Then he turned his back on his sisters, on the women of their village. “We need to figure out a way to alert the army. And we need to take out those Raiders.”

  Destin rested a hand on Otec’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

  Otec could only nod.

  “We can handle the Raiders,” Ake said as he and his brother tugged out their bows.

  “They’ll make good target practice,” Arvid agreed.

  “I can use fire arrows to signal your clanmen,” Matka said. “They’ll see them and know something is wrong.”

  Otec grunted in approval. He turned to face the dozen boats following him. “Aim for the men you can hit. When you run out of arrows, use your slings.”

  As the cliffs came closer, he measured wind and distance. He’d never shot anything from a boat, but it couldn’t be much different than a moving horse. He’d just fire at the top of the swell.

  When they were within range, Otec cast one last glance in the direction his siblings had disappeared. And then he turned away, pulled back his bow, sighted along the shaft, and released. The other men in the boats did the same, dropping Raiders from the cliffs like spiders. But soon the clanmen ran out of arrows.

  Halfed ran the boats aground. Otec used the momentum in his leap, landing in the water with a splash that soaked his heavy boots. He sloshed to shore and snatched up handfuls of rocks. He took out his sling and let stone after stone fly—he was a pretty good shot, as one never ran out of stones in the Shyle.

  Matka crouched down to gather driftwood. Then she dumped it into a pile and attacked it with sparks from her flint and striker. The moment she had a flame going, she wrapped her five reserved arrows in shredded bark and tied it off in a messy knot. She pulled a small pouch from her pocket and sprinkled the powder over the bark. “If this is the last time I’ll ever see your flames, Goddess, let them burn bright.”

  Matka drew back her bow and sent the arrow up over the rim of the cliff, the flames trailing behind like a multicolored comet. “I’d like to see your clanmen miss that,” she said.

  When the clanmen saw the arrows, they’d know someone was down on the beach. They would come to investigate and would find the Raiders trying to sneak up on them.

  She sent off five arrows in all, directing them over the cliff to burn where all could see. The Idarans on the cliffs began to panic. Those closer to the top continued climbing up. Those nearer the bottom started back down.

  Otec and his men continued to send stones at them until the Raiders at the base of the cliffs began firing arrows back. He hauled Matka behind him and held out his shield. An arrow thudded into it, piercing through. Otec almost ordered the boys to go in the boats and stay out of range, but then he remembered what it felt like to be left behind and kept his mouth shut.

  “Nice of them to share,” Destin said with a crazed grin as he began picking off the arrows and firing them back.

  Otec surveyed the growing gathering of Raiders at the base of the cliffs and knew he had to charge them and wipe them out before his men were outnumbered. “Axes!” he called out.

  The clanmen put away their slings and hauled out their axes. This time he did meet the boys’ gazes. “Stay back,” Otec ordered. “Honor to the Shyle!” he cried as they charged.

  Sprinting across the rocky beach, Otec sidestepped a thrust and chopped through a Raider’s block to land the axe in his face. He stepped past the man to meet the next. Matka danced beside him, keeping his left flank secure, while Destin took up his right. Otec blocked a swipe of one sword, stomped on the low-swinging second blade, and head-butted the Idaran, who staggered back. Otec kicked him down and buried his axe in the man’s chest.

  A cry came from Otec’s right and he turned to see Destin staggering back, blood gushing from his leg. Otec took a step to help him, but Matka was there first. Gritting his teeth, Otec gave ground. “Tighten up!” A Raider’s sword slipped through his shield, piercing his arm and making it go numb. His blood made the grip slippery.

  Another sword pierced his legs. With a roar, he ducked behind his shield and charged, knocking over three men. Matka and Destin finished them off. Otec kicked one in the temple and chopped at the other two.

  A man fell screaming from the cliffs, landing on the Raider who was fighting Otec. Now both Raiders lay still and broken. Otec glanced up to see Raiders being thrown or shoved off the cliffs. “Retreat!” he cried to his men, having no desire to be crushed.

