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Are there real ghosts here? I asked myself many times that morning. More and more, I was starting to believe that the answer was probably yes. Vara's voice seemed to be too real to be simply my imagination.
It was almost noon before the Etevar arrived with his personal guard and the bulk of his army-the infantry. My pulse picked up while the armies went through the motions to set up battle lines-movements that appeared to be a lot slower than they really were. It was almost a ballet, a dance of death. Our people stayed close enough to the castle to justify the defenders leaving the drawbridge raised. My danger sense started going full blast-and I could see thousands of reasons.
Then the armies seemed to become static for a few minutes, with just minor movements behind the front lines on both sides-like two immense football teams waiting for the opening kick-off. Our army surged forward toward the Dorthinis. Baron Resler was in charge down there on the "field," pending my arrival. The fighting-the bleeding and dying-started in earnest. There would be no whistles blowing to stop this warfare every few seconds, no flags thrown for unsportsmanlike conduct.
I was above the battle, if only in a strictly physical sense. In the first minutes, I could see the entire field clearly. It wasn't like moving markers on a sand table to recreate a battle. There was no mistaking this for a movie war either. I didn't have any trouble remembering that this was real. There was the flash of sunlight off blades. Dust rose from thousands of feet and hooves, gradually obscuring the view. There was blood-gallons of bright red blood-all over. There was screaming.
And there was death.
"The Heroes of Varay are waiting for me to join them," I told Parthet without taking my eyes off the battle.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, grabbing my arm, turning me toward him.
I told him about the dream, briefly, and kept looking back down at the battle. The two of us were alone on the parapets of Castle Thyme for the moment. My other companions had joined our reserves, all cavalry, in the courtyard. The men stood by their horses, keeping them as quiet as possible, crowded in between the walls. My horse, Gold, was down there too. Timon was holding him for me-as close as the boy was going to get to any fighting. I hoped.
"Don't let the dream get to you, lad," Parthet said when I finished my narrative. "Dreams can't be trusted."
"I'm not sure it was only dream," I told him.
"Best put it aside like a dream, lad," he said.
I shrugged and concentrated on the battle. I couldn't put the dream aside that easily.
"I hope you've got a few tricks up your sleeve," I told Parthet as the time for my sortie approached.
"I can make a show, lad. There, you see the Etevar?" Parthet pointed into the mass of men south and just barely east of the castle, at a pe
I saw the men Parthet was talking about, but they were too far off in the rising dust of the battlefield for me to see any details of their appearance. Tall, dressed completely in black, and riding black horses. And, new glasses or not, Parthet could hardly have made out any more.
The Varayan army started to give ground slowly and in good order, luring the Dorthinis on, making sure that the Dorthinis paid a price for every inch, and making sure that there were no inviting gaps in the Varayan line. The last of the Dorthini army moved west of the castle, following their prey. At any minute, a royal messenger might ride up to the gate and demand entrance. It was time for my act. I hugged Parthet before I went down to my horse and my troop.
"Take care, Uncle," I told him. "We don't want to waste all those new eyeglasses."
"And you, lad." Parthet gri
Easier said than done.
The sixty-odd members of my troop mounted up when they saw me coming down to the courtyard. I climbed on Gold and waved at Parthet. Once we left the castle, he would be in an exposed position. We weren't going to leave many people with him-just Timon to run my pe
The battlefield didn't look like any I have ever seen in the movies or in my mind. There was no colorful medieval pageantry, no bright tunics and pe
We trotted toward the center of the Dorthini line. They didn't react to our approach at once. They must have assumed that we were their comrades, eager for a taste of the anticipated slaughter. That was what they were supposed to assume. It was the whole point of the charade. Then there was a commotion in the knot of warriors around the Etevar and his wizard. I could make a shrewd guess at what had them stirring. Someone who didn't have to take his boots off to count past ten had figured out that too many of us had come out of the castle, more men than the Dorthinis had quartered there. Or maybe someone had spotted my elf sword. I hadn't drawn it yet, but I did then, and extended my arm to point the blade at the Etevar. That was the signal for my troop to charge, and for our main force to stop their slow withdrawal and push forward again.
That eerie tune started to come out of my mouth again, the same tune that the elf sword had drawn from me every time I used it, but louder and more intricate than ever. I led my sixty people directly toward the Etevar. He had been commanding his army from just behind the center of the battle line.
Urging our horses to a gallop once the Dorthinis figured out that we were Varayan, I hoped to reach the Etevar's tight little group before any other Dorthini contingents could interpose themselves. I figured that if I could get rid of the Etevar in a hurry, that would stop the battle. It didn't work, though. Dorthini troops seemed to flow into the space in front of us as easily as marchers on a drill field, and once the fighting started on our side of the main battle, our progress slowed to almost nothing. I kept pressing toward the Etevar but couldn't get any closer.
Even though I didn't manage the shortcut to end the fight quickly, our rear attack did surprise the Dorthinis. Homer's Trojan Horse was still a workable concept. Trying to face threats on both sides of the line sapped the effectiveness of the Dorthinis to a greater degree than I would have dared hope. The confusion was something. Although our sortie didn't significantly alter the immense manpower advantage the Dorthinis had, the time they lost regrouping to protect the Etevar from my band stopped their advance to the west and let our main force take the offensive. Then we sprang one more surprise. Baron Dieth brought his cavalry in from the north, another 150 men, putting pressure on the Dorthinis from three sides.
It wasn't easy to fight my own battles and try to keep track of the fray as a whole at the same time. My first priority had to be to keep myself from being folded, spindled, or mutilated. Or anything else. I seemed to have Vara and my father at my side, more as vultures than as protectors, waiting to collect me when I fell. I hoped that it was just combat jitters, but I was having trouble believing that.