Shadow Page 23

  "We don't think much of you," the king had told Ninomar, blue-blue eyes glittering in a way very reminiscent of his father's, "but we think even less of the next three in line. So you will be in command--and your adjutant will be Colonel Rolsok."

  That had been a hard dose to swallow, but when the king said swallow, one gulped. Rolsok was a baby-faced stripling, a close friend of the king's and rumored to be one of his orgy partners, although it was difficult to believe from the look of him that he was old enough to know what it was all about. Before Jarkadon's accession he had been a mere ensign, but he came from a fine family, with good skyman connections; his brother was the courier who had brought the news of the king's accession to Ninar Foan.

  So it was Shadow all over again, with Ninomar approving what his nominal subordinate said. Like Shadow, Rolsok knew what he was doing, but he was a gentleman and much more tactful. He couched his suggestions in phrases such as "Have you considered, my lord..." or "His lordship has decided..." and things were magically done.

  Edicts went out and every man who could fly and bend a bow was conscripted: retired troopers, country gentlemen, junior aristocrats...everyone. They drained into the palace from the whole length of the Range. Their mounts filled the aerie and the breeding aeries and then started lining the balcony rafts. Logistics became a nightmare: food and shackles and equipment and weapons...

  The rebels were moving with astonishing speed. Fortunately they had overlooked the singles' compulsion to return to their mates. Day by day the solitary birds returned and another mark was made on the map.

  There were no messages either with the singles or by courier. That strange silence bothered Ninomar more than anything. The rebels' archers must be superb.

  And their speed was unbelievable.

  "Sastinon!" the king snarled at one of the daily conferences. "The bird from Sastinon returned only eight days after the two from Ninar Foan? Could you move an army from Ninar to Sastinon in eight days, Marshal?"

  That was faster than a royal courier traveled. Ninomar was about to say that of course he couldn't, when young Colonel Rolsok coughed.

  "His lordship was just pointing out to me, Your Majesty, that it takes a single two or three days from Ninar Foan to Ramo, but about one day from Sastinon. So the rebels must have takenninedays, not eight."

  "Oh?" the king said. "Astute of you, Lord Ninomar; we had missed that." He smiled at Colonel Rolsok.

  "Perhaps Your Majesty would like to hear his lordship's plans for Podrilt?" the adjutant suggested, returning the smile.

  "We should be delighted," the king said.

  Ninomar had no plans for Podrilt, so he told Rolsok to go ahead.

  "Just a suggestion of his lordship's, sire," the youngster said, "subject to your approval, of course. If you will look at the map..." He counted off the distances--a force sent now from Ramo should reach Podrilt just before the rebels did. "He thought about two hundred men, Majesty--and all riding singles. A reconnaissance in force? Perhaps delay them a little?"

  Ninomar did not think much of the idea. There was a serious danger that such a force would destroy the rebellion all by itself, leaving no glory for anyone else. It meant dividing forces, and the manual warned against doing that; while if the rebels were much stronger than expected, it meant a loss of two hundred good men.

  "And another point," Rolsok said smoothly. "The rebels must be stopped at the Big Jump, as his lordship has repeatedly pointed out. But it will take us at least eight hours to reach there from here. You will note from the map that the rebels will need about half a day to travel from Podrilt to Krant, on the far side. So word of an encounter at Podrilt would be our signal to launch."

  Smart young fellow, Rolsok.

  The departure of two hundred was hardly noticeable; still the skymen kept coming and the problems grew worse. They were being billeted on earls now, with dukes' houses next on the list. Human food was becoming short and bird fodder so scarce that even horses were sacrificed. Ninomar began to worry that the rebels would halt their progress at Krant and let the royal army starve itself to death. There were over twelve thousand men on the rolls already, and that seemed absurd--Allaban could never have raised more than a thousand.

  Exactly ten days after the singles from Ninar Foan had sounded the alarm in Ramo, he was roughly shaken awake in the middle of third watch by Rolsok, who was looking very shaken himself.

