days back. Either he got word or figured the cavalry weren't coming. Started before dawn. We lit the bonfires. Must have been filling in the ford somehow where we dug it out—men across in formation. Most of them—rock throwers opened things up a little, we did some damage. Had to pull back.

"Bad part is Newvale. Still don't know how he did it, but by the time the fight started he had men in the mouth of the lower vale, our side the river. Couldn't get our people past. Has the ford, mouth of the vale. Herds probably all made it to the upper vale—boys have been shifting them for weeks, ever since he got here. Lower vale to upper isn't easy. Nothing but boys, women, old men to stop him, though."

Artos, most of the way up the lower vale with what was left of the second legion, would no doubt have found the news encouraging. From where he stood he could see the steep slope, almost a cliff, that joined the lower vale—pastureland between steep cliffs, on one side the river—with the upper.

"That's where dinner went."

He pointed at the path that zigzagged up the slope. The top portion was choked with stones. Giorgios, standing on Kiron's other side, responded:

"Drove the sheep up, shut the door behind them. We get to open it."

The commander looked at Kiron, waited.

"We send a turtle up to clear the path?"

"One way. They probably have more stones at the top—hard to hold a shield up over your head when someone drops a boulder on it."

"You brought all the archers. Sweep the top edge of the slope above the path to keep them back. They can still try rolling boulders, but it will be harder, and they'll be blind."

"Helps. We have stone throwers too; captured four yesterday. The boys have been practicing. What are we fighting?"

Kiron stopped a moment to think.

"There were two archers in the cliff across the river. They stopped shooting when the crossbows showed up. If they had a lot, you'd think they would have kept it up—they had cover, high ground. Other than them, we haven't seen a soul. Where are the cats?"

"Out on the plain. Bellio's company paid to keep them that way—four men drowned, crossing above the ford night of the attack. I'm betting Harald had all his people at the river to stop us, planned for some of them to fall back up Newvale after we crossed. If I'm wrong, we have a problem. If I'm right, there should be enough herds, stored food, even this early in the year, to feed us for a while."

From the ledge high up on the south cliff, the scene spread out below—legionaries busy in the lower vale, elders in the upper, steep slope, blocked path between them. Neither group could see the other; the three boys, peering over and between their wall of piled rocks, could see both.

"Your Gran, his friends, they have the roof up. Oddest house I ever saw."

"Said if they had any sense the crossbows would shoot high, drop bolts on their heads. Roof should stop them. Don't need back or sides, wall in front gets in the way. Low roof instead. What are those things?"

"What things? I can't see from here."

Kolskegg scrambled backwards and to one side; Asbjorn took his place.

"See? A little out from the slope—like giant birds. Some sort of engine?"

"Rock throwers; bet they captured them when they crossed the river. Hope your Gran built his roof solid. More than bolts falling on it. Turtle's forming up."

Twenty men, a shell of shields, moving to the bottom of the winding path, up it. Thorvald, the older of the two brothers, spoke.

"Ready, 'Skeg? Almost there."

"Ready. Say when."

"Now."

Kolskegg lifted the flag above their wall, waved it.

"Nothing happening. They don't see me."

He stood up, waved it wildly.

Rocks bounced down the slope; one hit the middle of the formation. Bolts flew back to answer them, rocks from the captured engines. The turtle moved on, leaving two bodies behind.

"Get down, idiot."

"Oh." Kolskeg looked at the bolt sticking through his arm, sat down.

Asbjorn scrambled back.

"Hold still; I have to break off the end, pull it out."

He bound the wound tightly with one of the lengths of cloth from his belt. The other two watched admiringly.

"Don't carry bandages, have to tear up my clothes, another battle when I get home. Grandfather told me. Says he'd rather fight the Emperor any day. What's happening?"

"Turtle's gotten to where the path is blocked, clearing it. We're supposed to signal. Three, one, three, one."

"I'll do it."

Asbjorn took the flag that Kolskeg had dropped, waved it. Bolts flew above him, bounced off the cliff face.

"Why you don't stand up."

"More turtles. They're carrying something."

Asbjorn put down the flag, scrambled back to his place by the wall.

"Ladders. First group clearing the path, other two up the slope either side from the clear part lower down. Hope your Gran thought of that one."

More rocks were bouncing down the slope, aimed at the men clearing the path. Most missed, some didn't. The turtle, a little smaller, crept forward.

"Our turn. Hope it works."

Thorvald moved back from the wall, took a round rock from a pile, put it carefully next to a peg driven into a crack in the cliff, gave it a gentle push. The rock rolled down the cliff face out of their sight, gathering speed, reappeared as a puff of dust on the slope just below the second turtle.

"Close but you missed. They're putting up ladders."

The fourth rock; one of the men at the base of the near ladder crumpled, rolled down the slope, hit the bottom, lay still. More rocks; a second hit. Now both ladders had men on them. Farther up the path, what was left of the first formation was still doggedly moving forwards, clearing rocks, rolling them down.