  He ran over the rocky shore, his boots soggy and his arm numb. When he turned back, his clanmen were cheering from the tops of the cliffs. The men of the Shyle charged back in quickly dispatched any remaining Raiders.

  When the last of them were taken care of, Otec turned to Matka. “Do you trust me?”

  She turned to see the clanmen tossing down long ropes. He grabbed one and made to tie it around her waist so they could haul her up. “Oh, no,” she said, face going ashen. “Not again.”

  He took hold of her hand. “Come on. I promise I won’t let you fall.”

  Arms trembling, Otec hauled himself over the cliff and turned to heave Matka up. She staggered a couple steps and then lay face-down on the ground, arms spread as if hugging the rocks.

  He watched to make sure their six injured were hauled up safely. He shook out his numb and burning hands and searched the faces around him, his eyes watering at the brisk wind. The Reisen clan chief, Gen, marched up to them, bloody axe in hand. “Where’s Hargar?”

  Otec’s jaw tightened at the mention of his father. “I’m Clan Chief Otec, his oldest living son.”

  For a moment, Gen seemed incapable of speaking, but then he muttered under his breath, “Cursed Raiders.” He seemed to shake himself as he looked over their ragged band. “Can you fight?”

  Otec didn’t have to ask his men to know their answer. “After some rest and food, yes. I’ve six injured who need to be cared for.” He figured most of them would live.

  Gen nodded. “I can give you food, and an easy assignment for rest. The Cors and what few Argons we have are holding the front lines, but we need to spell them.”

  Matka gasped. “Wait!” She pushed herself to her feet. “The Idarans will have something else planned. They always do.”

  Gen looked her over like she was a beetle in one of his barrels of rye. “You’re one of them.”

  Otec moved in front of her, and the Argon boys immediately stepped up next to him. “She was their slave,” Otec said firmly. “Without her help, the Shyle would be gone, and possibly the whole of the clan lands as well.”

  Gen motioned to his men. “Tie her up. I don’t want her signaling the rest of them.”

  Destin stepped up beside the Argon boys. “I suppose you don’t need the Shyle’s help after all.”

  Otec shot Destin an appreciative glance and noticed the rest of his men had tightened up and were staring Gen down.

  “Fine,” Gen growled. “But she’s not fighting with us. We’ve killed enough Raiders posing as highmen—we’d hardly notice one more.” He took a step back and pointed to a tent. “There’s food and water there. Take what you need. Quickly.”

  The Shyle clanmen bunched around Otec, forming a phalanx of protection around Matka. He strode toward the tent, nearly a hundred of his men around him.

  “And Otec,” Gen called out. Otec looked back. “Make sure she stays there.”

  Otec didn’t respond. They filed through the tent door. It was a relief to be out of the wind, even if it was steamy inside the tent. There was rye gruel, beer, and boiled vegetables. He took a huge helping of each, sat on the ground, and bolted the food down before he could taste any of it.

  Matka sat beside him, but instead of eating, she tended to his wounds. “Matka . . .” he began.

  “It’s all right. I saw a tent for the wounded, and I’d rather be there, healing instead of injuring. I’ll make sure your clanmen are looked after.”

  Otec shifted uncomfortably on the rocky ground. “I don’t like it.”

  She tipped her head to look up at him. “They’d be fools to trust me.” She reached into her pack and handed him her telescope. “Find the high ground and keep your eyes open.”

  “Matka, could you go after them?” he asked carefully.

  “I’ve thought about it,” she whispered. “I am known to many people in Idara. If I go back, it will be to my death. But if you ask it of me, I will.”

  Otec closed his eyes. “No.” There was no use, not if she would die.

  Gen appeared at the tent flap. “Shyle, time to go.”

  Otec pushed to his feet. The ground seemed to pitch under him as he struggled to stave off a wave of exhaustion. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  Matka rolled her eyes. “I’m not the one marching into battle.”

  Yes, but she was surrounded by people who thought she was the enemy. He reached back and squeezed her hand before striding outside. It was nearly dawn now. Light enough to see the heated battle in the middle of a field of crushed grain.

