Treskan smiled. “I shall do that.”
The warning “Here they come!” went up from the wall. In the lull since Bulnac’s duel, the defenders had thrown up a flimsy barrier of tree limbs to bridge the unfinished line of stakes. Mathi ran up, carrying spare spears and a helmet for Treskan.
Rufe got up, dusted the seat of his pants, and walked toward the makeshift barricade.
“Where are you going?” Mathi said.
“Where I am needed.”
Mathi suddenly felt concern for the little man. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
The nomads came tramping up the hill on foot, stopping frequently to inspect open kender holes. Some had the bright notion of turning the tunnels against their makers, but the shafts were too narrow to admit bulky humans.
Lofotan flung arrows at them. He had only two sheafs of arrows left of the supply they had packed from Silvanost, a hundred arrows in all. The centaurs had even fewer. They held their missiles until the nomads were in range of their weaker bows. Lastly the Longwalker’s kender piled up projectiles for their hoopaks, slings, and what diminutive bows they possessed. Their range was short, but in the last critical moment of a charge, they could add a critical weight to the defenders’ barrage.
The humans were hampered by having to shoot their arrows uphill, but enough fell behind the stakes to make the defenders anxious. Every time a kender was injured, two or three of his comrades immediately bore him off to the far side of the hill. The slow but steady loss weakened the line. Mathi stalked among them, trying to convince them to return, but the kender evaded her outstretched arms and ignored her pleas.
“It’s our time!” the Longwalker shouted. A hail of strange missiles lashed the nomads. Mathi could swear she saw a bone white goat skull, complete with horns, hurtle at the enemy along with the stones and darts. The humans put their shields up. Flying junk rattled off them with considerable noise. Those with their chests exposed took a beating from Zakki’s centaurs. who shot them down easily.
Still the throng of nomads surged forward, reaching the stakes. They began pushing and pulling at the obstacle, even climbing the slanting poles to pull them down. The defenders backed up a pace, then another, until Lofotan was standing alone in front of everyone. Zakki galloped to him and begged him to retire. The elf nodded curtly, slung his bow over his shoulder, and drew his sword.
Treskan opened his collar and fished out his precious talisman. His mouth moved with unheard words-a prayer to his patron gods? Seeing about a thousand naked swords squeezing through the fence would make anyone pray. He closed his fingers tightly around the small golden trinket.
A dozen or so nomads peeled off from the main band and head for the supply tent. She shouted a warning, but no one could hear a single cry amidst the cacophony of battle. Mathi bared her sword and sprinted for the tent. Treskan saw her alarm and broke away to follow her. Halfway there it sank in what he was doing.
“I’m running toward twelve armed men carrying a sword! They’ll kill me-I’m not a warrior, I’m a historian!” he cried.
“I’m not a warrior either, so run more and talk less!” Mathi retorted.
The thought of Balif being overwhelmed by a mob of angry nomads put fire in her veins. Shouting and waving her blade, she tried to divert the men from the tent.
Four faced off against them. The rest slashed down the ropes and trampled the tent. They thrust their sword into any likely heap under the canvas. Converging on the center, they stabbed again and again. Then the bulge in the center of the fallen tent ripped apart, revealing Balif.
He had changed again. He had regained part of his elf nature. All along his beastliness had waxed or waned according to some arcane purpose known only to Vedvedsica. He had been fully beastlike for a while, but now Balif stood up like any elf or man. He was covered in fur still, but his frame was more normally configured. His sudden change in appearance startled the nomads, who hesitated. Seizing on their indecision, Balif grabbed a spear from the stock stored in the supply tent and impaled the closest warrior.
The reverse of fortune made the men rushing Mathi and Treskan halt and turn back. Mathi cried, “General! General, behind you!” Balif whirled, using the spear shaft to drive back anyone trying to ambush him from behind. Mathi found herself trading sword cuts (of all things!) with a distracted nomad who was busy watching Balif slash his comrades to pieces. Treskan swung his weapon like a crowbar, connecting with a nomad’s bearded face and laying him flat.
With four nomads dying in the dirt, the others gave up their attempt to slay Balif and fell back to rejoin the main attack. Mathi made her way to where Balif stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the retreating humans.
“My lord, are you all right?”
His head snapped around. A face that was definitely Balif’s glowered behind the fur.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Yes, my lord.” Panting, Mathi added, “Shall we rejoin the battle?”
He kicked through the tent wreckage and strode to where the nomad horde struggled to overcome the small band of defenders. The sight of the half-beast general, stalking to the forefront of the fight, distracted everyone. Actual fighting dwindled, then petered out. Both sides withdrew a few steps and gazed in wonder at the strange creature standing between them.
“I am Balif!” he declared. His voice was rough and low, but distinct and recognizable. “I slew your chief and your chief’s son. By right of combat I am your chief now!”
“Beast!” someone cried. “Monster!”
“Yes, I am a beast. I am also master of this land!” He held out his spear point first and swept his arm in a wide circle. “All this I claim for myself and my people.”
“What people, beast?”
He gestured at the crowd of kender and centaurs behind him. The Longwalker proudly took his place at Balif’s side.
“Here is the chief of my people. This land is theirs. Any who wishes to dispute this may challenge my right with his blood!”
Mathi trembled. She never imagined the enemy of her kind could be so noble or so valiant. Oh, she had heard the tales of Balif’s wit and valor, but she had always been taught that Silvanesti were vain, spoiled creatures, cruel and cold. He was not the Balif she saw now. Wracked by an all-consuming curse, the general had rallied enough to stand and speak, and to challenge his enemies to face him singly. Brave warriors all, the nomads had seen how Balif had defeated Bulnac and Varek. They understood they were not dealing with a trained animal like their hunting dogs, but an accursed elf of power and intelligence. They kept their distance.
“What are you?” a human voice demanded, albeit with respect
Balif put his hand on the Longwalker’s shoulder to steady himself. His body had been shaped and re-shaped, and standing was not easy.
“I am Balif, protector of the Wanderfolk.”
“You killed our great chief!”
“The fight was fair. Who says it was not?” No one replied.
Sunlight brightened the scene. In all the furor no one had noticed the dawn approaching. Balif averted his face from the new day’s glare. It hurt his eyes.
“Go and trouble this land no longer!” he said, wincing. “So long as Balif lives, this land shall belong to the Wanderfolk!”
Many of the nomads, already disheartened by the death of Bulnac, lowered their arms and walked away. Firebrands among them tried to rouse their fighting spirit and rally the others, but the slow decay of their morale rapidly became a full-scale collapse. Too many of them had no reason left to fight. They were used to roaming a wide range, grazing their herd animals and raiding their settled neighbors. Following Bulnac, they expected rich plunder and easy adventure. What they had got was endless miles of plain and forest, feisty little people and warlike centaurs. Bulnac paid for his ambition with his life. His men, a great many of them at least, preferred not to do the same.
In time even the stalwarts decided to withdraw. They backed away, glaring balefully at the weary defenders of Balif’s redoubt. No one bothered them so long as their direction was down the hill.
Mathi came to Balif. “Rejoice, my lord!”
Still in view of the humans, Balif stayed standing. He opened one eye against the sunlight to see her. Mathi
