Harald (25 page)

A trumpet blew. The gate of the Oasis swung wide; Artos rode through it. After him long lines of dusty legionaries, a column of crossbowmen, a lot of wagons, a second legion. The garrison commander met him, drew him into the cool of the guardroom by the gate.

"You came anyway? We don't have much water."

The commander looked puzzled.

"What about the pool?"

Konstantin looked in turn puzzled, worried, frightened.

"You didn't get my message?"

Artos shook his head.

"I sent it off as soon as it happened—been waiting for an answer telling me what to do."

"As soon as what happened?"

The garrison commander hesitated a moment, spoke:

"Weeks ago. A night attack. While we were guarding the gate someone lobbed a lot of chunks of salt over the wall into the pool. Got out what we could, but nobody's going far on that water. I sent a messenger to you the same day. Since then we've kept the cistern filled, all the barrels we have—but . . ."

The commander went to the door of the room, started yelling out names, then sat down at the table and started writing messages. Over the next few minutes the room filled with staff officers.

"We have a problem. Some unfriendly people dumped a lot of salt over the wall into the tank we were planning to use for drinking water. Not wanting us to lose any sleep, they also took out the messenger Konstantin here sent to tell us about it. Thoughtful folk.

"First step is word to the cavalry to turn back, hold at base until there's water enough to get them where we're going. Giorgios, go find a courier, four Ravens for escort. Here's the message, but have him check with me before he leaves.

"Next is a water census to figure out how bad a hole we're in. Lagio, that's your job. Konstantin can find one of his people who knows what they have.

"Kiron, you're with Lagio. Your job is to see how much of the water in the pool we can use. If all that's in it is salt, we can dilute with regular water for the men—a little salt in the water isn't a problem. Figure out how many parts of good water it takes to one part of what's in the pool to get something nobody will mind."

"Should I check what the horses will drink too, sir?"

"Salt in water makes horses drink more—loses us more than it saves. Men have more sense.

"Fintal. Since they're expecting us, we need more scouts. Talk to your Ravens about the trip south; see if you have enough riders to screen us. Send a few out today, just to check."

Half an hour later the courier, with escort, rode north, a troop of Ravens south. By dark errands were run, tenting up; the army settled down to enjoy the brief hospitality of the Oasis.

The others having retired, the commander turned to Kiron.

"Tell me what happened, what we should do now."

Kiron paused for thought before answering.

"Harald figured out the pool, sent some of his cats to dump a lot of salt into it; I don't know how."

"More likely nomads; he has friends in the clans. Cats have a salt mine near the bottom of Mainvale; they sell it east and west. By what Konstantin says, I'm guessing a traction trebuchet—little rock thrower. Set it up outside the wall, five or six men pulling on ropes, dump a lot of salt."

Kiron thought a moment before he continued. "After they left here, his people went farther north, ambushed the messenger so you wouldn't know about the water. Did they put Eagle clan up to raiding our wagons too?"

"If so, it's the first part of Harald's plan that didn't work—it cost us a few men and wagons, but let us push the border west. What now?"

"Twenty-five hundred infantry, a hundred Ravens. Counting the horses, well over two thousand gallons of water a day—three thousand counting horses pulling wagons with water and supply. I don't see how you can do it. We could leave part of the army here, but not much; the Oasis doesn't have enough water. Going back doesn't solve the problem either—we still need water to get there. It looks bad; I think I'm missing something."

"Between here and the river isn't no water, just not enough. Ravens can sweep wide, use wells too far west for the army. A few more tricks; you'll see. Suppose I get the army to the Northflood; what next?"

"That takes care of water, assuming Harald can't stop you from getting to it. He'll have an army by now. We still need food. Without cavalry as escort, how do we get supply wagons back and forth? Even if he can't supply an army on our side of the river, he can raid. Use the Ravens as escorts?"

"Not enough—and we need them for scouts. I'm not planning to leave our cavalry out of the campaign forever. Think about how I get them to the river once I'm there. See you in the morning."

