Breath of God

XX

Hamnet’s army reached the southern edge of the forest before the Rulers broke out of it. The Raumsdalians rounded up more soldiers fleeing from the mammoth-riders. Count Hamnet wasn’t sure he was glad to have them. He feared they hurt morale more than they swelled numbers. Some of them were eager enough to try conclusions against the Rulers again. More, though, babbled about barbarians spearing them from mammothback, and about magic shaking ground and twisting weather.

In summer, the forest – mostly pine and fir and spruce – was a dark green wave across the north of the Raumsdalian Empire. In the winter, snow cast a white veil of beauty over the same inhospitable countryside. The trees thrived where even oats and rye wouldn’t grow, and went on thriving up till the ground stayed frozen the year around and the Bizogot plains began.

Within five minutes of Count Hamnet’s ordering the army to halt before going into the woods, Ulric Skakki, Runolf Skallagrim, and Endil Gris all asked him the same question: “Are you going to go in there after them or wait till they come out and hit them on better ground?”

“That’s what I’m thinking about,” he answered . . . and answered . . . and answered. Suddenly, he tried to snap his fingers inside his mittens. It didn’t work, but he still smiled. “Marcovefa!” he called.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Can you find out where in the forest the Rulers are lurking?”

She nodded. “Yes, I think I can. They not belong here. They leave trail, show where they go, where they are.”

“Do that, then, please,” Hamnet said, in case she thought he was only asking a hypothetical question.

Marcovefa muttered to herself in the strange dialect the folk who lived atop the Glacier used. She rubbed her horses ears – why, Count Hamnet couldn’t have said, unless it was to touch something that did belong to this part of the world. After a moment, she pointed north and a little west. “They are there,” she said in clear Raumsdalian.

Hearing her, Hamnet Thyssen had no doubt she was right. He looked to Endil Gris and Runolf Skallagrim. He would have been ready to argue with either one or both had they chosen to disbelieve, but they didn’t. Each of them nodded in turn: her certainty brought conviction with it.

“How far?” Hamnet asked.

Marcovefa frowned and muttered to herself again. “A day’s journey, no more,” she answered. “But they are not standing still. They are heading this way.”

She spoke in Raumsdalian once more. “How do you know that?” Runolf Skallagrim asked her.

Marcovefa’s frown got deeper. She tried to explain, and she did go on using the imperial language, but what she said made little sense to Hamnet – or, he could see, to Baron Runolf or Count Endil. What did blue fringes have to do with anything? And why would there have been red fringes had the Rulers been moving away instead of forward?

“Fringes on what?” Runolf asked. “Their clothes?”

“No, no, no.” Marcovefa sounded frustrated. “Their…” She couldn’t find the Raumsdalian word she wanted, or even one in the regular Bizogot tongue. Finally, biting her lip in annoyance, she came out with one in her own dialect. That did neither Hamnet nor Runolf nor Endil any good.

“Their auras?” Ulric Skakki suggested, and went back and forth with her in her tongue for a few sentences.

She beamed. “Yes. Their auras. I thank you. The way their spirits rub against the fur of the world.”

“The fur of the world?” Endil Gris still sounded confused, and Count Hamnet couldn’t blame him, not when he was confused himself.

“I think someone who spoke Raumsdalian from birth would say, the fabric of the world.” Again, Ulric did the interpreting. “Where Marcovefa comes from, there are no fabrics except felt.”

Runolf Skallagrim asked a genuinely important question: “Do they know we’re so close, with an army that’s ready for them?”

“No.” Regardless of how strange Marcovefa’s sorcery was, she could be completely convincing when she wanted to. By Runolf’s grin, she convinced him now. Count Endil also seemed satisfied. Even Dalk – whose family name, Hamnet had learned, was Njorun – nodded thoughtfully.

“We know where they are. They don’t know where we are,” Hamnet said. “What could be better? Let’s go get them.”

Nobody told him no or tried to talk him out of it. He always remembered that. The army was in good spirits as they rode into the woods. He always remembered that, too.

Count Hamnet always liked going into the northern forests. He liked it all the better now that he had an army around him. The clean, spicy smells that came from the conifers fought the stink of soldiers and horses. The fighting men and their mounts didn’t smell so bad as they would have in the summertime, but they smelled bad enough. Firs and spruces were better.

