Forging the Sword (The Farsala Trilogy) Page 7

  “We should have charged them that first night,” Fasal grumbled when he saw the new earthworks.

  “And let them hide in the bushes and hamstring our horses from behind?” Jiaan asked. “Or hadn’t you noticed how much brush there is in that camp? Enough to conceal dozens of archers, and men who could ambush attackers too.”

  He took small comfort from Fasal’s embarrassed blush, for it had taken several days for him to realize how much cover was provided by the tall, stream-side bushes that filled the Hrum camp. Instead of cutting them back, which is what Jiaan had expected them to do, the Hrum were harvesting the bushes that grew outside their perimeter. They used the branches to create screens that would further conceal their tents and the movements of their men from any archers who might creep near.

  A few quick experiments had taught Jiaan that no fire arrows would set those boughs alight. Laid in the heart of a blaze, they smoldered and smoked for an amazing amount of time before catching fire, and then burned sluggishly. When he inquired, the Suud told him that the thick-leafed branches would stay green for weeks.

  The Hrum’s brush screens, along with the clearing of the bushes outside their perimeter, made sneaking near enough to the Hrum camp to do any good almost impossible. Impossible, at least, for Jiaan’s archers. After watching the Suud trackers for the last few weeks, Jiaan wouldn’t have bet that there was anything they couldn’t do.

  No, his best move was to allow the Hrum enough time to relax their guard and regain their arrogant confidence. So Jiaan assigned a handful of men to accompany the Suud who followed the Hrum patrols, and sent Fasal and most of his men back to their own permanent camp to rest and relax.

  He was startled two days later when Isaf, who had gone with the Suud trackers to keep an eye on the Hrum, came running back into the temporary camp.

  “Commander!” he gasped, looking around. His eyes were slitted against the brilliant light. “Where’s the—There you are, sir. The Suud sent me to get you. The Hrum have captured a Suud hunting party! They were out on a long hunt and had set up their hutches to sleep out the day. The Hrum came around a bend and ran right into them.”

  Jiaan was already donning his ring-studded silk vest. “I thought all the Suud in the area had been informed about the Hrum’s movements. They were supposed to keep out of their way!”

  “Well, it looks like some of them didn’t get the word,” said Isaf, wiping his face.

  The long dry spell had broken days ago in a series of afternoon storms, but today was sunny, and it was too hot to run. Another man handed Isaf a water skin, and he drank thirstily.

  Jiaan closed his lips over his next question. He considered his options—there weren’t many. “Get the men armed and ready to move,” he told Aram.

  “But sir, we’ve not more than fifty men here! If we send to the main camp, we can—”

  “If we send to the main camp, they won’t come in time to do any good,” Jiaan interrupted. “They can’t get here before the Hrum get their prisoners back to their camp.” Jiaan had been told that the Hrum didn’t torture prisoners, but he wasn’t certain he believed it. He knew that they took slaves.

  He turned to Isaf. “Have the Suud hunters been harmed?”

  “No sir, not yet. And when I left the Suud—our tracker lads, I mean—they had their spears out and were ready to attack if the Hrum made a move. But there’s only six of them, and the Hrum have three centris!”

  Jiaan had only fifty men—and a debt to his allies that was far greater than this.

  “Can we ride there?” he asked Isaf crisply.

  “No sir, too rough for horses. Almost too rough for men on foot. I had to climb down a couple of cliffs. They’re small cliffs,” he added hastily, “but—”

  “Then we’ll climb them,” said Jiaan. He raised his voice. “Everyone! Arm and get ready to march.”

  Rushing through the twisted maze of canyons, Jiaan had time to think that if the Hrum wanted to set their own ambush this was the perfect way to do it. The only thing that kept him running, that made him willing to continue trading caution for speed, was the knowledge that the Hrum couldn’t possibly have anticipated finding the Suud hunters’ camp. Unless they’d somehow made contact with a Suud clan that would accept a bribe? No, surely not. If the Suud—any Suud—turned against the Farsalans, then Jiaan’s army was doomed. All the tribes knew where the Farsalans’ main camp was, and all they had to do was lead the Hrum there.