A hundred miles to the south, the Northflood poured deep and fast out of Newvale, spread out, flowed west. Along the south bank men were digging earthworks. The plain north of the river was scattered with horses, herds of sheep. South of the river orderly rows of small tents, a short line of covered hammocks, farther west a Fox clan encampment—the host of the Northvales and friends.

"Donal."

He looked up, saw his foster father looking north across the river.

"Get mounted. We have guests." Harald whistled; the gray mare stopped grazing and trotted over.

The two men rode their horses through the ford. On the far bank, the first knot of riders had grown—easily forty Westkin. Their leader raised an empty hand to Harald.

"Foreigners our fields fell upon
Force too fell.
Our foes, your foes.
Women, weak children to friends west
Warriors willing
War to wage.
A fool fights alone.
Foe of my foe
Friend."

Harald paused a moment, gave answer.

"Fell to foes
Faith to my folk
First our fields guard.
Fortune favors, foe falls
For his freedom
Far fields of friends
a fair price."

The Eagle chief drew an arrow from his quiver, jabbed himself above the heart, smeared the drop of blood over the point, handed the arrow to Harald.

"Faith I fail
Against friend's foe
This finds me."

Harald took the arrow, carefully wrapped the point in a scrap of cloth, slid it into his bow case.

"Bow and bolt
Bend and death's bearer
Gold banner's bane."

Without dismounting the two men embraced, then set to dealing with details of their alliance. Eagle clan made camp a safe distance from the Fox encampment, left a few men north of the river to deal with further arrivals; Harald set in train preparations for a feast.

Two days south of the Oasis, the Imperial army—two legions, five hundred crossbowmen, sixteen wagons—drew to a halt. To their right, the western plains, slightly rolling, low grass, farther west patches of sand merging to desert. Left, the mountains, rising out of the plains in an irregular line of low cliffs. At the base of one of them, two men.

"Make camp here. Lagio, a squad to our friends over there. Take down the stone wall they're standing in front of. If nothing has gone wrong, there are ten barrels of water behind it. Take the water, use it; leave the barrels. We'll need them again. Kiron, go with him."

Disassembling the dry stone wall exposed a row of barrels against the cliff face, a trickle of water down it, a tent, a small fire. The two legionaries in charge helped Lagio transfer the contents to smaller containers; men lugged them out to where the legion's camp was going up.

Later, sitting around a fire outside the staff tent, the commander explained:

"There are streams up in the mountains that come over the edge and vanish—not enough water to make a river. We have four collection points; this is the first. Just a trickle, but they've been filling those barrels for two weeks. Tomorrow morning the wall goes back up; makes it less likely rumors get to our friends south. Kiron here did his sums, worked out by the time we got to Northflood we would all be dead. This, some wells I know about, are what he left out. No baths till we get to the river, but if nothing goes wrong, we make it."

For the next two days, nothing went wrong.

The end of the fourth day, tents going up. Kiron saw some of the legionaries pointing west. Horsemen. Quite a lot of horsemen. Nomads. He turned to Giorgios.

"Ours?"

"Scouts. All of them."

Fintal walked out to talk with the Ravens, came back to the commander.

"They need water. Eagles are holding the wells."

"Can't they drive them off—how many are there?"

"Five or ten at each well. Our boys can drive them off all right—did, twice. No water."

One of the staff officers cut in.

"They poisoned the water?"

Fintal looked shocked.

"Drank it. Good well gives maybe fifty, hundred gallons a day. Ten men, their horses—never gets full."

The commander held up his hand for silence, thought a moment.

"How many wells west of the road, next fifteen miles?"

"Three near, two farther."

"Say we give them water now. They take those wells. Nomads can carry a day's water. A well supplies ten horses and men, take it with twenty, leave half. The other half take all the water, take the next well. Hold a day, then shift everyone a day's ride farther south, in range of Northflood, join us there. We'll be pretty thirsty, them too, ought to all make it. The extra scouts stay with us."

"Think it works; I'll check with Finnvar. Can I tell him they can have water from our wagons for men and horses now? Some of them need it pretty bad."

