‘And how long will that be?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘There’s no way to tell.’
‘The air’s colder than the water, Sparhawk,’ Khalad explained. ‘That’s what’s causing the fog. I don’t think it’s going to lift until the air warms up. We won’t be ready to leave here until tomorrow anyway. We’re going to have to do something to raise those rafts up out of the water a bit before we load men and horses on them. If we try to use them the way they are, we’ll be trying to move them half submerged.’
‘Why don’t you get started on that, Khalad?’ Vanion suggested. ‘Sparhawk and I’ll go have a talk with Sephrenia and Aphrael. We might just need a bit of divine intervention here. Coming, Sparhawk?’
The two of them went back on down the beach to the fire Kalten had built for the ladies.
‘Well?’ Sephrenia asked. She was seated on a driftwood log with her sister in her lap.
‘The fog’s creating some problems,’ Vanion replied. ‘We can’t get around the end of the reef until it lifts, and we’re a little crowded for time. We’d like to reach Tzada before the Trolls start to march. Any ideas?’
‘A few,’ Aphrael replied, ‘but I’ll need to talk with Bhelliom first. There are certain proprieties and courtesies involved, you understand.’
‘No,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I don’t, really, but that doesn’t matter all that much. I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Oh, thank you, Sparhawk!’ she said with a certain false ingenuousness. ‘I think Bhelliom and I should discuss this in private. Open the box and give it to me.’
‘Whatever you say.’ He took out the cask and touched it with his ring. ‘Open,’ he told it. Then he handed the box to the Child Goddess.
She slid down off Sephrenia’s lap and went down the beach a little way. Then she stood looking out at the fog-enveloped sea. So far as Sparhawk could tell, she was not speaking aloud to the Sapphire Rose.
It was about ten minutes later when she returned. She handed the box back to Sparhawk. ‘It’s all taken care of,’ she told him in an offhand way. ‘When do you want to leave?’
‘Tomorrow morning?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.
Vanion nodded. ‘That should give Khalad time to modify the rafts, and we can get the knights and their horses on board Sorgi’s ships and ready to go by then.’
‘All right,’ Aphrael said. ‘Tomorrow, then. Now why don’t you go find Ulath and ask him whose turn it is to do the cooking? I’m absolutely famished.’
It was not much of a breeze, and it did not entirely dissipate the fog, but they could at least see where they were going, and the tattered remnants of mist would provide them with some cover after they rounded the tip of the reef.
Khalad had decided that the quickest way to modify the rafts was simply to double them, pulling one raft on top of another so that the added buoyancy would provide a reasonable freeboard. This made the rafts very cumbersome, of course. They were heavy and hard to steer, and so their progress out along the reef was painfully slow.
The skiff leading the way, however, cut through the water ahead of the flotilla and faded into the remnants of the fog-bank. Khalad and Berit had not really asked, but had simply announced that they would scout on ahead.
After about an hour, the skiff returned. ‘We marked the channel,’ Khalad told them. ‘That boiling water really cut the ice away, so there’ll be plenty of room to get the rafts round the tip of the reef.’
‘We saw Captain Sorgi’s ships go by,’ Berit reported. ‘Apparently he didn’t entirely trust the sails. This breeze is a little erratic…’ He hesitated. ‘You don’t have to tell Aphrael I said that, of course. Anyway, Sorgi’s put the knights to work rowing. They’ll get to the beach north of the pier quite some time before we make it to shore.’
‘Are those trees sticking up out of the water going to cause us any problems?’ Kalten asked.
‘Not if we stick close to the face of the cliff, Sir Kalten,’ Khalad replied. ‘The landslides Bhelliom’s earthquake set off knocked down all the trees for about a hundred yards out from the wall. The trees farther out will give us some additional cover. When you add them to what’s left of the fog, I don’t think anybody on shore will see us coming.’
‘It’s working out fairly well, then,’ Ulath said, grunting as he pushed his twenty-foot-long pole against the sea-bottom, ‘except for this part, of course.’
‘We could always swim,’ Tynian suggested.
‘No, that’s all right, Tynian,’ Ulath replied. ‘I don’t mind poling all that much.’