"Rock throwers have stopped; afraid of hitting their own men."

A figure crawled from under the low roof, out of sight of the attackers. Shield held over his head, long pole in the other hand, he limped across the upper slope. Shield down, pole against the end of the ladder. Another man came out to join him. One of them fell; the other kept pushing. The ladder end slid sideways across the face of the slope, down, shedding bodies as it fell.

"They haven't spotted the other one. Let me by."

Asbjorn, bow out, quiver beside him, kneeling at the end of the wall, looked down at the remaining ladder, the men near its top. He drew, tucking his head under his right arm, right hand at the back of his neck, shot almost straight down. Four arrows, two men hit, before someone below noticed him and bolts started flying up. He leaned back into cover.

"Aunt Cara taught me the trick; lets you shoot down from a rampart without leaning over. Never been on a rampart, but this is close. If you wave the flag again, will they think it means anything?"

"Nope. One signal for starting up, one for getting to the blocked part."

"Do it, other end of the ledge. Distraction. Stay down—don't need to get shot again."

Kolskegg waved the flag; bolts rattled off the cliff behind him. Asbjorn snapped off two fast shots, back into cover.

"Wish big 'Bjorn and his people were back; dozen of us up here it would be easy."

"Dozen cats wouldn't fit here; tight enough for three of us."

"Can't be the only ledge."

"Only one we can get to in the dark. Hard to climb with people shooting at you."

Thorvald's voice from behind him. "My last rock; are they still climbing?"

"One ladder. Turtle's down to six men."

"Use this one." Asbjorn pulled a rock from the wall, rolled it back to Thorvald. A moment later they saw it bounce down the slope, barely missing the ladder.

Trumpet calls from below. What was left of the lead formation stopped clearing rocks, started back down the path. The man halfway up the remaining ladder looked down, abruptly reversed direction. Two more rocks bounced down the slope from the men above; both missed. The attack was over.

Kiron stepped back from the stretcher party, looked away from what they were carrying, turned to Giorgios.

"Why did he stop?"

"Wasn't going to make it. Turtle runs out of men before it gets to the top of the path. Could send another one up, but things were getting pretty crowded, bodies, rocks coming down. One ladder was down, the other getting men picked off from the cliff. Getting two or three men to the top isn't going to do it."

"So what now?"

"Cleared a good deal of the path; doubt they have the manpower to fill it up again with bolts flying around their ears. We'll build more ladders, maybe some long enough to get all the way up from the bottom. More rocks for our throwers. Patch the wounded best we can. If nothing changes, should take it tomorrow."

"Who's the Commander talking with?"

"Has a horse; probably word from Niko. Hope nothing's gone wrong."

When they reached Artos he was standing still, eyes closed. He opened them, saw Kiron.

"Harald wants a parley."

"Why?"

"One way to find out. Second can get ready for the next attack without me. Come along; he's worth meeting."

Before dark they reached the encampment by the ford; the commander of the fifth legion met them.

"There's a tent at the halfway point, out of range of both sides. He's waiting; two men with him."

"Giorgios, Kiron, gives us even numbers."

Niko hesitated, spoke:

"Sure you want . . . ? I could lend you Konstin."

Artos shook his head.

"No need. Not Harald's kind of trick."

"What do you think . . . ?"

"Tell you when I get back."

The three men rode out to the tent—a roof, no walls—where Harald was waiting. At the sight of the man sitting behind him, the commander's eyes widened.

Harald stood up.

"News for you. Brought Danio along to tell it."

The cavalry officer hesitated, looked down, up.

"We surrendered. I'm one of the hostages."

"Everyone?"

"Ravens cut out west; don't know if they made it. Everyone else."

"Tell him where you surrendered; it's the important part."

"The Oasis. Outside."

He looked up at the commander.

"They were inside. With the water."

"You're holding the Oasis?"

"Took it a week ago. Get your whole army there you can have it back; my men have orders to leave if anything big shows up. Don't see how you'll do it. I've got more than half your water wagons, all the collection points along the cliff edge. Prince knows by now; sent a courier to tell him your cavalry would be walking home, needed food, water. How long for him to put together an army—when most everything he has this end of the province is here—supply train, get them to the Oasis, take the Oasis, get supplies to you? Doubt he can do it—damn sure he can't do it before you run out of food."

The commander remained silent.

"Lower vale, nothing to eat but grass. We're still holding the upper vale; I'm guessing you tried today, didn't make it. Might tomorrow, might not. Get through in force, they torch the grain stores. Flocks have been leaving since you took the ford, goat paths up into the mountains. Start early tomorrow, everything goes well, might get a good dinner for your boys from what's left. Not two weeks worth. Don't believe me, welcome to send someone up vale and look—flag of peace, one of mine to keep him company.