Javrik, son of a nomad clan chieftain, has always known he would have to take his father's place one day. But he never expected to have to lead his clan in war. Luckily, as if by the favor of the gods, he finds an Omani cavalry patrol led by Arman Garimandi just in time to try to save his people. But Javrik also has a young and innocent sister who sees their captain as something more than human.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"They had filled the mountaintop with the aromatic smell of arrow shafts being formed—hundreds of men fletching arrows and attaching heads of metal because Helsum had forges and molds for those, creating something far more lethal than the old flint arrowheads.
Garimandi looked longingly at one of his crossbow bolts, for which there were no molds.
"Wish we had more of these. But many a man has been killed with a good longbow."
Javrik barely glanced up. "True. We don‘t have the conveniences of your army, I‘m afraid."
The captain resumed scraping a cedar shaft. "You never needed them. Helsum does well with what he has."
He was crafting what would become arrows with considerable expertise, apparently not handicapped by their primitive materials even while disparaging them. Clearly, he had done this before.
"My men will take out those who appear to be officers with our bolts," Garimandi said, "to reduce their command. What you need is three-sided ranked fire with longbows."
"Ranked fire?"
"Station your men center, left and right on both cliffs, three rows deep. Direct their fire center, left and right, into the Domidians. That way, you are not wasting arrows aiming at the same targets. As each row fires, the one behind should loose in rotation while the previous one notches again."
"Like scything," Javrik said, comprehending at once.
"Exactly. It is very difficult standing up to that sort of fire. Tell your clan leaders."
"Spiked spears at the barricade," the captain went on. "Archers behind. Do not hurl them unless you must, because we can‘t replace them. Instead, impale whatever the archers cannot stop. Protect the stone throwers with your lives. They can take out more men at one blow than you can with twenty arrows."
"Oil?" Javrik inquired, but the Omani shook his head.
"Ineffective at this height. Not enough will reach the target. Spread pitch at the base of the cliff and use fire arrows."
He nodded to a small pile of metal arrowheads neatly arranged beside shafts and vats of oil holding rags. "I don‘t have many of those, unfortunately, and Helsum doesn‘t have the right forges. But they will affix quickly to a shaft notched to hold them. Light the rag and when it is blazing, fire into the pitch. Coat your boulders to form a fire wall and let it spread."
It was an arsenal, all neatly assembled atop the cliff and, Javrik assumed, on the top of Little Man, as well.
"You have done this before?" he inquired.
"We nearly did it at Xanthus," the captain replied. "Magistri stopped us so we didn‘t burn down the city with the people inside. He relieved the maggot in command."
"You had to clean it out by hand?"
"Yes, but we still had a city. However..." He passed a completed shaft to an Arak waiting to attach the head and feathers. "We know some got out to the west, toward the ocean. They are the ones who will attack you. Your watchers can see to the south, so that is not where they will come. Their scouts will have seen your mountains and know you can see them, so they will stay west and come at you from that direction. You will have very little warning."
"So all our preparation was in vain?"
"Not in vain. You were correct that they were not heading east, back to Domidia. We have troops over there. No, they‘ll head for these mountains, kill everyone here and turn into an army of bandits. It will take us twenty years to clean them out, if we ever can. Better to stop them now."
Javrik rocked back on his heels, taken aback in more ways than one, but the young captain smiled at him.
"I serve a large army, friend. I was receiving dispatches constantly until I left the south to come with you. The enemy is west, the Havacians are west, and both are trying to reach here. It‘s a simple matter of who gets here first. Because our troops were tied up in Xanthus, I am betting it is the Domidians. We will be relieved, but we have to hold out until help can get here. Meanwhile, get your people up this pass."
"You are well informed for a mere captain," Javrik observed.
Garimandi just gave him a flat look. "This is my job."
"So you stay here?"
"They can send Alcinis and Havacians back home and from what I have heard, they are eager to go. But to run Omana, they will need men who speak Omani. That makes it likely I will stay. Does it bother you so much?"
"That does not bother me."
"What does, then? The fact that your sister seems to like me?"
"She is my sister."
"Yes, and since she is, I suggest you get used to me. If theDomidians kill me, that‘s one thing. If you do, that is another."
That was a plain enough threat, and Javrik didn‘t think he was bluffing. It did hint, though, that he had more of an interest in Sange than merely bedding her. The man might actually be serious. But his father had taught him to have a suspicious nature and, aside from her obvious physical appeal, Javrik wondered why.
"You did not kill me when you could have," he conceded. "I will not kill you or cut off your balls, unless you hurt her. And then I will."
"Save your strength for the enemy." Garimandi squinted at the sun, which had gifted them with a rare appearance. "They will be here soon enough."
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