“My lord!” The captain hurried up. “A band of some dozen horsemen has been sighted, riding hard from the north.”
Lavastine jumped up and strode to the north corner of the hill. Alain thrust the cup into the hand of a servant and hurried after him. He scrambled up onto the rough platform and from there could clearly see the earthworks laid out below, ringing the hill, and—to the north—a dozen or more riders galloping toward their position. As this group enveloped a pair of waiting outriders, one rider slowed to pass on their news. At once the scouts turned and followed the rest toward the hill.
“They ride with some urgency,” observed Lavastine calmly. He beckoned to a servant. “My arms. And another glass of wine.” Like Alain, he already wore sword and mail.
“That’s Liath!” Alain saw scarlet flash in her Eagle’s cloak.
Lavastine leaned down toward his captain. “Bring the Eagle to me as soon as she enters camp. Let the other captains assemble.” When he turned back to Alain, he regarded the young man with a seriousness that made Alain flush with more than wine—with a dreadful anticipation, a fluttering in his stomach. “No matter what is said, or left unsaid, you must trust me, Alain. Your part is to defend this hill.” His gaze shifted to encompass the expanse of fields stretching eastward toward the river and Gent, which lay silent and peaceful under the new sun. “How quiet it is this morning,” he added softly.
Voices swelled below, a hubbub of excited speech and shouting. The captain rode up the hill, Liath right behind him. Her horse was foundering and, as soon as she dismounted, a servant led it away.
“My lord count!”
He lifted a hand for silence and counted his captains: Lord Geoffrey, Lord Wichman, Lady Amalia, Lord Dedi of Autun. The sergeants had already assembled. “Eagle, give us your report.”
Out it spilled so quickly that Alain could scarcely make sense of it: an illusion that appeared as no illusion? the Eika attacking now? With each phrase she glanced east, her expression so transparent that Alain thought he could read each least slight grimace or widening of eyes. She was not as afraid of what she claimed to see as of how her news would be received by her listeners.
They all looked. They could not help it, her gaze drew their own so strongly toward the plain lying bright and empty between their position and the distant city of Gent.
There was nothing there, no army racing toward them, no drums beating to sound the advance.
Nothing but the quiet land under the morning sun.
“Ai, Lady,” she burst out at last, seeing their skeptical expressions.
Alain stepped forward.
Seeing him, she reached toward him like a supplicant. Sorrow and Rage, growling softly, retreated behind him, and old Terror whined and slunk back behind Lavastine. “Lord Alain! You must believe me. They’re halfway across the plains. They’ll overwhelm us if we aren’t ready for them—if they don’t overwhelm us with sheer numbers!” She grabbed Alain’s arm. Rage snapped at her just as Lavastine began to protest this liberty, but Alain called Rage down and, with a look at his father, gained silence. “Don’t you see?” she cried, gesturing toward the east.
He murmured under his breath. “I pray you, Lady of Battles, let me see with her sight. Let me see with the inner heart, not the outer seeming.”
In the late summer heat, waves of heat often rippled off the fields and rocks. It was like that now, a distortion over the fields, an image of peace blurring and changing, dust rising in a haze to cloud the sun—
There! Jogging at a ground-eating pace came the war bands of the Eika, drums pounding at their backs, their shields a blur of blue and yellow. They had already covered three quarters of the distance from city to camp; the haze of dust marked their passage. In all there were a dozen or more units, each one marked out by spears decorated with feathers, bones, and tattered strips of cloth braided into streamers. Each unit contained many more than a hundred Eika—and all had dogs loping beside them.
“Lord have mercy!” exclaimed Alain. “There are at least three times as many of them as of us!”
“There’s no one there at all!” scoffed Lady Amalia.
“And no illusion to see through,” added Lord Wichman.
“That is the illusion,” said Liath, her tone ragged as she stared at Alain with hope flaring in her eyes.
Wichman snorted. “Ai, I’ve had experience with these Eika,” he began, “and there was always some fearsome sight to be seen—” He faltered as Count Lavastine moved up beside Alain.