“Very well,” said Telor. “I will follow you north, but once the battle is sighted I will lead the Pallides.”
“No,” said Gaelen.
The man’s sword hissed from his scabbard. “Then fight me, Farlain.”
The onlookers backed away, forming a circle around the two men.
“I do not desire to kill you,” said Gaelen hopelessly.
“Then I lead.”
“No,” said Gaelen softly, drawing his sword. “You die.”
“Wait!” shouted Lara, stepping forward with hands on hips. “It is well known that the Farlain are arrogant numbskulls, and that the Pallides have too long interbred with their cattle, but this is sheer stupidity. If you must fight, then fight, but let it be clear that if Gaelen conquers, then he leads ALL.”
“What if Telor wins?” asked a young Pallides warrior.
“Then he leads the Pallides alone,” said Lara. “I’ll not follow a man with the brain of a turnip.”
“You miserable Haesten bitch,” snapped Telor. “You seek to rob the contest of any merit.”
“It has no merit,” said Gaelen. “Thousands of clansmen and their wives lie butchered by invaders, and you seek to add more clan blood to the soil.”
Telor gave a harsh laugh. “Frightened, are you, Farlain?”
Gaelen shook his head. “Terrified,” he said, dropping his sword and stepping forward, his forehead thundering against Telor’s nose. The Pallides warrior staggered back, blood drenching his yellow beard, as Gaelen moved in with a left cross exploding against Telor’s unprotected chin. The Pallides warrior pitched to his left, hitting the ground hard. Gaelen rolled the man to his back and drew his hunting knife, touching the point to Telor’s throat. “Make a choice, live or die,” he said coldly.
Telor lay very still. “Live,” he whispered.
“The first wise choice you’ve made,” said Gaelen. Rising, he gripped the man’s right arm, hauling him to his feet. Telor staggered, but remained upright, blood dripping from his ruined nose. “Now, pick twenty Pallides to follow Agwaine and Onic. I want scouts east and west of us. Then you go, with three of your choosing, to the north to make sure our route is clear. Is that understood?”
Telor nodded.
Turning on his heel Gaelen set off, and the small army followed him. Lara moved up alongside him, grinning. “That was close,” she said.
“Yes. Thank you for your help; it took away his concentration.”
“It was nothing. I didn’t want Telor to cut your ears off; he’s second only to Intosh with a blade.”
“Then I thank you again-with even more feeling.”
“Are you a good swordsman?”
“I’ve recently learned to tell the point from the hilt.”
“No, truly?”
“I am as good as most men.”
“Have you killed any Aenir?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Gods, woman! What does it matter?”
“I like to know who I am following.”
“I’ve killed five and wounded another.”
“Five? That’s not bad. Hand to hand, or with the bow?”
“Hand to hand. The wounded man I hit with an arrow.”
“Marksmanship’s not your strong point, then?”
“No. And you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, we seem to be talking about numbers killed, so I am asking you the same question.”
“I see. Why?”
“Because I like to know the caliber of my followers,” said Gaelen, grinning.
“I haven’t killed any. But I will.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Do you have a woman?” she asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She refused me.”
“I see,” said Lara.
“What do you see?”
“I see why you are so nervous around women.”
“I am not nervous around women, I am nervous with you,” he said.
“Why is that?”
Gaelen was growing hot and beginning to feel like a hunted rabbit.
“Well?” she pressed.
“I have no idea, and I don’t wish to discuss it,” he said primly. She laughed then, the sound deep and throaty, which only added to his discomfort.
On the first night of camp Gaelen avoided her, talking long into the night with Gwalchmai, who had returned from his scouting trip with Telor. Telor and his companions had remained in the north, and Gwal was due to rejoin them at first light.
“It was an uncomfortable day,” said Gwalchmai. “I think we only exchanged three words.”
“I’m sorry, Gwal. How does it look?”
“So far the route is clear. That Telor gives me cold chills, though.”
“Yes. Let’s hope he saves his anger for the Aenir.”
“Let’s hope they cut his damned heart out,” muttered Agwaine, joining them.
Gaelen shook his head. “No wonder the clans are always at war,” he said.
“How are you getting on with Lara?” asked Agwaine, his mouth spreading in a lecherous grin.
“What does that mean?” snapped Gaelen.
“She likes you, man. It’s obvious.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Not beautiful exactly, but gorgeous. And those breeches…”
“Will you stop this?”
“I wish she liked me.”
“I cannot believe this conversation is taking place. We are marching toward a battle, I’m trying to think about tactics, and all you can think about is… is… breeches.”
“What about breeches?” asked Lara, moving up to sit with them.
“Yes, Gaelen, tell her about the breeches tactic,” said Gwalchmai.
Gaelen closed his eyes.
“Well?” she said.
“You’re the authority, Gwal. You explain it.”
Gwalchmai chuckled. “No. If I’m to be with Telor by dawn, I’d best tuck up in my blankets. Excuse me.”
Gwal moved off to fashion a bed below an overhanging pine. Agwaine grinned and also moved away-despite Gaelen’s imploring gaze. “So?” said Lara. “What about breeches?”
“It was a jest. The clouds are bunching-there could be rain tomorrow.”
“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand. He followed her into the trees and they stopped some forty paces away in a circular clearing, screened by dense bushes. She led him to where she had placed her blankets and pulled him down beside her. The clansman was supremely ill at ease.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked huskily.
“I don’t want to talk, Gaelen.” Leaning forward, she curled an arm around his neck and kissed him.
Thoughts of Deva vanished like ice on fire.
Leofas and Maggrig walked the length of the Folly as darkness gathered around them. The slopes on either side were steep and pitted with rocks and boulders, while the pass itself showed a steady incline toward the narrow center. The Aenir would be charging uphill and that would slow them. But not by much.
The two men were joined by Patris Grigor and a dozen of his archers. “It’s a magnificent killing ground,” said Grigor. “They’ll lose hundreds before they reach you-if they come in, that is. What if they bottle up the mouth of the pass?”
“We attack them,” declared Maggrig.
“That’s not much of a plan,” said Grigor, grinning.
“I’m not much of a planner,” admitted Maggrig, “but I think they’ll come at us. They’ve yet to learn fear.”
“When your arrows are exhausted, we leave. If we can,” said Grigor.
“Understood,” said Maggrig, walking back toward the campfires in the wide pass beyond.
The walls of the box canyon rose sheer, reflecting the red light from hundreds of small fires. Leofas, who had remained silent on the long walk, sat back on a boulder, staring out over the clan army as they rested. Some men were already sleeping, others were sharpening sword blades. Many were laughing and talking.
“What’s wrong, my friend?” Maggrig asked.
Leofas glanced up. In the flickering firelight Maggrig’s beard shone like flames, his blue eyes glittering, his face a mask of bronze.
“I’m tired,” said Leofas, resting his chin in his hands and staring out over the campfires.
“Nonsense! You’ll be leading the victory dance tomorrow like a first-year huntsman.”