"We may have to set down upon the ground," the Great One whispered. "This Power is very troubling to me. It will have to be eliminated before we can count our victory here complete. Not only is it unprecedented in its strength, it is also a kind of Power I have never encountered before. It is as if strands were, somehow, braided…"
Farod made no comment, but urged the Dragon higher, where it could continue circling without being in imminent danger of either the giant bow or the engine that hurled boulders as big as draft animals. Perhaps they could not be aimed upward; Farod did not want to take the chance.
The knot of warriors in the thick of the battle were, as far as Gaurin could ascertain, in command of the immediate situation and there was no need for him to intervene, just yet. The Army of the Bog-men was likewise well occupied, containing the remnants of the Frydians. Here and there, both Frydians and the men newly arrived from the north were beginning to surrender.
He glanced at the ring of low mountains surrounding the valley they were in. It looked to be a prime spot in which to hide reserves, supposing the enemy had guessed they would be attacked—
—which they had!
In the light of full dawn, he could make out the movements of men hastening down from their places of concealment. In a moment, they would fall on the ones too occupied to look up.
No wonder the resistance to the Rendelians' first assault had been so feeble!
Gaurin's gorge rose at the thought of those men who had been sacrificed, not informed of the possibility of attack, just to make sure the enemy trap succeeded.
"Lathrom!" Gaurin shouted.
"Here, sir!"
"Look you to yonder hills, and rally your men!"
Lathrom needed but a glance and the situation became clear to him. Immediately he began issuing orders. A detachment of spearmen ran toward his banner and by the time the enemy reinforcements had reached the campsite, they found themselves facing a barricade of determined Rendelian opposition. More than a few of the enemy fell, forced onto spear points by the impetus of those behind them.
Quickly, Gaurin ascertained that there seemed to be no more of the enemy than their scouts had reported. Now his task was to order the battle and maintain his warriors' discipline while at the same time protecting those who had given up.
Not that any of his men wavered or showed any signs of hesitation at the sight of fresh armsmen bearing down on them. His heart swelled with pride at the valor and courage of his adopted countrymen.
Still, there was that third Ice Dragon. He looked in all directions, including up, but could see nothing through the thin cloud cover. Then an unmistakable call surged through his consciousness, a beloved voice speaking his name.
Ashen! She needed him. He could no more resist that signal than his heart could resist pounding at the thought of her being in danger. He called to Lathrom again.
"The battlefield is yours to direct," he said. "Ashen is in danger and I must go to her. I—I have no choice."
"You should not go alone, sir," Lathrom said. "Let me send someone with you, to bring help if you should need it."
Gaurin favored him with a wry smile. "If there is something that my lady, Madame
Zazar, and I cannot deal with among us, then sending men after me would be useless."
Lathrom gazed at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Good chance to you, sir," he said, and then returned to the battle.
Snolli Sea-Rover watched, amused, as three little boats approached the waiting ships. The men in the boats had done all the obvious things—worn dark clothing, muffled their oars—but it was plain they were no real seamen. The faint phosphorescence of their wake was plain as daylight to eyes trained to see, and despite their attempts at silence, enough of their clumsy noise drifted through the still, frigid air that even a novice could detect someone approaching.
Obviously they didn't realize that not only did sound carry with eerie clarity across water, but also that the least whisper was mag- nified in this cold to the point that the speaker might as well have been standing at Snolli's elbow.
"D'you think we ought to get the biggest ship first?" one of the men in the boats asked.
"Aye, that'll be the one with their leader on it, or I miss my guess."
"Ssssh. We're getting close."
Snolli grinned and stepped away from the rail lest gleam of teeth betray that the men on board the ships were thoroughly aware of the approach of the would-be attackers. He gestured to Kather, who grinned in return.
Kather then coughed loudly. Answering coughs from Wave-Ruler and Stormbracer acknowledged Gorgull's signal. Presently, Kather and two more of the Sea-Rovers who were not assigned to the land forces slithered down ropes to wait, near to the water line, for the approaching boats to come close enough. Snolli knew that on the other two ships, still more Sea-Rovers were doing the same thing.
He felt a slight bump as the small boat collided with Gorgull's hull and shook his head, scowling, at such ineptitude. Then he heard the subdued sounds of a scuffle. Presently, Kather reappeared on deck.
"We needn't have sent three men to meet them," he reported, obviously pleased with himself. "Wasn't but two of them in their little cockleshell. And their augur."
Snolli didn't need to be told that all were now residing at the bottom of the frigid sea on which the unharmed ships floated. He nodded. "Good work," he said.
"Duty," Kather said with a shrug. "And a pleasant break in the monotony."
He walked away, and Snolli found that he agreed with Kather. It was monotonous, waiting for the outcome of a war fought mainly on land, while they waited out of the thick of the action.