  "Singles from Podrilt!" Rolsok snapped, his voice perceptibly higher than usual.

  "How many?" Ninomar demanded, sitting up.

  The boyish face was pale and beaded with sweat. "Thirty-three when I was told," he said, "and still coming."

  "How do they do that?" the king demanded for the third or fourth time. He had called the council into session; he had summoned all the senior officers of the Guard. They were still stumbling into the cabinet, hair awry, rumpled and bleary-eyed--the chancellor and the chamberlain, the earl marshal, and even some unusual choices like the royal breeder.

  For the third or fourth time, the king received no answer. Well over half the singles were back now, with more coming all the time. Most of them bore dried blood on their tars or wings. None was injured in any way.

  Many of them had borne a message tied to a leg--and no sane eagle allowed anything as flimsy as paper to remain tied to its leg very long. The messages were all identical: "When you are ready to surrender, release the birds in the aerie and wait in the Great Courtyard for orders. Vindax R." One such note might have been suppressed, but there were too many of them--everyone had seen one, or heard the words.

  Jarkadon stopped his pacing, went back to his desk, then sat and glared around. Most of the men standing before him were elderly, but all had flown at some time. If any group in Rantorra knew eagles, it should be this.

  "Well?" the king demanded. "I ask again: How do you kill a rider without killing his mount? Was every man crazy enough to go into battle with his reins tied? How do they do it? Foan told me about the battles he had in Allaban, and the rebels couldn't do it then. How are they doing it now?" There was silence.

  Ninomar did not know, and such problems were not for him. If Jarkadon or Rolsok could not solve them, then he never would. But the mention of Foan was interesting--Foan ought to be here. In truth, he ought to be in charge, but he was known to be still under house arrest at the breeding aeries, and if the rumors about his daughter were true, then he was not going to be returning to court very soon. Jarkadon was creating his own problems--but that was a treasonable thought.

  A courier marched in unannounced and bowed to the king. "One hundred and eighty, sire," he said. He turned and left without waiting for a reply.

  "Twenty to come," Jarkadon said sourly. "Anyone want to bet against that?"

  "Majesty," Rolsok said quietly. "We should launch the army."

  He received a glare from his royal friend which obviously startled him.

  "Not until we know what they are going to be fighting," the king said, almost snarling the words.

  Rolsok looked appealingly at Ninomar, who stayed silent. No one had ever called him a coward, but one hundred and eighty out of two hundred? He could not doubt that those men were all dead.

  "Majesty?" creaked the elderly voice of Chief Air Marshal Quortior, nominal head of the Guard. "I think I agree with the colonel. Once the rebels cross the Big Jump, they will be very hard to track down."

  "They could pillage and loot and hide among the hills," the earl marshal suggested.

  "If they ever take possession of the thermals around the palace, they would have us under siege," the chamberlain muttered.

  "Then our numbers would be useless," the chancellor added.

  It was amateur soldier time, obviously. The noncombatants wanted the rebels kept well away from Ramo.

  "If they do to the army what they did at Podrilt, then we shall have no one left to guard the palace," the king snapped. "And no eagles. In the aeries they at least are safe."

  "They will starve withi
n five days," Rolsok said. "And so will we."

  Jarkadon drummed his fingers on the desk and chewed his lower lip. The decision must be his. He had not had much experience at the harder side of kingship. If he made the wrong choice, Ninomar realized, then he might not get much more.

  "I want to know what they did to those men!" the king growled.

  "They were killed by eagles," Rolsok said. "There is too much blood for arrows."

  Jarkadon nodded. "So?"

  "So--an eagle must attack from above. The rebels must lose altitude crossing the Big Jump. That is the only place where we can be certain of taking their air."

  The king snarled again. Then he seemed to reach a decision. He turned to Ninomar.

  "You're commanding officer! What do you want to do?"

