firelight. Ekhaas recognized the voices of Keraal and the two lhurusk who commanded the soldiers shouting orders-contradictory orders, she thought. The surprise of their attack spoiled by Dagii’s strategy of bells, the Valaes Tairn prowled just beyond spear’s reach, looking for an opening.
“The ranks are too thin,” said Chetiin. “They’ll crumble.” His scarred voice seemed to come from right beside her, but she had to look twice to find him and Marrow.
“At least the elves aren’t riding.”
His ears twitched. “Not all of the Valaes Tairn fight from horseback. It doesn’t make them any less deadly.”
Ekhaas scanned the hillside for Dagii and found him hugging the wall of the ruined clanhold. A hobgoblin on his own-the elves would turn on him as soon as they spotted him. He needed a distraction to give him the chance he needed to join his soldiers.
He looked down the hill and saw her. As if he guessed her thoughts, his ears went back and he shook his head. She raised her ears in response and bared her teeth. Then she focused her attention on a point of the hillside below the camp and behind the prowling elves. A breath drew up her song.
The magic passed her lips as a whisper, but burst out behind the elves with the roar of a tiger.
The attackers whirled. Whatever misgivings Dagii might have had about her causing a diversion, he took advantage of the moment’s confusion. He charged, howling a battle cry. His sword slashed one elf across the back of the leg, taking him down, then cut deep into the belly of another who spun to meet him. Realizing they been tricked, more elves turned to him. The ranks of Darguul soldiers strained as warriors took an unthinking step, ready to defend their commander.
“Hold position!” Dagii roared. “Archers, give cover!”
From high up in the ruins of Tii’ator clanhold, arrows spat down on the ground between Dagii and the elves. One took an elf warrior, pinning veil to throat. Another struck a shoulder, but most only forced the elves to check their advance. A few arrows hissed up from the base of the hill-the Valaes Tairn had archers in concealment as well-but they fell short. The ranks of hobgoblins opened like a parting curtain and Dagii plunged through. He disappeared, but his voice rose. “Archers, loose!”
Arrows fell again, this time carefully aimed. The elf who had taken an arrow in his shoulder took a second in his chest. Other elves danced back, some struck, others simply avoiding the deadly rain. They were on all sides of the camp though, and the archers in the ruins were forced to divide their efforts. Ekhaas saw one of the hobgoblins silhouetted for a moment against the starry sky; the heavy bow he carried seemed too thick to bend, yet bend it he did, and another elf died.
“Form up-double fortress!”
The thin lines of the Darguul perimeter dissolved and reformed into two solid rectangles of soldiers parallel to each other with camp and campfires between them. Ekhaas caught another glimpse of Dagii. He’d claimed a helmet and a shield. Three other hobgoblins clustered around him for a moment: Keraal with his chain and the two lhurusk. Keraal and one of the lhurusk were nodding, but the other one seemed inclined to argue. His hand thrust toward the second formation of soldiers.
Dagii’s fist, still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, punched out and cracked him in the jaw. The struck hobgoblin staggered, then ducked his head and joined the distant column. Dagii sent the other lhurusk with him, then he and Keraal melted into the first formation.
“Archers, hold!”
The arrows stopped. For a moment, the night was still, the Valenar waiting for the Darguuls to move, the Darguuls waiting for the Valenar.
Then a scimitar flashed up, whirling around the head of its wielder as she let out a high, musical war cry-and abruptly the night was filled with war cries. The elves ran at the defenders, not as disciplined dar might, but singly, each elf fighting alone. They darted and cut and dodged, their red garb like dancing flames in the night.
“Hold position!” Dagii commanded. “Hold!”
The wave of elves broke and receded for a moment, and Ekhaas saw that for all its apparent ferocity, that attack had been a show. She couldn’t see the faces of the veiled elves, but their posture was stiff and their weapons trembling. They were disappointed, she guessed. The mock attack had been intended to break the enemy formation and draw them out. The Darguuls had resisted.
