Through Wolf's Eyes (72 page)

King Tedric nodded wearily. "A reasonable risk for
them to take. The distance from Hope to Eagle's Nest is easily as far
as that to Mason's Bridge. Troops from my more northern lands have even
farther to travel. True we can and have drawn troops from the more
southern parts of the kingdom,
but we cannot strip our border with Bright Bay any more than you can strip yours with Stonehold."

Duke Allister nodded, accepting that despite Hawk
Haven coming to his country's aid perfect trust would not occur
instantly. Leaving this issue unspoken, he added thoughtfully:

"And what use would a victory be to Stonehold if she
lacked the forces to occupy Good Crossing after her troops had taken
it? Now they have their greater force and supplies to sustain them.
Doubtless their commanders have left troops back along the road south
so that further reinforcements can be brought through as needed."

"I wonder," Prince Newell said, attentive despite his honest weariness, "how those wagons managed to come so far so fast?"

Duke Allister sighed. "I suspect that many crossed
Mason's Bridge and began the trip north days before the troops, maybe
even as early as the very day that Queen Gustin was sent Stonehold's
ultimatum. We have active trade with Stonehold—indeed, much of our
steel and iron comes from there, for the Barren Lands are metal poor
and block our access to the Iron Mountains your own nation mines."

"So," Newell frowned, "not even a heavily laden wagon
would seem curious—not even if it clanked with quantities of finished
metal."

"The only people who would look at those wagons would
be the toll collectors, whose interest would be in judging how much
each wagon should pay for crossing into Bright Bay," Duke Allister
said. "We can send a pigeon to our garrison near Mason's Bridge for
confirmation, but I think we have enough of a working theory to plan
upon."

King Tedric unrolled the best of the maps of Bright Bay.

"Even if," he said, tracing his finger along the road
south, "Stonehold has brought in fresh troops and more supplies, the
length of their supply line home remains their greatest weakness."

"Yet we can't get our army around the mass of their
army to get to those supplies or that road," Newell put in practically,
rather enjoying pointing out the worst aspects of the
situation.
"Our troops would be spotted too easily as they crossed the open zone
around Good Crossing. Generals Yuci and Grimsel did not strike me as
tactically dull. They, too, must realize that their supply line is
their vulnerable point and will be alert to efforts to harm it."

"They must," Allister agreed, "and yet they will wait
to lessen their dependence on supplies from home until they have no
choice. Looting and pillaging would awaken a new enemy all around them.
Farmers armed with pitchforks or old spears scavenged from the family's
ancestral shrine may not be much of a threat to a prepared army, but
they could become a dangerous nuisance."

"And with the harvest ready to come in," Tedric
added, "those farmers will be more easily enraged. No one, not even the
most peaceful grower of wheat, likes to see an entire year's work
vanish into someone else's mouth."

Prince Newell cleared his throat and asked anxiously, "How long do you think the Stoneholders will give us before they attack?"

"Until tomorrow," Tedric replied bluntly. "Perhaps
they will wait until the next day, but from what you reported their
troops were marching steadily, though not at a forced pace. Most should
be ready for action after a night's rest."

"Might they attack tonight?" Allister asked.

"I think not," Tedric said after a moment's
thoughtful pause, "but if they do, we will have ample warning—warning
beyond the usual sounds or lights of their approach."

The king's thin smile held a hint of the indulgent grin he reserved for one favored person.

With a surge of envy, Prince Newell realized that
Tedric meant that he expected Lady Blysse to bring Hawk Haven warning.
Newell's envy turned into a peculiarly uncomfortable form of fear as he
realized that the wolf-woman must have been scouting for the king ever
since this war had been declared—and perhaps even before. What might
she have seen?

He endeavored to look bluff and hearty.

"It's good to know we'll have warning, Sire. Our men will sleep better for the news."

"Whatever news you are envisioning spreading,
Newell," the king ordered sternly, "keep it to yourself. One reason
that Allister and I have kept our conferences as small as possible is
that we cannot be certain who—especially among Bright Bay's forces—may
still feel allied to Stonehold."

"You must remember," Allister said a touch sadly,
"that until a mere handful of days ago most of my nation's troops
viewed Stonehold as a friend and her army as teachers. Although most
are angry and offended by the recent betrayals, still, there must be
some—maybe even some officers—who retain loyalty to those who taught
them."

"And," Newell added bluntly, "who still hate us."

"Well," Allister said, "you
were
the enemy."

King Tedric sighed. "Newell, go gather the officers. It's time we gave a briefing."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Newell replied, saluting smartly.

As he was leaving he heard the king say to Allister:

"I have a thought how we might deal with that supply line. Tell me what you think of this . . ."

R
ACE FORESTER CAME TO DERIAN
Carter late that afternoon while Derian was checking the shoes and feet
of the horses who—if all progressed as anticipated—would carry their
riders into battle tomorrow.

At Earl Kestrel's express command, Derian himself
wasn't going to fight. He didn't know whether he felt relieved or
angry. For the first time since Firekeeper had been given into his
charge Derian felt as if he'd been demoted from a man's place to that
of a boy.

Because of this, the sight of Race, clean-lined and
military in his scout's uniform, made Derian scowl and dig at the stone
lodged in Ox's bald-faced chestnut's shoe with rather more intensity
than he should. The normally placid horse shuddered his skin and
muttered equine warning. Queenie,
who had been sniffing around the horse's heels, flinched away.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Derian Carter," Race
said, leaning against one of the hitching posts and scratching Queenie
behind the ears.