  That was more like it! It was time for the experts to step in--and the astonishment on Rolsok's face was most gratifying. Ninomar considered the problem with professional care. He had almost fourteen thousand men ready to go, incredibly, but that was a grave responsibility--it was not fair to lead them into a battle against an unknown enemy.

  "I should like to take counsel with the keeper of the Rand, sire, as he--"

  "No!" Jarkadon snapped.

  No help there! Suppose he took the army to Rakarr and the rebels did not come? How long could he keep his men in the air? Where would they perch, and what would men and birds eat?

  Ninomar straightened his shoulders. "I am of the same opinion as Your Majesty. Keep the birds in the aeries."

  "Then I was obviously wrong," the king said. "Launch the army."

  Rakarr was a very small mountain, small enough that men on the top of it could breathe. Leaning into the wind, Ninomar stood there and surveyed his forces, and in spite of his tension and deathly weariness, he felt pride. No general had ever commanded so large an army: 14,248 men was the official count. A few of the militia might have found urgent business elsewhere, of course, but the absence of cowards need not be regretted.

  Say fourteen thousand. To hold such a force in military formation was impossible. The air to sunward was full of wheeling birds and cursing riders, a great column of specks curving high into the sky with its base close above the fields and terraces on the sunward side of Rakarr. Those in the best part of the thermal could hold altitude, but the crowding was continually forcing men to the edges, where they had to sink and try to fight their way back in again. Near the base the turbulence of the cold air coming around from darkward was stirring the nearer specks in and out and up and down in a pattern that was visually pleasing but was certainly hell for the riders. At the top of the thermal, where it curved out far above the next peak, the birds were barely visible at all. The men there would be going through another sort of hell just trying to breathe, and once in a while he would see one plunge suddenly, heading down to safety--or to death if the rider did not recover consciousness in time.

  It was a damned nuisance that thermals curved, for Ninomar's proper post as commander was at the top of his army. Indeed, he had never doubted that that was where he would wait for the attack--until Rolsok had tactfully pointed out that from there he would be unable to see the enemy, unable to know when to signal, and probably unable to signal in any case.

  Rolsok was a smart young fellow; Ninomar would have to see that he got a medal for something, afterward.

  Cleverly, though, Ninomar had found a way around the problem. He had set up his headquarters on Rakarr itself, on one of the many jagged pinnacles that topped it. Here he stood with Rolsok and a small group of aides and, of course, their hooded and tethered mounts. He had ordered tents, too, but time, transportation, and wind had frustrated that idea. Sunward his army waited. The tiny rocky space was flanked on either side by rushing streams of mist pouring through narrow gaps in the fanged ridge to vanish when they saw the sun. Above him stood empty sky, and darkward he could look down on the surging clouds that blanketed the windward side of the peak. Beyond that he had a clear view of the Big Jump and across it to the Rand and Krant and the enemy.

  They were coming--or so some of the sharper-eyed youngsters insisted. Ninomar could see nothing himself. Rolsok was certain that there were birds in the thermal over Krant. Half an hour should do it.

  Ninomar sent a messenger to the palace.

  He stamped his feet, slapped his arms to keep warm, and wished his eyes were not watering so much. He thought he ought to be making light conversation with his companions, acting the confident leader, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

  "See any more, Adjutant?" he demanded.

  "Not yet, my lord." Rolsok rubbed his eyes. "I suppose it could just be smoke from a brushfire? Or else there must be a hell of a lot of them." He sounded very uneasy.

  Ninomar thought of a cheerful subject at last. "Don't look for riders," he said. "The men of Allaban sit sling like bundles of laundry and let the birds carry them."

  There were expressions of polite incredulity all round.

  "Oh, it's true! The duke of Foan fought them years ago, and he tells me they were doing it then. I've seen one of their suits with a sling attachment." It was comforting to be able to sound so experienced. "Of course it calls for very good bird training--we must grant them that. But I shouldn't like it. What if the damned fowl sneezed, ha?"

  There was appreciative laughter.

  "It must make for difficult archery, too, my lord."

