He rode Clove through the camp, savoring the height and command that the big horse gave him at the same time he cringed from the aches and strain that riding was awakening in his softened body. He spoke to his sergeants, making sure that they had checked their men’s supplies. The torches were the most critical to his plan, and each man carried three. Some of the warriors would carry fire pots, clay pots lined with sand that held coals. If Dasie’s magic could not prevail against the iron present in the town and fort, the torches would be kindled from the fire pots. He’d allowed each warrior to select his own choice of weapon. Some carried short swords, others bows with full quivers on their backs, some had spears or long knives, and a very few carried only slings. He formed them up in two columns, spaced his horses out among them, and then rode back to the head of his forces. From here to Gettys, they would travel on their own feet. Both Kinrove and Jodoli had told him that their strength for the quick-walk had been taxed to its limits, canceling his original plans to appear suddenly just outside the town. They could not move the force magically toward a place so saturated with iron. Soldier’s Boy wished it were otherwise, that they could simply appear in the vicinity of the fort and likewise vanish again. Yet he knew he would have to work with the limitations set on him. The night was fully black around them when he finally lifted his hand and said, in a low voice, “Forward!”
The word was passed back, and like a feeble caterpillar, the two columns began to move unevenly. He led them on, to the very edge of the forest, and there he paused briefly. The clearing and beyond it the road were coated with smooth snow. There was a bit of light from a quarter moon and the myriad stars in the black winter night. The white ribbon of road seemed to gather the light to itself and then offer it up to the sky again. There was, as Jodoli had predicted, little sign of the effects of my desperate magic. Most of it had been repaired already. But that was actually all right. They’d cleared the road before the snows fell. It made Soldier’s Boy’s path plain. He would lead his men down the very road that had threatened to destroy them, and when they reached Gettys, they would turn that death and destruction back on those who had brought it.
He kneed Clove and the big horse stepped out easily from the sheltering trees. He negotiated the uneven earth of the clearing under its blanket of smoothing snow and then reached the road itself. The unbroken snow and crust was knee-high on the big horse. With a sinking heart, Soldier’s Boy realized that he’d have to break trail for Dasie and her guard and for all the troops that followed him. He steeled his will, sat his horse well, and urged him forward into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MASSACRE
I suffered agonies of suspense on that long trek to town. Encumbered with heavy garments and forcing their way through unbroken snow, Soldier’s Boy’s troops trailed in a long ant-line behind us. Gernian foot soldiers, I thought with wry pride, would have made little of this march, but for the Speck warriors, it was a new sort of experience, one that they did not relish. The dark of night, the resistance of the deep snow, and the oppressive cold were cooling their battle ardor.
I caught Soldier’s Boy wondering if his entire force would stay with him during this last leg of their journey, and then deciding it was better not to think of it. The men who had come with him this far had come for their own reasons; some for vengeance against the Gernians, some to put an end to Gettys and halt Kinrove’s dance, and some, doubtless, because they were young men and this all seemed like a marvelous adventure when they first heard of it. If some chose to turn back now, there was little he could do about it. They were all volunteers, and the Speck had no mechanisms to force a man to say he would do something for a month or a season, let alone a year. I surmised again that Soldier’s Boy was trying to impose a Gernian template on the Specks, one that was ill-suited to their culture. I think he caught a whiff of that thought.
“It is necessary,” he thought gruffly. “To fight a heartless and evil foe, we must take on some of their strategy. We must bring to Gettys a form of warfare that they recognize. Any who escape us tonight and manage to survive their flight must carry a tale of the Specks at bloody ruthless war against all Gernians. It is what must be. I do not relish it. But I will finish it.”
I made no response. I was trying desperately not to think too much about the town or the fort or Epiny and Spink. I tried to suspend my anxiety over whether or not Spink would react to my warning. Soldier’s Boy must not suspect that Gettys had been warned. If I dwelt on my fears or my hopes, he might decide to pry into my thoughts. I no longer knew how much I could conceal from him when he was determined.
Clove moved with confidence, even eagerness, through the cold and dark. Perhaps the beast remembered where he was and was dreaming of a warm stable and a nice feed of oats and hay. We pushed on; our columns straggled out behind us in a display that reminded me more of a prisoner coffle than a military force on the march. The cold was so deep that the snow was dry and fluffy and sometimes squeaked as we strode through it. When we came to the more traveled section of the road where sporadic wagon and horse traffic had packed the snow, we moved more quickly.
When Gettys came in view, the warriors rallied a bit. I heard muffled boasts and the callous laughter of young men who look forward to killing. Even this late at night, a few yellow lights shone in the town that huddled outside the walls of the fort. It was still and silent, a town deeply asleep, and my heart sank in me. My warning had not been heeded. I saw no extra sentries on top of the walls, no torches burning nor sign of any activity that would indicate that the fort was any more alert than usual. Soldier’s Boy’s plan would succeed. He would slaughter them in their sleep.
He gathered briefly with Dasie and his chosen sergeants, to refresh their minds on the plan. It was all about silence and stealth and organization. Dasie would take the town, while Soldier’s Boy would endeavor to get his force inside the fort. The warriors were organized in pairs, each with an objective to find and burn. Dasie touched again the torches the warriors carried and the archers’ fire-arrows, binding them to her magic; when the time came, her magic would kindle each one. Her ability with fire-magic was strong; she believed that despite the iron in Gettys, her magic would be strong enough to kindle the flames. The fire archers each had specific targets; Soldier’s Boy wanted the upper levels of the watchtowers to catch fire. His other warriors would set alight buildings at the ground level before employing their chosen weapons against all who fled the fires. The plan was that all the torches would light simultaneously, kindling fires in so many places that the soldiers could not hope to control them all. If Dasie’s magic failed, they would fall back on the fire pots that some of the warriors carried. Such a tactic would not enable the simultaneous firing of buildings that Soldier’s Boy hoped for, but he believed it would still suffice.
Soldier’s Boy reminded all of them yet again that they would rendezvous at the end of the King’s Road. When all were as prepared and eager as Soldier’s Boy could make them, he nodded to them and wished them well, and then his forces parted. Dasie’s group would spread out and filter into the town from all sides. Houses, inns, brothels, warehouses, and stores were their targets.
Soldier’s Boy would go ahead of his warriors to eliminate the sentry at the gate. Once that way was cleared, his forces would flow in and spread out, torches ready to fire the buildings and weapons ready to kill anyone who emerged into the dark and cold. He himself would fire the stables; once his warriors saw the stables alight, they were to kindle their targets and then converge toward him.