Shadow

    'If they ever take possession of the thermals around the palace, they would have us under siege,' the chamberlain muttered.

    'Then our numbers would be useless,' the chancellor added.

    It was amateur soldier time, obviously. The noncombatants wanted the rebels kept well away from Ramo.

    'If they do to the army what they did at Podrilt, then we shall have no one left to guard the palace,' the king snapped. 'And no eagles. In the aeries they at least are safe.'

    'They will starve within five days,' Rolsok said. 'And so will we.'

    Jarkadon drummed his fingers on the desk and chewed his lower lip. The decision must be his. He had not had much experience at the harder side of kingship. If he made the wrong choice, Ninomar realized, then he might not get much more.

    'I want to know what they did to those men!' the king growled.

    'They were killed by eagles,' Rolsok said. 'There is too much blood for arrows.'

    Jarkadon nodded. 'So?'

    'So--an eagle must attack from above. The rebels must lose altitude crossing the Big Jump. That is the only place where we can be certain of taking their air.'

    The king snarled again. Then he seemed to reach a decision. He turned to Ninomar.

    'You're commanding officer! What do you want to do?'

    That was more like it! It was time for the experts to step in--and the astonishment on Rolsok's face was most gratifying. Ninomar considered the problem with professional care. He had almost fourteen thousand men ready to go, incredibly, but that was a grave responsibility--it was not fair to lead them into a battle against an unknown enemy.

    'I should like to take counsel with the keeper of the Rand, sire, as he--'

    'No!' Jarkadon snapped.

    No help there! Suppose he took the army to Rakarr and the rebels did not come? How long could he keep his men in the air? Where would they perch, and what would men and birds eat?

    Ninomar straightened his shoulders. 'I am of the same opinion as Your Majesty. Keep the birds in the aeries.'

    'Then I was obviously wrong,' the king said. 'Launch the army.'

    Rakarr was a very small mountain, small enough that men on the top of it could breathe. Leaning into the wind, Ninomar stood there and surveyed his forces, and in spite of his tension and deathly weariness, he felt pride. No general had ever commanded so large an army: 14,248 men was the official count. A few of the militia might have found urgent business elsewhere, of course, but the absence of cowards need not be regretted.

    Say fourteen thousand. To hold such a force in military formation was impossible. The air to sunward was full of wheeling birds and cursing riders, a great column of specks curving high into the sky with its base close above the fields and terraces on the sunward side of Rakarr. Those in the best part of the thermal could hold altitude, but the crowding was continually forcing men to the edges, where they had to sink and try to fight their way back in again. Near the base the turbulence of the cold air coming around from darkward was stirring the nearer specks in and out and up and down in a pattern that was visually pleasing but was certainly hell for the riders. At the top of the thermal, where it curved out far above the next peak, the birds were barely visible at all. The men there would be going through another sort of hell just trying to breathe, and once in a while he would see one plunge suddenly, heading down to safety--or to death if the rider did not recover consciousness in time.

    It was a damned nuisance that thermals curved, for Ninomar's proper post as commander was at the top of his army. Indeed, he had never doubted that that was where he would wait for the attack--until Rolsok had tactfully pointed out that from there he would be unable to see the enemy, unable to know when to signal, and probably unable to signal in any case.

    Rolsok was a smart young fellow; Ninomar would have to see that he got a medal for something, afterward.

    Cleverly, though, Ninomar had found a way around the problem. He had set up his headquarters on Rakarr itself, on one of the many jagged pinnacles that topped it. Here he stood with Rolsok and a small group of aides and, of course, their hooded and tethered mounts. He had ordered tents, too, but time, transportation, and wind had frustrated that idea. Sunward his army waited. The tiny rocky space was flanked on either side by rushing streams of mist pouring through narrow gaps in the fanged ridge to vanish when they saw the sun. Above him stood empty sky, and darkward he could look down on the surging clouds that blanketed the windward side of the peak. Beyond that he had a clear view of the Big Jump and across it to the Rand and Krant and the enemy.

    They were coming--or so some of the sharper-eyed youngsters insisted. Ninomar could see nothing himself. Rolsok was certain that there were birds in the thermal over Krant. Half an hour should do it.

    Ninomar sent a messenger to the palace.

    He stamped his feet, slapped his arms to keep warm, and wished his eyes were not watering so much. He thought he ought to be making light conversation with his companions, acting the confident leader, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

    'See any more, Adjutant?' he demanded.

    'Not yet, my lord.' Rolsok rubbed his eyes. 'I suppose it could just be smoke from a brushfire? Or else there must be a hell of a lot of them.' He sounded very uneasy.

    Ninomar thought of a cheerful subject at last. 'Don't look for riders,' he said. 'The men of Allaban sit sling like bundles of laundry and let the birds carry them.'

    There were expressions of polite incredulity all round.

    'Oh, it's true! The duke of Foan fought them years ago, and he tells me they were doing it then. I've seen one of their suits with a sling attachment.' It was comforting to be able to sound so experienced. 'Of course it calls for very good bird training--we must grant them that. But I shouldn't like it. What if the damned fowl sneezed, ha?'

    There was appreciative laughter.

    'It must make for difficult archery, too, my lord.'

    'Very,' Ninomar agreed. 'Never fear--we're going to fill the Big Jump with dead rebels today. The cowboys will be able to walk their herds across on the bodies.'

    When did he order the attack? The rebels had no options: They would lose altitude in the glide, so they had to enter the updraft below the cloud. Ninomar had no options, either, in truth. His force had to dive out of the sunward thermal and pass directly over his head and down into the Big Jump. It was a problem in calculating speeds. He must not let the rebels into the updraft, so the battle would be fought over the nearer end of the gap itself. There were going to be many men forced to ditch their birds then, and he should have thought to organize recovery teams. But it was too late for that.

    His force would be traveling much faster, so the right moment would be about when he could see the rebel birds as clearly as his own. It was simple.

    Then Rolsok spoke in a whisper that was somehow worse than a shout. 'Ark of God!'

    There they were.

    At first Ninomar thought there was something wrong with his eyes. Or some sort of freak dust storm?

    He turned and looked at his own army. Then he looked back into the Big Jump.

    If he had fourteen thousand, then there must be thirty or forty thousand on the other side. He started to shake. It was cold up on this damned peak.

    Small wonder that the two hundred had not returned from Podrilt.

    They were still coming? The dust cloud was growing thicker. He had not known that there were that many birds in the world.

    He could not guess how many there were. Sixty thousand? Eighty? Many, many times more than he had.

    'It's a bluff!' he snapped. 'There can't be that many men--just a few thousand. The rest are all wilds.'

    But wilds would attack a man on birdback, and they were a lot more agile and hard to hit. 'The wilds will attack the rebels, too!' he shouted.