“Set scouts out ahead and to all sides,” Ulric Skakki advised. “We want to surprise them. We don’t want them surprising us.”

“Yes, Mother, dear,” Hamnet answered. Ulric laughed and stuck out his tongue. He didn’t care if he annoyed Count Hamnet. He only cared about not getting ambushed – which, Hamnet had to admit, was reasonable enough.

Sending scouts up the road ahead of the army was easy enough. Sending them out on the flanks was anything but. The road, after all, was there to make travel easier. The horsemen trying to pick their way through the trees had a harder time of it.

Audun Gilli rode up alongside of Count Hamnet. The wizard still acted nervous and embarrassed around him – and still had good reason to. Nervous or not, he spoke up now: “I can’t feel the Rulers anywhere ahead of us.” Licking his lips, he added, “Neither can Liv.”

“What are they doing?” Hamnet Thyssen asked Marcovefa. “Are they hiding themselves with magic?”

“If it’s a masking spell, it’s a good one,” Audun said. “Better than any we use on this side of the Glacier.”

Marcovefa’s nostrils flared as she breathed in deeply. She might have been tasting the air, trying to find the flavor of the Rulers. She pointed ahead and a little to the left: the direction in which the road was taking the Raumsdalian army. “They are there,” she said. “It is a masking spell, but not so much of a masking spell, not such a good masking spell.” Turning to Audun, she asked, “You not feel the … the empty moving along the road towards us? In the empty, that is where the Rulers are.”

Audun started to chant a spell. Marcovefa gave him a different tune with words from her dialect. He imitated them as best he could. By the third try, his pronunciation was good enough to suit her. Instead of practicing the charm any more, he aimed it at the road ahead. His jaw dropped in astonishment.

“They really are there!” he exclaimed. “Or the emptiness around them is, anyhow.” He gave Marcovefa an awkward bow in the saddle. “Thank you. I’ll take this back to Liv, by your leave.”

“However it pleases you,” Marcovefa said indifferently.

That indifference pleased Hamnet Thyssen. How had Audun wormed his way into Liv’s good graces, and then into her bed? By sharing magic with her, by learning spells he didn’t know and teaching ones she didn’t. Hamnet didn’t believe Audun Gilli could teach Marcovefa anything. What a shame, he thought.

But he did ask, “If the Rulers use magic to look for us, they’ll find us, won’t they?”

“I have a small masking on us. Maybe it serve, maybe not. Better than their junk, though,” Marcovefa answered. “Only a small one. Don’t think we need any more. The Rulers too stupid even to think to look.”

They weren’t stupid, not to Hamnet s way of thinking. But they were arrogant. They always seemed to underestimate their foes. That could amount to the same thing. It could … if Hamnet could bring home a victory.

“Push the scouts forward,” he ordered. “Does anyone know if there’s a large clearing anywhere between the Rulers and us? If there is, I want to form my battle line there.”

A couple of the men who’d run from the invading barbarians stirred. “There’s a wide place in the road two, maybe three miles up,” one of them said. “You’re going to face those bastards anywhere, that’s a pretty good spot.” The other soldier nodded.

“If I remember straight, they’re right,” Ulric Skakki said. Had he been everywhere in the northern reaches of the Empire? Count Hamnet wouldn’t have been surprised. And hearing him agree with the soldiers who’d been so unenthusiastic about going north again came as no small relief.

“All right. We’ll do that, then,” Hamnet said, nodding. He called to the trumpeters who directed the army’s movements: “Blow Forward!”

The martial notes rang out. Count Hamnet urged his own horse ahead with pressure from his knees and with the reins. He reached down to make sure his sword was loose in the scabbard. It was, of course. He felt foolish for checking. But he wasn’t the only man making sure his weapons were ready. When you’d go into battle soon, you wanted to be certain your tools wouldn’t fail you.

He found the clearing where the soldiers and Ulric said it would be. It wasn’t so wide as he might have wished, but it would do. He didn’t think he would come across any better place to fight, anyhow. He put his armored lancers in the center, with horse archers on either wing. He also kept a reserve brigade he could rush to wherever it was most needed.

