Straken

Seventeen

Rain, a blessing and a curse, fell in windblown sheets that draped the whole of the wetlands through which the Elves trudged. On the one hand, it kept the Federation airships grounded, lessening considerably the chances that their enemy would discover their intentions. No vessel could fly safely in such weather, not even the little three–man skiffs that both sides preferred for scouting missions and which normally were so reliable. On the other hand, it made foot passage through the northwest bottom country all but impossible. Their enemies might not be able to see them, but they, in turn, could barely see the noses in front of their faces.

Pied Sanderling, at the point of the scouting patrol he led, heard something move just ahead and signaled silently for a halt. The three men spread out behind him froze, weapons ready. Somewhere behind them, lost in the mist and rain, the rest of his makeshift army followed, strung out through the wetlands like a long snake, relying on him to act as its eyes. They had been on the march for the better part of three days with no sleep in the last two. The weather had turned foul the first day and hadn’t improved since. It hadn’t mattered as much in the beginning, when they were still in the hill country north, the ground rolling but solid beneath their feet. Then the rain provided concealment from those who hunted them. But the wetlands were a treacherous bog that swallowed men whole and through which passage was difficult under the best of circumstances. The decision to go that way had been based on Pied’s certainty that the Federation’s perception of them as little more than harmless remnants of a defeated Elven army had changed with their destruction of the enemy force sent to track them down and finish them off. The hunt for them now would be intensive. Moreover, it would come from the broader, less congested country west, which persuaded him to choose the more difficult eastern route for his own command.

He just hoped that the veteran scout Whyl, on whom he had relied in making that decision, knew what he was talking about when he had assured Pied that there was passage through. It was his country, and he knew it as well as anyone in the Elven command. But in such miserable weather, it was difficult to find your way out of your own backyard. If Whyl was even a little mistaken or had in any way misjudged…

He broke off thinking about it. Doubts would not help them. Whyl was with the patrol and had not seemed confused even in the face of the disorienting weather. Pied had to trust him. He had no one else.

« Captain,” the veteran whispered, standing at his elbow and pointing ahead into the rain.

At first, the whole of the landscape was gray and rain–washed, earth and sky looking very much the same. Pied didn’t see anything. But then a figure appeared, crouched and hesitant.

Troon.

She gave a quick wave of recognition and hurried up to greet them. She was small and compact with unusual gray eyes and impish features. Her clothing was sodden and muddied, and her short–cropped dark hair had flattened against her head like a helmet. She was the best of his Home Guard Trackers, his first choice even before Acrolace had gone down.

« We are almost through,” she whispered as they clustered around her, breaking into a smile in response to theirs.

« You’re sure?» Pied pressed. «No mistaking a skirmish line for the real thing?»

« No mistake. The Federation lines are less than half a mile away. They have surrounded the east plateau on three sides, laying siege to Droshen’s Free–born, but as yet they haven’t broken through. I couldn’t tell about the condition of the airship fleet, I couldn’t get close enough to make certain. But the Free–born still hold the high ground.»

« Then they haven’t gotten theDechtera aloft again so they can use that weapon.» Pied reached out and gripped her shoulder. «Good work. And you also, Whyl,” he added, turning to the veteran scout. «We’re where we want to be, thanks to you.»

« What happens now?» Troon asked. Rain dripped off her face in steady rivulets.

Pied shook his head. He wasn’t sure of that himself. «First, we bring up the army.»

He sent one of the members of his patrol back with the news, then hunkered down to wait. He sat apart from the others, giving himself time and space to think things through. At such times he wished he had Drumundoon with him to act as a sounding board. But his aide was still gone, hopefully in Arborlon, breaking the news of the disaster on the Prekkendorran to Arling and seeking the reinforcements Pied had requested. He wondered how successful Drum had been. Under Kellen Elessedil, such a request would have been granted with barely a second thought. But the King was dead, and Arling was Queen. Arling might not be so eager to commit further Elven forces to a cause she had never believed in, particularly when the request was coming from him.

