The Battle for Skandia (9 page)

It also gave him an opportunity to make sure the man's bonds were tight and that he hadn't managed to loosen them or wriggle free. Knowing he would receive no reply, Halt asked the man for his name and his military unit. Although he spoke the Temujai tongue with reasonable fluency, having spent several years among the People, as they called themselves, he saw no reason to apprise the prisoner of that fact. As a consequence, Halt used the trader's language common to all the people of the Hemisphere—a mélange of Gallic, Teuton and Temujai words in a simple, pidgin-language structure that took no notice of grammar or syntax.

As he had expected, the Tem'uj simply ignored his overtures. Halt shrugged and moved away, deep in thought. Horace was sitting by the fireplace, carefully cleaning and oiling his sword. Evanlyn was in the sentry position at the brow of the hilltop, keeping watch over the hillside below them. She would be due to be relieved in another half hour, he thought idly. As Halt paced back and forth, turning over the problem that taxed his mind, he became aware of another presence beside him. He glanced around and smiled to see Will pacing with him, wrapped in the gray mottled Ranger cloak that Halt had carried with him, along with the bow he'd made and a saxe knife. The double-knife scabbards were a Ranger-issued item of equipment and Halt, expelled from the Corps, had been unable to find one for the boy. As yet, Will hadn't remarked on the fact.

“What's the problem, Halt?” the young man asked now.

Halt stopped pacing to face him, his eyebrow arcing in an expression that was familiar to Will.

“Problem?” he repeated. Will grinned at him, refusing to be put off, refusing to be diverted. He's grown up a lot in the past year, Halt thought, remembering how that response would once have left the boy confused and disconcerted.

“When you pace back and forth like a caged tiger, it usually means you're trying to think through a problem of some kind,” Will said. Halt pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“And I suppose you've seen so many tigers in your time?” he asked. “Caged and otherwise?”

Will's grin widened a little. “And when you try to distract me from my question by asking a question back, I
know
you're thinking over some problem,” he added. Halt finally gave in. He had no idea that his habits had become so easy to interpret. He made a mental note to change things, then wondered if he wasn't getting too old to do so.

“Well, yes,” he replied. “I must admit I do have something on my mind. Nothing major. Don't let it worry you.”

“What is it?” said his apprentice bluntly, and Halt cocked his head sideways.

“You see,” he explained, “when I say ‘don't let it worry you,' I mean, there's no real need for us to discuss it.”

“I know that,” said his apprentice. “But what is it anyway?”

Halt drew a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. “I seem to remember that I once had much more authority than I seem to have these days,” he said to no one in particular. Then, realizing that Will was still waiting expectantly, he relented.

“It's these Temujai,” he said. “I'd like to know what they're up to.” He glanced across their campsite to where the Tem'uj was sitting, securely bound. “And I've got a snowball's chance in a forest fire of finding out from our friend there.”

Will shrugged. “Is it really any of our concern?” he asked. “After all, surely we can leave them and the Skandians to fight it out.”

Halt considered this, scratching at his chin with forefinger and thumb. “I take it you're thinking along the lines of the old saying ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend'?” he said. Will shrugged once again.

“I wasn't thinking of it in those words exactly,” he said. “But it does sum the situation up pretty well, don't you think? If the Skandians are kept busy fighting these Temujai, then they won't be able to bother us with their coastal raids, will they?”

“That's true, up to a point,” Halt admitted. “But there is another old saying: ‘Rather the devil you know.' Have you ever heard that one?”

“Yes. So you're saying that these Temujai could be a lot more of a problem than the Skandians?”

“Oh yes indeed. If they defeat the Skandians, there's nothing to stop them from moving on Teutlandt, Gallica, and finally Araluen.”

“But they'd have to beat the Skandians first, wouldn't they?” Will said. He knew, from firsthand experience, that the Skandians were fierce, fearless warriors. He could see them forming an effective buffer between the invading Temujai and the other western nations, with both sides ending up severely weakened by the war and neither presenting a threat in the near future. It was a perfect strategic position, he told himself comfortably. Halt's next words made him feel considerably less comfortable.

“Oh, they'll defeat them, all right. Make no mistake about that. It will be a savage, bloody war, but the Temujai will win.”

AFTER THE EVENING MEAL, HALT CALLED THE SMALL GROUP together. The wind had risen with the onset of night and it whistled eerily through the branches of the pines. It was a clear night, and the half-moon shone brilliantly above them as they huddled in their cloaks around the remnants of the fire.

“Will and I were talking earlier,” he told them. “And I've decided that, since our discussion concerns all of us, it's only fair to tell you what I've been thinking.”

Horace and Evanlyn exchanged puzzled looks. They had both simply assumed that the master and the apprentice were catching up on lost time together. Now, it appeared, there was something else to consider.

“First and foremost,” Halt continued, seeing he had their undivided attention, “my aim is to get you, Will, and the Pr—” He hesitated, stopping before he used Evanlyn's title. They had all agreed that it would be safer for her to continue under her assumed name until they returned home. He corrected himself. “Will and Evanlyn, and Horace, of course, across the border and out of Skandia. As escaped prisoners, you're in considerable danger if the Skandians recapture you. And, as we all know, that danger is even greater for Evanlyn.”

The three listeners nodded. Will had told Halt and Horace about the risk to Evanlyn should Ragnak ever discover her real identity as King Duncan's daughter. The Oberjarl had sworn a blood vow to the Vallas, the trio of savage gods who ruled the Skandian religion, in which he promised death to any relative of the Araluen King.

“On the other hand,” Halt said, “I am deeply worried about the presence of the Temujai here on the borders of Skandia. They haven't come this far west in twenty years—and the last time they did, they put the entire western world at risk.”