  When Jiaan had first come to the desert, he had thought that the Suud gained their tactical advantage by traveling over the tops of the ridges and rocky buttes. But when he, tentatively, mentioned it, the whole clan had laughed at him. After spending almost a month in the desert Jiaan understood why. The ridges and shattered mesas were too disconnected for anyone to travel on for long; if you tried to do so, you wasted all your time and strength climbing in and out of the canyons that lay between them. The Suud’s advantage, and it was considerable, was that they knew the best routes through the maze and the easiest passes from one route to another. But easiest didn’t always mean easy. To reach the place where the Suud hunting party had camped, Jiaan’s troop had to pass over two ridges—and the descent from one of them was sheer enough to leave him panting with fear as well as exertion by the time he reached the bottom.

  It might have been a small cliff compared to the great rampart that separated the badlands from the mountains, but it was high enough that a fall from the top would kill. Jiaan’s first descent into the desert had showed him that this was no place for someone who didn’t like heights. He was only glad that Fasal wasn’t there to see him sweat.

  When they climbed the ridge that overlooked the valley where the Hrum had stopped, the first thing Jiaan noticed was that the only place they could fire arrows from was on the other side of the valley, and that the slope there was shallow enough that the Hrum could storm it.

  The second thing he noticed was that the Suud, far from being shackled or slain, seemed to be having a very good time.

  “The Hrum are feeding them?” he murmured to the hooded Suud tracker who met them at the top of the rise.

  “They trade,” the man said. He seemed fairly relaxed about the whole thing, although his gaze never left the scene below. “Hunter have gazelle. Hrum give bread stuff, take gazelle. Cook.”

  Jiaan could see that for himself. The carcass was still mounted on its improvised spit, but a Hrum soldier was carving off slices for his waiting comrades. The Suud, who were clustered in the shade of a tumble of boulders, were already eating their portions. Except for the presence of the Hrum sentries it looked for all the world like a picnic—right down to the easy smile on almost every face.

  “I don’t understand, sir,” said Aram. “This is the Hrum’s chance to learn where we’re camped. What are they doing?”

  “The smart thing,” said Jiaan softly. “That’s what they’re doing. We’ll keep watch all the same, but I don’t think we have to worry about making a sudden charge.”

  Just as he expected, the Suud eventually finished their “midnight” feast, and after some further talk with the Hrum commander returned to their hutches to await the night. The Hrum formed up and marched away.

  Jiaan sent all but two of the trackers on to continue keeping an eye on them. One he sent to guide his men back to their own camp, though by now they might have been able to retrace the route on their own. The other, who spoke the best Faran of any of them, Jiaan kept to accompany him.

  He waited out the long marks until dusk before descending to the valley. No point in two groups of foreigners interrupting the hunters’ sleep.

  To Jiaan’s surprise, the leader of the hunting party was a woman. “She says good people,” his guide translated. “Good, because make bargain.”

  “They made a bargain?” Jiaan asked in alarm.

  The translator shook his head. “Sorry, she says want bargain. Hrum people want you people. Us help. Offer knives, spears, cloth—much, much.”

 
; He grinned at Jiaan. “She says Hrum Faran good good, but her Faran not. Hard talk. Hrum man tell her like you tell, Hrum take man for army. She makes only one trade, gazelle for bread stuff. Not two trade.”

  The Hrum commander had confirmed what Jiaan had told them about the Hrum’s draft, so they’d decided not to switch sides. The draft was the main reason the Suud had agreed to help Jiaan’s army in the first place, but that didn’t keep his knees from going wobbly with relief.

  “Thank her for me,” he said. “Tell her that the Hrum commander told the truth about them taking your young men for their army, and that the Farsalans will never do that. She made the right choice.”

  But as he turned away he couldn’t help but wonder if the Hrum commander, in telling the truth, in dealing honorably with these people, hadn’t made the right choice too.