How things changed.

Once, he could have asked her for anything. He had been close to her in ways that he had never been close to anyone else. He had thought they would be together forever. But Arling had grander plans. When she married Kellen, he had been devastated but had understood her reasons. Marrying the King of the Elves offered a chance for advancement that only a fool would refuse, and Arling was no one’s fool. She had loved Pied, but not well enough to pass up an opportunity of that sort. She was always ambitious that way, she was always smart about her choices. He thought that her marriage to Kellen had lacked the passion of her relationship with him, but he realized that his perception might be mostly the result of wishful thinking. She had left him to marry his cousin, the King, and that made any sort of reasonable perspective difficult.

But she did not abandon him entirely. She had remained his friend, arranging for him to be named Captain of the Home Guard, advancing his career immeasurably. It was a gesture he did not mistake for anything but what it was, but which he appreciated nevertheless. Over the years, she had come to rely on his advice in difficult situations, seeking it surreptitiously, making it clear that Kellen must never know. By doing so, she revealed the lack of confidence she had in her husband’s judgment. It was an attitude Pied shared, though both were loyal to and served him as King. Arling never attempted subterfuge or manipulation of the sort that might threaten the throne, but she was not above blunting Kellen’s more impulsive behavior or reshaping his more ill–conceived plans when it was clear he was courting disaster of one sort or another. In most of those efforts, Pied was her willing ally.

It was a strange relationship the three shared, the product of lives that were so closely intertwined that it was impossible to separate out the different threads. Each understood the personal role that had been allotted to them, each accepted the roles of the others. But the emotional entanglements made it difficult for Pied, if not for Arling or the King. He would have preferred a different ending to the story than the one that had been thrust upon him, but that had never seemed possible.

Until now. Now, he wondered if the ending might be changed. Would Arling see him in a different light now that Kellen was dead? Could she feel about him again as she once had? He could barely make himself think about that without cringing. It felt like a betrayal. Arling might see it that way, as well.

Who was responsible for the safety of the King if not the Captain of the Home Guard?

Ti Auberen appeared out of the haze and crouched down next to him, his tall frame bending close as he brushed the rain from his eyes. «Captain, the army is closing ranks behind us. Another half hour and the rear guard will have caught up and we will be ready to move. What are your orders?»

He glanced up at the big man, his thoughts of Arling scattered into the mist. «Ask Troon to come over.»

The Elven Tracker came at once in response to his summons and dropped down beside him. They had known each other for most of their lives, friends before they were Elven Hunters, before he was her commander.

She gave him another of those quick, engaging smiles, and he smiled back. It was their way of acknowledging the depth of the relationship. «We’re going to have to break through the Federation lines to reach the Free–born on the heights,” he said. «Is there a place we might do that?»

She considered. «Breaking through isn’t the problem, it’s gaining the heights. There is a gate in the Free–born fortifications that wards a drift down off the heights west. That gate offers us our best chance. But Federation soldiers surround it to prevent a breakout.»

« They think Vaden Wick might run?»

« I don’t know. Maybe they think he might attack.»

Pied grinned. «It would be like him. Can you get past the Federation lines and inside the fortifications?»

She shrugged. «Can I try it at night?»

He nodded. He could tell from the glint in her eyes that she relished the challenge. «I want you to tell Vaden Wick we will make our breakthrough tomorrow at sunrise. It would help our effort if he was to create a diversion that would draw attention elsewhere and stand ready to throw open the gates when we reach them.»

« Sunrise, tomorrow,” she repeated.

« Don’t take any unnecessary risks. If you can’t get through, come back. We’ll find another way.»

She reached out impulsively and patted his cheek. «Worry for someone who needs it, Captain. I will get through.»

She arched an admonishing eyebrow at him, grinned at his obvious discomfort, then rose and hurried away.