When they reached the tip of the reef, the flotilla of rafts split up into two separate fleets. Queen Betuana and Engessa took the Atans and made their way along the outer edge of the half-submerged forest toward the pier that thrust out from shore, while Sparhawk and his friends took the Peloi and the knights for whom there had not been room aboard Sorgi’s ships along the cliffface with Khalad and Berit scouting ahead in the skiff. Since even Sorgi’s hundred ships and the large number of rafts were not enough to carry all their forces, they had been obliged to leave a sizeable portion of their army on the south beach along with Sephrenia, Talen, Flute and Xanetia.
‘It’s shoaling,’ Ulath said after about another half-hour. ‘I think we’re getting closer to shore.’
‘More of the trees are sticking up out of the water as well,’ Kalten added. ‘I’ll definitely be glad to get off this raft. It’s a nice enough raft, I suppose, but pushing it through the water with a twenty-foot pole is sort of like trying to tip over a house.’
The skiff came ghosting back out of the fog. ‘You’d better start keeping your voices down, my Lords,’ Khalad said in a hoarse whisper. ‘We’re getting closer.’ He reached out with one hand to steady the skiff. ‘We’re in luck, though. There used to be a road running along parallel to the beach – at least I think it was a road. Anyway, the road or whatever it was gives us an open channel through the trees, and the trees between us and the beach will keep the workmen from seeing us.’
‘And probably keep us from getting ashore as well,’ Tynian added.
‘No, Sir Tynian,’ Berit replied. ‘There was a meadow out there a mile or so from where the cliff is now, and that’s where the pier is. All we have to do is follow that road and it’ll bring us out almost on top of the work-gangs.’
‘Could you hear them at all?’ Vanion asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Khalad replied, ‘almost as if they were standing about ten feet away – and you’ll start hearing their axes in just a few minutes.’ He and Berit climbed aboard the raft.
‘Could you make out their accents? Were they more of those Edomishmen we came up against on the south pier?’
‘No, my Lord. The men up here are Astels. We couldn’t see the beach, but I’d guess that the people giving the orders came from Ayachin’s army instead of Incetes’ people.’
‘Let’s push on, then,’ Kalten said, hefting his pole. ‘Figuratively speaking, of course,’ he added.
‘Are we all ready?’ Sparhawk asked, looking up and down the line of rafts strung out to either side.
‘What is there to get ready for, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked. ‘If anything, Astellian serfs are going to be even more timid than those Edomish peasants were. Ulath could probably chase them all back into the trees by just standing out here in what’s left of the fog blowing on his Ogre-horn.’
‘All right, then,’ Sparhawk said.—Aphrael—he threw the thought out—are you listening?—
—Well, of course I’m listening, Sparhawk—
He decided to try a different approach. He cast his request in formal Styric this time—An it please thee, Divine Aphrael, I do beseech thine aid—
—Aren’t you feeling well?—Her tone was suspicious.
—I but sought to demonstrate mine unutterable regard and respect for thee, Divine One—
—Are you making fun of me?—
—No, of course not. I just realized that I haven’t been all that respectful latel
y. We’re in position now. We’re going to start moving the rafts slowly toward shore. As soon as we can make out the people on the beach, Ulath’s going to give the signal for the general attack. I’d appreciate a nice strong gust of wind at that point, if it’s not too much trouble—
—Well, I’ll think about it—
—Will you be able to hear Ulath’s horn? Or would you rather have me tell you when we need the wind?—
—Sparhawk, I can hear a spider walking across the ceiling of a house ten miles away. I’ll blow as soon as Ulath does—
—That’s a novel way to put it—
—Get moving, Sparhawk, or you’ll run out of daylight—
—Yes, ma’am – He looked around at the others. ‘Let’s get started,’ he told them. ‘The Divine One is drawing in deep breaths. I think she plans to blow the fog all the way to the pole.’
The rafts inched forward, concentrating on staying in a straight line so that none of them emerged from the fog before the others.
They could clearly hear the voices speaking in Elenic from the shore now, and the faint lapping of wavelets sloshing over the protruding roots of the trees off to the left.
