When Dragons Rage

56

Will had known intellectually that raiding supply caravans would not be easy. The supplies and replacement troops Chytrine would need meant vast numbers of people and huge amounts of equipment would be heading south. Just the draft beasts and their keepers would outnumber the raiding force they had assembled. Had he been planning an equivalent strike on a gem merchant’s caravan, he would have wanted the forces a lot more even and the strike to be on his own turf.

The experience Crow and Resolute had gained through decades of hitting and running, combined with the knowledge of the local area provided by the Murosan Lancers, gave them an edge. Unconventional tactics worked further in their favor, like dropping trees across the routes the Aurolani used, or switching the little marking stones around so a supply train marched off along a road that took them well out of their way.

Crow and Resolute set out definitive rules for how to attack the enemy in any of their ambushes. Magickers were always a target, and the best shots—be they archers or draconetteers—were assigned to kill them. Next were the draft animals. Sleighs that couldn’t be drawn could not deliver their goods. If they could isolate a part of a supply train and steal the goods, they did that, but anything they couldn’t get to, they burned.

And from the first siege of Fortress Draconis, Crow had learned how devastating a burning wagon of firedirt could be, so when fire-arrows played over the supplies, those were favored targets, and everyone got under cover when one was engaged.

The two of them even planned their ambushes in depth, setting a reserve and lines of retreat that would make pursuit difficult. After an initial rattle of draconette shots cut down sleigh drivers and mages, arrows would rain down from another direction, killing beasts. When the troops assigned to protect the caravan moved to attack the ambushers, they themselves would be raked with flanking shots.

In the six days they had been out, they had diverted four groups—two being parts of the same caravan that had gotten stretched out during a snowstorm. They hit one of those groups hard when the leader decided to camp for the night. That particular raid still sent shivers through Will.

That section of the supply train had been the lead element, and had decided to wait for the other half to catch up. In all fairness to the leader, the snow had started getting thicker, so traveling was not going to be easy. He chose for them to shelter against the lee side of a line of hills, so they got some protection from the wind. The terrain did force them to stretch the caravan out, and the storm meant the guards at one end of the camp couldn’t see or hear those at the other end.

And all the while they set their camp up, Resolute and others studied the layout. They learned who was sleeping where and marked out what wagons were the most important. This section had very little firedirt, so instead of exploding it, the raiders decided to steal as much as they could to replenish the supplies of their draconetteers.

Though gibberers are normally nocturnal, the drive to get supplies south meant they had been pushing themselves hard. The storm came as a welcome excuse to rest. And had the howl of the wind not covered the raiders’ stealthy advance, the rasped, rumble-growl of snores would have sufficed.

Will remembered watching Resolute drift soundlessly through the night to reach the first gibberer picket before the beast even knew he was close. The Vorquelf had approached from downwind, denying the gibberer a chance to catch his scent. The first it knew of his presence was the tight clasp of his hand over its muzzle. The second was the sharp, short stroke of a razored longknife across its throat.

Despite being half-metal, Sallitt Hawkins had reached the next guard equally silently. As it turned and sniffed at the scent of blood on the air, the meckanshü caught its neck in the V of his right arm. His left hand caught hold of the metal wrist, then he twisted and dragged the gibberer back over his right hip. Another twist from Sallitt, this one shorter and sharper, and the gibberer went limp and slid to the ground.

Will moved with them through the night, entering the camp as if part of a legion of ghosts. Knives and garrotes made short work of guards and those few hapless gibberers who ventured from tents to find water or relieve themselves. Resolute sliced through the wall of the leader’s tent and stabbed one of his bladestars through the creature’s chest.

While the raiders moved toward the middle of the camp, Will directed his Freemen to loot the firedirt sleigh. Without complaint and with a minimum of trouble, they accomplished their task and before long they reached the place where Crow waited with the Lancers. Will said nothing to him, but waited at his side. Finally, the others trickled in, with Resolute bringing up the rear.

Crow looked at him and whispered in a low voice. “No scalps?”