  As Otec walked with him through the tents, Gen explained, “My men and I will push to the front—the Raiders have been concentrating on punching through our middle—and the Argons and Cors will gradually fall back as we replace them.

  “I’ll post you there, on that high ground.” Gen pointed to a steep hill topped by a tumbling of rocks and boulders surrounded by a stretch of trees, the foliage the rusty red of old blood. “Those men have been up there since midday yesterday. The Raiders have been foolish enough to rush it a few times. But they’re easily repelled with slings and bows.”

  Otec agreed, grateful his men wouldn’t be thrown right into the thick of battle. He gestured for them to follow and started up the incline.

  Gen reached out, taking hold of Otec’s arm. “If you lose that hill, our whole north flank will be exposed.”

  Otec nodded and Gen let him go. Otec climbed the rocky ground. In the forest, he noticed the trees had crusty boils across their surface—some type of blight, perhaps. He walked on the corpses of the diseased leaves, feeling blisters starting in his wet boots.

  He and his men crossed behind the Reisen holding the front, until they reached the knobby hill, its twin on the other side of a field of rye. The Reisen greeted them gratefully, showed them where the artillery was, and departed with heavy steps.

  Otec surveyed the area, which was covered in a scattering of boulders, most just big enough to provide cover for a man to lie behind. They would make it easily defendable.

  While the men of the Shyle spread out among the rocks and boulders, getting comfortable and wringing saltwater from their boots, Otec braced himself against the wind on a boulder just taller than a man and perched precariously on two smaller boulders. He pulled out Matka’s telescope. Nervous after her warning, he searched the forest along the sides of the hill, and below that, the field of golden rye that should have long since been harvested. It had already dropped much of the grain. And it was dropping more, leaving the precious food on the ground to rot.

  Otec stared at the stalks, which were taller than a man. Something was wrong. They should be shifting with the wind in wave-like patterns. But this looked more like a hail of pebbles scattered across the still surface of a pond.

  “Destin!” he called. The man looked up from where he was wringing saltwater from the felt liner of his boots. “Come here!”

  Destin shoved his feet in and pushed over to Otec’s side, taking the telescope from his hands. “I don’t see anything.”

  “The rye—it’s moving wrong.” Matka’s warning pounding against his memory, Otec took the telescope and rested his gaze on the sickly trees. It was eerily quiet. “And the forest.”

  “I don’t see anything there either,” Destin said.

  “That’s what’s wrong. There should at least be birds flitting about.” Otec lowered the telescope. “Send the twins after the men who just left. I want them back here. And send Ivar to the Reisen down the line. We’re surrounded on two sides and we need reinforcements.”

  “Gen said his men easily repelled their attack before.” Destin took a step closer. “They won’t pull men from the front lines, not when they’re under heavy attack.”

  Otec’s gaze shifted between the trees and the rye, thinking of the cliffs he’d just climbed. “The plan was to position men at our flanks, making our front lines bulge forward. They’ll surround us, cut us off, and finish this.”

  It was brilliant. And it would work if he didn’t move fast. Destin was already backing away. “Otec, are you sure?”

  He didn’t bother answering but dropped from the boulder, his blisters popping and fluid oozing around his heels. He grabbed the Argon boy’s shoulders and gave orders himself.

  Then he moved among his men, saying, “Take defensive positions among these rocks, and set yourself up with arrows and stones. But don’t hurry. We don’t want to push them into attacking us yet—we’ll be overrun if they do.”

  Finally, Destin nodded and started gathering up more men. And then they waited.

  Ivar came back first. “Gen says to calm down. A hundred men have held this hill for a week.”

  Otec ground his teeth. “That’s because the Raiders let him hold this hill.”

  The twins came back again, a hundred grumbling Reisen trailing behind them. A grizzled man took hold of Otec’s shirt. “Listen, boy, you might be a clan chief, but my axe has killed more Raiders than—”

  Otec shoved him away. “Your men will move into position around these rocks. And you will do it now!”

  The man stepped back, glaring at him. “We haven’t eaten since midday last.”

