convenient thermal up into the hot wind and let it carry them, and they were not even restricted to using the Big Jump--they could cross at wider places. But the men could not go that high, so they had to fight the cold wind all the way, and many a rider ran out of air before he reached the thermal at Krant. Then he would be swept back and down and suffocated in the desert, unless he was lucky enough to achieve a landing near the drover road and could hitch an ignominious ride for himself and his mount on an ox cart.
So the Big Jump was the main obstacle between the Rand and Ramo, and it was there, obviously, that the battle must be fought. When Lord Ninomar had been put in charge of the Guard, he had seen that point at once.
He had his promotion: full Marshal Lord Ninomar now. Of his two superiors, one was senile--well over thirty--and the other had rashly complained about the king's treatment of his granddaughter and had not yet recovered his health.
'We don't think much of you,' the king had told Ninomar, blue-blue eyes glittering in a way very reminiscent of his father's, 'but we think even less of the next three in line. So you will be in command--and your adjutant will be Colonel Rolsok.'
That had been a hard dose to swallow, but when the king said swallow, one gulped. Rolsok was a baby- faced stripling, a close friend of the king's and rumored to be one of his orgy partners, although it was difficult to believe from the look of him that he was old enough to know what it was all about. Before Jarkadon's accession he had been a mere ensign, but he came from a fine family, with good skyman connections; his brother was the courier who had brought the news of the king's accession to Ninar Foan.
So it was Shadow all over again, with Ninomar approving what his nominal subordinate said. Like Shadow, Rolsok knew what he was doing, but he was a gentleman and much more tactful. He couched his suggestions in phrases such as 'Have you considered, my lord...' or 'His lordship has decided...' and things were magically done.
Edicts went out and every man who could fly and bend a bow was conscripted: retired troopers, country gentlemen, junior aristocrats...everyone. They drained into the palace from the whole length of the Range. Their mounts filled the aerie and the breeding aeries and then started lining the balcony rafts. Logistics became a nightmare: food and shackles and equipment and weapons...
The rebels were moving with astonishing speed. Fortunately they had overlooked the singles' compulsion to return to their mates. Day by day the solitary birds returned and another mark was made on the map.
There were no messages either with the singles or by courier. That strange silence bothered Ninomar more than anything. The rebels' archers must be superb.
And their speed was unbelievable.
'Sastinon!' the king snarled at one of the daily conferences. 'The bird from Sastinon returned only eight days after the two from Ninar Foan? Could you move an army from Ninar to Sastinon in eight days, Marshal?'
That was faster than a royal courier traveled. Ninomar was about to say that of course he couldn't, when young Colonel Rolsok coughed.
'His lordship was just pointing out to me, Your Majesty, that it takes a single two or three days from Ninar Foan to Ramo, but about one day from Sastinon. So the rebels must have taken
'Oh?' the king said. 'Astute of you, Lord Ninomar; we had missed that.' He smiled at Colonel Rolsok.
'Perhaps Your Majesty would like to hear his lordship's plans for Podrilt?' the adjutant suggested, returning the smile.
'We should be delighted,' the king said.
Ninomar had no plans for Podrilt, so he told Rolsok to go ahead.
'Just a suggestion of his lordship's, sire,' the youngster said, 'subject to your approval, of course. If you will look at the map...' He counted off the distances--a force sent now from Ramo should reach Podrilt just before the rebels did. 'He thought about two hundred men, Majesty--and all riding singles. A reconnaissance in force? Perhaps delay them a little?'
Ninomar did not think much of the idea. There was a serious danger that such a force would destroy the rebellion all by itself, leaving no glory for anyone else. It meant dividing forces, and the manual warned against doing that; while if the rebels were much stronger than expected, it meant a loss of two hundred good men.
'And another point,' Rolsok said smoothly. 'The rebels must be stopped at the Big Jump, as his lordship has repeatedly pointed out. But it will take us at least eight hours to reach there from here. You will note from the map that the rebels will need about half a day to travel from Podrilt to Krant, on the far side. So word of an encounter at Podrilt would be our signal to launch.'
Smart young fellow, Rolsok.
The departure of two hundred was hardly noticeable; still the skymen kept coming and the problems grew worse. They were being billeted on earls now, with dukes' houses next on the list. Human food was becoming short and bird fodder so scarce that even horses were sacrificed. Ninomar began to worry that the rebels would halt their progress at Krant and let the royal army starve itself to death. There were over twelve thousand men on the rolls already, and that seemed absurd--Allaban could never have raised more than a thousand.
Exactly ten days after the singles from Ninar Foan had sounded the alarm in Ramo, he was roughly shaken awake in the middle of third watch by Rolsok, who was looking very shaken himself.
'Singles from Podrilt!' Rolsok snapped, his voice perceptibly higher than usual.
'How many?' Ninomar demanded, sitting up.
The boyish face was pale and beaded with sweat. 'Thirty-three when I was told,' he said, 'and still coming.'
'How do they do that?' the king demanded for the third or fourth time. He had called the council into session; he had summoned all the senior officers of the Guard. They were still stumbling into the cabinet, hair awry, rumpled and bleary-eyed--the chancellor and the chamberlain, the earl marshal, and even some unusual choices like the royal breeder.
For the third or fourth time, the king received no answer. Well over half the singles were back now, with more coming all the time. Most of them bore dried blood on their tars or wings. None was injured in any way.
Many of them had borne a message tied to a leg--and no sane eagle allowed anything as flimsy as paper to remain tied to its leg very long. The messages were all identical: 'When you are ready to surrender, release the birds in the aerie and wait in the Great Courtyard for orders. Vindax R.' One such note might have been suppressed, but there were too many of them--everyone had seen one, or heard the words.
Jarkadon stopped his pacing, went back to his desk, then sat and glared around. Most of the men standing before him were elderly, but all had flown at some time. If any group in Rantorra knew eagles, it should be this.
'Well?' the king demanded. 'I ask again: How do you kill a rider without killing his mount? Was every man crazy enough to go into battle with his reins tied? How do they do it? Foan told me about the battles he had in Allaban, and the rebels couldn't do it then. How are they doing it now?' There was silence.
Ninomar did not know, and such problems were not for him. If Jarkadon or Rolsok could not solve them, then he never would. But the mention of Foan was interesting--Foan ought to be here. In truth, he ought to be in charge, but he was known to be still under house arrest at the breeding aeries, and if the rumors about his daughter were true, then he was not going to be returning to court very soon. Jarkadon was creating his own problems--but that was a treasonable thought.
A courier marched in unannounced and bowed to the king. 'One hundred and eighty, sire,' he said. He turned and left without waiting for a reply.
'Twenty to come,' Jarkadon said sourly. 'Anyone want to bet against that?'
'Majesty,' Rolsok said quietly. 'We should launch the army.'
He received a glare from his royal friend which obviously startled him.
'Not until we know what they are going to be fighting,' the king said, almost snarling the words.
Rolsok looked appealingly at Ninomar, who stayed silent. No one had ever called him a coward, but one hundred and eighty out of two hundred? He could not doubt that those men were all dead.
'Majesty?' creaked the elderly voice of Chief Air Marshal Quortior, nominal head of the Guard. 'I think I agree with the colonel. Once the rebels cross the Big Jump, they will be very hard to track down.'
'They could pillage and loot and hide among the hills,' the earl marshal suggested.