Now he really had their attention, he saw. Horace and Evanlyn sat up straighter and leaned a little closer to him. He saw the puzzled look on the young warrior's face in the firelight.

“Surely, Halt, you're exaggerating?” Horace asked.

Will looked sideways at his friend. “That's what I thought too,” he said quietly, “but apparently not.”

Halt shook his head firmly. “I wish I were,” he said. “But if the Temujai are moving in force, it's a threat to all our countries, Araluen included.”

“What happened last time, Halt?” It was Evanlyn who spoke now, her voice uncertain, the concern obvious in it. “Were you there? Did you fight them?”

“I fought with them and, eventually, against them,” he said flatly. “There were things we wanted to learn from them and I was sent to do so.”

Horace frowned. “Such as?” he asked. “What could the Rangers hope to learn from a bunch of wild horsemen?” Horace, it must be admitted, had a somewhat inflated idea of the extent of the Ranger Corps' knowledge. To put it simply, he thought they knew just about everything that was worth knowing.

“You wanted to learn how they made their bows, didn't you?” said Will suddenly. He remembered seeing the bows carried by the horsemen and thinking how similar they were to his own. Halt looked at him and nodded.

“That was part of it. But there was something more important. I was sent to trade with them for some of their stallions and mares. The Ranger horses we ride today were originally bred from the Temujai herds,” he explained. “We found their recurve bows interesting, but when you consider how difficult and time-consuming they are to make, they offered no significant improvement in performance over the longbow. But the horses were a different matter.”

“And they were happy to trade?” asked Will. As he spoke, he turned to study the shaggy little horse standing a few paces behind him. Tug, seeing him turn to look, nickered a soft greeting. Now that Halt mentioned it, there was a distinct resemblance to the horses he had seen in the Temujai camp.

“They were not!” Halt replied with a heartfelt shake of the head. “They guarded their breeding stock jealously. I'm probably still wanted among the Temujai nation as a horse thief.”

“You stole them?” Horace asked, in a mildly disapproving tone.

Halt hid a smile as he replied.

“I left what I considered a fair price,” he told them. “The Temujai had other ideas about the matter. They weren't keen to sell at any price.”

“Anyway,” Will said impatiently, dismissing the matter of whether the horses had been bought or stolen, “what happened when their army invaded? How far did they come?”

Halt stirred the small pile of embers between them with the end of a charred stick until a few tongues of flame flickered in the red coals. “They were heading farther south that time,” he said. “They overran the Ursali nation and the Middle Kingdoms in no time at all. There was no stopping them. They were the ultimate warriors—fast moving, incredibly brave, but most of all, highly disciplined. They fought as a large unit, always, whereas the armies facing them almost always ended up fighting in small groups of perhaps a dozen at a time.”

“How could they do that?” Evanlyn asked. She had been around her father's armies enough to know that the biggest problem facing any commander once battle started was staying in effective control and maintaining communication with the troops under him. Halt looked at her, sensing the professional interest behind her question.

“They've developed a signaling system that lets their central commander direct all his troops in concerted maneuvers,” he told her. “It's a very complex system relying on colored flags in different combinations. They can even operate at night,” he added. “They simply substitute colored lanterns for the flags. Quite frankly, there was no army capable of stopping them as they drove on toward the sea.

“They'd cut through the northeast corner of Teutlandt, then on through Gallica. Every army that faced them, they defeated. Their superior tactics and discipline made them unbeatable. They were only three days' riding from the Gallican coast when they finally stopped.”

“What stopped them?” Will asked. A noticeable chill had fallen over the three young listeners as Halt had described the inexorable advance of the Temujai army. At the question, the Ranger gave a short laugh.

“Politics,” he said. “And a dish of bad freshwater clams.”

“Politics?” Horace snorted in disgust. As a warrior, he had a healthy contempt for politics and politicians.

“That's right. This was when Mat'lik was the Sha'shan, or supreme leader. Now, among people like the Temujai, that's a highly unstable position. It's taken by the strongest contender and very few Sha'shans have died in their beds. Although Mat'lik did, as it turned out,” he added as an afterthought, before continuing.

“As a result, it's normal practice for anyone who might contest the position to be assigned tasks that keep them a long way from home. In this case, Mat'lik's brother, nephew and second cousin were the most likely candidates, so he made sure they were kept busy with the army. That way, not only could they not get up to mischief around him, but they could all keep an eye on one another as well. Naturally, they distrusted each other totally.”

“Wasn't it dangerous to give them control over the army?” Will asked. Halt signified that the question was a good one.

“Normally, it might be. But the command structure was designed so that none of them had absolute control. Mat'lik's brother Twu'lik was the strategic commander. But his nephew was the pay-master and his cousin was the quartermaster. So, one led them, one fed them and one paid them. They all had pretty equal claims on the loyalty of the soldiers. That way, they could keep one another in check.”

“So where did the clams come in?” Horace asked. Food was always a matter of interest to him. Halt resettled himself by the fire, leaning back against a log.

“Mat'lik was partial to freshwater clams,” he told them. “So much so that he very unwisely had his wife prepare him a big dish when they were out of season. It seems that some of them were tainted and he was taken by a terrible fit while eating. He screamed, tore at his throat, fell down and went into a deep coma. It was obvious that he was very close to death.

“Naturally, when news reached the army, the three main contenders for the top job couldn't get back to the Sha'shan's court fast enough. The succession would be decided by an election among the senior Shans and they knew if they weren't back there to hand out the bribes and buy votes, someone else would get the prize.”

“So they simply abandoned the invasion?” Will asked. “After they'd come so far?”

Halt made a dismissive gesture. “They were a pragmatic bunch,” he said. “Gallica wasn't going to go away. They'd fought their way through there once, they could always do it again. But there was only going to be one chance to get the top job.”