  "Very," Ninomar agreed. "Never fear--we're going to fill the Big Jump with dead rebels today. The cowboys will be able to walk their herds across on the bodies."

  When did he order the attack? The rebels had no options: They would lose altitude in the glide, so they had to enter the updraft below the cloud. Ninomar had no options, either, in truth. His force had to dive out of the sunward thermal and pass directly over his head and down into the Big Jump. It was a problem in calculating speeds. He must not let the rebels into the updraft, so the battle would be fought over the nearer end of the gap itself. There were going to be many men forced to ditch their birds then, and he should have thought to organize recovery teams. But it was too late for that.

  His force would be traveling much faster, so the right moment would be about when he could see the rebel birds as clearly as his own. It was simple.

  Then Rolsok spoke in a whisper that was somehow worse than a shout. "Ark of God!"

  There they were.

  At first Ninomar thought there was something wrong with his eyes. Or some sort of freak dust storm?

  He turned and looked at his own army. Then he looked back into the Big Jump.

  If he had fourteen thousand, then there must be thirty or forty thousand on the other side. He started to shake. It was cold up on this damned peak.

  Small wonder that the two hundred had not returned from Podrilt.

  They were still coming? The dust cloud was growing thicker. He had not known that there were that many birds in the world.

  He could not guess how many there were. Sixty thousand? Eighty? Many, many times more than he had.

  "It's a bluff!" he snapped. "There can't be that many men--just a few thousand. The rest are all wilds."

  But wilds would attack a man on birdback, and they were a lot more agile and hard to hit. "The wilds will attack the rebels, too!" he shouted.

  "Then why don't they?" Rolsok whispered.

  The wilds were escorting the men in slings. Was that why the rebels used slings--because they did not annoy the wilds? How did the rebels get the wilds to follow them, anyway?

  Now his eyes could resolve the great cloud of birds into dots, and he could see how those bearing slings had sunk to the lower edge, but they were still higher than he would have expected. And there were yet more dust specks behind. In the name of God, where had they all come from?

  He straightened. It was time--if it was not too late.

  "Attack!"

  Every man jumped from his paralysis. Mirrors were ripped from bindings and turned sunward; to the waiting army, the top of Raka
rr must have flickered suddenly in dancing pinpoints of light. And the birds of the Royal Guard began their glide.

  Those in the lower part of the column had still to gain altitude, so they continued to circle. To Ninomar, the rest seemed to dwindle in size as they turned head-on.

  The higher birds had farther to come, but their dive was steeper, so they would be coming faster. He had not thought of that: Two-thirds of his force was going to pass directly over his head at very much the same moment, and there would be impossible crowding in that tiny patch of sky. Damn, but there had been no time to plan all this properly!

  He looked back into the Big Jump. The first ranks were close enough to be obviously eagles, but the dust cloud behind was still growing thicker--they were still coming, a bee swarm of eagles. Two hundred thousand? Four? He could not even guess--the odds were hopeless. Where had they all come from?

  The others around him were thinking the same. "If every man gets a bird with every arrow..." a voice said.

  There were still not enough arrows in the army.

  "Stop that!" Ninomar shouted.

  If those unridden birds were going to fight and were not merely camouflage, then Marshal Lord Ninomar was going to lose this battle.

  It would be no battle--it would be a massacre.

  The sun was darkened. He looked up, and the royal army was there, birds filling the sky, a forest of birds, thousands, some so low that he wanted to duck, packed in the air, hurtling darkward--men yelling and cursing as their neighbors crowded in on them. Here and there he saw some very near misses.

  His heart swelled with pride at the sight of his gallant host, this royal army, his army: the skymen, the lords of the air!

  Brave lads! Many of you will die today, he thought, and I am sending you into a very unfair fight. But you will do your duty, and I have done my best for you. Now you must do yours for His Majesty.

  A solid cloud of eagles poured overhead, all diving at great speed into the wind.

  Then something very odd happened.

  Every bird raised its feet and ducked its head in a move he had never seenbefore--everybird.