By nightfall, she was gone. She left without saying anything further to anyone, slipping from the Elven camp as if her departure were of no consequence. She was like that, a steady presence who never made much of the dangerous work she did. Pied sometimes wondered why she continued to risk herself after so many years, but he could never bring himself to ask her. He felt the reasons were hers, and she was entitled to keep them private. It was enough that she was there for the Home Guard every time he called on her.

Unable to settle in, he slept poorly that night. With Drum gone, he lacked reassurance that things were in any sort of order and kept wondering what he had overlooked. He awoke well before sunrise, stiff and unrested, still dressed in the clothes he had worn for the past three days, rose from his blankets into the chilly morning air, buckled on his weapons, and walked down through the camp to find a cup of hot ale. It had quit raining, though the air was thick with the smell of damp and mist hung in gauzy blankets across the whole of the wilderness. They would march forward the last half mile when the false dawn began to brighten the eastern sky and would be at the backs of the Federation soldiers by true dawn. It would require that they travel in silence, and he had given the order the previous night that everything was to be lashed down or muffled. Whyl and two other scouts would go on ahead to prevent unexpected encounters. If things worked as he hoped, he would catch the Federation just rising and be on them before they knew what was happening.

He found his Elven Hunters mostly awake or coming awake, as anxious as he was to get on with the effort of breaching the Federation lines and rejoining the Free–born army. Activity marked the whole of the camp, and everywhere he walked he was greeted with whispers and nods. He returned the greetings, aware of what they meant. The men and women had come to believe in themselves again, and he must see that they did not lose that newly rediscovered self–confidence through any failure of his.

At the first indication of a graying in the east, the Elven command set out. They were formed up in units of fifty, with a commander of senior rank assigned to each. Erris Crewer had his archers deployed to either side of the regular units, both Elven Hunter and Home Guard, a screen against whatever they might encounter. They moved forward quickly, trusting to the scouts, who had gone on ahead, making their way through the deep gloom like wraiths.

Elves knew how to stay hidden when it was needed, it was one of the first things they were taught while growing up, a part of their heritage from the Old World. That day, in their approach to the Federation, it served them well. Before the sun crested the horizon, they had reached the rear of the Federation siege lines and were able to see how the enemy was deployed and to analyze what they would have to do to get past. It was a daunting task. The Federation forces easily outnumbered them three to one, even there, at that position, and without regard for reinforcements that might be dispatched from other parts of the siege line once the Elves’ presence was discovered. The Federation soldiers were settled in behind fortifications that had been erected over the previous week, when the Elves were driven off the western heights and the rest of the Free–born allies were trapped east. An extended line of pack animals and horses was picketed farther back, blocking the Elven way forward and offering still another obstacle that they must get past.

Pied took a long moment to consider how to proceed, weighing the choice of a breakthrough at a single point in the Federation line versus a breakthrough at several. The former kept things more tightly controlled, and he opted for it. They would all get through together or they would not get through at all.

He put the most dependable and seasoned of his Elven Hunters in the vanguard with Ti Auberen in command, wedged Erris Crewer and his archers in behind them with swordsmen and spear bearers on the flanks, passed the signal back to be ready to make a run for it when the front ranks broke from cover, and settled back to wait for the dawn.

We’ll need help to do this,he was thinking as he watched the gray horizon slowly brighten.

Then a Federation picket that they had thought safely turned away wandered back through the lines and stumbled on them. He was dead almost immediately, killed by one of the archers, but not before he had gotten off a warning shout that caused heads to turn.

Pied never hesitated. «Elessedil!» he shouted, and the Elves took up the cry.

They broke from the cover of the gloom and the mist and charged through the Federation camp. Pied had been right in his assessment of the situation: The Federation soldiers were just beginning to stir from their sleep, and the Elves were in their midst before most even knew what was happening. The night watch fought back bravely but was swiftly overrun, and the Elves went through the camp virtually unopposed.

