plunged into the water and wrestled it to shore. On the shore of the sandbar, they cut it into sections and laboriously tied the pieces together, using the longest willow branches they could find. Keshlik barked orders up and down the line of warriors, trying to teach them the knots he had learned as a boy, trying to get them to remember that the willow branches would not bend infinitely, and listening to their grumbling at being made to tend trees and do slave work.
More warriors arrived from different tribes. As other tribes’ warriors arrived, riding single-file across the curves of the landscape, Keshlik set them felling more trees, weaving, scouting, and hunting. The copse of cottonwoods grew full of the bedrolls of the Yakhat.
It took two days to finish the first raft, and once it was completed, a brave, terrified pair of warriors poled the raft across the river, carrying their only length of rope that was long enough to reach all the way across the river. Once across, it was easy enough to affix the rope to trees on opposite sides of the shore and pull the laden raft from one side to the other. Keshlik sent a few scouts across to explore the south side of the river and set the rest of the men making a second raft. The men seemed to think themselves experts by this time, and the second raft was completed only one day later. And with the pair of rafts ready, the ferrying began.
Another full day passed as they did nothing but ferry warriors and their horses from one side to the other, one raft crossing while the other returned. The camp began to take shape on the far bank of the river, though the warriors’ behavior was more nervous and circumspect once they passed to the side of the river where the Prasei still roamed. Keshlik made them sleep without fires and posted sentries far from the camp, to give them plenty of warning should someone approach.
The next day dawned on thousands on both shores, an army anxious to be done with river-work and back atop their horses in the fight. The third day of ferrying passed, then Keshlik called for a halt.
Bhaalit remained with a quarter of the gathered tribes on the north shore. He and Keshlik shared a few words before parting. Juyut was waiting for Keshlik when he crossed the river with Lashkat. The two of them were the last to use the raft.
“I hope this means we’re done with this ridiculous river-work,” Juyut said. “This isn’t what Golgoyat called us to.”
Keshlik patted him on the shoulder. “Golgoyat gave you a head, too. It doesn’t do any of us a lick of good to go charging into the strongest defense.”
Juyut grunted. “We could have made it.”
“Then next time I’ll let you try it alone.” He looked ahead to the west. “But for now, we ride straight to the city.”
Dawn. The grass was dewy around their horses’ ankles, the air heavy with the threat of rain. Ribbons of mist wound around the trunks of trees and slipped through the ravines.
The cool air kept the horses alert. The men atop them were taut with nervous energy, like coils of twisted rope ready to lash out. Keshlik was glad for it. He had wound them up carefully over the past two days, moving them quickly, as quietly as three thousand horsemen could move, through the wooded wild on the south shore of the river. Last night he had not slept. He’d spent the night in contemplation and mental preparation, and he had roused the men before dawn. They streaked their faces with lines of black and red, their energy threatening to boil over. Keshlik rode the perimeter of the camp, keeping quiet. The war band’s fury mustn’t peak too soon. There were still two hours to ride.
The sun had breached the horizon in the east, drawing deep shadows of purple across the stripes of milky mist. Two miles ahead of them lay a cluster of small lodges, as described by their scouts, beyond which rose walls of pine broken up by larger and larger dwellings, until at last the city lay before them entire. A
More warriors arrived from different tribes. As other tribes’ warriors arrived, riding single-file across the curves of the landscape, Keshlik set them felling more trees, weaving, scouting, and hunting. The copse of cottonwoods grew full of the bedrolls of the Yakhat.
It took two days to finish the first raft, and once it was completed, a brave, terrified pair of warriors poled the raft across the river, carrying their only length of rope that was long enough to reach all the way across the river. Once across, it was easy enough to affix the rope to trees on opposite sides of the shore and pull the laden raft from one side to the other. Keshlik sent a few scouts across to explore the south side of the river and set the rest of the men making a second raft. The men seemed to think themselves experts by this time, and the second raft was completed only one day later. And with the pair of rafts ready, the ferrying began.
Another full day passed as they did nothing but ferry warriors and their horses from one side to the other, one raft crossing while the other returned. The camp began to take shape on the far bank of the river, though the warriors’ behavior was more nervous and circumspect once they passed to the side of the river where the Prasei still roamed. Keshlik made them sleep without fires and posted sentries far from the camp, to give them plenty of warning should someone approach.
The next day dawned on thousands on both shores, an army anxious to be done with river-work and back atop their horses in the fight. The third day of ferrying passed, then Keshlik called for a halt.
Bhaalit remained with a quarter of the gathered tribes on the north shore. He and Keshlik shared a few words before parting. Juyut was waiting for Keshlik when he crossed the river with Lashkat. The two of them were the last to use the raft.
“I hope this means we’re done with this ridiculous river-work,” Juyut said. “This isn’t what Golgoyat called us to.”
Keshlik patted him on the shoulder. “Golgoyat gave you a head, too. It doesn’t do any of us a lick of good to go charging into the strongest defense.”
Juyut grunted. “We could have made it.”
“Then next time I’ll let you try it alone.” He looked ahead to the west. “But for now, we ride straight to the city.”
Dawn. The grass was dewy around their horses’ ankles, the air heavy with the threat of rain. Ribbons of mist wound around the trunks of trees and slipped through the ravines.
The cool air kept the horses alert. The men atop them were taut with nervous energy, like coils of twisted rope ready to lash out. Keshlik was glad for it. He had wound them up carefully over the past two days, moving them quickly, as quietly as three thousand horsemen could move, through the wooded wild on the south shore of the river. Last night he had not slept. He’d spent the night in contemplation and mental preparation, and he had roused the men before dawn. They streaked their faces with lines of black and red, their energy threatening to boil over. Keshlik rode the perimeter of the camp, keeping quiet. The war band’s fury mustn’t peak too soon. There were still two hours to ride.
The sun had breached the horizon in the east, drawing deep shadows of purple across the stripes of milky mist. Two miles ahead of them lay a cluster of small lodges, as described by their scouts, beyond which rose walls of pine broken up by larger and larger dwellings, until at last the city lay before them entire. A
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