  JIAAN WAITED ANOTHER five days before setting his second ambush. This one entailed some risk, as he told his men when he returned to the main camp to gather his forces and ask for volunteers. The Hrum would have to be able to see the bait and follow the Farsalans for some time before they became excited enough to abandon the caution they’d practiced for the last week and a half.

  He wasn’t surprised when Fasal instantly stepped forward, but he was dismayed at how many of the newer, more hotheaded recruits instantly followed him. Since horsemanship was one of the main criteria for the men posing as bait, Jiaan accepted Fasal, but he inserted many of his sensible veterans into the party as well.

  So far, the Suud trackers reported, the plan was working beautifully. The Hrum had seen the small band of Farsalans at the end of the canyon—only a third of them on horseback!—and dashed off in eager pursuit.

  A horse carrying one man, even with two more clinging to his saddle, could outrun men on foot—but as the Hrum knew, a horse so burdened couldn’t keep up that pace for long. Crouched atop the mouth of the long, narrow canyon where his trap was set, Jiaan could hear their hoofbeats approaching. They’d dropped to a trot now, and perhaps it was only in his imagination that it sounded like a weary trot. They would be here soon.

  Jiaan turned to the young Suud beside him, wishing he could see his face in the enveloping hood. “Are you ready with the rope?”

  The Suud snorted. “Are you kidding? All life, boy, man, I want to push this rock. Old ones not let me. Say no need.”

  Jiaan raised his brows at the easy, colloquial Faran phrase—he could guess where the man had learned it. He had to admit it; the peddler was proving useful. Jiaan still hated him, but he could push hatred aside … for a time.

  Looking at the boulder, which balanced on a ledge of smaller stones and looked like it should long since have tumbled into the canyon on its own, Jiaan understood the Suud’s temptation. He smiled at the man. “We will push it today.”

  The horses were trotting up the wider valley now, their hides dark with sweat, their sides heaving. Jiaan couldn’t yet see the Hrum who followed them, but he saw the glance Fasal shot over his shoulder, and his stomach clenched in excitement. They weren’t far behind.

  The horses neared the canyon’s entrance. It was wide enough to admit horses, and Jiaan had planned for his men to ride them in, even though it would mean killing the horses in the end, for when the rock fell there would be no way out of the sheer-walled trap. But Fasal had refused, claiming that if the horses were tired enough the Hrum wouldn’t be suspicious when the Farsalans abandoned them. Since Jiaan had placed Fasal in charge of bringing the Hrum into the snare, he had let him have his way—and had been grateful to do so, truth be told.

  From his place beside the huge boulder, Jiaan watched as Fasal leaped off his horse—not his precious mare, not in anything this risky. The others were already running through the narrow gap into the canyon, but Fasal spent valuable moments guiding the horses toward the wider route, slapping their rumps, sending them on down the track that led to a valley where they could be reclaimed.

  Perhaps he had delayed so long that the Hrum saw him darting into the crevice. Perhaps they had been tracking the running men so long that the fact that the horse tracks went one way and the men’s another wasn’t enough to confuse them, even for an instant—though they probably thought that was what the Farsalans intended. Whatever they thought, the only thing that slowed them as they jogged forward was the fact that five men couldn’t pass through the narrow gap abreast.

  Jiaan watched, impressed in spite of himself, as the left line of the running column sheered off to one side, formed new ranks as the others passed through, and then followed after them. Two hundred men through that narrow crevice in only a handful of seconds with no confusion. Jiaan hadn’t even heard any orders. The Hrum were accustomed to moving in formation, but it was still remarkable. He knew his Farsalans, even the best trained among them, couldn’t have done it nearly as well.

  He looked down to the far end—the dead end of the small canyon. His men might not move well in formation, but they were very competent in other things. The first of Fasal’s troop were just being hauled over the lip of the cliff on the long ropes, and even Fasal, who had doubtless insisted on going up last, was halfway up the cliff face and rising rapidly as the Farsalans who weren’t archers drew him up.

  The archers, Jiaan knew, were already in position, and the stream of silver helmets was already almost fifty yards from the canyon’s entrance. Jiaan fought down a desire to wipe his sweaty palms on his britches and turned to the Suud.