Again he longed for one of the Ice Dragons to fight. At least that would break the tedium, as disposing of would-be scuttlers of ships had not. For a moment he toyed with the idea of leaving only a skeleton crew with the ships, now that any danger to them had been disposed of, rowing back to shore, and joining the battle.
He had given his word, though, that he would station himself here, and so here he would remain.
But he still wished for an Ice Dragon to fight. That, at least, would give him something to do.
Ashen stepped outside the tent to oversee the loading of the last of the wounded onto dog-sleds for transport back to the Snow Fortress. She was gratified to observe that even those whose injuries needed more care than they could give were not gravely hurt. Gaurin must have been very successful in the surprise attack he had planned so carefully. A few prisoners, under guard, were beginning to trickle back as well, and this Ashen took as a good sign.
Zazar joined her, for once looking a bit weary. "We are not out of danger yet," she warned Ashen. "My bones are trembling and my teeth chatter and it isn't strictly from the cold."
"What else could it be?" Ashen said.
She examined the Wysen-wyf with a critical eye. Yes, there were definite signs of fatigue there, and Zazar's eyes looked as if she hadn't slept in a week. "You could go and lie down for a while, during this lull," she told her Protector.
"There are enough people that we can spare you for an hour."
"Not yet. Come. We must get Ysa, and go someplace apart from here."
It was on Ashen's tongue to ask why, but she forbore to question Zazar. Though this weariness was new, the look in the Wysen-wyf's eye was not, and Ashen knew better than to try to gainsay her when she was in such a mood.
She found Ysa in the supply tent, still hovering over Hyn-nel, whom she had coaxed into the shelter. She had a cup of broth in her hands, which she was trying vainly to get Hynnel to swallow.
"No more, dear lady, I beg of you," Hynnel said. He turned his head away and caught sight of Ashen. His face lit up with pleasure. "Ashen, sweet coz! Tell me—how goes it with the battle?"
Ashen couldn't completely suppress a smile, knowing that Hynnel might be even gladder of her presence as a shield between him and Ysa's determined nursing than for what knowledge of the war she could bring him.
"I thi
nk it goes well," she said. "Our casualties are lighter than expected, and only a few men are gravely enough injured that we need transport them by sled to the camp. Also, our men are taking prisoners."
"That is good news all around," Hynnel replied, sounding very pleased. "If only
I—"
"Yes, I know. I'm sure Gaurin misses you sorely."
Hynnel began to cough, so hard that Ashen gazed at him with alarm. He hadn't done this in several days. Could the journey from the Snow Fortress have overtaxed his meager resources?
"If you feel well enough, I must ask the Dowager to leave you for a little while."
Ysa started to protest but stopped when Ashen looked at her calmly. "Zazar bids us both come with her."
"I am quite well enough to be left alone as long as Madame Zazar requires,"
Hynnel said. He turned to Ysa. "Not that I do not welcome your so tender care of me, dear lady. No one could be more attentive. But other needs must take precedence, at least for a short time."
"Well, if you're sure—" Ysa said.
"I'm sure," Hynnel responded. "When you do return, you can bring me more broth.
It has a special healing property, when you hold the cup for me with your own white hands."
Mollified, Ysa left the supply tent. Ashen turned to look at Hynnel once more before following, and was rewarded with a wink. She nodded, trying to hide her smile as she ducked through the tent flap.
Outside, Zazar was waiting. "Come on, come on," she said impatiently.
"Where are we going?" Ashen asked.
"I don't think it's fair, to be dragged out here in the middle of nowhere, in the cold and the snow, and then, just as I was really learning how to take care of an injured warrior—"
Zazar rounded on Ysa. "Stop your whining, woman!" she ordered. "Better that you should say nothing, when the time comes, than to keep up that incessant complaining!" Then she turned to Ashen. "I am looking for a place set apart. I want a high spot, well beyond the infirmary camp, or even the battlefield. Not too high, not a mountainside, but enough that we are breathing cleaner air than the smell of fighting or wounded men. It must also be a place where there is room for us all to stand."
Ashen frowned, thinking. "There is a small promontory to the north, just past the opening to this niche in the mountains," she said at last. "It stands something like a sentinel, near the opening to the valley where the enemy was encamped. Will that do?"
"Perhaps."
Without looking to see that the other two women were following, Zazar set off in the direction Ashen had indicated. Ashen hurried after the Wysen-wyf, trying to keep up with the brisk pace the older woman had set, and Ysa had no choice but to flounder in their wake. By the time the promontory came into view, Zazar was halfway up to the top, a surface that stood perhaps the height of three men above the valley floor. As Ashen had said, there was a space at the apex where the three women could stand, but very little more than that.
"Read this again," Zazar ordered as soon as Ashen also reached the peak, handing her the blue velvet-covered book.
