Brightly Burning

Then—a plan flashed across his mind, whole and entire, and he grinned savagely and hugged Kalira's neck, letting her see and rejoice in it a heartbeat before he put it into motion.

He dropped the barrier altogether; gave them a flicker of time to gape in astonishment, another for their officers to order them forward. Then—with a whoosh like a windstorm—he flung up a new barrier just at the Valdemar side of the blackened, burned strip where there still fuel left to catch fire. It nearly caught the foremost ones, and he laughed savagely to see them spill backward to escape being toasted.

Kalira trembled beneath his arm in reaction to his anger, but the anger was what fed the fires, and he couldn't do this without it.

Now he made a virtue of necessity, as the fire crept back toward Valdemar, allowing a stretch of climbable slope to remain unprotected on the farther side of the mountain. Would they see it? Would they take the bait?

Only fanatics would have scrambled up those tumbled, ice-covered rocks with a fire raging in their faces, but twenty or thirty of the Karsites did just that. And Lan allowed them to slip across. There were, after all, twenty or so Valdemaran scouts on this side, just waiting for a target that they could shoot full of arrows!

But before anyone else took courage from that move, he slid the barrier over, so that the gap was now on the opposite side. But this time, it was a gap bordered by cliff on one side, and fire on the other; anyone who dared it would not be able to escape by climbing higher if the fires moved again.

No one tried it. Not all the exhortations of the officers could force Karsite fighters into the jaws of that trap. Lan chuckled with angry pleasure, as shouts came to him faintly from below. Good! Fight among each other! The more you fight, the better for us!

Perhaps it was the presence of the Dark Servants that kept the rank and file from revolting entirely against their leaders. Despite the loss of their shrine and their execution fires, the sinister priests remained at the forefront of the army, given wide berth by the common soldiers, but an ever-present threat against desertion. Perhaps there were more of them at the rear of the army; that would explain why Lan hadn't been able to get the Karsites to retreat.

:There are,: Kalira said shortly. :The Karsites Fear their priests more than our fires. So far they have been too busy preventing desertion to call up any of their demons, but if we give them a moment of rest, they will. They don't need a ritual fire—a knife to a victim's neck will do just as well.:

More activity down below hinted that the leaders had gotten enough volunteers to agree to attempt the gap—so before they could try, Lan shifted the fire-line backward and to the side again, closing the gap, but leaving the slope open once more.

'Try it again, you bastards!' he shouted down at them, keeping his anger as hot as the fires, though his knees quaked with exertion and his hands shook. He balled his trembling hands into fists and brandished them at the men below. 'Go ahead and see what you get!'

*

:POL, we're here in good time! Lavan holds the pass—he's letting small groups through, but we can take them!:

Pol clenched both hands in Satiran's mane with relief. 'The Heralds have gotten to the battlefield. Lavan is holding the pass, my Lord,' he said to the Lord Marshal. 'Evidently he can't keep it completely blocked, but he's managing it so that only small groups are getting through at the moment, small enough that our Heralds and archers can deal with them.'

He sensed the Lord Marshal's relief, but it was only momentary. 'The boy can't hold forever,' came the gruff reply. Pol heard nothing more, but knew that the Lord Marshal had retreated within himself weighing alternate plans.

'Pass the word,' Weldon said at last. 'I want the light cavalry to drop their archers and proceed ahead at their best speed. Have the heavy cavalry take the archers left behind at their stirrups.' A man hanging onto a stirrup could make better time than one without that aid; it would slow this group a bit, but the light cavalry, skirmishers all, were of more use sent ahead. They couldn't be more than a candlemark from the battlefield now.

Satiran tossed his head with excitement, as he and Pol watched the nimble, lightly-built horses, black and sorrel, chestnut and gray, leaping forward into the snow, blue-clad riders bent over their necks, blue-and-silver lance pennons lashing in the wind. Hooves thundered away into the trees ahead, leaving behind only the echoes of their departure rumbling between the mountains above, and the churned-up snow below.

The departure of the light cavalry seemed to somehow give more energy to the rest of the army. Or perhaps it was that the battle was so near at hand—but drooping heads came up, weary eyes sparked with excitement, and plodding feet found the strength to pick up the pace.

More mind-voices gave Pol information. :He's moving the barrier again—about a hundred got through this time. No casualties so far, but we haven't had to close hand-to-hand yet, we're picking them off from a distance. Damn! Archers through this time! One scout, three archers down—:

He relayed all this faithfully to the Lord Marshal, his voice tense with anxiety, although they both knew that these were the merest of skirmishes.

:The cavalry's here! And they're making mince of the Karsites!:

That announcement sent a shiver of excitement through the entire army as it spread from man to man. Another surge of new energy—this time born of the rivalry between light and heavy cavalry, cavalry and foot soldiers.

'C'mon, men!' Pol heard someone shout, back behind him. 'Ye want them prancin' pony riders t'steal all the glory?'

A roar answered the taunt, and the pace picked up yet again, to something near what fresh men could manage. Pol and Satiran needed no urging to take a harder pace.

:They're coming through in larger groups now—:

When Pol reported that, the Lord Marshal said nothing, except, 'listen; your ears are younger than mine. We've got to be getting near them! Can you hear the sounds of fighting yet?'