The Vorquelf actually smiled for a moment. “I only take them from warriors.”

His words sank deep into Will and chilled him. Deep down he knew that the gibberers below were just as important to Chytrine’s war as those on the front lines. Without the supplies, her army would grind to a halt. Without food, they would starve. Without firedirt, they could not break city walls. Every one of the gibberers they slew down there would hurt a handful of warriors.

The fact was, however, that most of the gibberers in the camp were not warriors. Some were old, some were young, others were clearly addlepated, but only a few could have actually qualified as warriors. Certainly, given a longknife they would defend themselves, but they were not trained for killing. They hardly represented the caliber of foe he’d fought in the past, and killing them as they had almost seemed like murder.

Part of him knew their deaths were necessary. What made him uncomfortable was being in a position to sit in judgment. Just because Chytrine had decided he had to die didn’t seem to justify his being able to decide the fate of others. Then again, by killing them, he stopped her from killing him and his friends. It could be justified as self-defense, but had none of the clarity of self-defense wrapped in battlefield glory.

As the raids progressed, the raiders began to form bonds. Crow encouraged that by mixing units for specific missions, and assigning groups to aid others. That built trust and on those occasions when the depth of preparation proved necessary, everyone was happy for the help.

It started with the meckanshü, but slowly spread throughout the group. The Oriosan warriors from Fortress Draconis had left their life masks behind, so they had fashioned for themselves black masks that they did not decorate. Though no one talked about it, everyone knew the black masks were because no one harbored even the illusion that they would survive their actions. Wearing a black mask mocked death, and soon the Murosans and Will’s Freemen made and donned them. The meckanshü even made black masks for Lombo, Qwc, Dranae, and Resolute. The four of them quickly adopted the masks.

There was no black mask for Will, and after he got over the initial pique at being left out, he understood why. Everyone there believed fervently in the Norrington Prophecy. If they were going to die, Will would die last. As long as he defied death, there was hope.

That afternoon, before they mounted up to stage another raid, Sallitt Hawkins approached his brother. In his metal hand he held a black mask. “We were hoping that you’d wear one of these and join us.”

Crow, who had been settling his bow into his saddle scabbard, hung on to the saddle. His shoulders sagged for a second, then he turned with a grim expression on his face. “You know I can’t take a mask. Mine was long ago stripped from me. I was judged unworthy, and that has not changed.”

Sallitt stood there silently, the mask’s ties floating softly on the breeze. Will watched the muscles bunch in his jaw and his eyes narrow. The silvery metal mail that fleshed the right side of his face contrasted sharply with his red hair and pale skin, but it flowed as if it lived, tightening as the man thought. Will actually saw a vein pulse at his temple beneath argent sheathing.

The elder Hawkins kept his voice even, but a tightness in his throat had lowered it. “We’ve been thinking on that. It was Tarrant Hawkins who was stripped of his mask. Events seem to have proven that to be wrong. But it’s not Tarrant Hawkins we’re offering this mask to. We’re offering it to you, Kedyn’s Crow. The past doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve earned the honor of a mask many times over.”

Crow started to shake his head and deny the honor.

Will stepped forward and took the mask from Sallitt’s hand. He looked up at Crow. “In Meredo, you accepted that I was your liege lord. You accepted a mask from the hand of a Norrington before. Will you take this one now, for me? For this company?”

The white-haired man nodded slowly and dropped to one knee. Will stepped behind him and fastened the mask on, catching a hair in the knot. “It’s not that this mask makes you one of this company, Crow. In taking these masks, they’re all joining you and Resolute in your war with Chytrine.”

The Norrington stepped away and untied the mask from his own right arm, then pulled it on. He reached back to tie it into place, but found Crow there. “A Norrington always has a Hawkins to help him, my lord.”

Will smiled as he felt the knot snug and tug a piece of hair. “Thank you, Crow.” He looked up and saw the other men, especially the Oriosans among them, smiling broadly.

Will aped their smile. “Well, now that’s done, men, we have killing to do. Let’s go. There will be a lot of it, so we might as well get an early start.”