“Let go on the hold-downs!” shouted Walinski. The two archers let go and stepped back, while the balloon rose freely into the afternoon air. Murphy let the rope run through the blocks mounted on the wagon until the hundred-foot mark passed, then snubbed it around the cleat by the driver’s seat. The balloon was now high enough to be visible from the next village, but low enough to be controllable.
“Think she’ll stay up long enough?” Walinski asked.
“Yeah, if we give the pitch fast,” Murphy said. “We’re getting good at the spiel. Sure is hot, though.”
“Compressive heating,” Walinski said.
“Which?” And where in hell did Ski learn words like that?
“They called it compressive heating back in Los Angeles,” Walinski said. “A special wind, a Santa Ana. Hotter’n hell, even in winter. And dry. Real dry. That’s what this is, I think. Comes down off those high deserts. As it comes down lower it compresses, just like the Santa Ana in L.A.”
“Well, it sure makes it hot enough,” Murphy said. Winter had been wet in Drantos. Lots of snow in the east, not so much in the west. And nowhere near as cold as the locals expected, meaning the whole damn planet was heating up right on schedule as the rogue star came closer.
Murphy pulled off his jacket and pulled his wizard’s robe out from under the seat. “Hey Lafe, better wake up. Duty time.”
Reznick sat up sleepily. “Anything special about this village, Ski?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Same here,” Murphy said. “The standard routine.” He could damned near do that in his sleep by now. Take the wagon in. Use the balloon to get everybody’s attention, and show the wizards’ mighty power, then bring it down. Demonstrate magic, and let the deacons and acolytes of Yatar show the local clergy about sanitation. Make holy water by literally boiling the hell out of it! Ask about madweed. Do the crop survey—what was planted and how it grew. Tell ‘em about the new plows, and show the blacksmith how to make one. Have Lafe put on his weapons show, a demonstration of star weapons so they’d know what they’d face if they ever revolted against their rightful lord the Eqeta of Chelm. And—
“Some new orders come by messenger this morning while you both was still in the sack,” Walinski said. “Find out about the Westmen.”
“More been spotted?” Reznick asked.
“They didn’t tell me nothing. Just orders.”
Murphy sighed. If he’d been awake, he could have questioned the messenger. Fat chance Ski would ever think of doing that. Ski could fight, but he wasn’t much for questions. Wasn’t much for brains, for that matter. But he had seniority over Ben Murphy, because he’d stayed with Parsons and came over to Captain Galloway with Elliot. He hadn’t gone south and set up on his own.
Can’t win ‘em all, Murphy thought. And Ski don’t give me much trouble, ‘cept when he’s drunk, and at least he knows it when he is. I’ve had worse bosses.
He could remember better bosses, too. His luck had been strange, these past few years. Strange, but better than it used to be. There’d been a time when he had no luck at all. It was because of that time that he was on Tran, ten light years from home, calling himself Ben Murphy and playing wizard to the heathen, instead of following his father’s trade under the name his father gave him. Now at least things weren’t all running against him.
He pulled on his robe, then picked up his assault rifle and kept watch while Walinski and Reznick put on their wizard suits. Walinski’s was by far the fanciest, since he was supposed to be the master wizard and Murphy and Reznick his journeymen, with the acolytes of Yatar to help them.
Walinski had just finished dressing when Agikon, the senior acolyte, shouted in alarm and pointed upward. The balloon was wobbling alarmingly on the end of the rope.
“Wind?” Murphy called.
“Wind, hell!” Ski shouted. “Look!”
A flight of arrows leaped out of the woods to the left of the road. Two hit, and the balloon wobbled again.
Walinski unslung his battle rifle.
“What’s to shoot?” Murphy demanded. “Probably some local kids. I’m surprised nobody took a shot at it before.”
“Maybe. That was good shootin’,” Ski said.
“Uh.” Come to that, it was good shooting. About as good as Tamerthan archers, and they were the best on Tran. “Ski, I don’t like this. Let’s laager the wagons out in the open field. Just in case.”