"Oh, Race," Derian said, flinging the stone away and
pretending to notice the scout for the first time. "I didn't see you
coming."

"And no wonder with that mountain of horseflesh hanging over you," Race said easily.

Derian, knowing he had been being rude, felt rather
embarrassed. He pulled out a curry comb and began grooming the
chestnut's coat.

"Ready for tomorrow, Race?"

"I suppose so," Race said. "For a bit there I thought
I might be drafted into the archers at the last moment—someone had been
bragging about how good I am with a bow— but the commander of scouts
insisted he couldn't spare me."

"Great."

"Yes, it is rather nice having people argue over who will get your services." Race paused. "Isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Derian said stiffly.

"Oh?" Race drew closer and lowered his voice. "Then I
must be the first to get to you. Derian, how do you feel about going
into battle tomorrow?"

Derian kept his voice equally soft, though he felt like shouting in surprise and indignation.

"Me? I can't. Earl Kestrel has demanded that I stay
with the horses. He says that both his and Duchess Merlin's units are
short of farriers and my skill with horses far outweighs my skill with
a sword."

Despite himself, Derian heard the bitterness in his voice.

"As if," he added, "Earl Kestrel has even noticed how I've kept in practice all these moon-spans."

"He's noticed more than you might imagine," Race
said, "and he's said no more than the truth. There are few men—
especially of your years—who are as good with a horse."

Derian grunted, accepting the compliment but not being
particularly graceful about it. Race punched him in the shoulder with affectionate bluster.

"Young idiot," Race said. "Did you ever think that
Earl Kestrel might want to keep you alive? King Tedric has made you one
of his counselors. That's important not only to the king, but to the
earl. Norwood's been preening ever since you were named—pointing out to
his peers whenever he can that he knows how to pick a good man. But
whether or not he wants to keep you alive, that's all out with the
wash. There's been a change of plans."

"Change?" Derian suddenly felt frightened. It was one
thing to scowl and brood about being overlooked when you were safely
out of danger; it was quite another when that danger was immediate
again.

Race nodded. "I was to tell you quietly if my
commander hadn't gotten to you. I guess he hasn't. Are you about done
with those nags?"

"About."

"Meet me at our camp," by this Race meant the new
Kestrel camp on the southern bank of the Barren, "when you're done.
Make sure you finish up properly because you might not make it back
here tonight."

Derian did as Race had suggested, going over each
horse carefully and consulting with the farrier from Hope—the same from
whom he and Doc had bought medicine just days before—as to the
strengths and weaknesses of the war mounts. These were huge, fierce
horses, often intolerant of any but their handler, and working with
them took special consideration.

Only when he was certain that he had discharged his
duty to Earl Kestrel did Derian head for the camp, but he did so at a
quick trot that was nearly a run. Overhead he heard Elation shrill
something like laughter. The great peregrine had taken to following
Derian about more often now that Firekeeper was scouting for the army
and a beacon overhead would not be either welcome nor wise.

Arriving at the Kestrel camp, Derian found Race and
Valet waiting for him. As before, their camp's location had been
selected to permit Firekeeper to come and go without Blind
Seer
panicking the rest of the army. Backed against the Barren River,
downstream from Good Crossing, they were the farthest group east but
for the pickets who patrolled the camp's border.

Across the river, Derian could see lights glowing in
the Watchful Eye and along the northern side of the river. For the
first time he realized that evening was gathering. Tomorrow if all
rumors were correct, there would be battle, a massive thing that would
make the battle a few days before—now called the Battle on the
Banks—look like a minor skirmish.

And he might be in it. Not wanting to introduce the matter, Derian commented:

"I always meant to ask why we built the Watchful Eye
on our side of the river but Bright Bay never built any similar fort on
their side."

Valet poured him a cup of mulled cider and commented,
"When the Civil War ended, Bright Bay received Good Crossing. Hope
didn't exist then—just a few houses and farms as I understand it. The
Watchful Eye was built to house the garrison that would protect this
newly vulnerable point."

He fell silent, having been far more talkative than was his wont. Race added:

"Good Crossing had a watchtower—it's part of the
walls now—and was a whole lot bigger. Hope grew up pretty fast, though,
what with smuggling and tolls and soldiers to supply. I've heard that
when it got to be a town rather than a cluster of houses they called it
Hope because folks there hoped they wouldn't get attacked."

"My father," Derian said, "told me it was named for a hope for peace and reunification."

"Maybe," Race shrugged. "I'm no historian. Anyhow,
thanks for getting here so quickly, Derian. I've got your marching
orders, if you'll take them."

Derian nodded, swallowing cider despite the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

"Go on," he said.

"I was told to tell you that this was a request, not an
order," Race began. He stopped, scratched his beard and started again. "Sorry, I'm not much good at speeches."

Derian wanted to strangle him, but waited with what patience he could muster.

"It's been decided," Race began again, "that
Stonehold's biggest weak spot is that they've got a long way to go to
get in their supplies. The king and the duke, though, they don't want
to send the army after those supplies. They figure it would be too easy
for Stonehold to defend them."

"Would it?" Derian asked.

"Well, I haven't been over there myself," Race said,
"but from reports we've got they've got their wagons drawn up alongside
the road that leads back to Mason's Bridge. They're keeping the road
mostly open, but their camp is all along there as well as along the
southern end of the field outside of Good Crossing.

"Now," Race continued, "if our army does succeed in
breaking Stonehold's lines and going through we'll get those supplies,
no question. The thing is, we may not break those lines, at least not
right away. It might take days of fighting."