  “Now,” Otec said as he eased his axe from his belt.

  The man looked at the axe, then back at Otec. The man at his side took hold of his arm. “Ymir, he outranks you.”

  Ymir shook him off. “Gen will have you to the beating pole for this, clan chief or not.”

  Otec stared him down, and Ymir motioned to the hundred Reisen behind him. “Back into position. This fool Shyle—”

  His rant was interrupted by Destin shouting, “Raiders!”

  Otec shoved his axe back in place and climbed back on the tallest boulder, then took hold of his bow and started firing at the men rushing out of the field in such numbers they shook the remaining seeds from the stalks. He didn’t even need to aim for the sheer number of them; he simply fired three arrows at once into the front line, then took hold of three more and fired again.

  Two hundred men firing arrows on two sides left a line of dead the Raiders had to clamber over. And still they kept coming.

  “They’re attacking the Reisen at the base of the hill!” cried one of Otec’s men.

  Otec swung his bow around, taking out men as they cleared the trees. If they could punch behind the Reisens’ lines, they would have the hill surrounded. “We have to hold this hill!” Otec yelled as Raiders fell with the blighted leaves.

  For a while, his men held the Raiders back, killing them faster than they could climb. But they just kept coming—hundreds upon hundreds of them. And Otec’s men were running out of arrows. The men moved seamlessly to slings, flinging stones nearly as quickly as the arrows had flown. Otec joined them, taking stones from a stack someone had already set up on top of the boulder. Soon the stacks of stones had dwindled down to bare rock. Men scrambled along the ground, slinging anything they could find.

  The Raiders crested their wave of dead and began advancing up the hill.

  “We have to retreat,” Dobber called out from Otec’s right.

  “If we lose this hill, we lose the only advantage the north flank has,” Otec replied. He found the twins and motioned them toward the main camp. “We need arrows. And order any men in the camp up here now!”

  The boys took off at a dead run. Otec turned back to the battle just as the first Raider crested the hill, his swords thrusting forward. Destin chopped down on the folded steel, shoved the man back with his shield, and swung his axe down.

  This was repeated across the lines by the handful. But without enough men keeping the Raiders at bay with their slings, another dozen snuck in. And another. Dobber was in trouble, two men fighting him at once.

  Otec hooked his sling on his belt and took his shield in hand. He dropped down from his boulder, axe swinging. The Raider was dead before he fell. Otec swung at the Raider fighting Dobber, cutting into his legs. Dobber finished him with a strong swing.

  Otec whirled around. He blocked and chopped, his arms past feeling. Swords sliced past his shield. Dozens of cuts crisscrossed his skin. Yet his men held.

  Destin appeared on his right. “They just keep coming.”

  “Gen has to see our need,” Otec panted, his axe seeming heavier and heavier. “He has to send reinforcements.” But the men came only from the direction of the encampment. And they were going to be too late.

  Sweat ran down Dobber’s face. “Otec,” he gasped, “if we don’t retreat now, we’re all going to die.”

  “If we retreat” —Otec used the backswing of his axe to bash in a Raider who’d tried to sneak up behind him— “the Raiders will overrun us all.”

  A cry came from his right and he turned to see Dobber staggering back, blood gushing from his leg. Otec took a step to help him, but Destin was suddenly there, driving the edge of his shield into the man’s back and saving Dobber’s life.

  But the move left Destin open to the man he’d been fighting, and the Raider took advantage, shoving his sword into Destin’s back. The Raider leapt over Destin’s falling body and rushed at Dobber.

  Otec rammed the Raider with the lips of his shield, swept his legs out from under him, and killed him with one downward swing. He whipped around to find Destin in his death throes. Dobber gaped at the dying man and began backing away, his head shaking vehemently. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  “Dobber—” Otec sidestepped a thrust, sweeping the Raider’s swords to the side with his shield, and following it up with a quick chop. He looked over his shoulder to see Dobber running, leaving Otec’s right flank open. “Dobber!” he shouted as two men at once descended on him.

 

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