‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ Berit asked.
‘It usually works out about the best in cases like this. One big light’s easier to control than several hundred little ones – and it disrupts the enemy’s concentration a lot more.’
Berit grinned. ‘It would be a little startling to be creeping through the bushes and have the sun come back up again, wouldn’t it?’
‘A lot of battles have been averted by lighting up the night, Berit, and a battle averted is sometimes even better than one you win.’
‘I’ll remember that, Sparhawk.’
The afternoon wore on, and the party on the hilltop became a little strained. There were only so many things to laugh at, and only so many jokes to tell. The warriors around the base of the hill either spent their time attending to equipment or pretending to sleep.
Sparhawk met with the others about mid-afternoon out near the road.
‘If they don’t know by now that we aren’t going any farther today, they aren’t very bright,’ Kalten noted.
‘We do look a bit settled in, don’t we?’ Ulath agreed.
‘A suggestion, Sparhawk?’ Tynian offered.
‘Why do you always say that?’
‘Habit, I suppose. I was taught to be polite to my elders. Even the best of spells isn’t going to give us the same kind of light we’ll have before the sun goes down. We know they’re out there, we’re in position and we’re rested. Why don’t we push things a bit? If we can force them to attack now, we can fight them in daylight.’
‘How are you going to make somebody attack when he doesn’t want to?’ Patriarch Emban asked.
‘We start making obvious preparations, your Grace,’ Tynian replied. ‘It’s logical to start on the field fortifications about now anyway. Let’s put up the palisade around the foot of the hill, and start digging ditches.’
‘And cutting trees,’ Ulath added. ‘We could clear away some avenues leading out into the woods and pile all the tree trunks up where they’ll hinder anybody trying to come through the forest. If they’re going to attack, let’s make them attack across open ground.’
It took a surprisingly short time. The logs for the fence around the base of the hill were already sharpened and stacked in neat piles where they were handy. Digging them in was an easy matter. The birch trees in the forest were all no more than ten inches thick at the base, and they fell quickly to the axes of the warriors and were dragged into the surrounding forest to form large, jumbled piles which would be virtually impossible to penetrate, even for men on foot.
Sparhawk and the others went back up to the hilltop to survey their preparations. ‘Why don’t they attack us now, before we’re ready?’ Emban tensely asked the knights.
‘Because it takes time to organise an attack, your Grace,’ Bevier explained. ‘The scouts have to run back and tell the generals what we’re doing; the generals have to sneak through the woods to have a look for themselves; and then they all have to get together and argue about what they’re going to do. They were planning an ambush. They aren’t really ready to attack fortified positions. The business of adjusting one’s thinking to a different tactical situation is what takes the longest.’
‘How long?’
‘It depends entirely on the personality of the man in charge. If his mind was really set on an ambush, it could take him as long as a week.’
‘He’s dead then, Bevier-Knight,’ Engessa told the Cyrinic tersely. ‘As soon as we saw the warriors in the woods I dispatched a dozen of my people to the garrison at Sarsos. If our enemy takes more than two days to make up his mind, he’ll have five thousand Atans climbing his back.’
‘Sound thinking, Atan Engessa,’ Tynian approved. He pondered it. ‘A thought, Sparhawk. If our friend out there gets all caught up in indecision, we can just continue to strengthen our defences around this hill – ditches, sharpened stakes, the usual encumbrances. Each improvement we add will make him think things over that much longer – which will give us time to add more fortifications, which will make him think all the more. If we can keep him thinking for two days, the Atans from Sarsos will come up behind him and wipe out his force before he ever gets around to using it.’
‘Good point,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Let’s get to it.’
‘I thought that being a military person just involved banging on people with axes and swords,’ Emban conceded.
‘There’s a lot of that involved too, your Grace,’ Ulath smiled, ‘but it doesn’t hurt to outsmart your enemy a little too.’ He looked at Bevier. ‘Engines?’ he asked.
Bevier blinked. Ulath’s cryptic questions always took him by surprise for some reason.
‘As long as we have some time on our hands, we could erect some catapults on the hilltop. Attacking through a rain of boulders is always sort of distracting. Getting hit on the head with a fifty pound rock always seems to break a man’s concentration for some reason. If we’re going to set up for a siege, we might as well do it right.’ He looked around at them. ‘I still don’t like sieges though,’ he added. ‘I want everybody to understand that.’
The warriors set to work, and the ladies and the young men attending them renewed their festivities, although their hilarity was even more forced now.
Sparhawk and Kalten were re-enforcing the breastworks atop the hill. Since his wife and daughter were going to be inside those fortifications, their strength was a matter of more than passing interest to the prince consort.
The party under the pavilion had begun to show gaps, and Stragen was increasingly obliged to fill them with his lute.
‘He’s going to wear out his fingers,’ Kalten grunted, lifting another large rock into place.
‘Stragen enjoys attention,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘He’ll keep playing until the blood runs out from under his fingernails if there’s anybody around to listen.’
Stragen’s lute took up a very old air, and he began to sing again. Sparhawk didn’t really have much of an ear for music, but he had to admit that the Thalesian thief had a beautiful voice.
And then Baroness Melidere joined in. Her voice was a rich contralto that blended smoothly with Stragen’s baritone. Their duet was perfectly balanced, smooth and rich with the dark tones of their deeper voices. Sparhawk smiled to himself. The baroness was continuing her campaign. Once Aphrael had alerted him to the blonde girl’s designs on Stragen, Sparhawk could see dozens of artful little ploys she was using to keep her intended victim’s attention. He almost felt sorry for Stragen, but he concluded that Melidere would be good for him. The pair concluded their duet to loud applause. Sparhawk glanced toward the pavilion and saw Melidere lay one lingering hand almost caressingly on Stragen’s wrist. Sparhawk knew just how potent those accidental-seeming contacts were. Lillas had explained it to him once, and Lillas had been the world’s champion seductress – as probably half the men in Jiroch could have sworn to.