The Federation soldiers who manned the fortifications were better prepared, however, and the battle to get past them was bitter and hot. Trapped against their own walls, they fought like demons, slowing the Elven rush sufficiently that for a moment it nearly stalled. Pied pushed his way to the forefront of the fighting, shouting at Ti Auberen to keep moving, to break through the lines. Home Guard warded him every step of the way, fighting to keep the enemy from getting close. From the center of the rush, Elven archers sent flurries of arrows down the siege lines, forcing the soldiers who manned them to duck for cover. In a concerted rush, the Elves slammed into the fortifications. Sandbags, earthworks, and wooden slats gave way under the crush, and the Elves were through and streaming across the flats separating the siege lines from the heights.

Ahead, the Free–born gates were barely visible, a massive barrier formed of iron–reinforced timbers set into walls that stood twenty feet high. There was activity on those walls, Pied could see the movement from the soldiers manning them as he raced across the grasslands.

But the gates were not opening to them.

For just a moment, Pied considered the possibility that Troon had not reached Vaden Wick. It had never occurred to him that she could fail.

At their backs, Federation soldiers were rallying, archers and javelin throwers trying to bring down the Elves from behind. Some among the pursued fell victim to the missiles, stricken and helpless and lost in the rush. Those in the Elven rear guard stopped to help where they could, but the press forward was intense and there was no time for hesitation. A knot of Federation soldiers swarmed onto the plains in a foolish chase that was brought up short when Erris Crewer wheeled his archers back long enough for them to use their longbows in a sustained volley that dropped the pursuers in their tracks.

Farther down the line, Federation horsemen were riding out to intercept the Elves, charging hard and closing the distance between them with alarming quickness. Pied saw that the horsemen would reach the Elves before the Elves reached the protection of the Free–born, even should the Free–born be aware of what was happening.

Why didn’t they open the gates?

They were still a hundred yards from the walls when Pied shouted for Ti Auberen to form up ranks. The Elves wheeled into triangle formations and turned to face the approaching riders. Erris Crewer brought the archers into position at the rear, their ranks three deep, and the Elves prepared to stand and fight. Pied felt his heart sink. They could hold for a time, but in the end they would be overrun, caught out in the open with no place to hide and no one to stand with them.

He moved to the front triangle to stand with Auberen. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say.

Then, with the Federation riders almost on top of them and the Elven archers already letting go with their first volleys, the gates of the Free–born defenses finally swung open and out rode the Red Cloaks, the horse unit of the Bordermen of Callahorn, successors to the fabled Border Legion. They burst through the opening in a wave of crimson and a cacophony of wild cries, charging hard for the Federation cavalry. Clad in heavy armor and wielding lances, they tore through the Federation riders as if they were so many straw men, breaking apart their ranks and shattering the attack. In only minutes, the entire Federation force was in flight, and the Red Cloaks owned the grasslands.

The Elves, meanwhile, were running for the gates once more, the cheers of the defenders urging them on. Pied ran with them, a surge of relief flooding through him. As he passed through the gates and behind the safety of the Free–born defenses, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Troon stood at his elbow, grinning broadly.

« You didn’t think I got through, did you?» she shouted at him above the din of men and horses. «Admit it, you saw the gates were closed and you thought I’d failed.» Her gray eyes danced with glee. «Didn’t I tell you not to worry?»

Pied responded by giving her a hug and was surprised when she hugged him back, even more surprised to discover how good it felt.

He moved on, searching for Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer. They had to make arrangements for what would happen next. But his Lieutenants were nowhere to be found in the surge of ebullient soldiers coming in from the grasslands. He found himself carried along by the tide, swept uphill to the heights where the main body of the Free–born was settled. There was a general milling about as the newly arrived were sorted out—the healthy directed to campsites and the wounded taken away for treatment. Pied wandered through the crowd, wondering what had possessed him to hug Troon, something commanding officers did not do to soldiers, no matter the nature of the relationship. It wasn’t really the propriety of the action that bothered him, it was the emotions it had stirred. He had known Troon since they were children, but he had never been attracted to her. She was a Tracker in his Home Guard command, the one on whom he could always rely. She was his childhood friend, someone he liked to be around and who made him smile.

But for a minute back there, he had felt like she might be something more.

