Part 14 (1/2)

HE HAD FOUND HORACE WAITING FOR HIM, HIS HAND READY on his sword hilt, where he had left him in the tunnel. ”Did you find out anything?” the apprentice warrior whispered hoa.r.s.ely. Will let go a pent-up breath, realizing that he'd been holding it for some time now.

”Plenty,” he said. ”All of it bad.” He held up a hand to forestall Horace's further questions.

”Let's get back across the bridge,” he said. ”I'll tell you then.” He glanced into the side tunnel where they had left the Celt miner.

”Have you heard anything more from Glendyss?” he asked. Horace shrugged sadly.

”He started moaning about an hour ago. Then he went quiet. I think he's dead. At least he died the way he wanted to,” he said, then he followed Will back through the dimly lit tunnel to the bridge.

They made their way across the planking again, to where Evanlyn waited with the horses, well back from the bridge and out of sight. When they were close, Will called her name softly, so as to avoid startling her. Horace had left his dagger with Evanlyn and Will thought an armed Evanlyn would not be a person to approach unexpectedly.

As he described the scene at the other end of the tunnel, he hastily scratched a map in the sand for them.

”Somehow, we're going to have to find a way to delay Morgarath's forces,” he said.

The other two looked at him curiously. Delay them? How could two apprentices and a girl delay five hundred Skandians and several thousand relentless Wargals?

”It hought you said we should get word to the King,” Evanlyn said.

”We don't have time anymore,” Will said simply. ”Look.”

They leaned forward as he smoothed over the diagram he had drawn in the sand and hastily sketched out a new one. He wasn't sure that it was totally accurate, but at least it included the most important features of the kingdom, as well as the Southern Plateau, where Morgarath ruled.

”They said they have more Skandians coming up the cliffs on the south coast-to join with the Wargals we've already seen. They'll cross the Fissure here, where we are, and move north to attack the barons in the rear, while they wait for Morgarath to try to break out of Three Step Pa.s.s.”

”Yes,” said Horace. ”We know that. We guessed it as soon as we saw the bridge.”

Will looked up at him and Horace fell silent. He realized the Ranger apprentice had something else to say.

”But,” said Will, emphasizing the word and pausing for a moment, ”I also heard them saying something about Horth and his men marching around Thorntree Forest. That's up here to the north of the Plains of Uthal.”

Evanlyn grasped the point immediately. ”Which would bring the Skandians northwest of the King's army. They'd be trapped between the Wargals and Skandians who have crossed the bridge and the other force from the north.”

”Exactly,” said Will, meeting her gaze. They could both appreciate how dangerous that situation would be for the a.s.sembled barons. Expecting a Skandian attack through the fenlands, to the east, they'd be taken by surprise from not one, but two different directions, caught between the arms of a pincer and crushed.

”Then we'd better warn the King, surely!” insisted Horace.

”Horace,” said Will patiently. ”It would take us four days to reach the Plains.”

”Even more reason to get going. We haven't a moment to waste!” said the young warrior.

”And then,” put in Evanlyn, seeing Will's point, ”it would take at least another four days for any sort of force to get back here and hold the bridge. Maybe more.”

”That's eight days all told,” said Will. ”Remember what that poor miner said? The bridge will be ready in four days' time. The Wargals and Skandians will have had plenty of time to cross the Fissure, a.s.semble in battle formation and attack the King's army.”

”But...” Horace began, and Will interrupted him.

”Horace, even if we get warning to the King and the barons, they'll be badly outnumbered and they'll be caught between two forces-with no way to retreat. The swamps of the fenlands will be behind them. Now, I know we have to get a warning to them. But we can also do something here to even the numbers.”

”Plus,” Evanlyn put in, and Horace turned to face her, ”if we can do something to stop the Wargals and Skandians from crossing here, the King will have the advantage over this northern force of Skandians.”

Horace nodded. ”They won't be outnumbered, I guess,” he said.

Evanlyn nodded, but then added, ”That's part of it. But those Skandians will be expecting reinforcements to attack the King from the rear-reinforcements that will never arrive.”

Understanding dawned in Horace's eyes. He nodded slowly, several times. Then the frown returned. ”But what can we do to stop the Wargals here?” he asked.

Will and Evanlyn exchanged a glance. He could see they'd come to the same conclusion. They both spoke at the same time.

”Burn the bridge,” they said.

22.

BLAZE'S HEAD HUNG LOW AS HE TROTTED SLOWLY INTO THE outskirts of the King's camp on the Plains of Uthal. Gilan swayed wearily in the saddle. They had barely slept in the past three days, s.n.a.t.c.hing only brief rests once every four hours.

Two guards stepped forward to query his progress and the young Ranger fumbled inside his s.h.i.+rt for the silver amulet in the form of an oak leaf-the Rangers' badge of office. At the sight of it, the guards stepped back hurriedly to clear the way. In times like these, n.o.body delayed a Ranger-not if he knew what was good for him.

Gilan rubbed his gritty eyes. ”Where is the War Council tent?”

One of the guards pointed with his spear to a larger-than-normal tent, set up on a knoll overlooking the rest of the camp. There were more guards there, and a large number of people coming and going, as one would expect at the nerve center of an army.

”There, sir. On that small rise.”

Gilan nodded. He'd come so far, so fast, finis.h.i.+ng the four-day journey in just over three. Now these few hundred meters seemed like miles to him. He leaned forward and whispered in Blaze's ear.

”Not much farther, my friend. One more effort, please.”

The exhausted horse's ears twitched and his head came up a few inches. At Gilan's gentle urging, he managed to raise a slow trot and they pa.s.sed through the camp.

Dust drifting on the breeze, the smell of woodsmoke, noise and confusion: the camp was like any army camp anywhere in the world. Orders being shouted. The clang and rattle of arms being repaired or sharpened. Laughter from tents, where men lay back relaxing with no duties to be performed-until their sergeants found them and discovered jobs for them to be doing. Gilan smiled tiredly at the thought. Sergeants seemed to be totally averse to seeing their men having an easy time of it.

Blaze came to a halt once more and he realized, with a jerk, that he'd actually nodded off in the saddle. Before him, two more guards barred the way to the War Council compound. He looked at them blearily.

”King's Ranger,” he croaked, through a dry throat. ”Message for the Council.”

The guards hesitated. This dust-covered, half-asleep man, seated on a lathered, exhausted bay horse, might well be a Ranger. He was certainly dressed like a Ranger, as far as they could tell. Yet the guards knew most of the senior Rangers by sight, and they had never seen this young man before. And he showed no sign of identification.

What's more, they noticed, he carried a sword, which was definitely not a Ranger's weapon, so they were reluctant to admit him to the carefully guarded War Council compound. Irritably, Gilan realized that he had neglected to leave the silver oakleaf device hanging outside his s.h.i.+rt. The effort of finding it again suddenly became intense. He fumbled blindly at his collar. Then a familiar, and very welcome, voice cut through his consciousness.

”Gilan! What's happened? Are you all right?”

That was the voice that had meant comfort and security to him throughout his years as an apprentice. The voice of courage and capability and wisdom. The voice that knew exactly what action should be taken at any point in time.