An elf voice screamed. The wave crashed forward again.
This time, the scimitars flashed out in earnest. “Forward ranks, attack! Archers, loose!” roared Dagii.
Spears thrust at the elves. A few found flesh, but the elves were clearly used to this tactic and many slid or ducked to come up inside the reach of the first rank-only to encounter spears jabbed forward by the second rank underneath the arms of their comrades. At the same time, the first rank of Darguuls dropped their now useless spears and drew swords. Arrows rained down on those elves who hung back or tried to pull away, making retreat almost as dangerous as staying close.
And yet a band of elves had leaped into the gap between the two rectangles of dar, leaping bedrolls and campfires. They didn’t, however, attack the defenders, and Ekhaas knew immediately what they were up to. They were going for the gaping charred doors of Tii’ator. They would try to take the ruined clanhold and seize the high ground from the hobgoblin archers.
She started to rise, to shout a warning, but Chetiin grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Dagii knows!” he rasped-just as the warlord of the Mur Talaan shouted out, “Rear ranks, close!”
The rear ranks of each rectangle spun around and slammed together like the jaws of a vise. The running elves found themselves trapped. Scimitars turned against heavy dar swords as they tried to fight their way clear.
Chetiin drew breath through his teeth. “The elves will call for their archers soon. Marrow, with me.” He turned black eyes on Ekhaas. “Stay hidden! The elves will be looking for a spellcaster now. Hopefully they’ll think you’re fighting among the ranks in the camp.”
He turned and disappeared without another sound into the shadows. Marrow padded along with him, cold vengeance in her eyes. Ekhaas looked after them for an instant, then up at the struggling elves and dar, and made her decision. She wasn’t going to stay out of the fight like a coward.
She rose to her knees, watching the battle and at the same time listening to the darkness. After a long moment, she heard a muffled thump, like a falling body, from the direction Chetiin had gone. At least one of the unseen elf archers was no longer a danger. She crept forward in the long grass, then stood, singing as she moved. Magic danced along her skin. She felt it as a tingling, a kind of scraping as if her flesh were being gently drawn apart; then, like a soap bubble, the feeling burst. The song flicked away from her and took on another form.
Three more Ekhaases rose out of the grass alongside her. Thin echoes of song tied them to her-what she did, they imitated. She strode up the slope of the hill, closer to the battle. Elves who had managed to escape the close fighting and retreat for the moment cried out as they saw her. Or rather, as they saw them.
The warriors acted just as she’d hoped they would, in the heat of battle seeing four figures, lightly-armed scouts perhaps, instead of just one surrounded by magical illusions. Three of the elves broke off and came gliding toward her, eager for an easy kill to dishearten their opponents. Ekhaas smiled and eased sideways a little so the Valaes Tairn were across the hill from her rather than uphill with Darguuls at their back One of the elves brought up a bright throwing knife, hurling it with a snap of his arm.
She threw herself aside, a move that was both too slow and completely unnecessary. The knife flashed in the air and plunged through one of her illusory duplicates. Ekhaas felt as much as she saw her double wink out of existence.
Even if the knife hadn’t struck it, she’d given herself away. Not even the most coordinated troops would dive for cover with the same movement. She spoke a little Elven, more than enough to understand one of the elf warriors as he pieced together what had just happened. “Spellcaster!” he shouted. “She’s a spellcaster!”
No time now to draw them closer to her. Ekhaas cursed, rolled back to her feet-the elves were charging, bounding across the hill-and sang again. Not an illusion this time. Not a diversion. Not a stunning burst of sound. The song that rippled from her lips was dark and deep, a haunting song that played across hearts like footsteps in an empty room or the distant cry of carrion birds. The strides of the elves faltered. Above their veils, their eyes grew wide. One began to tremble, his scimitar falling from his hand.
They turned and fled, gripped in the terror inspired by her song. They weren’t the only ones-two more, caught by the edge of the magic, fled with them. Another two, perhaps sensing a shift in the tide of battle, went too.