He was just getting his line the way he wanted it when a scout came galloping into the clearing. “They’re coming!” the Raumsdalian shouted. “They aren’t far behind me!” As if to prove him right, more frightened-looking horsemen emerged.

“Be ready!” Hamnet shouted. “We’ll want to knock them back as soon as they start to deploy.” He turned to Marcovefa. “Do they know we’re here?”

“They know the scouts are,” she answered.

His exasperated snort sent steam from his nostrils, as if he were a hard-running horse. “I know that,” he said. “Do they know this army is here?”

She laughed. “Of course not, darling,” she said. “I keep telling you and telling you – they are not very smart.”

Maybe they weren’t. Hamnet Thyssen wasn’t so sure about that, but maybe they weren’t. But they were very strong, or they wouldn’t have come so far so fast. As arrogance could ape stupidity, so strength could do duty for wisdom.

More and more riders burst into the clearing. One was wounded, while another rode a horse with an arrow in the rump. Then a man on a riding deer trotted into the open space. All the way across it, Hamnet could see his leather armor and his thick, dark, curly beard – he was a man of the Rulers, sure enough.

Marcovefa proved right – he hadn’t known a Raumsdalian army was on its way north. At the sight of so many soldiers drawn up in neat ranks, the enemy rider reined in frantically. Hamnet could read his thoughts – he had to get away and warn his friends.

“Loose!” Hamnet shouted. A good many archers had already strung their bows. Almost in one motion, they nocked and let fly. The arrows sang through the air. The warrior of the Rulers had time to throw up his shield, but it did him no good. The iron-headed shafts pierced both him and his riding deer. Together, they crumpled to the snow. Their blood streaked the clean whiteness and sent steam up into the air.

“Well, there’s one of the buggers down,” Runolf Skallagrim said. “He didn’t seem so tough.”

“No,” Hamnet Thyssen agreed. “One by one, or even a few at a time, they’re nothing special. But when you put a few of them together, or more than a few .. .”

For the next little while, the Rulers’ outriders drifted into the clearing by ones and twos and threes. Plainly, their wizards had no idea an army awaited them there. The Raumsdalians started cracking jokes as they shot down the invaders. If the Rulers kept blundering into them in driblets, they could keep killing barbarians till they ran out of arrows.

But it wouldn’t last, as Hamnet knew too well. A couple of warriors saw the carnage in the clearing soon enough to wheel their riding deer and bucket off to the north before the Raumsdalians could slay them. Before long, Marcovefa said, “They know, curse them.”

“Now the real fight starts,” Hamnet Thyssen said. Marcovefa nodded. The shaman from atop the Glacier would bear a lot of the burden on the Raumsdalian side. Hamnet bit his lip. That was a great deal to ask of anyone, and especially of a lover. Liv hadn’t been able to shoulder such a weight, try though she did. The Rulers proved too strong for her up on the Bizogot plains. Hamnet had to hope the same thing wouldn’t happen with Marcovefa here.

The ground trembled beneath his horse’s hooves. The beast snorted and shied as a low rumble filled the air and then vanished again. Some snow fell from the branches of the trees lining the clearing.

“Just what we need,” Kormak Bersi said: “a little earthquake right at the start of the battle.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that was supposed to be a little earthquake,” Count Hamnet answered.

Marcovefa nodded. “They want to squash us.” Her teeth flashed as she grinned. “They not get what they want.” She looked towards the north. “Now they come down on us. They think we all – ” She ran out of words, but gestured.

“Flattened?” Hamnet said.

“Flattened, yes. I thank you.” Marcovefa smiled again, for all the world as if a forgotten verb were the only thing she had to worry about.

A rumble came from the north. More snow fell from tree branches on that side of the clearing. The ground seemed to shake again. This time, Marcovefa couldn’t do anything about it, but Hamnet Thyssen didn’t expect her to. With cries like horns full of spit, the mammoths with warriors aboard them thundered into the clearing.

“Loose!” Hamnet shouted once more, pointing towards the great beasts.

Hundreds of arrows hissed through the air. As the mammoths had up on the Bizogot plains, they wore armor of leather dipped in boiling wax. That kept most of the Raumsdalian shafts from biting, but not all.

