The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 7

It had been two days since the armies of Stelpana forded the wash, and they had yet to see even a single Fal'Borna rider, much less a white-hair army. Enly, who rode at the head of the force with Tirnya, Stri, Cries, and the two marshals, had expected that he would be in no rush for their first battle. He still doubted the wisdom of starting this war, and he feared their first encounter with Qirsi magic.

But to his surprise, he felt himself growing impatient with every hour that passed. This wasn't battle lust, or some sudden change of heart. On the contrary, he realized that one way or another he just wanted to get that first fight over with. If war was coming, then let it come; Enly had waited long enough.

So on the third morning, when two of the scouts regularly sent out by Jenoe returned so soon after they'd been dispatched, Enly knew a moment of relief, even as he felt his pulse quicken. The marshal had assigned scouts to ride ahead of the army, behind it, and on either flank. These two men had been sent forward.

Upon seeing them riding back toward the army, Jenoe called a halt. Tirnya, who as usual rode between Stri and her father, glanced at Enly, her cheeks flushed. He couldn't tell if she looked eager or frightened.

"Report," Jenoe said, as the two men stopped in front of him.

They were both young soldiers from Qalsyn-Enly assumed that they came from Stri's company, or maybe Tirnya's. One of them had a wispy beard and mustache that were blond, like his hair, and barely visible. The other one appeared too young to manage even that much.

"There's a village up ahead, Marshal," the bearded one said. "Very small. But a village jes' th' same."

"It's called a sept," Gries said quietly.

The others looked at him briefly.

"Well, whatev'r i' is, 't's small. Can' be more 'n hundred people."

"All septs look small to men who come from the larger cities of the sovereignties," Gries told them. "Most of our soldiers can only compare the settlements to their homes, and its not a helpful comparison."

"You seem to know a good deal about the Fal'Borna, Captain," Jenoe said.

"My father has taught me much, Marshal. Perhaps he knew that this war would come eventually."

"How big is the paddock?" Enly asked.

Cries looked at him and nodded approvingly at the question. The scout appeared puzzled. "Th' what?"

"The paddock," Gries said, facing the man again. "How many horses are grazing beside the… the village?"

The young soldier turned to his companion and shrugged. "I don' know. D' you?"

"A lot," the other man said. "Couple o' hundred a' least. Bu' we didn' see any white-hairs. No' one."

"They're there," Gries said. "They wouldn't flee the sept and leave their horses behind. More likely they spotted these two or learned of our approach.

They'll be ready for us."

"Do you have any idea how many warriors this sept might have?" Jenoe asked him.

"With that many horses, they'll have several hundred people in their sept."

Jenoe nodded. "So roughly half of them would be warriors."

"No," Cries said. "The Fal'Borna are as patriarchal as any clan in the Southlands. But you're about to attack one of their septs. Every person in that settlement who's old enough to carry a weapon is a warrior. And every one of them past his or her fourth four will be able to wield magic."

Jenoe and Tirnya exchanged a look.

The marshal faced the scouts again. "Well done," he said. "I need for one of you to go to the back of our column, find the leader of the Mettai, and bring her to me."

Before either man could respond, Enly said, "I'll get her."

Jenoe furrowed his brow. "Really, Captain, I was hoping that you'd remain here and help us devise a strategy."

"I doubt that I have much to offer, Marshal. I trust Captain Ballidyne to speak for me."

Tirnya couldn't have looked more surprised.

Jenoe, however, seemed to understand. "Very well, Captain. Please bring her to me as quickly as possible."

"Of course." Enly turned his mount and rode at a brisk canter back past the other soldiers to the small cluster of Mettai villagers. The villagers were all sitting on the ground, despite a light covering of snow from a squall the previous night. Seeing him approach, Fayonne rose. After a moment, her son did as well.

"You're looking for me, I assume," the eldest said.

"Yes. The marshal wishes a word with you. Our scouts have spotted a sept ahead. It looks as though we'll be facing the Fal'Borna before the day is through."

