Samrita held out her hand for the spyglass.
"One is female and looks normal enough," she said. "The painted one is a he, I think. What are they doing there? Well, he's one of the whistlers."
Fared stared as Samrita cocked her head, listening. She looked surprised.
"Four more out here somewhere," she said. "There are five sylphs whistling, off and on."
Fared watched as one of the men from the larger army – an officer unless he missed his guess – appeared to negotiate with his enemy. Another pause, longer.
"Still lots of whistling," said Samrita. "Definitely five whistlers."
Fared shook his head; this was quite unlike any battle he had ever seen.
"They've stopped." Samrita handed the spyglass back to Fared.
"Stopped what?"
"The whistling."
Fared just had time to turn back to face the battlefield, when the first flight of arrows was released. He patted his horse reassuringly. A second flight.
"Brave lads," murmured Charel. "They attack."
As he spoke, mounted lancers burst from the hilltop and rode downhill to attack the archers. Lancers on the other side tried to thwart them.
Fared nodded in approval. Reduce and remove the enemy's advantage whenever possible. The archers reformed the moment light cavalry engaged light cavalry, sending flight after flight of arrows into the defensive square. Up there, pikemen fell and the square began to shrink. Samrita turned away, but Fared continued to watch the battle through his spyglass.
"Man approaching, sir!" cautioned Deren.
"Probably a messenger," said Fared. "Send him away; there is nothing to discuss."
Fared could see that the defenders were going to lose. He turned as Rider Qatan joined their small group.
"Qatan, just in time to take a message. Let's have the Riders out here. Archers and lancers, half and half."
Qatan touched fist to shoulder and slipped away. Moments later, the Shadow Riders began to form up in full view. They appraised the situation quickly and efficiently. Samrita stared.
"Thought you weren't going to get involved," she muttered.
"Those armies know we're here," retorted Fared. "The moment they're finished with each other, the victor will try his luck against us."
"Perhaps you should not have been so hasty with the messenger."
Fared scowled. "If both armies had sent a man, I might have been a little more accommodating."
The defenders suffered now their opponents advanced; archers, infantry and cavalry moved steadily uphill.
Yet that initial, daring attack had reduced the odds.
"Another bout of whistling," warned Samrita. "Quiet again."
The attacking archers loosed and Fared, watching through his spyglass, saw men fall. The arrows reached nearer and nearer the summit; it could only be a matter of time. A lucky arrow killed the horse from under the mounted man he assumed to be the defenders' commander.
Another push, and the archers had the hilltop in range. The defending pikemen looked back, clearly about to break. The next volley turned the hilltop into a death pit.
Their bannerman died, dragonhead banner falling to the ground.
Fared stiffened.
The painted sylph leapt up and grasped the stave onto which the banner was secured. And Fared remembered the aged Wise One's words.
"Sylph as bannerman. A sylph with a warrior's fire. Seek him. Seek the banner sylph."
Fared snapped the spyglass shut, tucked it away and calmly drew his sword. He turned to Samrita. "We have found the banner sylph."
Samrita stared.
He raised his voice. "Those who defend the banner on the summit are our allies. Those who attack them, the enemy."
As one, almost three hundred visors were snapped down, leaving only the eyes visible.
"Honor! Service! Glory!"
Fared swung his sword right and left, then pointed it ahead.
In deadly silence, the Shadow Riders rode to battle.
***
Chapter 22
To Marka
The horsebow, favored by the Shadow Riders, has a rapid rate of fire. Though lacking the power and range of the larger longbow, a man needed nowhere near the same strength or years of practice to draw one. At relatively short ranges, the horsebow was lethal and accurate.
So, as the Riders closed the range with their new enemy, seventy archers managed to loose four or five arrows each before joining battle. Men who never expected an attack from behind were mown down.
Fared almost felt sorry for the commander of these men; he had suffered two costly surprises. If nothing else, the Riders fought with almost equal numbers. Which meant that they held the advantage. Though Fared doubted the enemy commander realized that.