Wounded mammoths’ screams were even more blood-curdling than their usual cries. Some of the great beasts pulled riders off their backs with their trunks and dashed them to the ground, as if blaming them for the pain they suffered. And if they thought that, were they far wrong? Others broke formation. One or two trampled down the riding deer on either flank, smashing swaths of chaos through the Rulers’ ranks.

But most of the mammoths kept coming in spite of the barrage of arrows. “Forward!” Hamnet Thyssen shouted. The Raumsdalian trumpeters amplified the command. Momentum of your own was the best way to meet a charge. Even of mammoths? Hamnet wondered. But by then his horse was already getting up into a gallop.

He knew he didn’t want to try to withstand a line, even a disarrayed line, of charging mammoths on a horse that was standing still. He also knew men on horseback could beat men on riding deer. He’d seen that up in the Bizogot country. It ought to be even more surely true here, the Raumsdalians being better trained, better armored, and better disciplined than the big blond barbarians who lived north of them.

Nothing on this side of the Glacier could withstand a charge by heavy cavalry. Those big horses … suddenly didn’t seem so big, when men on mammothback shot down at riders from above and speared them out of the saddle with long, long lances.

Still, the Rulers didn’t have it all their own way – not even close. Count Hamnet slashed at a mammoth’s leg, hoping to hamstring the monster. It didn’t topple, but a squall of torment rewarded him. Another rider thrust his lance deep into a mammoth’s unarmored belly. Even on so huge a beast, that was bound to be a mortal wound. Blood poured from it in great gouts. The mammoth sank to its knees, then rolled over on its side.

Something buzzed past Count Hamnet s head like an angry wasp. That wasn’t an arrow – it was a slingstone. The realization made him want to duck. Especially if made of lead, those could be worse than arrows. Sometimes they sank into the wounds they created and disappeared.

You couldn’t use a sling from horseback or mammothback or even, he supposed, deerback, not if you hoped to hit anything. Hamnet looked around till he spotted the detachment of enemy slingers, who had just come out of the forest and into the clearing, where they had the room they needed to set up.

“Get them!” he shouted, pointing their way. But a lot of enemy warriors stood between the slingers and the Raumsdalians. He looked around for Marcovefa. “Can you take out the slingers?” he asked her.

She didn’t even know what they were. “I have other things to worry about,” she answered. “Muchly magickings!”

Hamnet Thyssen hadn’t felt any magic from the Rulers. Now he realized why he hadn’t. Keeping their wizards busy was much more important than knocking out their slingers, who, in the big scheme of things, were no worse than nuisances.

So he told himself, not knowing how bad a nuisance could be.

But he had other things to worry about, too. An unhorsed – or undeered, or unmammothed – warrior of the Rulers cut at him. He took the blow on his shield and slashed back. His stroke caught the enemy warrior in the side of the neck. The warrior groaned and toppled, spouting blood.

“To me, Three Tusk clan! To me, Bizogots!” Trasamund roared. “Revenge is ours! Death to the Rulers!”

“Death!” cried his clansmates and the other Bizogots from clans all across the frozen steppe. “Death to the Rulers!”

They dealt out plenty of death, too. They steered clear of the mammoths, at which Hamnet Thyssen could hardly complain. But, big men on big Raumsdalian horses, they worked a fearful slaughter against the archers mounted on the Rulers’ riding deer. The enemy warriors were brave enough and to spare; no one ever questioned the Rulers’ courage. The horses towered over the deer, though, and gave the Bizogots a decided close-range advantage over their foes.

Shouting out his orders, urging his men forward on the flanks, and doing what he could to keep the mammoths from smashing through in the center, Count Hamnet began to sense a certain agitation among the Rulers, even if their courage did not falter. They were used to prevailing by strength of sorcery as well as strength of arms. Whatever they were used to, though, they weren’t having their magical way today.

Off behind the enemy line to the right, Hamnet watched one of the Rulers who carried himself with even more arrogance than was usual for that arrogant breed screaming at four or five other men. They had to be wizards, even if they didn’t deck themselves out in fringes like Bizogot shamans or in the fancy gowns Raumsdalian sorcerers sometimes wore. And, at the moment, they were mightily unhappy wizards, too.