Fayonne didn't look formidable in any traditional sense. She was small, so thin as to be almost waiflike. The years had whitened her hair and left deep lines on her face. But at the mention of the Fal'Borna she didn't quail, or widen her dark eyes, or betray any hint of the fear that Enly himself felt. He couldn't help but admire her courage.

"I'd like to bring my son," she said in an even voice. "I believe he'll be of value in any discussion of tactics."

Mander's expression didn't change. He stared back at Enly as if daring him to refuse the eldest's request.

"Of course," Enly said. "Please follow me."

He turned Nallaj, his bay, and began to lead the two Mettai toward the front of the column. He noticed that soldiers from all the armies were watching them, their eyes seemingly drawn to the Mettai like moths to a flame. There was fear in the looks they gave the woman and her son, and hostility as well. Once again, Enly wondered if this alliance Tirnya and Jenoe had forged with the sorcerers would work. Allies were supposed to trust one another. And he saw no trust at all in the way Stelpana's soldiers regarded these two.

By the time they returned to the front of the column, Jenoe, Tirnya, and the others had dismounted and were standing in a loose circle. Seeing them approach, Jenoe stepped away from Marshal Crish and the captains, a smile fixed on his youthful face.

"Eldest," he said. "Thank you for joining us. Did Captain Tolm tell you why we stopped?"

She nodded. "He said there's a sept ahead."

"That's right. We believe it's a large one, with several hundred Fal'Borna warriors. Their paddock is full, but our scouts saw no people at all." Fayonne made a sour face. "You gave yourselves away."

The marshal bristled, and Enly wondered if he'd reply in anger. After a moment, though, he merely said in a tight voice, "So it would seem."

"That's unfortunate," Fayonne went on. "It will make this more difficult.

They'll raise a mist and I'd imagine they'll try to unnerve your horses with their magic. And when you're close enough, they'll use shaping power against you."

"What would you suggest we do?" Jenoe asked.

She looked at her son, who was staring at the ground, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.

But to Enly's surprise, he was the one who answered.

"There are about fifty of us," he said, "and I think we'd be best off dividing ourselves into three or four groups. One group can use fire against their shelters. Another can use a finding spell. And still-"

Enly held up a hand. "Wait. What's a finding spell?"

Mander grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "It's magic that seeks out other magic. We can spread it over the village and if the white-hairs are hiding, it will show where they are."

"Can it be used to find a specific kind of magic?" Gries asked. Mander and his mother exchanged looks.

"I don't know," the man said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Can it find Weavers?" Gries turned to Jenoe. "If we could identify the Weavers by sight, it would make fighting them much easier. We could have our bowmen concentrate all of their fire on the leaders. If we kill them, defeating the rest would be easy."

"Can you do this?" Jenoe asked the Mettai.

Mander looked uncertain. "We can try."

"There was more," Tirnya said. "You weren't done telling us which magics you'd use."

He nodded. "Right. The last thing we should do is conjure wolves, and send them in along with the army."

Jenoe frowned. "Wolves?"

The smile returned to Mander's face. "Not just any wolves. B-" Fayonne touched his arm and shook her head.

"Enchanted wolves," Mander went on a moment later, still eyeing her. "Intelligent, powerful, and immune to language of beasts. The white-hairs wouldn't be able to confuse them with their magic."

"You've done this?" Gries asked.

"We know how to do it," Fayonne said. "Some spells have been passed down for generations. This is one of them. It was used long ago, early in the Blood Wars."

Fairlea's captain shook his head. "I've never heard of such a thing." He looked at Enly. "Have you?"

"It doesn't matter if you've heard of it," Tirnya said before Enly could answer. "This is just what we've been hoping for. We've known all along that early in the Blood Wars things were different. The Eandi did well against Qirsi magic. Now we know that some of the spells used back then survive to this day. We should use them all."

They turned to Jenoe, who gazed toward the western horizon, as if he could already see the sept. He didn't look pleased.

"Father?" Tirnya said, ending a lengthy silence.

