Karada glowered at these indiscretions, and the riders quieted their mounts quickly.
Pakito came up the hill, moving with remarkable stealth for a man his size. He’d been appointed to lead the warriors on foot, partly because of his great strength, but also because they had no horse that could carry him.
He ascended by way of a path carefully screened with vines and replaced undergrowth. When he reached the hedge Pakito waved to his chief.
“Any sign?” she whispered.
“They were at the deer ford last night,” Pakito replied huskily. “Our scouts counted thirty-two rafts, sixteen with warriors, ten for horses, and the rest laden with supplies.”
Karada nodded, satisfied. The elves never traveled without what seemed to plainsmen like copious, unnecessary supplies — food, tents, tools, and assorted mysterious gear whose purpose was known only to elves. Their equipment allowed them to do many things the plainsmen couldn’t, but carrying it also slowed them down. Karada intended to exploit this weakness to the fullest.
“Go back to the river,” she told Pakito. “Make ready. They’ll be here about dawn.”
He grinned widely. “I wouldn’t want to be an elf this morning!”
“I wouldn’t be an elf ever,” she muttered, dismissing him. Pakito hurried back down the path to his waiting men.
Gradually the violet pre-dawn gave way to the rose of daybreak. Karada took off her heavy headband and wiped her forehead. The band was made of bear teeth, bored through and strung together on a backing of black ox hide. Her people had contributed all the bear’s teeth gathered in a year’s hunting to make the headband for Karada. She clenched it tightly in her hand as if to take the power and ferocity of the bears into her own spirit.
A distinctive three-note whistle rose from the riverbank. The signal! The elves were in sight!
Karada replaced her headband and drew the sword she’d taken from the elf Tamanithas so many years ago. All along the line the mounted warriors stirred restlessly. She glared them into silence again.
Through the leafy hedge she spied the first raft. It was a square platform of logs lashed together, about two paces by four. A crowd of twenty elf warriors stood in the center of the raft while bare-chested rafters walked back and forth along both sides, pushing the craft along by means of long wooden poles. Mist on the river parted in front of them. The raft moved slowly down the center of the stream, making deliberate progress against the current.
Karada and her scouts had reconnoitered the Thon-Thalas for eight leagues in both directions and had picked this spot as the place the elf expedition would likely disembark. The riverbank was wide and firm here. Farther south the banks were too steep, and farther west the current was too swift for poling. This was the spot and no other.
A shout, and the rafters reversed their poling pattern. Karada flexed her fingers around her reins. With much scrambling, the pole-carriers collected on the left side and in unison drove their poles hard into the water. The awkward craft nosed for shore.
No sooner had the hewn ends of the logs touched the bank than the elf warriors sprang ashore with weapons drawn. They formed a line, their chief shouting a series of commands. They moved inland a few paces, poking the underbrush with their spears and swords. Karada held her breath.
Her warriors were not far from where the sharp bronze points probed. She knew her fighters would keep cool. They were as much afraid of her and Pakito as they were the elves, but she worried the elves would discover the trap before it was ready to spring.
The elf chief called a halt, assembling his troop at the water’s edge. The rafters pushed their craft away and made room for the next one. It too was loaded with armed warriors. These filed off and awaited the next raft.
Karada shaded her eyes from the morning sun and looked downriver. The expedition was piling up, the rafts bumping each other. The current was just strong enough to require constant effort to keep the rafts in place. As she expected, the warriors were concentrated in the first rafts. After them came the horses; the supplies would be landed last. By then the river would be a solid, chaotic mass of rafts, balky animals, and struggling rafters. That would be the time to attack.
And so it happened. Elf warriors filled the dry ravine leading from the river’s edge to the open plain above. It was the obvious, easy place for them to muster once they’d left their rafts. They stood alertly for a time, watching the trees with disconcerting intensity, but as the morning grew hot and nothing happened they began to grow careless. Some even took off their helmets and sat down on the mossy ground.
The last of the three hundred and sixty warriors came ashore, and the first raft of horses nosed forward. Pens had been erected on the rafts to keep the animals in order. Karada was glad to see the horses arrive. Their smell covered the odor of her band’s horses.
An elf on the front of the first raft of horses threw a line to waiting comrades on shore. Four elves took hold and hauled the raft in. Empty troop rafts bumping against them made the process awkward and tedious.
Karada gave a signal. It was relayed down the line, and a gray object, a little bigger than a man’s head, was tossed out of the trees to land at the feet of the four elves pulling in the horse barge. In an instant wasps spilled out of the gray object and attacked the rafters. Yells and much slapping ensued, and some of the unfortunates threw themselves in the river. Warriors nearest the shore stood and laughed at their comrades’ ill luck.
They stopped laughing as three more wasps’ nests landed among them. A lordly chieftain, recognizable by his elaborate helmet and fur-trimmed mantle, drew his sword and pointed at the trees where Pakito’s men were hiding. One nest might be a misfortune; four constituted an attack.
The elves formed ranks even as the wasps swarmed over them. Karada had to admire their discipline under such conditions. She doubted even fear of her would keep her own band steady under such an onslaught.
More nests were lobbed at the horse rafts. Crazed by the stings, the horses burst their flimsy pens and floundered into the river. Rafters were thrown down when the animals swamped the log platforms. Soon the river was filled with elves and horses. Over all hung a cloud of angry black wasps.
The front ranks of the elf force stormed up the bank to Pakito’s position. The giant plainsman stood up and roared defiance at the enemy. He had painted his face with white clay, soot, and berry juice. When Pakito was joined by two hundred and fifty comrades, the charging elves wavered and stopped, but only for a moment. The rear ranks flung javelins at the wildly painted enemy, and Pakito’s men replied with their last batch of wasps’ nests.
Karada wanted to cheer when she saw Pakito holding his men in place. Plainsmen all too often wanted to rush their foes, yelling and waving their spears. A headlong rush would strike terror into the hearts of most foes, but the elves were too well trained to succumb to panic. This time Pakito, holding his people firm, forced the elves to climb the slope. All the while the plainsmen pelted their enemy with rocks and heavy splits of wood.
The line of elves extended past the plainsmen’s position, so those on the extreme right broke formation and ran to hit Pakito’s men on the flank. When they did, they exposed their backs to Karada’s hidden horsemen. She raised her sword high. The eye of every horseman was on her. Wordlessly she whipped her blade down and urged her mount forward.
From the river it appeared as though a wall of mounted human warriors had burst through the trees, and a wail of confusion went up from the elves.
Karada charged ahead, running one elf down and impaling another with her sword. The shocked troops tried to turn to counter her attack. As they did Pakito let loose his bull-like battle cry, and the humans fighting on foot surged down the hill.
The trap was sprung, and the fight quickly became fierce. Karada laid about her on every side, trading blows with any elf in reach. A javelin flew at her face. She batted it aside, but an elf came up close on her right and upended her by grasping her foot and heaving her off her horse. She landed heavily in the trampled ferns and rolled quickly away to avoid being stepped on by her own animal. Rising, she was immediately attacked by a sword-armed elf. They traded cuts. He was trained in this art, and Karada was not. She received a ringing blow on the side of the head. Her bear’s tooth headband saved her life, but she went down hard, losing her weapon.
Karada scrambled to her feet, snatched up an elven spear, and fought her way to her comrades. She climbed atop a stump and saw that most of the elves had been pushed back to the river. Some had been driven into the water, and others clambered onto empty rafts. Bundles of javelins were being passed hand over hand from the supply rafts to where the battle raged. Karada decided to put a stop to that.
She rallied sixteen mounted plainsmen and ordered one to give up her mount to the chief. The woman