"Yes. We'll be on half water ration next two days. Officers walk—easier on the horses. Tomorrow we start at dawn."

Late afternoon, two days later, the river in sight, its far bank lined with earthworks. Artos halted the army well out of bowshot.

"Pass word to watch the horses; they can smell water." He turned to Kiron, walking beside him.

"They've fortified the ford. If we have to fight for the water, might as well do it where they can get shot too."

Staff, senior officers of the legions, gathered around the commander while the soldiers stood resting, staring at the river—and the enemy. Plans made, trumpet calls, the army surged into motion, slanting west. On the other side of the river riders streamed west as well, dismounted, set up pavises; others led horses back out of range.

A quarter mile from the ford, just out of range of the far bank, the army halted, reformed. A double line of legionaries with shields, behind them crossbows, forward at a trot. A hundred yards from the river they stopped, front line on their knees, back standing, a solid wall of shields nearly six feet high, crossbows behind.

While the front line traded bolts for arrows, a second double line advanced behind them, took up position. The men they sheltered were armed not with bows but shovels. By nightfall their work was done, the legions—and their wagons—sheltered behind walls of earth. From their camp they could see the river, smell it. The commander being busy, Kiron put the question to Giorgios.

"What do we do? Fetch water at night, hope they don't see us, hear us, start shooting?"

"That's one answer. He'll have a better one."

On the other side of the river, Knute, watching the Imperial encampment as the light faded, put the same question to Harald.

"The men can sneak down at night with shields, with any luck manage to get a drink; the moon won't rise till near dawn. But how the hell do they plan to water the horses?"

"Asking the wrong man. Artos knew we'd be here. Didn't have an answer, wouldn't have come."

Dawn showed it—a trench from the river to the Imperial camp.

By noon, the pattern was clear. The trench provided the camp with water. From the camp, a long earthen wall was rising, slanting away from the river towards the road.

"How does he get his men to the ford?"

Harald turned to answer Niall's question.

"If he's in a hurry, he marches them there at night, pushes across night or early morning. Risky. More likely, another wall east, archers, engines opposite the ford, covering fire for a push across. We do what damage we can, if need be fall back—main force south, couple of cacades up into Newvale to hold the neck of the vale. Make sure everything worth eating gets uphill first—started already. Speaking of which . . ."

Harald turned to cut a chunk of mutton. Before taking a bite, he turned back to Niall.

"My question is where Artos got water to bring that many men after you dealt with His Highness's pool. Also," he spoke in a louder voice, "when is that idiot boy going to show himself?"

"Where the hell . . . ?"

"That stand of grass; figured he'd get hungry one of these days."

Asbjorn ignored both his uncle's surprise and his grandfather's lack of surprise.

"And I have two answers." Asbjorn looked at Harald, waited.

"What's the other?"

"Streams come down off the mountains, go over the edge of the cliff. Donal thinks they help feed the wells. Imperials have a couple of men under the trickle, lots of barrels, rock wall to hide them. Heard them talking; they never looked up. They figured the barrels would be full by the time the army came by. I spotted two streams, might be more. Thought you'd want to know."

"Yes. Show me where."

Asbjorn drew a roll of thin leather from the wallet slung over his shoulder. Unrolled, it was a carefully drawn map. Harald spent a minute looking at it, following his grandson's explanation, spoke:

"Arinbjorn Hrolfsson's camped off that way with his cacade—see the pennon from here. Find him, bring him. Work for both of you."

The boy helped himself to a chunk of mutton, a slab of bread, took a bite from each, set off in search of his cousin. Niall turned to his father.

"I thought you planned to keep 'Bjorn home."

"How—tie him up? Lower slopes north of here the safest place I could think of. Legions don't climb if they can help it; not even Westkin ride up cliffs. Artos doesn't have any Bashkai. Wildcats, bear, fall off and break his neck. Can do that at home too. Hasn't yet. Besides, things I wanted to know. Took a couple of friends. Boy's no fool."