The Battle for Skandia (11 page)

Halt seemed to weigh the statement for a few seconds. Then he saw a possible advantage.

“All right,” he agreed. “But if you're coming with me, there's no need to keep my companions as hostages to guarantee my return. Let them go back across the border while you and I go find the Temujai.”

Erak smiled at him and shook his head slowly. “I don't think so,” he replied. “I'd like to think that I can trust you, but there's really no reason why I should, is there? If you know my men are holding your friends, it might make you less likely to stick one of those knives in me the minute we're out of sight over the hill there.”

Halt spread his hands in a an innocent gesture. “Do you really think an undersized little runt like me could get the better of a big, hulking sea wolf like you?”

Erak smiled grimly at him. “Not for a moment,” he said. “But this way I'll be able to sleep nights and turn my back on you without worrying.”

“Fair enough,” Halt agreed. “Now, could we get going while these tracks are still fresh, or would you prefer to argue until the snow melts?”

Erak shrugged. “You're the one who's doing all the arguing,” he told him. “Let's go.”

 

Halt glanced over his shoulder as Abelard set his hooves more securely against the steep slope. Behind him, Erak was swaying in-securely on the back of the Temujai horse. The captive had made his escape on foot, and Halt had decided that the small, shaggy and sure-footed steppes pony would be a better mount for Erak than either of Horace's battlehorses. The Skandian warriors, as was their custom, had been traveling on foot.

“I thought you said you could ride,” he challenged as the jarl grabbed nervously at his mount's shaggy mane, holding himself in the saddle more by brute strength than any inherent sense of balance.

“I did,” Erak replied through gritted teeth. “I just didn't say I could ride well.”

They had been following the escaped Temujai warrior's trail all day. After making their way through the Serpent Pass, their trail had swung back in an arc from the Teutlandt border and they were some thirty kilometers into Skandian territory once more. Halt shook his head, then went back to peering at the ground in front of them, looking for the faint traces that the fleeing Tem'uj had left behind him.

“He's very good,” he said quietly.

“Who's that?” Erak asked, the last word being torn from him as his horse lurched and slid a few steps. Halt indicated the trail he was following. The Skandian looked but couldn't see a thing.

“The Tem'uj,” Halt continued. “He's covering his tracks as he goes. I don't think your man would have been able to follow him.”

Which was the crux of the matter. When Halt and Erak had agreed to join forces the previous night, it had been the result of their mutual need. Halt's natural inclination had been to see what the Temujai were up to. Erak had the same need. But he also had need of Halt's tracking skills. He was only too aware of his own men's limitations.

“Well,” he said jerkily, “that's why you're here, isn't it?”

“Yes.” Halt smiled grimly. “The question is, why are you?”

Erak wisely said nothing. He concentrated his efforts into staying astride the shaggy horse as it struggled up the steep slope, under the unaccustomed weight of the bulky Skandian sea captain.

They came to the crest with a sudden rush, their horses scrambling the last few meters through the wet snow. They found themselves looking down on a deep, wide valley, and beyond that, another range of hills.

Below them on the vast plain, a mass of campfires sent columns of smoke spiraling into the late-afternoon air, spreading as far as the eye could see—thousands of them, surrounded by more thousands of dome-shaped felt tents. The smell of the smoke reached them now. Not heady and scented, like pine smoke, but acrid and sour smelling. Erak wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“What are they burning?” he asked.

“Dried horse dung,” Halt replied briefly. “They carry their fuel source with them. Look.”

He pointed to where the Temujai horse herd could be seen, a giant, amorphous mass that seemed to flow across the valley floor as the horses sought fresh grazing.

“Gorlog's teeth!” Erak exclaimed, stunned at the numbers. “How many are there?”

“Ten thousand, maybe twelve,” Halt replied briefly. The Skandian let out a low whistle.

“Are you sure? How can you tell?” It wasn't a sensible question, but Erak was overwhelmed by the size of the horse herd and he asked the question more for something to say than for any other reason. Halt looked at him dryly.

“It's an old cavalry trick,” he said. “You count the legs and divide by four.”