His sword slashed and cut as the Riders narrowed their spread, reducing the number of men they must fight at any one time.
The beleaguered men on the hilltop sensed sudden confusion below and redoubled their efforts when they saw Riders fighting their enemy.
"Stay with me!" bellowed Fared. "With me!"
Slash. Stab. Kill.
Meeting men who fought with the ferocity of devils and seeing certain victory snatched from their grasp, Eldovan morale sagged.
***
Captain Jediyah cursed. From where had these men in dark armor come? They fought like seasoned troops, like an elite. They had already cut two holes in his reserves and closed up on themselves.
Arrows took still more of his men from within the melee. His own archers dare not return fire, in case they killed their own comrades.
The newcomers had fought battles this way before.
Because Jediyah had attacked the Markans, he had no defensive square, and no time to form one now. Because the Riders had sat and watched for so long, he had ignored them. Events had overtaken his decision to finish the Markans before dealing with the new threat.
Whoever led the newcomers knew the work. Jediyah had made the wrong choice, and now he must pay for the mistake.
But why had they joined the battle so late?
As the Markans rallied, their courage stiffened with fresh hope, Jediyah prepared to die.
***
The arrows stopped falling. Surrounded by death, Belaika grasped the banner and stood proudly. His ribs felt like fire and one hand explored tentatively.
No blood.
Breathing hurt, but he could not surrender to the pain now. He looked around, but Haema did not stand to join him.
He wavered.
Later. Not now.
Cheers erupted.
Belaika watched as Eldovans dropped their weapons and surrendered, fear on their faces. They probably expected the same death Eldovans usually granted their own prisoners.
Belaika clung to the banner as men wearing strange black armor approached. One, the leader, stopped a little distance away and dismounted. He left his weapons on his horse and removed his helmet. He halted within talking distance.
"My name is Fared Amel Granton, Captain of the Shadow Riders," he said.
The sylph bowed. "Belaika-y-Marcus. Scout."
Pale gray-blue eyes regarded the sylph with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Dirt and shadows helped mask the strain in Fared's face. His light brown hair ruffled in the wind. He touched fist to shoulder.
"I salute your courage, bannerman," he said.
"Is the battle over?"
Fared nodded. His eyes widened as Belaika thrust the Vintner Standard into his hands and turned.
Belaika crossed to Haema.
"It is finished," he said. "We –"
Haema stared sightlessly at him. As he lifted her head, her earpoints sagged behind and hung limp. His hand, smeared with blue blood, came away from the arrow standing out from her chest.
"No!" Belaika cradled Haema's head and tears streamed down his face. "No!"
Fared gripped the banner and gritted his teeth. Shadow Riders and the remnants of Belaika's comrades ran uphill.
br />
Belaika stroked Haema's hair and his tears fell into her eyes. Unbidden, Gajaran's words surfaced.
"You direct men to death. Your enemies, your friends. Maybe even sylphs. You are an aberration, a devil. Evil."
Evil.
He cried out again, alone in grief. Never had victory tasted so bitter.
***
Gajaran tugged absently at an earpoint, apparently unaware of the soapsud she left behind. She and Sandev were scrubbing pots from the evening meal, while the soldiers had gathered on one side of the camp for a pep talk.
"Nobody has heard a whistle all day," Gajaran remarked in a low voice. Her earpoints wilted at the talk of the scouts. "But there is no sign of Captain Jediyah either." The earpoint she had tugged twitched violently and the sud went sailing through the air.
"You already know the scouts now send their whistles from further away," replied Sandev.
Gajaran shrugged and returned her full attention to her work.
Two days had passed since Jediyah had left to meet the Markans. Since then, they had heard nothing. Mirrin and his officers were unconcerned, even though it was already obvious things had not gone quite according to plan. Jediyah and his men – or the survivors – should have rejoined by now.
Unless... unless Dekran's men had won the day. In which case, the scouts would be back in contact. So Sandev hoped.
