Erik heard the Hadati moving before he saw him appear out of the gloom. Akee said, “It’s almost time.”
They had remained hidden through the night in the woods behind the barricade blocking the highway. Twice mercenaries had wandered close to where Erik waited, but none bothered to check the woods on the cliffs.
Erik nodded. The sky to the east was getting lighter.
Soon, if all went according to plan, a feint at the far end of the barricade would give Erik his opportunity to strike from behind and open the gate. “Let’s look around a little,” said Erik.
He crouched low and moved through the trees until he reached the clearing south of the highway. He gauged the distance to the gate at over a hundred yards, and counted a dozen low-burning campfires between his current position and the gate, and another score just the other side of the road. He felt Akee at his shoulder and whispered, “I expected more men here.”
“I as well. If we can get through the gate, this battle will be over quickly.”
He left unsaid what would be the result of not getting the gate open. Erik said, “I have an idea. Pass word that no man is to move when the alarm sounds. Tell them to wait until I signal you.”
“Where will you be?”
Erik pointed. “I’ll be somewhere out there.”
Erik wore his black uniform, but without his Crimson Eagle tabard. To any casual observer he might pass as a mercenary given to wearing black. Glancing at Akee, he noticed a blue band around the warrior’s brow. “Is that something I might borrow from you?” he asked, not knowing if it might have some sort of tribal significance.
Akee didn’t answer. He reached up and untied the band, then stepped behind Erik and tied the headband in place. Now Erik looked even less like a Kingdom regular.
Erik cautiously stepped out between two campfires, walking carefully so as not to wake sleeping men. Soft voices from the barricade told him the guards on duty were gossiping or telling stories to keep awake.
Erik reached the edge of the road and his manner changed. He walked briskly as if he was about important business. He moved boldly down the road and reached the gate. As he approached, he noted the construction of the gate. It was simple, but effective. The gates each had one large iron bracket affixed to them by huge iron bolts. Through those brackets, an oak bar had been passed, and that was braced in turn by long poles driven into the ground. It should be easy to knock aside the poles and run the bar out of the brackets, but it would take a sizable ram to knock it open from the other side.
“Hey!” he said, before he could be challenged. He kept his voice deep, hopefully disguising his accent as he spoke the invaders’ dialect.
“What?” asked the man in charge of the gate, a sergeant or Captain by the look of him.
“We’re just down from the North, and I’ve got to find whoever’s in charge.”
“Captain Rastav is over there,” said the man, pointing at a large tent barely visible in the predawn gloom. “What news?”
Erik growled, “Your name Rastav?”
“No,” said the man in return, bristling a bit.
“Then my message isn’t for you, is it?”
Erik turned and walked away before the man could respond. He made his way slowly but purposefully toward the command tent, then, just before approaching too closely, he veered away and walked between camps. Most of the men were sleeping; a few were rousing and stirring cooking fires, heading to nearby slit-trenches to relieve themselves, or already eating. He absently nodded or gave a slight wave of greeting to a few he passed, furthering the illusion he was a familiar figure known to someone in the camp; if not the person looking at him, perhaps the man across the way to whom he was waving.
Erik reached a particularly quiet camp where only one man stirred, one who was brewing up coffee by the smell of it. Crossing over, he said, “Have an extra cup to spare?”
The man looked up and nodded, motioning Erik over. Erik came over and knelt beside the warrior. “I’ve got a few minutes before I report to the gate, and can’t find a hot cup anywhere.”
“I know what you mean,” said the soldier, handing an earthen mug filled with the black hot liquid to Erik. “You with Gaja?”
Erik recognized the name, a captain he had heard of before, but he knew nothing about the man. “No,” said Erik, “we just got here. My captain is over there”—he indicated the command tent—”talking with Rastav, and I thought I’d sneak off and grab this.” He stood. “Thanks, I’ll bring back the mug when my duty’s over.”