The marshal shook his head slowly. "I don't like this. Forgive me, Eldest," he added with a glance at Fayonne. "We brought you here to wield your magic, and wield it you will. But I have to say that I'm uncomfortable fighting this way. I've never had to rely on any form of sorcery, and I never thought I would."

"You can't defeat them without us," Fayonne said, her tone as blunt as her words. "We both know that. So I'd suggest you put your qualms aside and let us fight the way we know how."

Once again, Enly expected the marshal to react angrily. Instead, he laughed.

"I suppose I deserved that. You're right, Eldest. We need your magic, and we'll be grateful to you and your people for shedding your blood on our behalf."

Fayonne nodded solemnly. "Get the others," she said, turning to her son once more. She looked back at Jenoe. "I'm sure you understand, Marshal, that we can be most effective at the head of your army."

"Yes, of course." Jenoe looked at Enly, Tirnya, and the others. "Our archers will begin the assault; we should bring them forward also."

"Yes, Marshal," Enly said, speaking for the others before they all returned to their companies.

Enly found his lead riders in a tight cluster, talking quietly among themselves as his soldiers milled about. Seeing Enly approach, they turned to face him. Aldir Canithal, the senior man among his riders, barked a command to the rest of the company that instantly had them scrambling to muster themselves back into formation.

"It's all right," Enly called.

The soldiers slowed, though they still returned to their positions. "What's happened?" Aldir asked in his usual clipped tone.

"The scouts have spotted a sept ahead. The marshal wants us to bring the bowmen forward. We're about to have our first battle."

Several of the other riders blanched at these tidings, but not Aldir. He was actually several years older than Enly, and might well have made captain already had Enly not requested that the man remain under his command. He'd explained as much to Aldir, who had dismissed his apologies with a wave of his hand.

"I'm a soldier," he'd said at the time. "I'm in no hurry t' be a captain. You boys never get yar uniforms dirty."

Enly had laughed, thinking at the time that the man was right: He was a warrior to the very core. He definitely looked the part. He had a high forehead and a broad, homely face. His nose had been broken so many times in battle tournaments and training sessions that it always looked swollen and bent. His eyes, clear blue like lake waters during the Snows, were small and widely spaced. He wasn't particularly tall or broad, but he moved with an efficient grace, like a wolf on the prowl. There was no one else with whom Enly would have felt more at ease going into battle, except perhaps-and Enly never would have admitted this to his father-for Jenoe.

"We saw ya go past with th' Mettai," Aldir said now. "We suspected th' scouts had found somethin'."

"What are th' Mettai goin' t' be doin'?" asked Jinqled Savlek.

"Magic," Enly said. "Which is just what we brought them to do."

Jinq looked away, but nodded, his lips pressed in a flat line. He was, in many ways, as different from Aldir as any man could be. Tall, handsome, with red hair, green eyes, and a smile that had charmed many a barmaid into his bed, he was the youngest of Enly's lead riders. He was a good soldier. Someday he'd be a great one, but for now he was too reckless, too prone to mistakes. He'd made clear to Enly on several occasions that he didn't like the Mettai and had no interest in riding into battle beside them.

"There are other ways t'-"

Aldir silenced Jinq by laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Let it be, lad."

Jinq looked away again.

Enly stepped closer to them. "If it makes you feel any better, Jinq," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "the marshal isn't too sure about this, either."

"Then why are we doin' it?"

"Because as much as we don't feel comfortable with sorcerers, we're going to war against them, and having magic on our side balances things a bit. Do you really want to face the Fal'Borna with nothing more than arrows and steel?"

Jinq gave a grudging shake of the head.

"Divide the men-archers and swordsmen. Aldir, you'll command the archers, and I expect you'll answer directly to the marshal. Ilyan, you'll lead the swordsmen. The rest of you go as your talents dictate. If you've any skill with a bow, follow Aldir. Archers will be most helpful against this enemy." He looked at Aldir again. "The Mettai will be performing what they call a finding spell. It'll enable us to identify their Weavers. Listen for the marshal's command and concentrate your volleys where he tells you. The Weavers are the key to all of this. If they can be defeated, the rest of the Qirsi army won't have a chance."

