snow-spattered tunic, pointed at the wall with an outflung arm, and pitched backward into the drift she'd used to break her fall.
The remaining fighters -- all four of them -- gathered their courage along with their snowballs and resumed their charge.
Kethry and her two fellow defenders drove them ruthlessly back with a steady, carefiilly coordinated barrage. 'Stand fast, my friends,' Kethry encouraged her forces, as the enemy gathered just outside their range for another charge. 'Never shall we let the sacred palace of-of-Whatever-it-is fall into the hands of these barbarians!'
'Sacred, my horse's behind!' taunted Tarma, reclining at her ease in the snowbank, head propped up on one arm. 'You soft city types have mush for brains; wouldn't know sacred if it walked up and bonked you with a blessing! That's our sacred ground you're cluttering up with your filthy city! My nomads are clear of eye and mind from all the healthy riding they do. They know sacred when they see it!'
'You're dead!' Kethry returned, laughing. 'You can't talk if you're dead!'
'Oh, I wouldn't bet on that,' Tarma replied. grinning widely.
'Well, it's not fair -- ' Kethry began, when one of Tarma's 'nomads' launched into a speech of her own.
It was very impassioned, full of references to 'our fallen leader, now with the stars,' and 'our duty to free our ancient homeland,' and it was just a little confused, but it was a rather good speech for a twelve year old. It certainly got her fellow fighters' blood going. This time there was no stopping them; they stormed right over the walls of the snowfort and captured the flag, despite the best efforts of Kethry and her band of defenders. Kethry made a last stand on the heights next to the flag but to no avail; she was hit with three snowballs at once, and went down even more dramatically than Tarma.
The barbarians howled for joy, piled their other victims on top of Kethry, and did a victory dance around the bodies. When Tarma resurrected herself and came to join them, Kethry rose to her feet, protesting at the top of her lungs.
'No, you don't -- dead is dead, woman!' Kethry had come up with one of her unthrown missiles in her hands; now she launched it from point-blank range and got the surprised Tarma right in the face with it.
The never-broken rule decreed loose snowballs only. Tarma enforced that rule with a hand of iron, and Kethry would never even have thought of violating it. This was a game, and injuries had no part in it. So Tarma was unhurt, but now wore a white mask covering her from forehead to chin.
Only for a moment. 'AAARRRG!' she howled, scraping the snow off her face, and springing at Kethry, fingers mimicking claws. 'My disguise! You've ruined my disguise!'
'Run!' Kethry cried in mock fear, dodging.
'It's -- it's -- '
'The great and terrible Snow Demon!' Tarma supplied, making a grab at the children, who screamed in excitement and fled. 'I tricked you fools into fighting for me! Now I have all of you at my mercy, and the city as well! AAAAARRRG!
It was only when a more implacable enemy -- the children's mothers -- came to fetch them away that the new game came to a halt.
'Thanks for minding them, Tarma,' said one of the mothers, a former Hawk herself. She was collecting two little girls who looked -- and were -- the same age. Vamy and her shieldmate Sania had met in the Sunhawks, and when an unlucky swordstroke had taken out Varny's left eye, they'd decided that since Vamy was mustering-out anyway because of the injury, they might as well have the family they both wanted. Though how they'd managed to get pregnant almost simultaneously was a bit of a wonder. Somewhat to their disappointment, neither child was interested in following the sword. Varny's wanted to be a scrivener, and Sania's a Healer -- and the latter, at least, was already showing some evidence of that Gift.
'No problem,' Tarma replied, 'You know I enjoy it. It's nice to be around children who don't take warfare seriously.'
In point of fact, none of these children was being trained for fighting; all had indicated to their parents that they wished more peaceful occupations.
So their play-battles were play, and not more practice.
'Well, we still appreciate having an afternoon to ourselves, so I hope you don't ever get tired of them,' one of the other mothers replied with a broad smile.
'Not a chance,' Tarma told her. 'I'll let you know next afternoon I've got free, and I'll kidnap them again.'
'Bless you!' With that, and similar expressions of gratitude, the women and their weary offspring vanished into the streets of the snow-covered town.