‘Six feet,’ Kalten reported in a loud whisper as he lifted his pole out of the water. ‘We can make a mounted charge when it shoals down to four.’
‘If the fog holds out that long,’ Bevier amended.
They crept on with the water shoaling under their rafts inch by inch as they eased closer to shore.
They heard the sound of a heavy blow and curses spat out in archaic Elenic.
‘That’s one of Ayachin’s men,’ Khalad whispered.
‘Ayachin himself wouldn’t be here, would he?’ Berit asked.
‘Incetes was, so I wouldn’t discount the possibility.’
‘If Ayachin is here, I want you two to go looking for Elron,’ Sparhawk instructed. ‘We lost Amador, but Xanetia should be able to get the same kind of information out of Elron. Don’t let him get away – or get himself killed.’
‘Three feet!’ Kalten announced in a triumphant whisper. ‘We can charge just as soon as we catch sight of them now.’
The rafts inched closer, and the voices ahead were much louder now.
‘There’s something moving,’ Khalad said, pointing at a dim shape ahead.
‘How far?’ Sparhawk asked, peering into the white blankness ahead.
‘Maybe thirty paces.’
Then Sparhawk saw more of the dark outlines in the fog and heard the sound of men slogging through shallow water. ‘Mount up!’ he commanded in a low voice. ‘And signal the other rafts.’
They pulled themselves slowly into their saddles, being careful not to make any noise.
‘All right, Ulath,’ Sparhawk said aloud, ‘let everybody know that we’re starting.’
Ulath grinned and lifted the curled Ogre-horn to his lips.
Chapter 30
It was more like a gale than a breeze, and it came howling out of nowhere, bending the evergreens and tearing the last of the leaves from birch and aspen. The fog streamed away in the leaf-speckled blast.
The crests of the shallow waves were suddenly whipped to froth, and the water ran against a shoreline that was not sand, nor gravel nor rock, but grass and half-submerged bushes. There were thousands of men on shore, roughly dressed serfs laboring in a field of tree stumps.
‘Heretic knights!’ a man at the edge of the water screamed. He wore crude bits and pieces of ancient armor, and he stood gaping at the huge force of mounted men which had appeared quite suddenly out of nowhere as the gale tore the fog away.
Ulath’s horn continued its barbaric call, and Tikume’s Peloi and the knights plunged off the rafts, their mounts sending great sheets of water out to either side, almost like icy wings.
‘What must we do, noble Ayachin?’ the crudely armored man shrieked to a lean fellow astride a white horse. The mounted man was more completely armored, although his armor was an archaic blend of steel plate and bronze chain-mail.
‘Fight!’ he roared. ‘Destroy the heretic invaders! Fight – for Astel and our holy faith!’
Sparhawk sawed Faran’s reins round and charged directly at the resurrected Astellian hero, his sword aloft and his shield in front of his body.
Ayachin’s helmet had no visor as such, but rather a steel nose-guard protruding down over half his face. There was a quick intelligence in that face and a burning zeal. The eyes, however, were the eyes of a fanatic. He set himself, raised his heavy sword, and spurred his white mount forward to meet Sparhawk’s charge.
The two horses crashed together, and the white mount reeled back. Faran was the bigger horse, and he was skilled at fighting. He slammed his shoulder into Ayachin’s mount and tore great chunks from the white animal’s neck with his teeth. Sparhawk caught the ancient hero’s sword-stroke with his shield and countered with a heavy overhand stroke of his own, clashing his blade down on the hastily raised and bulky shield.
‘Heretic!’ Ayachin snarled. ‘Spawn of hell! Foul sorcerer!’
‘Give it up!’ Sparhawk snapped. ‘You’re out of your class!’ He found that he had no real wish to kill this man who was fighting to defend his homeland and his faith from a brutal Church policy long since abandoned. Sparhawk had no real quarrel with him.
