'I see them!' he replied. 'Keep on!'
Across the fields a long, low ridge covered by a dense thicket lay like a green wall across their path. Daried risked another glance over his shoulder, and altered his course to the right, veering away from the oncoming horsemen so that they would take just a little longer to overtake his warriors. The hot sun beat down on him, and the golden wheat weaving around his waist forced him to take high, plunging strides, wading more than running. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark thicket ahead and did not allow himself to slow down, even though sweat streamed down his face and the humid air seemed as thick as molasses in his lungs.
Behind him, he could hear the drumming hooves of the riders following. The shouts and cries of the mercenaries took on a savage, triumphal tone-and the elf warriors were still fifty yards short of the copse ahead.
A single horn-call sounded from somewhere in the woods ahead. Instantly Daried shouted to his warriors, 'Down!' He threw himself into the tall grain and rolled, wheat stalks whipping his face and arms.
Over his head better than eighty bows thrummed at once. In the shelter of the trees ahead, just about every man of Glen who could pull a bow-and some of the women, as well-rose up and fired at the cavalrymen intent on riding down the withdrawing elves. They did not all shoot as well as elf warriors would have, but some did, and the rest certainly shot well enough. Horses screamed and reared, riders toppled from saddles, and others wheeled in panic beneath the withering fire. After three quick volleys the Chondathan mercenaries spun around and spurred away from the green thicket, leaving half their number dead or dying at the feet of the elves they'd intended to ride down.
Daried and his warriors leaped back to their feet, and trotted into the shelter of the thickets. The bladesinger found Nilsa waiting for him, alongside Earek, the tall innkeeper from the White Horse. More villagers and farmers stood nearby, grim looks of satisfaction on their faces. They were dressed in a ragged collection of armor ranging from none at all to old mail shirts or jerkins of rivet-studded leather, but all carried well-cared for bows, and many wore swords or axes at their belts, too.
There's more to these Dalesfolk than meets the eye, Daried decided. 'That was well done, Nilsa. We would have been ridden down if you and your folk had not shot so well.'
'I waited as long as I could before sounding the signal,' Nilsa said. She shrugged awkwardly. 'I didn't think they would be after you so quickly. It's a good thing you are fleet of foot, or you never would have gotten away from them.'
'So?' Earek asked Daried. He served as the town's militia captain, since the death of Nilsa's father. The easygoing innkeeper became a different man in the field. His bland smile and easy laugh were gone, replaced by determination and worry. 'How many do we face?'
Daried took a quick tally of the elf warriors who remained with him. Of the twenty he had had in the orchard, sixteen stood with him. Two were wounded, and Hycellyn, who had waited with the Dalesfolk, tended to them with her healing spells. There was a small chance that his missing warriors might still be hiding in the orchard, unable to rejoin him, but it was more likely that they had been caught before they could make their escape.
He sighed and turned back to his human allies. 'We counted about two hundred on foot and the same number mounted. We shot many riders, but not enough to even the odds. I think you should consider abandoning your plan, and withdraw while you still can.'
Earek watched the mercenary riders, hovering out of bowshot near the apple orchard. The riders milled about, glaring fiercely at the treeline in which the elves and the Mistledalefolk waited.
He shook his head. 'You did your part, now we will do ours. They won't get across those fields without losing a lot of men, and they can see that already. Remember, they're mercenaries-they're paid to fight, not to die. If we can wound or kill a good number, the rest might decide it isn't worth it to press the attack.'
' hope he is right,' Teriandyln murmured in Elvish. 'Many of these folk will die if the mercenaries decide that dead comrades make for bigger shares of the plunder,'
Daried studied the land carefully. It was a good place to stand, and the densely wooded ridge offered a covered retreat, at least for a couple hundred yards. But behind the hill lay open farmland around the Harvalmeer manor. If enemy horsemen broke through the woods into the fields behind them, few of the defenders would escape from their line.
'Nilsa, can men on horseback get around this ridge?' he asked.
'Not easily. It runs for several miles like this. To the east it gets higher and rockier until it meets the forest and the Ashaba. To the west, it runs out into a wide stretch of difficult woods.'
'You've barricaded the cut where the road passes through?'
'As best we could,' Earek answered for her. 'We felled several trees across the road, and made a thornbrake a good ten feet thick. I've got more archers covering the cut.'
Nothing to do but wait, the bladesinger decided. 'I'll keep four of my warriors with me, and intersperse the rest in pairs along the line,' he told the Glen-folk. 'If we have to give ground, we'll withdraw to the west, staying in the woods along the ridge.'
'That would place the Chondathans between us and our families,' one of the men nearby grumbled.
'Yes, but if we fell back toward the east, I am afraid that we could get trapped with the river at our back. Or, worse yet, we might lead the battle to the refuge where the rest of your people are hiding.' Daried knew that his warriors could escape across the Ashaba even if the mercenaries were on their heels, but he did not think that the villagers could manage it.
'If we hold them here, we won't have to make that choice,' Nilsa said.
Daried quickly counted off his warriors and sent them to their places in the villagers' ranks. Then, just in case, he sent a pair of scouts to the back side of the ridge to provide warning in case the Chondathans surprised them by finding a way to get around or through the ridge unseen. Then he settled in to watch and wait.
The Chondathan riders gathered at the far side of the field, under the shade of the orchard. Men rode back and forth, carrying messages and orders. Standard-bearers unfurled their scarlet flags and took up positions. Then rank after rank of footmen emerged from the orchard, arranging themselves behind the standards. Men buckled on heavier armor and unslung their shields, making ready for battle. The elves watched while the Dalesfolk fidgeted and muttered nervously to one another.
'Something is happening,' Nilsa said.
Daried followed her gaze. Beneath the main standard a number of sellswords arrayed in fine armor with plumed helmets arranged themselves in ranks. Even from a distance, he could see the difference in arms and armor between the men by the standard and the rest of the mercenaries. Then he caught a glimpse of a tall, lean man standing behind the others, weaving his arms in the sinuous motions of a spellcaster.
'That's Sarthos,' he said. 'The wizard-captain from the camp.'
'What is he doing?' Nilsa asked.
'Working magic,' the bladesinger answered. He glanced at Teriandyln. 'I can't make it out at this distance. Can you?'
The sun elf wizard shook his head. 'No, it's too far. But I think he is not the only wizard among the Chondathans. I've seen a couple of others casting spells.'
Horns sounded somewhere in the mass of the Chondathan fighters. Raggedly the footsoldiers started forward, marching across the yellow field behind their banners. Rows of interlocked shields guarded the front ranks, while the men in the second and third ranks kept their shields raised overhead. Bands of horsemen pranced and waited back in the orchard.
'They're coming!' cried voices all up and down the line.
'Steady!' Earek called.
'The horsemen are waiting to ride us down after we rout,' Teriandyln observed quietly to Daried.
'Possibly,' Daried answered. He wasn't certain of that yet. Sarthos and his Chondathans were up to something sinister; he could feel it. He thought again of calling for the retreat, but it would be hard to get the Glen- folk away at this point… even if they would agree to go. They were not likely to flee until they had seen whether the Chondathans could hurt them or not.
'Let them get closer, lads!' Earek called to the villagers. 'Don't waste arrows on those shields yet. Wait until you can choose your marks and make your arrows count!'
The footmen slogged closer, crouching behind their shields. The line began to drift to their right, as each man in the line consciously or unconsciously closed up under the shield of the man beside him. Steel and leather rasped