One of them pointed towards the Raumsdalian line – pointed in Marcovefa’s general direction, in fact. Hamnet Thyssen couldn’t hear what he said and didn’t speak his language anyhow. That didn’t mean Hamnet didn’t understand – oh, no. They’ve got a wizard who’s holding us up. That’s what the trouble is. The enemy officer didn’t buy a word of it. He did some more screaming. He did everything but jump up and down in the trampled snow. When screaming didn’t satisfy him, he slugged the wizard who’d dared tell him the truth. He kicked him when he was down, too, then stepped away in magnificent contempt.

Hamnet watched the wizard slowly and painfully rise. He wasn’t so sure he would have wanted to be that officer. High-ranking men who made their subordinates hate them suffered a startling number of unfortunate accidents. That was true among Raumsdalians and Bizogots, anyway. If the Rulers partook of ordinary human nature, it was probably so for them, too.

He glanced over to Marcovefa, who seemed to be enjoying herself in the thick of the fighting. “Maybe you should get back,” he told her. “They know what you’re doing. They’ll try to get you.”

“Let them try,” she said gaily.

Hamnet Thyssen would have argued with her more, but Endil grabbed him by the arm and pointed to the closest mammoth. “Come on, Thyssen!” the other count yelled. “If we swing in behind that bugger, we can hamstring it.”

“Do you think so?” Hamnet said, but he was already booting his horse forward alongside Endil Gris’.

He slashed at the mammoth’s hairy column of a leg. So did Endil. The mammoth didn’t crumple, as he’d seen one of the great beasts do. But it did scream in pain and lumber away from its tormentors. The warriors of the Rulers on top of the mammoth shouted in their guttural, incomprehensible tongue. They tried to get it to return to its duty. A mammoth was not like a man, though. It understood nothing of such notions. All it wanted to do was get away from what pained it.

“Not bad,” Endil Gris said, and then, “Why do these curly-bearded maniacs ride deer instead of horses?”

“I don’t think there are any horses beyond the Glacier,” Count Hamnet answered. “I don’t remember seeing any, anyhow. I suppose they tamed the best beasts they could find, that’s all.”

“You may be right. You sound like you make sense, anyhow,” Endil said. “They aren’t as good as horses, though. We can whip these bastards. How did they beat us before? We must have messed up.”

“Magic,” Hamnet Thyssen said. “They have better wizards than we do – or they did, till Marcovefa.”

He looked around to make sure she was all right. She’d never seen a horse till she came down from the Glacier, either. She’d never seen any beast larger than a fox. She made a pretty good rider, though. And she had no trouble staying away from the Rulers – and, much more to the point, fending off the spells their wizards threw at her.

As long as Hamnet saw her well and unhampered, he could go back to the business of fighting the enemy without a worry. If he fell, Endil Gris or Runolf Skallagrim would take over and make about as good a general as he did. He was valuable to the Raumsdalian cause. Marcovefa was indispensable. He understood the difference. He hoped she did, too.

Not far away, Audun Gilli traded swordstrokes with a warrior of the Rulers on a riding deer. No one would even think Audun was a first-rate horseman or a first-rate swordsman. He was keeping the enemy fighting man from killing him, but that was about all. Hamnet Thyssen rode towards them. The warrior of the Rulers steered his deer away, not wanting to fight two at once.

Audun Gilli gave Hamnet a wry grin. “I didn’t think you cared, Your Grace,” the wizard said.

Count Hamnet couldn’t even say he would be sorry to see Audun dead, because he could imagine plenty of ways he wouldn’t. He could say, “I don’t want anyone from the Rulers to do you in,” without telling any lies, so he did.

“You’d rather do it yourself, if it gets done,” Audun suggested.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Hamnet Thyssen answered. The wizard bit down on his lower lip. If he’d thought he would get some soothing hypocrisy, he need to think again.

Another slingstone buzzed past Hamnet. He pointed towards the dismounted men behind the enemy line. “Can you do anything about them?” he asked. “They’re hurting us.”

“I can try.” Audun’s quick spell was only a small one. It did no more than whip up snow into the slingers’ faces. But that put them off – for a while, anyhow. He sent Hamnet a real smile this time – maybe the first one he’d given him since taking Liv away. “It’s nothing big, and it works mostly because the strong wizards are all busy doing other things.”

“It does what it needs to do, and no one’s complaining – except those God-cursed slingers,” Hamnet said. “If you stay up at the front of the battle line, try not to get yourself killed right away, all right?”

