The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series) (34 page)

He seemed to be the only one worried about
how all of this might shake down in the end.

Besides Lemuel, that is.

But Shem wasn’t going to devote any more
thought to the captain—unpredictable and recently quiet—than he had
to. He just kept reminding himself that in this battle situation,
Shem outranked him. It was the only thought that cheered him that
day.

A few times on the ride over, Perrin caught
Shem watching him. “What is it, Sergeant Major?” he finally said.
“I’ve never seen you so serious.”

“
This
is
serious,
Colonel,” Shem reminded him.

“
I know that,” Perrin
responded, almost insulted. “But look around you, Zenos: did you
ever imagine we could bring something like this
together?”

That was part of his concern. There were many
things Shem had seen that Perrin had never imagined.

Years ago Shem had felt overwhelmed by his
position at the fort. It didn’t help any that Hogal Densal had
pulled him aside, told him he knew—
really
knew—who Shem was
and why he was there, then told him it was his duty to keep watch
over Perrin. After that everything became so . . .
complicated.

And it never,
never
got easier.
Sometimes he felt as if he could barely keep it all straight. Days
like this, for example, were especially taxing. And now the forest
had swallowed up one of Shem’s most nagging worries.

“
Beneff!” he muttered.
“Where did you go? You’re not supposed to be out here!”

Shem crept cautiously up a rise, picking his
way between the trees and listening for hissing, bubbling, or
babbling, as Beneff was prone to do. Shem had been gone for at
least forty-five minutes. Perrin surely must have missed him by
now.

A horn blast in the distance spun Shem
around. The blast drifted toward him a second time, then rapidly
for a third time.

“
No! Not already! Perrin!
We’re not attacking until morning, remember?” Shem kicked at a rock
and groaned. He had to take the risk. “BENEFF!”

He felt a presence right behind him, then a
hand covered his mouth while an arm wrapped around him tightly.

“
What is
wrong
with
you, Zenos?” the voice hissed in his ear. “You’re going to ruin
everything!”

The arm released him and Shem twisted away to
face his captor. “Oh, Dormin, am I glad to see you! It’s been a
while, hasn’t it?” he said to the man in dark green mottled
clothing.

“
No time for reunions,
Shem. Why are you yelling at the trees?”

“
Beneff’s out here—I know
it. He’s going to warn the Guarders we’ve arrived, but—”

“
It doesn’t sound like that
matters anymore,” Dormin said. “The colonel is starting the
offensive right now. Isn’t that what the three horn blasts mean?
Mount up?”

Shem shook his head. “I had no idea.
Honestly. No idea he was up to this. I need to get back. I’m
supposed to be leading the charge on the north side!”

“
Then go! We’re ready. And
we’ll watch for Beneff.”

Shem slapped Dormin on the back and ran out
of the forest, hoping he was going in the right direction. How
ironic would it be if he couldn’t tell his future grandchildren
about the first major offensive in the army’s history—the one that
he
missed
—because he was lost in the forest?

---

Perrin sat atop his mount watching the last
of the men ride west. The sun had set ten minutes ago and he
quickly lost the silhouettes of Yordin and Thorne as they led the
charge of nine hundred men. Not since the Great War had so many
soldiers ridden together toward a common enemy which, back then,
meant the soldiers of the northern villages attacked those of the
southern villages. At least now the enemy was clear, with no
innocents involved.

Or so Perrin hoped.

If there
were
children there—

No. No, he couldn’t explain it, but he was
sure there weren’t. Something else was there, however, which needed
to be destroyed. Tonight, on the 59
^th
Day of
Planting.

As the cloud of men and horses rumbling like
thunder faded into the dusk of the evening, Perrin envisioned for
the hundredth time the attack patterns six of the groups would
execute in order to reach each remaining structure at the same
time. Torches would be lit, swords and long knives would be
employed, and if it all went well—which it should, because there
was no reason why it shouldn’t—all of it would be swift and humane,
which was more than the Guarders could say about their assaults on
the world.

