"I know," he said. "Everything we'd heard about these people led me to believe that they would simply attack us in a frontal assault, without any overall strategy. I'd half expected that we'd be finished with them by now."

Haz'kam pondered. "Perhaps they're still gathering their main force. I suppose we have no option but to continue as we are. I imagine they'll finally make a stand when we reach their capital. Although now we'll take longer to do that."

Nit'zak hesitated for a moment with the next suggestion. Then he said: "Of course, General, we could simply continue as we were, and accept the losses their raids are causing. They're quite sustainable, you know."

It was a typically callous Temujai suggestion. If the loss of lives or supplies could be balanced out by greater speed, it might well be worthwhile opting for that course. Haz'kam shook his head. But not through any sense of care for the people under his command.

"If we don't respond, we have no way of knowing that they won't hit us with a major raid," he pointed out. "They could have hundreds of men in those mountains and if they chose to change from pinprick attacks to a major assault, we'd be in big trouble. We're a long way from home, you know."

Nit'zak nodded his acquiescence. That idea hadn't occurred to him. Still, he demurred slightly.

"That isn't the sort of thing we've been led to believe they're capable of," he pointed out, and Haz'kam's eyes met his and locked onto them.

"Neither is this," he said softly, and when the younger man's eyes dropped from his, he added, "Have the men keep forming into their sixties for each day's march. And I suppose now we'd better put sentries out on the seaward side at night too."

Nit'zak muttered his assent. He hesitated a few seconds, wondering if this were one of those times when his commander wanted to continue to talk and pass the drinking skin back and forth for a few hours. But Haz'kam waved him away with a small hand gesture. Nit'zak thought that the general looked tired. For a moment, he thought about the years they had spent on campaign together and realized that Haz'kam was no longer a young man. Neither was he, he thought, as the ache in his knees testified. He bowed his head in a perfunctory salute, rose to his feet with another barely suppressed groan and went, crouching, out through the felt hanging that covered the tent doorway.

In the distance, he heard men shouting. Looking in the direction from which the noise came, he saw a bright flare of flame against the night sky. He cursed softly. The damned Skandians were raiding again, he thought.

A troop of horsemen clattered by him, heading for the site of the attack. He watched them go, tempted for a moment to join them, but resisting the temptation as he realized that by the time they reached the point of the attack, the enemy would be long gone.

T HE S KANDIAN W AR C OUNCIL WAS MEETING IN THE G REAT Hall. Will sat to one side, listening as Halt addressed the Skandian leader and his principal advisers. Borsa, Erak and two other senior jarls, Lorak and Ulfak, flanked the Oberjarl as they clustered around the table where Halt had spread an immense map of Skandia. The Ranger tapped a spot on the map with the point of his saxe knife.

"As of last night," he said, "the Temujai were here. Maybe sixty kilometers away from Hallasholm. The delaying raids are having exactly the sort of effect we wanted. The advance has gone from thirty kilometers a day to less than twelve."

"Shouldn't cavalry move faster than that?" asked Ulfak. Halt perched one leg on the bench beside the table and shook his head.

"They'll move fast enough when they're fighting," he told them. "But right now, they're conserving their horses' strength, letting them feed and move easily. Besides, now that we've reinforced Olgak's men with another half dozen raiding groups, it's taking them half the day to simply form up, then set up camp again in the evening."

He glanced up at Erak as he added: "Your idea of sending a few wolfships to raid their seaward flank was a good one."

The jarl nodded. "It seemed logical," he replied. "It's what we're good at, after all."

Ragnak thumped one massive fist on the pine planks that formed the table.

"Raids and skirmishes, nuisance attacks! They achieve nothing! It's time we hit them with our main force and settle this once and for all," he declared, and three of his council growled agreement.

"There'll be plenty of time for that," Halt cautioned. "The most important thing is to engage them in a place that suits us-one that we choose ourselves."

Again, the Oberjarl snarled. He knew he'd agreed to listen to Halt's advice. But these damned invaders had been flaunting themselves in his country now for several weeks. It was an affront to him and to every Skandian and he wanted to wipe the affront out, or die in the attempt. "What's the difference where we fight them?" he said. "A fight is a fight. We win or we lose. But if we do lose, we'll take plenty of them with us!"

Halt removed his foot from the bench and stood straight, ramming the saxe knife back into its scabbard.

"Oh, don't worry," he said icily. "There's every chance that we'll lose. But let's make sure we take as many of them with us as possible, shall we?" The Skandians, used to bluster and boasting, were taken aback by his cold assessment of their chances for survival-as he had intended them to be.

"They're cavalry," he continued. "They outnumber us at least four to one. They can outmaneuver us, outrun us. And they'll look for the widest possible front to engage us on. That way, all the advantages are with them. They'll flank us, surround us and draw us out if they can." He saw that he had their attention. They weren't happy about the situation, but at least they were prepared to listen.

"How will they do that?" Erak asked. He and Halt had discussed this briefing the day before. Halt wanted certain questions to be asked, and Erak was to ask them if none of the others seemed prepared to do so. The Ranger glanced quickly at Erak, but directed his answer to all of the group.

"It's a standard tactic of theirs," he said. "They'll attack on a wide front, probing, hitting and retiring. Then they'll appear to become fully engaged at one or two given points. They'll stop their hit-and-run tactics and fight a pitched battle-just the sort of thing that will suit your men," he added, glancing at Ragnak. The Oberjarl nodded.

"Then," Halt continued, "they will begin to lose. Their attack will lose its cohesion and they will try to withdraw."

"Good!" said Borsa, and the two other jarls grunted agreement. Ragnak, however, sensed that there was more to come. He didn't comment for the moment, but gestured for Halt to continue. The Ranger obliged.

"They'll give ground. Slowly at first, then faster and faster as panic seems to set in. Somehow they'll never move so fast that your men lose contact with them. Gradually, more and more of your warriors will be drawn out of our line, away from the shield wall, away from our defenses. As they pursue the enemy, the Temujai will become more and more desperate. At least, they'll seem to. Then, at the right moment, they'll turn."

"Turn?" said the Oberjarl. "How do you mean?"

"They'll stop retreating when your men are strung out and in the open-the strongest and fastest well ahead of their comrades. Suddenly, they'll find themselves cut off, surrounded by the Temujai cavalry. And remember, every one of their cavalrymen is an expert archer. They won't bother coming to close quarters. They can pick your men off at their leisure. And the more they kill the leaders, the more enraged those behind will become. They'll stream out to save their friends-or avenge them. They'll be surrounded in turn. And wiped out."