Again she tested the block that kept her from the Gift. She could break it when she chose, but now was not the time.
A careless Nicolfer had not checked the shield for days. Soon, Sandev would smash the block and regain her full power. Too much time had passed, but now they headed for Marka. She just hoped Caya was not in mourning.
A stab of guilt.
Sandev had not given Caya a second thought in weeks! The opposite would not be true. Her sylph might be sick with worry, or worse.
Sylphs sometimes died from grief.
The guilt returned. Sandev felt certain nothing untoward had happened to Caya. Well, she would be worried. But deaths from grief affected infertiles rather than breeders. Gajaran was more likely to die from grief than Caya.
Though Gajaran knew the how and when of her owner's death, Caya had no such comfort. No matter how cold that comfort might be.
"You are thoughtful," said Gajaran.
Sandev blinked in surprise. It was rare for any of the infertiles to speak unless she first spoke to them. She smiled.
"I often am," she replied. "When I return home, there is a wrong to put right."
Gajaran said nothing, but her earpoints slanted forwards questioningly.
Sandev began to explain about Caya.
***
Despite the missing Jediyah, Mirrin's army continued towards Marka. Several groups nominally under Mirrin's command slowly converged and merged into one large army of almost ten thousand men.
Sandev knew the army would make its move soon; such a large number of soldiers would gradually strip the countryside. They could not be supported indefinitely, so they must move on their objective or go home.
She had her own plans to make.
Sandev gave Gajaran a quick glance and hoped the sylph did not notice. What was she to do about the six sylphs under her wing? Of the six, Gajaran stood highest as her favorite. She had no idea what Caya would think. First Janin, now Gajaran. When had she begun to collect strays? At least Caya had been purchased honestly. Janin must have melted her brain.
The blame for Belaika and Haema's escape had fallen on Sandev, though Nicolfer regarded Haema's disappearance more as abduction. Sandev had walked away from Nicolfer's self-righteous wrath.
"Why Haema?" demanded Nicolfer. "Why would he take her?"
Sandev had never answered. She doubted if Nicolfer any longer understood love.
She looked up as Rukana and Tula approached her.
"You might want to see this," said Tula.
Rukana nodded.
Sandev glanced at Gajaran, who shrugged. "I am not finished," she said. "You go."
Sandev followed the two sylphs through the camp, to where she now heard a familiar voice. Her hackles rose. Rukana and Tula came to a halt on the edge of the gathering, and Sandev stared.
A small dais had been hastily erected, on which stood Dervra, General Mirrin and the man who now called himself Hingast.
Tall and broad shouldered, his oiled black hair glinted in the torchlight. She had no need to go any closer to know that those eyes were gray-blue and steely. He talked, almost preaching, to his men.
She held her breath. She strained and then she could sense it. She tried not to smile. Definitely not Hingast, but the same imposter as before.
Rukana and Tula looked at her.
"It's not Hingast," she told them. "Can't you sense unease? All sylphs should feel it."
The two infertiles stared at her, then Rukana slowly nodded.
"Can feel something," she admitted.
Sandev looked at Tula, who shrugged.
"What you sense is sorcery," continued Sandev. "A lot of sorcery, so much I can almost smell it."
"Looks and smells like Hingast," muttered Tula.
"You know it isn't," insisted Sandev.
The two sylphs wilted under the intensity of her gaze. They shrugged, but still looked as if they were humoring her.
Dervra looked across the crowd and his gaze swept in Sandev's direction. She refused to look away, so his deep blue eyes locked with her speedwell.
He gave her a triumphant smile, meant for her alone. The man thought he still held the advantage. His gaze swept on. Sandev turned to her two companions.
"Can you hear what he is saying?"
"That we will take Marka this time, that there are more men and machines. They cannot stand against us." Tula looked at Sandev, well aware of her links to Marka.
Sandev nodded. "Thanks for showing me this," she said. "I've seen enough."
The two sylphs gave quick grins and watched her go, before they looked at each other.