A seventh swath of soldiers would encircle
the village, trapping any Guarders that tried to escape. And, if
perchance a Guarder slipped through that line, there’d be another
fifty new and somewhat raw recruits not so skilled with the sword,
but well-trained in bows and arrows, and ready to take aim.

And maybe—just maybe—one exceptionally lucky
and desperate Guarder may slide past them and find himself running
blindly to the east, and perhaps jump across a canal where he could
meet the sword of Relf Shin—

Perrin gripped the reins tighter, unsure if
he really wanted that or not. Instead, he focused on the fantastic
sight leaving him. He wished he’d hired an artist to render the
image. The uniforms. The horses. The dust. The fading golden light.
The rumbling of hooves. There was no way to capture that sound, but
the ground trembling as they cantered away would stay with him
forever.

And there he sat on his horse watching it all
go on without him.

He wished for a moment that he
was
a
falcon. An aerial view of the soldiers weaving through the village
in perfect precision would be extraordinary to witness. No Guarder
would have time to warn his neighbors. They may hear the commotion
of the approaching army—Perrin was betting on that to bring each
Guarder to his door in confused curiosity—but no man would have
time to react to the offensive, arriving just after dark.

Just like
they
attacked.

And Perrin would miss every moment of it. He
growled in frustration as the last soldier and horse left his field
of vision.

At a gallop, even that last soldier would be
upon Moorland in less than half an hour. Perrin closed his eyes to
envision the small, scruffy hill that served as a buffer between
the cluster of houses that used to be the village, and the farms
beyond it. The mound of earth effectively shielded much of Moorland
from the world’s view, and also would block Moorland’s view of the
approaching army.

Perrin’s mental eyes rushed over the area
until his mind decided to give up the useless dreaming. He opened
his eyes to the abandoned farms before him, laid open in a wide
expanse all the way to the ditch that marked the border between
Moorland’s and Edge’s territories where Perrin’s mount stood as
restless as its rider.

“
This is stupid,” Perrin
mumbled to Karna on his horse next to him.

Perrin’s horse trampled the ground and
snorted in annoyance. For the first time Perrin had found an animal
that matched his weight and personality, and he couldn’t let it run
as desperately as he wanted it to.

“
Even the horses know sitting here is stupid! Why
am I here?”

“
Colonel,” Karna said in
his best calming voice for approaching a hungry bear, “because
you’re needed here. Yordin’s fine. He’s the only man I know more
aggressive than you. There’s plenty of leadership out there, and
what happened to, ‘I can handle this’?”

“
I thought I could,
Brillen,” he said sullenly. “I’m not needed here, you know that.
Because of stupid old men eighty miles away I can’t leave this
farm!” He pouted as he swung his horse around and looked longingly
to the west.

Brillen sighed. “You used to call me your
second mind,” he reminded him. “I realize that Thorne now—”

Perrin’s severe look stopped him. “—will
never
be my second mind! You may have your own fort, but I
still claim your mind.”

Brillen smiled at that. “Good. Then take my
advice: get off your horse, Perrin.”

“
What?”

“
Just get off. Let’s go
back to the map, review different scenarios should something
unexpected happen, and be useful here.”

“
Useful here,” Perrin
repeated with a snarl.

“
Part of leadership, you
know. Realizing when it’s time to let the younger ones have a
chance. Knowing that letting them go is difficult to watch, but
vital to their development.”

Perrin scoffed. “Well that’s stupid,
too!”

Karna’s eyebrows went up. “That’s the little
speech your father told me when he first saw me off to Edge: let
the younger ones have a chance. Lots of officers thought the job of
starting a new fort was too much for just a captain and a
lieutenant. But we did all right, didn’t we?”

“
My father didn’t say
anything to you,” Perrin grumbled. “You’re making that
up.”

“
Does it sound like
something I would make up?”