Aldir and the other riders nodded to him and Enly started away, intending to walk among his men.

"What kind o' spells will they be doin', Captain?" Jinq asked, stopping him. "Th' Mettai, I mean. Aside from this findin' spell."

Enly turned to face him. He'd evaded Jinq's question the first time; he didn't feel right doing so again. "They'll be using fire on the shelters." He hesitated, but only for a moment. "And they'll be conjuring wolves."

"Wolves?" Jinq repeated, the blood draining from his face.

"Apparently the Mettai who marched with our people during the early years of the Blood Wars did this, to great effect."

The young rider nodded, but he looked even more unsettled than he had before. Enly left him, knowing there was nothing he could say that would ease his mind.

It didn't take the soldiers of the three armies long to rearrange themselves, and soon they were ready to march again. The Mettai villagers now walked at the van beside Jenoe, Hendrid, and their captains. They were followed by nearly fifteen hundred bowmen. The balance of the army, some twenty-five hundred swordsmen, brought up the rear. For all his doubts about this war, Enly couldn't deny that his father and the other lord governors had put together an impressive force. The Fal'Borna might have been prepared for an attack, but he found it hard to believe that they were ready for an army of this size.

They hadn't gone far when they topped a gentle rise and looked down upon the sept, which sat on a large, wedge-shaped piece of land at the confluence of two small streams. As the scouts had said, the paddock at the far end of the settlement was crowded with horses-greys, blacks, sorrels, bays, and whites. Enly couldn't remember seeing so many horses in one place.

But while the paddock was full, the sept looked to have been deserted. Except for a few narrow plumes of pale smoke rising from shelters, Enly saw nothing to indicate that there were any people in the settlement. In fact, several of the shelters appeared to have been destroyed. Some of them were blackened, as if by fire, while others simply looked like they had been crushed.

"What do you make of it?" Jenoe asked, his voice low.

Enly turned to answer, but then realized that the marshal had been speaking to Tirnya. She was eyeing the sept through narrowed eyes, her brow creased.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say they'd already been attacked," she said. Enly shook his head. "Not attacked. Struck by the plague."

Tirnya looked at him quickly, then faced her father again. "Of course. He's right. This is what the plague does. It robs them of control over their magic before it kills them. They destroyed their village themselves."

"So are all of them dead?" asked Marshal Crish.

"No," Gries said. "There are fires burning in the shelters that remain. Some survived. I think the eldest was right. They know we're coming and they're prepared to fight us."

"Then we'll hold to our plan," Jenoe told them. "Eldest, you and your people can begin at any time."

Fayonne shook her head. "Not from this distance. We need to be closer for our magic to work."

A look of annoyance crossed the marshal's face. "Very well." He raised a hand and indicated that the army was to resume its advance. A moment later they were marching again.

When they had covered perhaps half the remaining distance to the sept, many of the horses, including Enly's, began to act strangely. Nallaj swished his tail and began to fight against Enly's efforts to steer him toward the sept. Several of the others, Tirnya's sorrel among them, actually reared.

"They're using language of beasts!" Gries called out. "We need to leave the horses here!"

The marshals and captains riding up front dismounted, and word began to spread back through the ranks that other captains and lead riders should do the same.

"Will your magic work now?" Jenoe asked.

Fayonne offered a noncommittal shrug. "I'd like to be closer."

The marshal, it seemed, had reached the limits of his patience. "Yes, Eldest, and I'd like to be on my horse still. But this is war, and we can't always have things just as we'd like. Can your magic be effective from this distance?"

"Not very," the woman said in a flat voice.

Jenoe cast a look at Tirnya that seemed to say, What's the use of having these people with us? But he held his tongue, and they started forward once more, all of them now on foot.