The jewel-studded embroidery on the words Ye Boke of Ye Fayne glittered in the wan sunlight that was beginning to show through the overcast sky, and the title,
Powyr, was too bright to look at. Ashen took the volume from Zazar and opened it to the page Zazar had marked with leaves from an ash tree, a rowan, an oak, and a yew. Obediently, she read through the passage once more. She closed the book and laid it down, but kept the leaves in her hand. A fleeting thought crossed her mind to wonder whence such had come, and then she raised her head at a sight that was enough to make a sturdy warrior blanch.
An Ice Dragon was floating down on noiseless wings to settle on the floor of the valley and a kind of universal silence settled with it. Such was the length of the beast's neck that the Rider and his passenger, sitting just behind its head, were on an eye level with the women standing atop the rocky scarp.
The hooded Rider, the one who controlled the Dragon's movements, fell and dreadful though he might be, paled into insignificance beside the entity who accompanied him.
This is the Great Foulness, Ashen thought numbly, dazed by the reality of his presence. He was close enough almost to touch. She could not take her eyes away from him. Behind her, Ysa gasped as if in recognition and for no reason that she could think of, Ashen remembered the white window in the Fane.
If I were a man, she thought, here is the creature with the face I would most like to bury my fist in. I think it would simply pass through it, because his translucent, cave-salamander skin and cartilage in place of bones would offer little resistance.
The opalescent bracelet burned on her wrist. Oh, Gaurin—She stifled the thought before it could find further expression.
Instead, she found herself saying, "You have come, at our command." Her voice and those of the women with her echoed in her ears, and she realized they were all speaking the same words. Ysa's voice trembled a little, but she made no move to retreat.
He uttered an almost soundless laugh. "I came because I chose to, and because I was—curious about the Power I sensed. And to think, it was only three feeble women, thinking they could summon me at their will."
"You scorned not to use a woman as your chief minion," the three women retorted, their voices mingling but not entirely in unison. "You fear to face us."
"I fear nothing!" The whisper coming from the lipless mouth filled the space around them.
"You should."
At that moment, the Dragon-rider turned, alert to a faint sound coming from behind him, a little to the south. His hood fell back and Ashen recognized the person she had glimpsed but once before, in the battle between his mount and the
Nordorn soldiers, over Flavielle's and Harous's bodies: Flavielle's lieutenant,
Farod. The marks of the war-kats' claws showed clearly on the Dragon's hide.
"Take care, O Great One," the lieutenant said.
With a shrug, the Great Foulness lifted one languid hand and a column of glittering ice arose beside the Dragon. He stepped off and onto the top of the column. "I am quite safe," he whispered, "but get you gone. There is need of you later."
Obediently, Farod pulled the reins controlling the Dragon's head, urging it to take flight. At that moment, the wheeled conveyance of the great bow trundled into view. The bow was armed and ready, and Ashen recognized Steuart at the forefront, urging his crew on to renewed effort.
"Just a little way further, men!" he cried, his voice cutting through the silence as if from a great, great distance.
Then, catching sight of their quarry, the crew manning the bow went to work, frantically adjusting their weapon and aiming it at their target. To Ashen, their movements seemed slow, so slow, as if they worked in frigid water.
Nevertheless, before Farod could coax the Dragon to flight once more, Steuart slashed the rope that released the great arrow fashioned from the trunk of a tree.
At that range, the missile traveled slowly. There was time for Farod to jerk back sharply on the reins. The Dragon turned, rearing. The arrow merely grazed the beast's flanks and traveled on harmlessly. Farod, however, could not keep his seat and fell to the ground. The Great Foulness, with another wave of his hand, caused a wall of ice to spring up, blocking Steuart and his men from attacking. The Dragon, freed of its rider and smarting from its wound, soared upward. Its squalls of pain sent snow cascading not only from its mouth and from under its wings, but also caused banks of snow on the ridges above to tremble and threaten to fall. It flapped off toward the west.
"Ashen!"
She looked in the direction from which that cry had come, startled, and discovered Gaurin rushing toward the scene of the confrontation between the
Great Foulness, and the three women. He was alone.
"Go back!" she cried in her own voice. "Please, please, go back—"
But it was too late. Farod leaped up, prepared to fight, but his only weapon, the metal rod from which erupted the mi
st that froze men's lungs, had been lost when he had been thrown from the natural saddle on the Dragon's neck. Without the slightest hesitation, he charged at Gaurin. The sheer force of his momentum knocked Gaurin off his feet. When Farod arose again, he had a sword in his hand—Gaurin's sword. Gaurin likewise leapt to his feet and drew the only weapon he had remaining, a long dagger. The two men began to prowl around one another, taking each other's measure.
With anguish that tore at the very core of her being, Ashen forced herself to look away. The Great Foulness was beginning to make more magical gestures with his translucent fingers, not toward the battling men, but toward the three women who faced him alone and sorely afraid.