“
No,” Perrin admitted.
After a moment he said, “I’ve been wondering what he would think of
all of this. I’m not sure what he’d say, but I think Relf would be
pleased.”

“
I think he would,
too.”

Perrin stared out in the darkness. “Really,
Brillen, who’s going to know if I break my probation?”

“
Only about nine hundred
men out there, the hundred plus in the tents behind us overseeing
supplies and waiting for injured, and last and most worrisome of
all, the High General’s main tattler, his grandson Lemuel. Come
on.” Brillen dismounted and gestured to Perrin. “We have work to
do.”

Perrin’s persistence flagged. He sighed,
dismounted, tied up his horse to an old fence post, and trudged
after Brillen to the tent.

Brillen lit a lamp and sat down at the large
detailed map laid out on the makeshift table. “You really created
this? All by yourself?”

Perrin scoffed. “What’s that supposed to
mean? I had Briter’s help, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“
I mean,” Brillen chuckled
consolingly, “that I didn’t know you were a mapmaker. I know you
have that collection of old maps you salvaged from the trash heaps
in Idumea years ago, but I never knew you could draw one
yourself.”

“
I sense a compliment in there, so I’ll take it,”
Perrin winked at him. “But yes, I consulted my outdated maps for
different ways to designate terrains, buildings, and movement.
Drawing all the little trees took forever, though.”

“
But they’re very
consistent,” said Brillen as if praising a six-year-old. “I think
you got nearly every single one represented.”

Perrin scowled affably at him then looked out
of the tent opening to the west, to the masses of trees that
taunted him to come see if he drew them correctly.

“
I was thinking,” Brillen
said, and it sounded to Perrin as if he were very far away, “that
should the Guarders retreat into the forest, over here to the
east—Colonel, are you paying attention? Over here to the east, the
forest narrows. We should deploy the remaining bowmen within this
clearing just off the edge of the forest. Eyes here, please,
Colonel. Good boy. They could take shots at anyone trying to return
to Moorland in the morning . . . ”

Perrin exhaled as he sat down by Brillen. He
rested his chin on the map and stared past it.

“
Stupid,” he whispered to
the tent.

---

Shem glanced behind him, his heart racing
faster than his horse.

Just twenty minutes ago he’d run from the
forest—doing up his trousers to look as if he’d been detained with
some
other
kind of business—and reached his mount just as
Yordin signaled for the collective army to form up behind their
assault commanders. Shem had barely scrambled on to his horse as
his 150 soldiers positioned themselves behind it, and regarded Shem
with not a great deal of confidence seeing as how he joined them at
the last minute. Most of them weren’t from Edge, either, and
perhaps were a bit put out that they’d be following the horse with
the showy purple and yellow banner, hoisted high on a straight
stick secured in the saddle pack and flapping in the breeze. Still,
he was in place to lead them, and as Yordin waved his torch in the
air, Shem kicked his mount and the race was on.

It was to be as silent a race as possible,
though. Colonel Shin wanted the residents of Moorland to be
surprised, to hear thunder or Deceit rumbling. He didn’t want them
to realize the northern Army of Idumea was barreling down on them,
swords swinging.

Shem frequently glanced over to Yordin, a man
he knew was a natural ‘whooper.’ If the major could keep silent, so
too would the rest of the soldiers.

But Yordin was grinning widely, probably
catching a few bugs in his teeth in his excitement. The torch he
had waved was now in a holder on the back of his saddle. Each of
the commanders had a torch, something for his men to follow in the
growing darkness, then to throw into the wooden structures to set
Moorland on fire.

Shem’s men could also follow the banner that
Perrin had shoved into Shem’s saddle pack.

“
For me,” he’d said when he lashed it into place.
“Since I can’t see the attack, at least the banner will.” Then,
before the wretchedness of Perrin’s disappointment in missing it
all, and the solemnity of the moment could sink into Shem’s heart,
Perrin added, “And make sure that hideous thing doesn’t catch on
fire, all right? Hycymum would kill me.”