A moment later he could hear shouting coming from east and west of the position across the river. The soldiers in the Tsurani camp stood and looked both ways, with several coming to the edge of the water, peering into the dark forest. Tomas raised his hand and dropped it with a chopping motion.
Suddenly it was raining elven arrows on the camp across the river, and Tsurani soldiers were diving for their shields. Before they could fully recover, Tomas led a charge of dwarves across the shallow sandbar ford. Another flight of arrows passed overhead, then the elves shouldered bows, drew swords, and charged after the dwarves, all save a dozen who would stay to offer covering fire should it be needed.
Tomas was first ashore and struck down a Tsurani guard who met him at the river’s edge. Quickly he was among them, wreaking mayhem. Tsurani blood exploded off his golden blade, and the screams of wounded and dying men filled the damp night.
Dolgan slew a guard and found none to stand against him. He turned and saw Galain standing over another dead Tsurani, but staring at something beyond. The dwarf followed his gaze to where Tomas was standing over a wounded Tsurani soldier who lay with blood running down his face from a scalp wound, an arm upraised in a plea for mercy. Over him stood Tomas, his face an alien mask of rage. With a strange and terrible cry, in a voice cruel and harsh, he brought down his golden sword and ended the Tsurani’s life. He turned quickly, seeking more foes. When none presented themselves, he seemed to go blank for a moment, then his eyes refocused.
Galain heard a dwarf call, “They come.” Shouts came from the other Tsurani camps as they discovered the ruse and quickly approached the true battle site.
Without a word Tomas’s party hurried across the water. They reached the other side as Tsurani bowmen fired upon them, to be answered by elves on the opposite shore. The attacking group quickly fell back deeply into the trees, until they were a safe distance away.
When they stopped, the elves and dwarves sat down to catch their wind, and to rest from the battle surge still in their blood. Galain looked to Tomas and said, “We did well. No one lost, and only a few slightly wounded, and thirty outworlders slain.”
Tomas didn’t smile, but looked thoughtfully for a moment, as if hearing something. He turned to look at Galain, as if the elf’s words were finally registering. “Aye, we did well, but we must strike again, tomorrow and the next day and the next, until they act.”
Night after night they crossed the river. They would attack a camp, and the next night strike miles away. A night would pass without attack, then the same camp would be raided three nights running. Sometimes a single arrow would take a guard from the opposite shore, then nothing, while his companions stood waiting for an attack that never came. Once they struck through the lines at dawn, after the defenders had decided that no attack was coming. They overran a camp, ranging miles into the south forest, and took a baggage train, even slaughtering the strange six-legged beasts who pulled the wagons. Five separate fights were fought as they turned from that raid, and two dwarves and three elves were lost.
Now Tomas and his band, numbering over three hundred elves and dwarves, sat awaiting word from other camps. They were eating a stew of venison, seasoned with mosses, roots, and tubers.
A runner came up to Tomas and Galain. “Word from the King’s army.” Behind him a figure in grey approached the campfire.
Tomas and Galain stood. “Hail, Long Leon of Natal,” said the elf.
“Hail, Galain,” answered the tall, black-skinned ranger.
An elf brought over bread and a bowl of steaming stew to the two newcomers, and as they sat, Tomas said, “What news from the Duke?”
Between mouthfuls of food, the ranger said, “Lord Borric sends greetings. Things stand poorly. Like moss on a tree, the Tsurani slowly advance in the east. They take a few yards, then sit. They seem to be in no hurry. The Duke’s best guess is they seek to reach the coast by next year, isolating the Free Cities from the north. Then perhaps an attack toward Zun or LaMut. Who can say?”
Tomas asked, “Any news from Crydee?”
“Pigeons arrived just before I left Prince Arutha holds fast against the Tsurani. They have luck as poor there as here. But they move southward through the Green Heart.” He surveyed the dwarves and Tomas. “I am surprised that you could reach Elvandar.”
Dolgan puffed his pipe. “It was a long trek. We had to move swiftly and with stealth. It is unlikely we will be able to return to the mountains now the invaders are aroused. Once in place, they are loath to yield what they have gained.”
Tomas paced before the fire. “How did you elude their sentries?”
“Your raids are causing much confusion in their ranks. Men who faced the Armies of the West were pulled out of the line to rush to the river. I simply followed one such group. They never thought to look behind. I had only to slip past their lines when they withdrew and then again across the river.”
Calin said, “How many do they bring against us?”