They hadn't gone far when thin tendrils of white mist began to emerge from the ground around the shelters, spidery and ghostlike. The mist coalesced slowly into a dense fog that would soon obscure the Fal'Borna shelters. "Will the finding spell work through this mist?" Gries asked.

"The spell will work, but naturally it will be harder to see the results."

"Then what good is it?" Jenoe asked, his voice rising.

"I told you all of this would happen, Marshal," Fayonne said. "I predicted that they would go for your horses first. I predicted that they would call forth a mist."

"Yes, and you also made it sound as if your magic could overcome these things. Now it seems that it can't. We don't know for certain, of course, because you haven't shown us any magic yet!"

The eldest smiled thinly. "Very well. Blades!" she called to her people. "Start with the finding spell. Use the wording Mander taught you."

The Mettai pulled their knives from their belts and stooped to grab handfuls of dirt. Then they sliced open the backs of their hands. Even knowing that these people wielded blood magic, Enly couldn't help but wince at the sight. He wanted to ask them if it hurt, but like the others from Stelpana, he kept silent and watched. The sorcerers deftly gathered the blood from their wounds on the flat sides of their blades, turned over their bleeding hands to reveal the earth they had gathered, and tipped the blades so that the blood mingled with the soil. Enly heard them begin to mumble to themselves. They all seemed to begin with the words "Blood to earth, life to power," but after that he had difficulty making out what they said. Too many people were speaking at once.

When they finished, though, they all heaved the bloody mixture they held in their hands toward the sept. He never would have believed that they could throw the dark mud so far, and as soon as the stuff left their hands, it appeared to transform itself into fine golden sand, which should have billowed like smoke in the wind and fallen uselessly to the grass. But it didn't.

It seemed to be propelled by some unseen force, which, Enly realized, it had been: magic. It soared through the air, shimmering faintly as it went, and spread over the settlement before seeming to sprinkle down on the shelters like a light rain. At first nothing happened. Soon, though, a few of the shelters that hadn't yet vanished within the Qirsi mist began to glow faintly.

No one from the army said a word. The marshals and most of the captains standing up front stared open-mouthed at the sept. Thinking this, Enly realized that his own mouth was open.

"That was remarkable, Eldest," Jenoe finally said.

"It was a difficult spell," she said, as if answering a question no one had asked. "Twelve parts, which is a lot for any Mettai. We needed to make it so in order to reveal not only magic, but Weaver magic. And also to make it reach the settlement from here."

Jenoe nodded. "Well, I apologize for doubting you."

She shrugged and licked her blade clean. The other Mettai cleaned the blood from their knives the same way. Tirnya looked away, frowning slightly.

Noticing Tirnya's expression, Fayonne said, "The Mettai never waste blood." She turned back to Jenoe. "The Weavers will have a yellow glow. All the others will be white."

Enly scanned the mist that had now enveloped the settlement. He could see several places that seemed to gleam faintly with a pale light, but he saw no yellow.

Jenoe turned to the captains. "Tell the archers to aim for those light areas when we're close enough."

"What about the fire magic?" Gries asked Fayonne. "And those wolves you spoke of?"

"For those we should wait until we're closer."

"All right, then," the marshal said.

He pulled his sword free and held it aloft so that all in his army could see. Then he waved it forward twice, and once again the army began to march. They still saw no sign of any Qirsi other than those pale areas of light within the mist. Nor did they hear any voices.

"This is all very odd," Enly muttered. "We're marching on a Fal'Borna village, and all we've had to face so far is a mist and some agitated horses."

Jenoe nodded. "I agree. Call the archers forward now. I want them ready as soon as we're within range."

The captains turned and called to their lead riders, who in turn called for their archers to advance. The bowmen ran forward even as the rest of the army continued their march. Soon three broad lines of archers took positions at the front of the army, spreading to the left and right so that they could launch their arrows from a variety of angles.

As soon as they were close enough, Jenoe shouted an order, making the army halt. He raised his sword again and this time waved it sideways. Those in command of the bowmen barked their commands, hundreds of bows thrummed, and a volley of arrows leaped into the sky, arcing high over the plain and then descending into that magical mist.