Sandev hurried back to the pots, mind in turmoil. Gajaran had not lied; all the pots were clean and dry. There was no sign of the sylph, so Sandev assumed the infertile had sought her blankets while every other back was turned.
Dervra needed a replacement Hingast for this to work.
The man himself had masqueraded as Hingast from time to time, but the more intelligent among the Eldovans would quickly realize that if they no longer saw Hingast and Dervra together, then one must be acting as the other.
How many Eldovans had escaped from Marka who had seen Hingast's corpse? How many knew or suspected the truth? Or had they shared the real Hingast's fate?
Belaika seemed certain that he knew the identity of the man who now called himself Hingast, and Sandev prayed he was right. If not, then Dervra must have found another sorcerer. Not renowned for trust, the Malefic Sephiroth ensured few sorcerers amassed too much strength, but there were still too many running loose in the world. The Father never seemed to bother with them.
There must be a reason.
Sandev had long suspected that Dervra and Nicolfer had a master plan, one that stood beyond their other machinations. Something greater than their plots to destroy the civilizations dotted around the world.
She must learn more about that plan. Dervra and Nicolfer chased bigger prizes than Marka or Grayar's more recent creation, Skorin. She restrained a sudden giggle. Almost six centuries old and she regarded it as recent. As more recent!
She wished she knew more of sorcery, but even investigating it held dangers and temptation. She suspected both Dervra and Nicolfer had been snared by sorcery, rather than deliberately turning away from Siranva. She was only human – despite what people believed – and every human could be bought. Yet she needed to know more.
Sorcery granted no more power than the Gift, except perhaps for Dervra and Nicolfer, who had both Gift and sorcery. What difference that made, she had no idea, but she would be naive to believe it had no effect at all.
Somebody prodded her.
Sandev almost launched skywards and glared at the perpetrator.
Pleased to have caught her unawares, the youngest of the ownerless infertiles Sandev had recruited dropped onto her haunches and grinned at Sandev's surprise. Ojasan was the only one who had not bonded with her now-dead owner, and who actively sought a replacement.
Sandev smiled at the joke. "Where have you been hiding? Not seen you all day."
Ojasan's earpoints twitched uncertainly. "I was told to clear Haema's tent," she replied.
Haema's disappearance had given the other sylphs cause for concern, the ownerless ones rather more than the rest. Especially since Nicolfer insisted that she had been abducted.
"Find anything interesting?" asked Sandev.
The sylph shook her head. "We going to Marka now?"
Sandev tried and failed to give the youngster a reassuring smile. "I hope so."
***
It took some time to dig a grave for the dead. Even the scouts helped; apart from Belaika, whose ribs were too bruised for him to wield a spade.
The prisoners also helped. There were not many, and most still waited for the slaughter to begin. They also believed they were digging their own grave. Their commander, Jediyah, dug alongside his men. He eyed the scouts with open curiosity, though his mouth firmed whenever he saw Belaika.
Nynra tended the hurt scout, hands gentle as she wrapped cloth tightly around him, restricting movement and protecting his chest from further injury.
"You can run around again soon," she promised, while eyeing his collar with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. "But until then, light duties!"
"Se bata, necinya."
Nynra's eyes narrowed and she searched for hints of mockery. Satisfied she saw none, she looked away again.
Belaika looked across to his brother scouts sweating as they worked. Only Fhionnen and Samel were out to keep an eye open and ensure they were not surprised. For once, Velisar worked within the group, instead of standing apart as usual.
Fared took charge of their reduced force, and directed that all the bodies would be interred together.
"All are equal in death," he said. "I saw no cowards fall."
Once the hole was dug, Belaika did not want to watch the bodies laid in place, but he stayed. Of the Markans, only eight survived; Lance Sergeant Toman and Scout Felnar the most senior.
Too many friends went into that hole.
Lance Captain Dekran.
Sergeant Villim.
Scout Udan.
Yeoman Zandar.
His breath caught when he saw Banner Sergeant Yochan laid beside Dekran. Belaika had an obligation there.