LEOF WAITED IN the cold before dawn for the signal to attack, hidden in the trees, calming his horse with a pat now and then. The still water of the Lake hid nothing, as Lord Thegan had said. Leof was sure that his lord must be right. The tales were nothing more than Lake people subterfuge.
“Perhaps there is a tricksy spirit,” Thegan had told his men the night before. “Or perhaps the Lake People have some slight enchantment to call up illusions to frighten the cowardly. But remember, it is no more than illusion. It cannot be that the Lake has any real power.”
He was reassured remembering those words, spoken with the confidence which inspired others. It was no wonder his men had followed Thegan here to the Lake so willingly. They believed everything Thegan said: that the people of Baluchston were strangling trade between the Domains by charging exorbitant prices for ferrying goods and people across. And there was no real reason a bridge couldn’t be built, that Baluchston was just using old stories about the Lake so it could keep its monopoly. Old stories, and their mysterious alliance with the Lake People. An alliance which needed to be broken, so Baluchston could be taught a lesson.
The fact that, if Thegan took over Baluchston — a free town, for Swith’s sake! — he would hold the entire center of the Domains, from Cliff to Carlion’s borders, was never mentioned, but the men weren’t fools. They knew and they approved. Their lord should be the most powerful in the Domains. They were sure he deserved it, and so did they. His power would be their power, and they would swagger and bask in it.
Leof checked the horizon again, but there were only whispering reeds and, far off, the sky starting to pale as dawn approached.
Thistle moved restlessly and Leof murmured softly to her. A good horse, Thistle, though not a chaser. He had left his chaser mare, Arrow, back at the fort.
Thoughts of Arrow inevitably made him think about Bramble; about their first race against each other, he and Arrow against her and her roan gelding; about the night that followed in his bed at the inn. That led him to memories of losing her, and losing her twice, when he had set her free to find her own way out of Thegan’s territory, against the express orders of his lord. His unease over his disloyalty made Thistle shift beneath him, and he thought again of Arrow, burying memories of Bramble as deeply as he could.
When foot soldiers went against horsemen, they aimed to bring the horse down first, then deal with the rider. He had no mind to lose Arrow to a stray arrow or a spear thrust. His lord had scolded him about leaving her behind, but in that friendly, jovial way that meant he should not take it seriously. Leof had almost brought her, even so. Anything to show Thegan that he was loyal.
As though the thought had triggered it, the signal to advance rang out, a long horn call that echoed strangely through the pine trees. Leof urged Thistle forward, followed by the small squad of horsemen and the much larger group of archers and pikemen that Thegan had put under his command. Their task was simple: the horsemen were to secure the shore of the Lake so that the archers could shoot flaming arrows into the reeds. Then the whole troop would protect the area until the reeds had burned down to the waterline and the Lake was exposed. Thegan had placed bands all around the perimeter of the Lake, in both Central and Cliff Domains. His aim was to lay bare the secret lairs of the Lake People, the hidden islands where they were protected from attack. With the reed beds empty, Thegan would be able to see right across the Lake, into the heart of its mystery.
Leof gave his men hand signals, but they weren’t really needed. These were experienced men, at least half of them from the Cliff Domain, most of whom had fought with him on past campaigns. Thegan had mixed the Cliff men up with the Centralites, putting battle-hardened men side-by-side with those who had never fought, “to make sure no one panics when the arrows start flying,” he said, and Leof had nodded. That had been the moment when Thegan had forgiven him and started treating him again as a trusted officer. Thegan had smiled at him for the first time since he had stopped Thegan’s archer from shooting Bramble in the back as she escaped from Sendat and said, “Just as well I have experienced officers, too,” and clapped him on the back. The relief had been enormous.
Leof put the thought away from him and concentrated on getting this sortie right for his lord. The archers lined up a short distance back from the shoreline and set arrows to their bows. Broc, a boy barely old enough to fight, ran along the line with a blazing torch, setting each arrow alight, then stood well back from the horses so that none would be spooked by the flames.
Leof raised his hand and dropped it again, and the arrows flew, bright as shooting stars, into the air and onto the reed beds. It was a beautiful sight, the bright flame against the still-dark sky. They waited with all senses fully alert for response, waited for the reeds to catch, waited for the flames to rise, licking, into the sky.
At first it seemed that nothing was happening. The fire arrows burnt among the reeds, throwing writhing shadows over them. Then slowly, slowly, the reeds began to catch. Leof braced himself for the Lake’s response. Lord Thegan had warned him that they had to stand firm against illusion. He had warned his men likewise and they were ready.
A deep vibration came from the Lake and the still water between the reeds began to whisper as though it were a quickly moving current. Leof felt the ground shake beneath him. His horse reared and only his long experience in chasing allowed him to anticipate the movement and jump off safely. Thistle tore the reins from his hand and bolted. Behind him, the other horsemen were falling as their mounts reared and then raced away to the forest. The archers, confused, stepped back, away from the Lake. Then, from beyond the reeds, there was a rushing sound, loud, sibilant, like wind through trees, like breath through giant lungs. It was moving closer, and it was nothing human. The archers broke and fled into the trees, followed by the horsemen, some limping, leaving only Leof standing firm; and Broc, behind him, clutching his torch.
“What is it, lord?” he asked.
The sound grew too loud to make a reply. Illusion, Leof thought, to make us run away. I trust my lord. It’s only illusion. Before him, out of the darkness, roared a wave mounting higher than a house, higher than a tree, a hill of a wave that loomed above them. Broc screamed and ran, dropping the torch.
Illusion, Leof told himself, just before the wave hit.