Read Online Forging the Sword (The Farsala Trilogy) by Hilari Bell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hilari Bell
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testing with astonishment.
“Grandfather,” he said, “you have given us a priceless gift. With these swords, surely we can defeat the Hrum.”
“The swords will help, no doubt, no doubt,” said the smith. “But to defeat the Hrum there are three things you must do—which I will tell you, if you will listen to the wisdom of a feeble old man.”
CHAPTER FOUR
J IAAN
O N THE EVENING of their fifth day in the desert, the Hrum finally shed the last of their armor. The Farsalans had started shedding their silk-padded armor on the first day, along with their vests and everything else they could shed without exposing too much skin to the burning sun. It was the end of Bear, but a warm wind was sweeping over the mountains and the sun beat down. Jiaan would have sworn it was as hot as midsummer, but he’d been in this desert in the summer several times last year, arranging with the Suud to use their territory for a hidden base, and there had been times when he’d thought the sun would roast him alive. These autumn days—which Jiaan suspected would be pleasantly cool on the other side of the mountains—were merely hot.
But heat is hard to deal with when you’ve wearing a steel breastplate and helmet. Especially if you’ve spent the last five days marching through a rocky maze after phantoms.
It was Jiaan’s Suud advisors who had suggested the trick, though “advisors” was perhaps too grand a title for the dozens of young men and teenage boys who had shown up to get a look at the Hrum.
When Jiaan had first negotiated with Maok and the clan council, he had asked for Suud guides and advisors to be provided for him, and he hadn’t understood why Maok laughed. He understood now—the Farsalans and their Hrum pursuers were evidently the best entertainment the Suud had encountered in years. Jesters, to judge by their laughter. Most of the time Jiaan wished he could understand what the Suud were saying, but there were also times he was just as glad he didn’t. And he was especially glad that Fasal couldn’t understand them either.
When Fasal and some of the other men complained about being the butt of the Suud’s jokes, Jiaan pointed out that, no matter how hard they laughed, the Suud’s advice was good. The Suud were the ones who’d pointed out to him that although a determined man could walk down a horseman, walking down an unburdened horse was far harder. And walking down horses that have a chance to rest is completely impossible.
The Farsalans had spent their first five days in the desert onrotation: A quarter of their troops, with a handful of Suud guides, would lead half their chargers through the twisting maze of the badlands while three quarters of their troops and the other half of the horses rested to go out the next day.
By now the Hrum were hot, tired, and disgruntled, and the Farsalans, though also hot, were fresh and rested.
Perhaps that was why the Hrum commander had stopped early to make camp in a long, shallow valley between two steep ridges. It wasn’t a bad place to camp, Jiaan conceded. There was shade from the large boulders on one side, and a small stream down the center provided water to drink and allowed the men to wash and cool down.
No,
Jiaan thought critically,
given what he knows, that ravine isn’t a bad choice at all
. Of course, the Hrum commander didn’t know everything.
Jiaan looked for the commander. In days of spying on the Hrum, both at march and at rest, he had long since learned to identify the man’s lean, serious face. But even if he hadn’t known what he looked like, Jiaan would have been able to pick the commander out in the crowd—he was the only man still in armor, though even he had unbuckled his breastplate and taken off his helmet. And why not? They’d been in the desert for five days, and all the Farsalans had done was run away.
Jiaan wished he remembered the man’s name. The peddler hadmentioned it when he warned Jiaan that the Hrum had assigned a
“Grandfather,” he said, “you have given us a priceless gift. With these swords, surely we can defeat the Hrum.”
“The swords will help, no doubt, no doubt,” said the smith. “But to defeat the Hrum there are three things you must do—which I will tell you, if you will listen to the wisdom of a feeble old man.”
CHAPTER FOUR
J IAAN
O N THE EVENING of their fifth day in the desert, the Hrum finally shed the last of their armor. The Farsalans had started shedding their silk-padded armor on the first day, along with their vests and everything else they could shed without exposing too much skin to the burning sun. It was the end of Bear, but a warm wind was sweeping over the mountains and the sun beat down. Jiaan would have sworn it was as hot as midsummer, but he’d been in this desert in the summer several times last year, arranging with the Suud to use their territory for a hidden base, and there had been times when he’d thought the sun would roast him alive. These autumn days—which Jiaan suspected would be pleasantly cool on the other side of the mountains—were merely hot.
But heat is hard to deal with when you’ve wearing a steel breastplate and helmet. Especially if you’ve spent the last five days marching through a rocky maze after phantoms.
It was Jiaan’s Suud advisors who had suggested the trick, though “advisors” was perhaps too grand a title for the dozens of young men and teenage boys who had shown up to get a look at the Hrum.
When Jiaan had first negotiated with Maok and the clan council, he had asked for Suud guides and advisors to be provided for him, and he hadn’t understood why Maok laughed. He understood now—the Farsalans and their Hrum pursuers were evidently the best entertainment the Suud had encountered in years. Jesters, to judge by their laughter. Most of the time Jiaan wished he could understand what the Suud were saying, but there were also times he was just as glad he didn’t. And he was especially glad that Fasal couldn’t understand them either.
When Fasal and some of the other men complained about being the butt of the Suud’s jokes, Jiaan pointed out that, no matter how hard they laughed, the Suud’s advice was good. The Suud were the ones who’d pointed out to him that although a determined man could walk down a horseman, walking down an unburdened horse was far harder. And walking down horses that have a chance to rest is completely impossible.
The Farsalans had spent their first five days in the desert onrotation: A quarter of their troops, with a handful of Suud guides, would lead half their chargers through the twisting maze of the badlands while three quarters of their troops and the other half of the horses rested to go out the next day.
By now the Hrum were hot, tired, and disgruntled, and the Farsalans, though also hot, were fresh and rested.
Perhaps that was why the Hrum commander had stopped early to make camp in a long, shallow valley between two steep ridges. It wasn’t a bad place to camp, Jiaan conceded. There was shade from the large boulders on one side, and a small stream down the center provided water to drink and allowed the men to wash and cool down.
No,
Jiaan thought critically,
given what he knows, that ravine isn’t a bad choice at all
. Of course, the Hrum commander didn’t know everything.
Jiaan looked for the commander. In days of spying on the Hrum, both at march and at rest, he had long since learned to identify the man’s lean, serious face. But even if he hadn’t known what he looked like, Jiaan would have been able to pick the commander out in the crowd—he was the only man still in armor, though even he had unbuckled his breastplate and taken off his helmet. And why not? They’d been in the desert for five days, and all the Farsalans had done was run away.
Jiaan wished he remembered the man’s name. The peddler hadmentioned it when he warned Jiaan that the Hrum had assigned a
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