He forced his thoughts to other things and walked on.

Not an hour later, as he was buckling on his weapons, he heard his name called. He’d had just enough time to find his command post, connect with Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer, wash himself from a basin of warm water, and change into fresh clothes. He looked up to see a powerfully built Dwarf with long black hair and a beard braided at the chin and just below both ears approach. Several others of similar size but less flamboyant looks flanked him, hard–eyed men wearing multiple blades and bearing scars on their hands and faces. There was not a smile to be found on any of them save for the leader, but he was smiling broadly enough for them all.

« Captain Sanderling!» he boomed, his voice deep and resonant, the sound of it strangely compelling, like that of a practiced orator. «I’m Vaden Wick, Captain. Glad you made it through. We have been anticipating your arrival ever since your Tracker informed us of your coming. Heard about your success against the Federation three days back. That was impressive. Others would simply have kept running.»

« I thought about it,” Pied said. He reached out to shake the others hand.

« I doubt that. You haven’t the look.» Vaden Wick tugged on the braid below his right ear, casting quick glances about the Elven camp, his sharp eyes taking in everything. «We have a lot to talk about. Can we do it now?»

He walked Pied down to the Free–born fortifications at the southern edge of the east plateau, exchanging greetings with his soldiers on the way, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned about anything. He had that quality of being able to disconnect from the burden of leadership when out among those he commanded, lending a sense of confidence to everyone he passed.

But when they stopped at a watchtower that was hastily vacated for their use, he abruptly changed. «Captain, we have a problem, and I need your help in solving it.» He looked out across the Prekkendorran to where the Federation lines were dark creases against the horizon to the south, wrapping east and west about the Free–born encampment like a snake. «We’re trapped here, hemmed in on every side but the one where we don’t wish to go. We can’t allow that to last much longer. That big airship with the weapon that burned Kellen Elessedil and his fleet out of the skies was airborne yesterday, a practice run that took her just outside the rear lines but was clearly meant as a test of her fitness. Another day, maybe two, and they will come after us. When they do, we’re finished.»

He looked over at Pied. «We have to find a way to stop that airship. You fought against her and you know her better than any of us. You damaged her or she would have done a good deal more than destroy the Elven fleet. I need to know if there is some way we can disable her when she comes after us again.»

Pied shook his head. «I was lucky, that last time. We were in a skiff, too small even to be a threat, but we got behind her and under her and used rail slings to damage the steering. My guess is they won’t let that happen again. The next time she comes after us, she’ll have armor up all over.»

Vaden Wick nodded. «I would guess so, too. So we need something else. Another way to damage her. A way to stop her before she even gets to us.»

Pied looked at him, realizing suddenly what he was saying. «You plan on going after her, don’t you?»

« If I get the chance. But I have to know how to knock her down before we engage her again. We have our airships ready to go, once we find what her weakness is. You’ve fought her and lived to tell about it. I thought you might have some insight.»

Pied looked off into the distance. If he had any insight, it was eluding him. He wanted to help, but the depth of his knowledge about theDechtera and her weapon was tiny. Mostly, he knew what would happen once the big Federation ship was aloft. Was there a weakness that the Free–born could exploit when that happened? He tried to think of one and failed.

« You think we have today and maybe tomorrow,” he repeated.

« At most.»

Pied thought about it some more. «They seem to have only one of these weapons,” he said. «One ship, one weapon.»

« So far.»

« A prototype.»

Vaden Wick looked at him, waiting.

« Can they even build another?»

The Dwarf shrugged. «Seems that if they could, they would have by now.»

Pied took a deep breath, an idea forming. «I think we need to get to her while she is still on the ground,” he said. «We need to get to her and destroy her completely. Maybe they really can’t build another.»

« We’ve thought of that. But she sits right in the center of the Federation camp, ringed by all sorts of protective barriers and hundreds of Federation soldiers. Neither a ground attack nor an air strike would even get close.»

Pied nodded. «Not if they see it coming,” he said. «But maybe we can arrange it so they don’t.»