Ayachin bellowed his defiance and swung his sword again. He showed some proficiency with the weapon, but he was no real match for the black-armored Pandion he faced. Sparhawk caught the sword-stroke with his shield again, and struck a chopping blow at his opponent’s shoulder. ‘Run away, Ayachin!’ he barked. ‘I don’t want to kill you! You’ve been duped by an alien God and brought thousands of years into the future! This isn’t your fight! Take your people and go!’
It was too late, though. Sparhawk saw the madness in his opponent’s eyes, and he had been in too many fights not to recognize it. He sighed, crowded Faran in against the white horse, and began a series of strokes he had used so many times in the past that, once it began, the succeeding blows were automatic.
The ancient fought bravely, struggling to respond with his unwieldy equipment, but the outcome was inevitable. Sparhawk’s progressive strokes bit him deeper and deeper, and chunks of his armor flew from each savage cut.
Then, altering his last stroke to avoid a grotesque maiming, Sparhawk thrust instead of delivering the customary overhand stroke that would have split his opponent’s head. His sword-point crunched through the ancient and ineffective armor and smoothly ran through Ayachin’s chest.
The fire went out of that ancient face, and the hero Ayachin stiffened and toppled slowly from his saddle.
Sparhawk raised his sword-hilt to his face in a sad salute.
A great cry went up from the Astellian serfs as Ayachin’s army vanished. A burly serf at the water’s edge bawled contradictory orders, gyrating his arms like a windmill. Berit leaned over in his saddle and brought the flat side of his axe-blade down on top of the man’s head, felling him instantly.
There were a few pockets of ineffective and halfhearted resistance, but the serfs for the most part fled. Queen Betuana and her Atans drove the panicky workers from the pier, and the knights and the Peloi parted ranks to permit them to flee into the forest. Sparhawk rose up in his stirrups and looked to the north. The knights who had disembarked from Sorgi’s ships were also driving the misguided serfs on the far side of the pier back into the trees.
The battle, such as it had been, was over.
The Queen of the Atans came ashore with a look of discontent on her golden face. ‘It was not much of a fight, Sparhawk-Knight,’ she accused.
‘I’m very sorry, your Majesty,’ he apologized. ‘I did the best I could with what I had to work with. I’ll try to do better next time.’
She suddenly grinned at him. ‘I was teasing you, Sparhawk-Knight. Good planning reduces the need for fighting, and you plan very well.’
‘Your Majesty is very kind to say so.’
‘How long will it take that Ca
mmorian sailor to bring the rest of our army to this side of the wall?’
‘The rest of today and most of tomorrow, I’d imagine.’
‘Can we afford to wait that long? We should go to Tzada before the Troll-beasts start to march.’
‘I’ll talk with Aphrael and Bhelliom, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘They’ll be able to tell us what the Trolls are doing – and delay them if necessary.’
Khalad rode up. ‘We couldn’t find any sign of Elron, Sparhawk,’ he reported. ‘We captured a few of those serfs, and they told us that he wasn’t here.’
‘Who was in charge, then?’
‘That husky fellow Berit put to sleep with the flat of his axe seems to have been the one giving all the orders.’
‘Wake him up and see what you can get out of him. Don’t twist him too hard, though. If he decides to be stubborn, we’ll wait until Xanetia gets here. She can find out everything he knows without hurting him.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’ Khalad wheeled his mount and went looking for Berit.
‘You have a kindly disposition for a warrior, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Betuana observed.
‘These serfs aren’t really our enemies, Betuana-Queen. I’ll show you the other side of my nature after we catch Zalasta.’
‘His name is Torbik,’ Khalad reported when he joined them in the pavilion they had erected for the ladies. ‘He was one of Sabre’s first followers. I think he’s a serf from Baron Kotyk’s estate. He wouldn’t say so, but I’m fairly sure he knows that Elron is Sabre.’
‘Does he know why Elron sent him rather than coming here himself?’ Tynian asked.
‘He hasn’t a clue – or so he says,’ Khalad replied. ‘Anarae Xanetia can look inside his head and find out for sure.’ He paused. ‘Excuse me, Anarae,’ he said to the Delphaeic woman. ‘We all keep groping for ways to describe what you do when you listen to the thoughts of others. We’d probably be a lot less offensive if you’d tell us the right word for it.’