"It was unlike them to break off their pursuit, form a shield wall and then hit us with a surprise attack from the woods too," he pointed out. The colonel said nothing to that. The truth of the statement was self-evident.

"There have been reports," the Shan continued, "that a foreigner has been seen with the Skandians:one of those cursed Atabi."

Atabi, literally meaning "the green ones," was the Temujai term for Rangers. In the years since Halt had made his successful horse raid, the Temujai leaders had attempted to gather as much knowledge as they could about the mysterious force of men who wore green and gray cloaks and seemed to meld into the forest. In the past few years, in preparation for this campaign, spies had even reached as far as Araluen itself, asking questions and seeking answers. They had learned little. The Rangers guarded their secrets jealously and the ordinary Araluens were reluctant to discuss the Ranger Corps with foreigners. There was a strong undercurrent of belief among Araluens that Rangers dabbled in magic and the black arts. Nobody was too keen to discuss such matters.

Now, at this mention of an Atabi among the enemy, Colonel Bin'zak shrugged.

"They were rumors only, Shan," he protested. "None of my men could confirm the fact."

The general's gaze locked on his. "I think we've just had it confirmed," he said, holding the colonel's eyes until the officer looked down and away.

"Yes, Shan," he said bitterly. He knew his career was finished. Haz'kam now raised his voice, addressing the other officers gathered around and dismissing the matter of the disgraced intelligence colonel.

"It might also explain why our own planned surprise attack from the ocean failed to materialize," he said, and there were a few assenting grunts. The plot with Slagor had also been hatched by Bin'zak. Now, it seemed, the 150 men who had embarked on the Skandian ships four days ago had simply vanished into thin air.

The general came to a decision. "No more subterfuge. We've wasted enough time here. We've been delayed by three weeks already. Standard attack from now on: rolling arrow storm until we create a weakness, then we drive through their line."

His commanders nodded their assent. He looked around at them, seeing their determination, their grim confidence. The Temujai were about to do what they did best, using their mobility and the devastating force of their mounted archers to probe and weaken the enemy line. Then, when the moment was right, they would drive in with their sabers and lances and finish the job. There was no shouting of battle cries, no histrionics from these men.

This was a normal day at work for them.

"Give your orders," Haz'kam told them. "Watch for my commands."

He wheeled his horse, ready to ride back to the knoll where he had set up his command position. Already, signal flags were beginning to order the standard assault. A voice from behind made him pause.

"General!" It was Bin'zak. He had forsaken the social honorific of "Shan," Haz'kam noticed, and addressed him by his military title. The general faced his intelligence colonel now, waiting for his next words.

"Permission to ride with one of the Ulans, sir," Bin'zak said, his head held high. Ulan was the Temujai word for the formation of sixty riders that was the basic unit of the Temujai force. Haz'kam considered the request. Normally, field grade officers were kept out of the close contact part of battles. They had no need to prove their courage or dedication. The general finally nodded permission.

"Granted," he said, and spurred his horse back to the command position.

"Now what?" said Ragnak irritably as he watched the Temujai cavalry forming into groups.

Halt watched too, his eyes narrowed. "Now, I think, it's the end of the opening gambits. Now they're going to hit us in earnest." He pointed with his bow, sweeping it along the line of mounted horsemen facing them. "They'll fight in their Ulans, sixty men in each unit, hitting us all along the line and wheeling away before we can respond. The idea is to pick off as many of our men as possible with arrows before launching a concentrated attack at a selected spot."

"Which is where?" Erak asked. This tactical talk was making him increasingly cross. All he wanted was a dozen or so Temujai within reach of his ax. Now it appeared he would have to continue waiting for that eventuality.

Halt turned to the signaler with the horn.

"Give the 'ready' call for the archers," he said, and as the man blew a series of long short, long short notes, he replied to Erak's question: "Wherever their general decides they've created a weakness in our line."

"So what do we do while we're waiting for him to make up his mind?" Ragnak asked irritably. Halt grinned to himself. Patience certainly wasn't high on the Skandian list of virtues, he thought.

"We surprise them with our own archers," he said. "And we try to kill as many of them as we can before they become used to the fact that someone's shooting back at them."

All of Will's hundred archers heard the horn signal and there was an instant stirring among them. He held up a hand to calm them.

"Stay down!" he called. He took his time and was pleased that his voice didn't crack. Maybe that was the answer for the future, he thought. He climbed up on the raised step that had been built into his command position. Horace, his shield ready, stood beside him. The wicker breastworks still concealed the archers but, when the time came, they would be pushed aside and the shield bearers would have the responsibility of protecting them from the answering storm of arrows that the Temujai would send their way.

Below Horace and Will's more exposed position, protected by earthworks and a wicker overhang, Evanlyn crouched in her position, with a clear sight of the line of archers.

The assembled troops of horsemen began to move now, cantering slowly at first, then at increasing speed. Will could see that this time, each man was armed with a bow.

They thundered toward the Skandian line-not in one extended line as they had before, but in a dozen separate groups. Then, a hundred meters from the Skandians, each group wheeled so they were heading in a dozen different directions and sending volley after volley of arrows arcing up and over the Skandian lines.

Will drummed his fingers nervously on the breastworks before him. He wanted to see the Temujai pattern before he committed his men. The first surprise would have the maximum potential to disrupt the enemy and he wanted to make sure he didn't waste it.

Now there was a continuous rattle as the raised Skandian shields caught the majority of the arrows that the Temujai were pouring in. But not all. Men were falling along the Skandian lines and being dragged back out of the battle line by those behind them, who then stepped in to replace them. Now the second and third ranks of Skandians held their shields high, to protect them against plunging fire, while the front rank presented their shields to the more direct frontal fire.

It was an effective ploy. But it left the men blinded to the approach of the Temujai. Now, as Will watched, one group of sixty quickly slung their bows, drew sabers and darted into the Skandian line in a slashing attack, killing a dozen men before the Skandians even realized they were there. As the Skandians re-formed and moved to counterattack, the Temujai withdrew rapidly and another Ulan, waiting for this exact opportunity, poured a deadly hail of arrows into the disrupted shield wall.

"We'd better do something," Horace muttered. Will held his hand up for silence. The seemingly random movements of the Temujai Ulans actually had a complex pattern to them, and now that he had seen it, he could predict their movements.

The horsemen were wheeling again, galloping away from the Skandian line and back to re-form. Behind them, more than fifty Skandians lay dead, victims of either the arrows or the slashing Temujai sabers. Half a dozen Temujai bodies lay around the breastworks where the Ulans had made their lightning attack.