Screams went up from the sept. Some of them sounded like the death cries of men, but many others seemed to come from women or perhaps even children.

An instant later, a pale yellow light appeared in the fog, like a candle on a misty night.

"There!" Jenoe called. "Aim for that yellow light!" He looked at the Mettai. "The rest of your magic! Now!"

Again Enly heard the dull thud of the bows, and a second volley climbed toward the clouds.

"Not the fire," Fayonne said. "Flames in that mist will make you lose track of the Weaver."

"The wolves then! Hurry!"

Once more the Mettai gathered handfuls of earth, cut themselves, mixed the blood and soil, and began to speak their spells. As before, Enly couldn't understand much of what they said. But he could make out a bit more of it. There seemed to be a pattern, linkages between the phrases: "Life to power, power to thought, thought to…" He lost track after that.

And then the sorcerers threw their clumps of blood and earth, and Enly stopped caring what they had said.

Watching that golden powder fly toward the settlement had been as remarkable as anything he had ever seen. But what they conjured this time stole his breath, and left him frightened as well as awed. As soon as the mud left the Mettai's hands it began to change and grow. It happened so quickly that the shapes he saw appeared to be writhing. And by the time they hit the ground, the balls of mud had taken the form of great wolves. They landed lightly, gracefully, as if rather than being created by magic they had jumped down from some unseen crag. They were a good deal larger than wolves Enly had seen while hunting with his father in the Aelean Highlands. Their heads came almost to his shoulder. Their fur was black, with just a streak of silver-grey on their snouts or foreheads, and their eyes were bright yellow. Several of them bared their teeth and snarled at the Eandi soldiers. But then one of them turned and started loping toward the sept, and the others followed. In moments, they had broken into a full run, as if they had caught the scent of their prey.

The archers released another swarm of arrows, which curved across the sky toward that yellow glow of the Fal'Borna Weaver. Enly felt a wind rise out of the west, and knew immediately that the arrows would fall short. But the mist summoned by the Qirsi had started to grow thin. He could make out some shelters once again, and he wondered if this meant that the magic of the Weaver was failing.

Jenoe shouted with some urgency for the bowmen to loose their darts again. As soon as they did, Enly understood what the marshal hoped to do. The arrows reached their zenith and began to descend, just as the Mettai's black wolves splashed through the stream that fronted the sept. They would reach the Weaver just moments after the arrows did. The Fal'Borna had to choose which threat to combat with his magic.

The mist was vanishing, and now Enly felt the wind die away as well. He heard several of the leading wolves yelp in pain, and saw them collapse a short distance in front of the man. Shaping power, no doubt. But the others leaped over the fallen animals and converged on him. The arrows struck, several of them burying themselves in the Weaver's chest and shoulders. And as he went down, the wolves pounced.

A cheer went up from Stelpana's army.

"Advance!" Jenoe cried.

The Eandi swordsmen let out a deafening war cry and started forward past the bowmen, who held their ground. The archers launched one last salvo at the village, but from what Enly could see, few sorcerers remained alive.

A small number of Fal'Borna warriors emerged from the shelters, all of them glowing white, some bearing blades, others spears.

Many of the wolves seemed intent on devouring the Weaver, but more than a dozen of them broke off from the pack and began to advance on the sorcerers who remained. Enly thought it likely that the battle would be won before he and the other swordsmen crossed the stream.

He looked over at Tirnya and found that she was already gazing his way. She looked pleased, her cheeks flushed. Enly couldn't blame her. It was just as she had predicted back in Qalsyn when she first proposed that they attack the Qirsi and attempt to retake D'Raqor. These Fal'Borna had been weakened by the plague that had ravaged their land, as Tirnya had foreseen. Fayonne and the other Mettai had proven themselves formidable allies, as Tirnya had said they would. Amazingly, they had conquered a Fal'Borna settlement without shedding any Eandi blood.

The first battle was theirs.

And then it all began to go horribly wrong.