Erak returned the look. “I was just making conversation, Ranger,” he said. Halt seemed singularly unimpressed by the statement.

“Then don't,” he replied shortly. There was silence as they studied the enemy camp.

“Are you saying there are ten to twelve thousand warriors down there?” Erak asked finally. The number was a daunting one. At best, Skandia could put a force of fifteen hundred warriors in the field to face them. Perhaps two thousand, at the outside. That meant odds of six or seven to one. But Halt was shaking his head.

“More like five to six thousand,” he estimated. “Each warrior will have at least two horses. There are probably another four to five thousand personnel in the baggage train and supply columns, but they wouldn't be combatants.”

That was a little better, thought Erak. The odds had reduced to around three or four to one. A little better, he thought. Not a lot.

Not a lot by a long way.

‘WAIT HERE,” HALT SAID BRIEFLY. “I'M GOING DOWN FOR A closer look.”

“To hell with waiting here,” Erak told him. “I'm coming with you.”

Halt looked at the big Skandian, knowing it would be useless to argue. Still, he made the attempt. “I suppose it will make no difference if I point out I'm going to have to be as inconspicuous as possible?”

Erak shook his head. “Not in the slightest. I'm not taking back a secondhand report to my Oberjarl. I want to get a closer look at these people, get some idea of what we're up against.”

“I can tell you what you're up against,” Halt said grimly.

“I'll see for myself,” the jarl said stubbornly, and Halt shrugged, finally giving in.

“All right. But move carefully, and try not to make too much noise. The Temujai aren't idiots, you know. They'll have pickets out in the trees around the camp, as well as sentries on the perimeter.”

“Well, you just tell me where they are and I'll avoid them,” Erak replied, with a little heat. “I can be inconspicuous when I need to.”

“Just like you can ride, I suppose,” Halt muttered to himself. The Skandian ignored the comment, continuing to glare stubbornly at him. Halt shrugged. “Well, let's get on with it.”

They tethered their horses on the reverse side of the crest, then began to work their way down through the trees to the valley below them. They had gone a few hundred meters when Halt turned to the Skandian.

“Are there bears in these mountains?” he asked.

His companion nodded. “Of course. But it's a bit early in the year for them to be moving around. Why?”

Halt let go a long breath. “Just a vague hope, really. There's a chance that when the Temujai hear you crashing around in the trees, they might think you're a bear.”

Erak smiled, with his mouth only. His eyes were as cold as the snow.

“You're a very amusing fellow,” he told Halt. “I'd like to brain you with my ax one of these days.”

“If you could manage to do it quietly, I'd almost welcome it,” Halt said. Then he turned away and continued to lead the way down the hill, ghosting between the trees, sliding from one patch of shadow to the next, barely disturbing a branch or a twig as he passed.

Erak tried, unsuccessfully, to match the Ranger's silent movement. With each slither of his feet in the snow, each whip of a branch as he passed, Halt's teeth went more and more on edge. He had just determined that he would have to leave the Skandian behind once they got within striking distance of the Temujai camp when he glimpsed something off to their left in the trees. Quickly, he held up his hand for Erak to stop. The big Skandian, not understanding the imperative nature of the gesture, kept moving till he was alongside Halt.

“What is it?” he asked. He kept his voice low, but to Halt it seemed like a bellow that echoed among the trees.

He placed his own mouth next to the Skandian's ear and breathed, in a barely audible voice, “Listening post. In the trees.”

It was a familiar Temujai technique: whenever a force camped for the night, they threw out a screen of concealed, two-man listening posts to give early warning of any attempt at a surprise attack. He and Erak had just passed such a post, so that it now lay to their left and slightly behind them. For a moment, Halt toyed with the idea of continuing down the hill, then he discarded it. The screen was usually deployed in depth. Just because they had passed one post didn't mean there weren't others ahead of them. He decided it might be best to cut their losses and extract themselves as quietly as possible, trusting the gathering darkness to conceal them. It would mean abandoning the idea of getting a closer look at the Temujai force, but it couldn't be helped. Besides, with Erak along, it was unlikely they would get much closer without being seen—or, more likely, heard. He leaned close to the other man and spoke softly once more.