“I’ll do my best,” Audun answered. “Are you sure you mean it?”

“Right away, I told you,” Count Hamnet said. “Liv wouldn’t come back to me even if you did, so you may as well live – for now. We need you – for now.”

“Would you want her back, since you’ve got Marcovefa?” the wizard asked.

That question probably deserved more serious consideration than it would get on the battlefield. “I don’t know if I want her back so much,” Hamnet Thyssen said. “I want not to have lost her in the first place, if you know what I mean. D’you see the difference?”

“I may. Yes, I think so,” Audun Gilli replied. “I wasn’t trying to steal her from you, you know. If she didn’t want to go, she wouldn’t have looked at me – not that way, anyhow.”

Count Hamnet believed him. But what was meant to be reassuring proved more dismaying than otherwise. Gudrid had been ready to go, and she went. Liv had been ready to go, and she went, too. Why can’t I keep a woman? What will make Marcovefa decide it’s time for her to leave?

Those questions wouldn’t get answered on a battlefield, either. The lull that had given him a minute or two to talk with the wizard ended. More warriors of the Rulers swarmed towards him on their riding deer. The mounts weren’t everything they might have been, but the men on them were as fierce as short-faced bears. Hamnet had to fight for his life again, slashing with his sword, keeping his shield between his vitals and the enemy’s weapons, and once smashing it into the face of a soldier he couldn’t stop any other way. He picked up a cut over his eye that stung like vitriol and half blinded him as it bled. His sole consolation was that it could have been worse – it could have split his skull, and it almost had.

A slingstone thudded off his shield. He felt it all the way up his arm to his shoulder. Audun was fighting hard, too – fighting too hard to keep on harassing the slingers. Count Hamnet swore under his breath. Not keeping that spell on would get Raumsdalians hurt, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. Audun Gilli was, he grudgingly supposed, allowed to keep himself alive if he could.

With a little luck, Raumsdalian horsemen would ride down the slingers before long anyhow. They were bending the Rulers on riding deer back and back on their flanks. If they could surround the enemy altogether, this whole army might get wiped out. Not even Sigvat II could complain about that. . Hamnet supposed.

He couldn’t worry about the Emperor, either. A warrior on a mammoth came much too close to skewering him with a long lance. He couldn’t do anything about that but duck, hack at the spearshaft, and sidestep his horse to get out of the way. He shook his head, angry at himself. If you didn’t pay attention to what was going on around you, you almost deserved to get speared.

Was Marcovefa paying as much attention as she should? This was her first big battle. Did she know enough to stay alive on the field? Where had she disappeared to, anyway? Count Hamnet stared across the field in growing alarm.

Spotting her, he sighed in relief. That was all right. But then, quite suddenly, it wasn’t any more. He chanced to be looking her way when a sling-stone caught her in the side of the head. It was a glancing blow. If it hadn’t been, it would have smashed in her skull like a hammer smashing a rotten melon. Yet even a glancing blow proved quite bad enough. She swayed in the saddle and started to crumple to the ground.

“No!” Hamnet howled, a cry of despair both for himself and for the fight.

A Raumsdalian trooper held Marcovefa upright. If she did fall off her horse, she’d soon get trampled by friends and foes impartially. Hamnet spurred towards her, hacking past any enemy warriors who tried to stand against him. He saw them less as foemen than as obstacles like boulders and tree trunks.

“Hullo, Your Grace,” the trooper said when Hamnet rode up. He was one of the men who’d run from the Rulers once and been forced back into the army at Kjelvik. “She got one right in the pot, I’m afraid.”

“I saw it,” Hamnet Thyssen answered grimly. He shook Marcovefa. Her limbs were as limp as a fresh corpse’s. His thumb found her wrist. Her pulse still throbbed, and strongly. She lived, anyhow. He had a skin with beer in it on his belt. Holding it to her lips, he wished it were wine.

She choked, but then swallowed. Her eyelids fluttered. But she wasn’t awake, not in any real sense of the word. Count Hamnet had no idea how badly she was hurt: he was neither healer nor wizard.

He hoped the Rulers didn’t know how badly she was hurt. When she got knocked cold, what happened to the sorcery that held their spells at bay? Wouldn’t it dissolve like mist on a hot day? How long would they need to realize that?