“Well—”
Murphy didn’t wait. He turned his wagon sharply and stood up, bringing his hands together over his head. He repeated the signal, then whipped up the horses. Lafe Reznick looked puzzled for a moment, then jumped down and ran back to the next wagon to urge its driver along.
“Gonna feel stupid,” Ski muttered. “But we hafta patch the balloon anyway.”
That was for sure. The balloon was losing altitude fast. Murphy looked back. The other carts were following, closing up as Ben sent his in a circular track. He was halfway into the field, the laager not yet formed, when he hit a soft patch of mud. The wagon stuck fast.
“Holy shit, that’s all we needed,” Ski said. “We’ll have to patch the balloon just to lift us out of the mud.” He looked at Murphy. What did you get us into now?
Murphy swore. He was about to jump down from the cart when a flight of arrows fell around them. Walinski screamed and reeled against the cart with an arrow sticking out of his face. One of the acolytes fell with an arrow in his chest. The horses were untouched.
There was another flight of arrows. The Drantos Guards archers yelled and brought up their crossbows. Walinski was screaming his head off, clawing at the arrow in his face. He’d dropped his rifle. Murphy threw himself down into the wagon box and peeked over the edge, his rifle ready.
“What the hell do we do?” Reznick shouted.
“How the hell should I know?” Ben answered. There weren’t any targets. Murphy squinted, estimating the distance to the trees. Two hundred meters, near enough. He whistled. “That was long bow shot!” he shouted. “Even for Tamaerthans!”
“Damn straight!” Reznick answered.
Murphy thought about the implications. One of Captain Galloway’s high cards were those Tamaerthan archers. Used in connection with other troops they could be devastating, because they outranged everyone else. Drantos crossbows could carry about as far as Tamaerthan longbows, but they were slow to load, and nobody in Drantos really believed in long-range archery. Tamaerthan archers loved long-distance shooting. But those weren’t Tamaerthan troopers out there, so who were they?
More arrows fell. By now everyone was behind a wagon or under cover, and nobody else was hit. Curious, Murphy thought. The horses and oxen pulling the carts hadn’t been touched. Not even Reznick’s centaur. Dobbin was cowering behind Lafe’s wagon, whimpering the way the animals did when something threatened them and they couldn’t fight or run away.
About my own situation. Can’t fight and can’t run. Things were quiet now, but-”It’s a horse raid,” Ben called.
“Yeah, that’s what I figure,” Lafe answered. “Somebody wants them beasts alive.”
Murphy strained to see into the forest, but there was nothing visible. “Hell, maybe we ought to let ‘em have ‘em.”
“Not Dobbin, they don’t.”
“Probably don’t want him. Just want the horses and oxen. Probably too smart to want a centaur,” Murphy said.
“Now you lay off,” Reznick said. “But we better do something here. Want me to look at Ski?”
“Yeah, in a minute. You stay down just now, first things first. Move them carts! Murphy shouted. “Go around me! Laager those damn wagons!” Just because the lead wagon couldn’t move didn’t mean they couldn’t make a wagon laager. Murphy nodded in satisfaction. Agikon had caught on, and was bringing up the other carts. At least they’d have some cover—
A dozen light cavalrymen burst from the woods. They rode crouched low against their mounts, most of their bodies invisible behind their horses. They didn’t look like anyone Murphy had ever seen.
“Westmen!” one of the acolytes shouted.
Murphy snapped down the battle rifle’s bipod and rested the legs on the wagon seat. Ski was still screaming, but Murphy put that out of his mind along with everything else except his sight picture. Aim for the rider, but low enough to hit the mount if you miss. Get a good sight picture. Squeeze off a round. The first rider fell. Ben shifted targets. On the second shot both horse and rider went down. The rider leaped free, but Lafe Reznick’s burst took him in the chest. Ben looked up long enough to wave thanks.
Shift aim again. Keep it smooth. Another down. Three shots for the fourth. Don’t rush it! Concentrate. New sight picture—
The nearest enemy was no more than twenty meters away when Murphy shot him off his horse. Then, suddenly, the Westmen were riding back toward the woods. Murphy picked off one more rider, and a last one seemed to fall out of the saddle in sheer surprise.