“Follow me. Go slowly. And watch where you put your feet.”

The snow under the trees was strewn with dead branches and pinecones. Several times as they'd made their way downhill, he had winced as Erak had trod, heavy-footed, on fallen branches, breaking them with seemingly earsplitting cracks.

Silently, Halt flitted between the trees, moving like a wraith, sliding into cover after he'd gone some fifty paces. He looked back and waved the Skandian on, watched for a moment with mounting apprehension as the big man moved, swaying awkwardly as he placed his feet with exaggerated care. Finally, unable to watch him any longer, Halt looked anxiously to the left, to see if there was any sign that the men in the listening post had seen or heard them.

And heard a ringingly loud crack, followed by a muffled curse, from the hill below him. Erak was poised in midstride, a rotten branch snapped in half on the snow in front of him.

“Freeze,” muttered Halt to himself, in the desperate hope that the big man would have the sense to stay motionless. Instead, Erak made the vital blunder that untrained stalkers nearly always made. He dashed for cover, hoping to substitute speed for stealth, and the sudden movement gave him away to the Temujai in the listening post.

There was a shout from above them and a flight of arrows slammed into the tree behind which the Skandian had taken cover. Halt peered around his tree. He could see two shapes in the gloom. One was moving away, sounding a horn as he went. The other was poised, an arrow on the string of his bow, eyes riveted on Erak's hiding place.

Waiting for the Skandian to move. Waiting to let the deadly shaft fly at him.

Somehow, Halt had to give Erak a chance to get clear. He called softly, “I'll step out and distract him. As soon as I do, you make for the next tree.”

The Skandian nodded. He crouched a little, preparing to make a run for it. Halt called again.

“Just to the next tree. No farther,” he said. “That's all you'll have time for before he's back on you. Believe me.”

Again, the Skandian nodded. He'd seen the speed and accuracy with which the Temujai sentry got the first shot away. He wondered how he would get any farther than the next tree. Halt's ploy of distracting the sentry would only work once. He hoped that the Ranger had something else in mind. Fading away now, he could hear the braying notes of the horn sounding the alarm as the other sentry raced downhill, calling for reinforcements. Whatever Halt did, he thought, he'd better do it soon.

Erak saw the dim form of the Ranger as he stepped into the clear from behind the tree. Erak waited a heartbeat, then ran, his legs pumping in the snow, finally diving full length and sliding behind the thick pine trunk as an arrow hissed by, just over his head. His heart was racing, even though he had covered no more than ten meters in his wild, scrambling rush up the hill. He glanced across at Halt and saw the Ranger, back in cover and some five meters farther away. He had his own longbow ready now, an arrow nocked to the string. His face was knotted in a frown of concentration. He felt the Skandian's eyes on him and called across the intervening space.

“Take a look. Carefully—don't give him enough of a target to shoot at. See if he's in the same position.”

Erak nodded and edged one eye around the bole of the tree. The Temujai warrior was still where he had been standing, his bow ready and half drawn. As matters stood, he held the upper hand, standing ready to shoot if either of them moved. Halt, on the other hand, would have to step into the clear, sight the man, aim and then shoot. By the time he had accomplished the first two actions, he would be dead.

“He hasn't moved,” Erak called to the Ranger.

“Tell me if he does,” Halt called softly in return. Lying belly-down in the snow, with just a fraction of his face protruding around the tree, Erak nodded.

Behind his tree, Halt leaned back against the rough bark and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. This was going to have to be an instinctive shot. He pictured again the dark figure of the Tem'uj, silhouetted against the lighter background of the snow. He remembered the position, setting it in his brain, letting his mind take over the control of his hands, willing the aiming and release to become an instinctive sequence. He forced his breathing to settle into a calm, slow, unhurried rhythm. The secret of speed was not to hurry, he told himself. In his mind's eye, he watched the flight of the arrow as he would fire it. He pictured it over and over again until it seemed to be a part of him—a natural extension of his own being.