Ranjar Sargos heard the pounding of hooves coming from behind as he and his band of followers led the oath-brothers toward the divide. After a moon and a half of being chased and driven by the Black Knights, Sargos had decided it was time to turn the table on their attackers. It was one thing for a man only concerned with survival to flee like a woman, but another for a Warchief whose destiny was to lead clans and nations. Ranjar's horse, a big paint, was breathing so hard he could feel the lungs labor through his cloth saddle. "Soon," he whispered.
Up ahead, his clansmen had built an abattis, in a deep valley, behind which was a wall of stones and tree trunks. If his party could lead the pursuers into the valley, the abattis would be released and the Black Knights and their oath-brothers would be buried alive.
The trick was to get the oath-brothers and the Knights angry enough that they did not see the trap. Sargos had heard stories of the Knights and their oath-brothers, who were brought together and made as one in an initiation ceremony. It was a rude jest among the tribesmen that part of that ceremony was oath-brother and knight lying together as man and woman. Sargos did not believe that story, for it was very much what he wanted to hear and he'd learned to distrust easy answers. However, they did go through long years of training and fighting together so the bond between oath-brother and knight was often as strong as that of man and wife. He hoped this was true, because when the Knights saw their oath-brothers dishonored it would be an insult impossible for them to leave without vengeance.
Sargos watched with his heart in his mouth, as his youngest son, turned in his saddle, drew his horn bow and released an arrow. The boy moved with the grace of a panther bringing down a buffalo. Sargos' eyes followed the arrow's flight, which ended in the throat of one of the bare-chested oath-brothers. The Ruthani warrior gasped, grabbed the shaft with both hands and pulled the arrow out, releasing a torrent of red blood. He toppled off his saddle and the oath-brother following behind in anger shot one of his pistols. Sargos' heart jumped, but the shot went wide and Larkander dug his heels into his mount, jumping ahead.
Sargos was beginning to regret not only this mornings hastily arranged surprise, but bringing his only son along on what might well prove to be the last trail for father, son and tribe. They were almost to the ravine now, cut by the heavy spring rains. The Black Knights were visible and now came the most difficult part of the trap. He had to bring the oath-brothers, who were the Knights' scouts and advance war party, past the abattis, and let them lead the armored Knight into the death trap.
At the peak of the valley were the rest of his clansmen, some seven hundred warriors; they would dispatch the Ruthani oath-brothers while the boulder and tree limbs took care of the Knights. Of course, it would all be for naught if they balked and did not enter the valley. He had to give them an offering they could not refuse-a score of his clansmen dressed in captured armor and wearing the King Kalvan's colors! The false soldiers of Hostigos were a sight he did not believe the Black Knights could resist. Every tribesman in the Sastragath had heard of Kalvan's great victories over the Black Knights and the soldiers of the false god, Styphon. As Sargos had hovered over the ravine, in his dream vision, he had watched as the tree trunks and giant stones had crushed the ironmen, like crayfish fresh from the pot and about to be devoured.
To make the false soldiers of Hostigos even more convincing, Sargos had given them his own pistol and every firestick the Tymannes had collected in the past fifty winters. If this ruse failed and the clansmen lost their precious firesticks, he wouldn't have long to worry about asking the gods why they had misled him-his clansmen would see to that, if the Knights didn't dispatch him first!
Except for a few suicidal changes, most of the tribesmen and clans had allowed themselves to be driven father and farther north by the armies of the Black Knights. Those who had resisted or fought to avenge their burnt homes had been ruthlessly destroyed. Unless the clans banded together and united, Sargos knew the heavier armor and fire tubes of the Knights would give them a great victory. Sargos knew it was his destiny to lead this great host, but first he would have to distinguish himself from the scores of competing headmen, chiefs, sachems and warchiefs. Last night he had prayed to the Raven Hag for their guidance this dream had been the result. The false soldiers of King Kalvan had been his own idea; it had better work.
The valley was up ahead, around a copse of willow trees. Sargos' horse was starting to falter and he raised his voice in a war cry to embolden the stallion's heart. Suddenly he was in the valley, a huge gash torn from the earth by torrential rains. He was near the end of the war party, bait for the following oath-brothers. It was time to speed up before he got caught in his own trap.
He heard the shouts from the oath-brothers as they saw the false troop of Kalvan's soldiers at the head of the valley. "Kill the Daemon!" they cried.
Into the valley they thundered. His old friend and tribesman, Kagdar, who rode behind him, cried out as an oath-brothers tomahawk was thrown into his back. Sargos made a quick prayer and promised Kagdar's spirit he would come back and release it to Wind. He smacked his horses' haunches with his calloused palms. He could hear the false soldiers cry, "Down Styphon!" The oath-brothers behind him were riding like water over a cliff, if he weren't careful, they'd ride him into the ground in their haste to reach the Hostigi soldiers.
He passed the abattis and jumped off his horse to land hard on the embankment. Hard hands grabbed him and raised him to his feet. The oath-brothers ran by, oblivious to anything, but the insult of the red and blue colors of Hostigos. From the distance, the blue axhead on the red field looked real even to Sargos. Then he heard the rumble of the Black Knights as their iron-shod chargers entered the valley in pursuit. Up ahead, the false Hostigi were firing into the massed oath-brothers. The Knights began to shout, "Kill the Daemon! Kill the Daemon!" There was an even louder roar when the rest of the Tymannes rose from behind the crest, as if they were supporting Kalvan's soldiers.
The Black Knights rushed into the valley heedless of any dangers. Sargos raised his right arm, made a fist and pumped it twice. Swords cut the leather and twine ropes holding the abattis and all of a sudden there was a rumble that sounded like thunder. The Black Knights looked to their side in dismay. Moments later they were buried in an avalanche of tree trunks, boulders and dirt. The oath-brothers turned their horses, too late, and were set upon by the false Hostigi and the clansmen. With surprise and numbers on their side, the Tymannes made quick work of the oath-brothers, who were trapped by the sudden wall from behind and the clansmen's spears and swords from the front.
Sargos led his party to the still quaking death mound, searching for any Knights who might have survived. He came upon a full-helmed Knight who was buried up to his waist and bleeding profusely from his visor. A quick sharp jab with his poniard through the visor slit stilled the thrashing arms and he took the Knight's pistol, still cached in his white sash, to replace the one he had given away. He could hear the screams of dying men and horses all around. Sargos lifted the pistol and fired into the sky-today's slaughter was another sign of favor from the gods.
While the force he, Sargos, had destroyed today wasn't a Lance; there were enough dead Knights for three points-not counting oath-brothers, almost two hundred of the Black Brethren gone to Wind. The Tymannes would gain many pistols and much armor from this battle. For the rest of the day, his clansmen would be moving boulders and tree limbs until they had picked up every pistol, cask of fireseed, weapon and piece of useful armor this great victory had won them. Then they would cut the heads off of all the Knights and their oath-brothers, pluck out their eyes, cut off their noses and mount the heads on a forest of poles for the Order to find. For once, let the Black Knights choke back their tears!