"Without the plague, you'll lose this war," Torgan said. "They'll shatter your army and run you down as you retreat. Without me, you're doomed."
"I want you gone," Jenoe told him. "I want you to get on your horse and ride away from here, and I never want to see your face again."
The merchant regarded them all with disgust. "This is why we lost the Blood Wars. We're weak. We're not willing to do what's necessary to win, and so we lose, again and again. You'll be no different." He shook his head and gave a harsh laugh. "Very well, Marshal. I'll leave. Good riddance to you all."
He turned on his heel and started to walk away. But before he'd gone far, he stopped again, staring eastward.
An instant later, Fayonne heard it, too: voices shouting at the edge of the camp. The sound was growing by the minute, and there was a note of panic in every voice she heard. Men were running toward them, shouting for the marshal.
The first to reach them was a young man with black hair and dark eyes. He was out of breath, and his face, damp with melted snow, looked pale except for red spots high on each cheek.
"What's happened, Crow?" the marshal's daughter asked.
"There's a white-hair army," he said, looking back and forth between the woman and her father. "It's headed this way. They're on horseback an' they're close."
"How many?" Jenoe asked.
"Hundr'ds," the man said. "Maybe a thousand."
The marshal looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "Damn," he whispered. "And we're backed up against this river." He looked at the captains. "Muster your men," he said, his voice suddenly crisp. "There's nothing to do but fight." He turned to Fayonne. "Eldest, we'll need every bit of magic you can give us."
She nodded. "You'll have it, Marshal." And she ran to find Mander.
Chapter 20
In mere moments, all was tumult in the army camp. Soldiers ran in every direction, gathering their weapons and mustering into their units. The two marshals and their captains shouted for the archers and tried to arrange the men into some semblance of a formation.
Tirnya's men had been among the first to come together, thanks in large part to the efforts of Oliban and her other lead riders. Tirnya herself had remained close to her father, dispatching soldiers to relay his orders to commanders throughout the army. But the Qirsi were almost upon them, and she needed to take her men to the right flank of the army, where Jenoe had already positioned Stri and Enly.
"You should go, Tirnya," her father said.
"Yes, all right." Her heart hammered in her chest, and she was sweating, despite the cold. Their other battles against the Fal'Borna had gone relatively well, but if there really were a thousand sorcerers in this army…
"Tirnya!"
"I'm sorry, Father. About before, I mean."
For just an instant, his expression softened. "We'll talk about this after the battle is over. I promise. Now go."
She nodded, gazing at him for one more moment. Then she turned and ran to where her soldiers awaited her.
Most of her soldiers, even those not trained as archers, had sheathed their blades and taken up bows. Tirnya's father, along with Hendrid Crish and the captains and lead riders left their horses tethered where they were, knowing that the animals would be susceptible to the Fal'Borna's language of beasts magic. They had been on foot for the other battles as well, but Tirnya hadn't yet grown used to this. She preferred to be on her horse, where she had a view of the entire battlefield.
She moved to the front of her company, near where Enly and Stri stood with their men, and not that far from her father, who had positioned himself at the center. The eldest and her people were with him, as was Hendrid. The grass had grown slick with the snowfall. If it came to close fighting, the footing would be treacherous.
Tirnya could now see the Qirsi clearly. They were on horseback, their white hair damp and limp, giving them a ghoulish look. Tirnya couldn't help thinking that Crow had understated the size of their force. There had to be more than a thousand of them, and she assumed that they had enough Weavers to destroy her father's army.
They weren't yet within range of the bowmen, but it seemed that they had halted. With a sudden rush of fear Tirnya realized that they had no intention of coming closer.
"Their magic can reach us from there," she said. And then, before Oliban could ask her what she'd said, she shouted the same thing to her father.
Jenoe nodded and said something to the eldest. Immediately all of the Mettai pulled their knives free and bent as one to grab handfuls of dirt. An instant later, Tirnya heard them mumbling their spells and then the creatures began to appear. Eagles first, then wolves, then more eagles. After a time, something new: giant serpents that flew from the hands of the Mettai as the eagles and wolves did, but landed low on the ground and slithered away with unnatural speed. The Mettai kept grabbing more dirt and drawing more blood, and the creatures continued to materialize until there was an army of them. This time, at least for now, the creatures seemed intent on the white-hairs.
The eagles soared toward the Qirsi army, keeping pace with the wolves that loped below them. Before any of the animals could reach the Fal'Borna lines, however, they began to fall. It was as strange and terrifying a sight as Tirnya had ever seen. The eagles seemed to be swatted out of the sky like overgrown flies smote by some great, unseen hand. One moment the wolves were running with effortless grace, and the next they collapsed in heaps, as if those same hands had crushed them. Tirnya could hear the yelps of the animals, the piercing shrieks of the birds. They were creatures of magic-moments before they hadn't even existed-and yet, watching them die, she felt hot tears on her cheeks.
And still the Mettai conjured more of them.
The serpents proved more difficult for the white-hairs to kill, perhaps because they remained so low to the ground and thus were harder to see. Whatever the reason, several of them reached the Qirsi lines, lashing out with curved fangs at the legs of the Fal'Borna's mounts. The horses went down, taking their riders with them. And instantly the serpents struck at the white-hairs.
Screams of men and horses filled the air, mingling with the cries of the eagles and wolves to create a horrible din. Fayonne shouted something to her people and suddenly all of them were conjuring the giant snakes.
Tirnya knew little about Mettai magic, but Fayonne and her people had been conjuring for several minutes now without rest, and she doubted that they could keep this up for much longer.
Looking at the white-hairs again, she saw that the grasses in front of the Qirsi had begun to blacken. A pale yellow fire rushed toward the Stelpana army, fanning out as it went, melting away the snow and then searing the grass. Tirnya could see serpents writhing in the flames, but she could also see that the fire wasn't intended just for the snakes. Fayonne appeared to understand this as well. She called to the other Mettai, who stooped once more for handfuls of earth. The fire swept swiftly across the plain, killing snakes and wolves, and filling the air with a dark, choking smoke. The Mettai barely had time to speak their spells and throw the mixture of dirt and mud. Torrents of water flew from their hands, dousing most of the flames and sending a great cloud of steam into the morning air.
Where their conjured water failed to stop the white-hairs' magic, Eandi soldiers were enveloped in flame, including several men in Enly's company and Stri's. Many of them screamed, thrashing wildly, desperate to extinguish the fires on their clothing and hair. Others succumbed to the flames before they could do anything at all.
Several eagles still circled over the Qirsi riders, but in mere moments they had been destroyed by the white-hairs' shaping power. For all the conjuring that the Mettai had done, they had precious little to show for it. The blood wolves, eagles, and serpents were dead, only a handful of Qirsi warriors had been unhorsed and killed, and a greater number of Eandi had died. The Mettai could begin their conjuring again, but even from a distance Tirnya could see how exhausted the eldest looked. She could only imagine how much the Mettai's hands ached.