He got the answer faster than he wanted to. It wasn’t quite a shout of triumph echoing across the battlefield, but it might as well have been. As soon as the enemy wizards found they could at last work unhindered here … they did. And the battle, which had inclined towards the Raumsdalians, swung the Rulers’ way as well.

The trooper grabbed Count Hamnet’s left arm, the one that wasn’t steadying Marcovefa. He pointed into the cloudy sky. “By God!” he shouted. “Did you see that? Did you see it?”

Maybe because Hamnet was holding Marcovefa, maybe because he was too stubborn to yield easily to anyone’s magic, he hadn’t seen anything. “What?” he asked, his heart sinking.

“A teratorn!” the trooper cried. “Its claws almost tore my eyes out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hamnet said. “There are never any teratorns on a battlefield till the fighting’s over.”

For a couple of heartbeats, the trooper looked doubtful. He knew that, too, once someone reminded him of it. But then he ducked and quivered. “Another one!” he yelled.

And Hamnet Thyssen saw it, too, and felt the wind of its passage, and smelled the stench of corruption clinging to its feathers. Was it there? Was it real? If he thought it was, if his senses told him it was, how could he doubt it? Who could guess what the wizards of the Rulers could do with no one there to thwart them?

Cries of dismay came from all over the field. Whatever the enemy’s wizards were doing here, they were doing everywhere. Fear seemed to rise up from the ground like a poisonous fog and choke the flame of Raumsdalian hopes, which had burned so bright a moment before.

Desperately, Count Hamnet looked around for Audun Gilli and Liv and the wizards Endil Gris had brought north with him. They probably wouldn’t be able to beat the Rulers’ wizards – nobody but Marcovefa had done that. But they might slow down the enemy’s sorcery and give the Raumsdalians a chance to do with weapons what they couldn’t now with magic.

There was Audun, incanting as if his life depended on it – which was, no doubt, all too true. A puff of snow leaped up from nowhere and hit him in the face – almost the same trick he’d used against the Rulers’ slingers. It wasn’t deadly. But it made Audun cough and splutter and clap his mittened hands to his face to get snow out of his eyes. While he was busy with that, he couldn’t chant or make passes. When he started again … he got another sorcerous snowball right between the eyes.

Where was Liv? Hamnet Thyssen couldn’t see her, or the Raumsdalian wizards. He was sure they were doing all they could – Liv herself had her share and more of stern Bizogot courage. Whatever she and the Raumsdalians were doing wasn’t enough. Even Hamnet felt despair and darkness rising inside him like mold crawling up a dank board.

Hoping against hope – the only kind of hope he had left – he shook Marcovefa. If only she would come back to herself, everything might yet be saved.

She moaned and muttered something, but didn’t wake. For all he knew, her skull was broken. She might stay like this for days, or months, or years. Or she might die in the next few minutes.

“No, God,” Hamnet whispered, as if God were in the habit of paying any attention to what he wanted.

He leaned over and kissed Marcovefa. The familiar feel of his lips . .. didn’t do much. She murmured again. What could have been the ghost of a smile flitted across her face for a moment. Then it was gone as if it had never been. Hamnet Thyssen swore softly. He might have known his kisses held no magic.

“What’s wrong, Thyssen?” Runolf Skallagrim cried.

“Our wizard’s down, curse it,” Hamnet answered.

“Then we’re ruined!” Runolf was no coward, not without magic curdling his marrow. But he wheeled his horse and rode off to the south as fast as it would go.

All at once, the Rulers’ riding deer seemed bigger and fiercer than Raumsdalian war horses. Rationally, Hamnet knew that couldn’t be so, but terror drowned common sense. It’s only magic! his mind yammered. It was magic, but it wasn’t only. The mammoths seemed twenty, thirty, fifty feet high, and broad in proportion.

The Raumsdalian army melted away like the snow when spring finally came to the Bizogot steppe. It was flee or die, flee or be overwhelmed by what didn’t seem to be phantasms at all. And once flight started, it took on a momentum of its own. Hamnet Thyssen was one of the last to leave the field. He brought Marcovefa away in his arms. Even he – or maybe especially he – knew a disaster when he saw one.