  “Pull the rope,” he said.

  They had threaded the rope behind some of the small stones that underlay the forward edge of the great boulder—not a hard task, for if you lay down and looked at the right angle, you could see daylight on the other side.

  Now half a dozen Suud, hands and faces invisible in their thick robes, grabbed the ends of the rope and pulled. Jiaan heard a grinding sound, but nothing else happened.

  Jiaan waved another eight of his Farsalans to the rope. He’d wanted them there in the first place, but the Suud had said it was their rock and they wanted to push it!

  They would soon get the chance. The angle was bad, for the boulder was near enough to the cliff that the men on the rope were only a few feet from the edge—Jiaan was glad he wasn’t one of them. But more than a dozen men now had hold of the rope, hauling in unison. The smaller rocks grated, snapped, then flew across the canyon, striking the opposite wall as if flung from a giant sling.

  The great boulder seemed so precariously balanced that Jiaan held his breath, thinking it might fall of its own weight—but it simply sat, with the placid immobility of stone.

  The Hrum commander had stopped, almost three hundred yards into the narrow canyon, and was gazing up at the sheer walls that surrounded him. “Back!” he shouted suddenly in Hrum. “Go back! It’s a neret!”

  Jiaan realized that he had just learned the Hrum word for trap, but he had no time to dwell on it.

  “Push the rock,” he commanded. “Now!”

  The men who held the rope dropped it and swarmed back, even though they weren’t in the boulder’s path. Jiaan sympathized. If something that big was going to move, he’d prefer to be well out of its way.

  He stepped back himself, as a handful of Suud and as many of his Farsalans as could find a space behind the boulder ran forward and shoved with all their might.

  The rock didn’t budge.

  The men leaned down and laid their shoulders against the back of the boulder, thrusting with their thighs, and others found spaces to add their hands to the rock and push.

  The rock didn’t budge, and the Hrum were coming back toward the entrance of the canyon.

  “Archers!” Jiaan shouted. “Now!”

  The arrows rained down, fast and hard. But the men below were armored, and many had already raised their shields, expecting the attack. There were a few cries of pain, but not enough to stop the troop. The Hrum were about to escape.

  “Push!” Jiaan ran to the boulder himself. There was no open space behind it, but he found a place
to brace his hands against it, pushing it toward the cliff with all his strength. It was like trying to push the earth itself—not the slightest hint of yielding, no cracking from the fragile stones beneath it. But it looked so precarious!

  Jiaan heard the clatter of armored men running. It sounded as if they were right under his feet.

  The Hrum were escaping. He pushed on the boulder, the muscles in his back clenched with effort. The rock wasn’t moving, and despair sapped Jiaan’s strength.

  Then one of the shrouded Suud stepped up beside Jiaan and laid his cloth-covered hands on the rock—lightly, not pushing at all.

  Perhaps he was trying to feel a hint of motion, some sign that the rock would give way—but there was no motion, no sign. Jiaan was about to step back and order the others off, when all of a sudden the rock shifted.

  “Heave!” he cried, his voice all but lost in the grunts of effort around him. It was probably the most unnecessary order he’d ever given, for the others had already redoubled their efforts. Slowly, slowly, the great rock tipped. Slowly, but gathering speed, it over-turned, ground its way down the slope to the top of the cliff, and then toppled into the canyon.

  The echoes of the crash blended with the ringing in Jiaan’s ears, but he heard other rocks falling as well.

  He walked carefully to the edge of the cliff and looked down.

  The Hrum who had escaped were fleeing down the canyon, perhaps fearing a further barrage of arrows. Jiaan wished he had thought to place archers on those ridges. He couldn’t make a precise count of the mass of running men, but it was clear that most of the Hrum had escaped—Razm, djinn of cowardice, take them. It had been such a good plan too!

  He walked down the ridgetop and looked at the canyon on the other side. The boulder had not only blocked the entrance, as Jiaan had known it would, it had also brought down several large slabs of the cliff with it, creating an impassable slope—at least for men who would have to make that climb with hundreds of archers shooting at them.