"You forgot your armor."
Hrolf closed the door behind him—there were still patches of snow in the fields around Haraldholt and the wind was cold.
"I need armor?"
"Helm at least. My grandson's got a new toy."
Hrolf walked over to the bench on the other side of the fire, sat down, waited.
" 'Bjorn sweet-talked Niall's lady friend into showing him how to build a baby rock thrower. Cousins on the ropes. Damn near brained me this morning."
Asbjorn spoke from the floor beside his grandfather's chair.
"Not even close. Want to come see, Uncle?"
"Use snowballs. Less dangerous."
"They come apart."
As the day darkened, the hall filled—one end Asbjorn and his cousins playing an elaborate game of their own invention, the other end parents, grandparents, assorted relatives. Niall's voice rose above the general racket.
"He says it's forty feet long and twenty wide, all blue and gold with green fish."
Harald abandoned the attempt to make sense of what his grandchildren were doing and came over to the adult end of the fire.
"What is forty feet long and twenty wide, blue and gold with green fish?"
"The Prince's swimming pool, Father. Donal saw it."
"What was Donal doing in the Western Capital?"
"The Oasis, on his way back from visiting Bear clan—after a girl there."
"The Second Prince has a swimming pool at the Oasis? What do they put in it, sand?"
"Filling it with water for the Prince's visit."
"If they haven't filled it yet, how come there are fish? And how did they get them there?" The voice was Asbjorn from beside his grandfather's chair.
The game at the far end of the hall came to an abrupt end, its leader having defected; the players drifted back to the fire and their elders' conversation.
"The fish are tile work. Not just painted—Donal says they stand out a little from the wall. The whole thing is lined with colored tiles. Gold for the Empire, blue for the Prince's banner. Green for fish and seaweed. I want to see it."
"When was Donal there, how full was the pool, and how are they filling it?"
Niall stopped a moment to think.
"Saw him two days ago, down vale. Just come in, maybe six days from the Oasis? A couple of feet of water in the pool when he saw it. Filling it with the extra from the spring, their wells. And he saw a bunch of water wagons come in."
The door to the kitchen—a separate structure built onto the end of the hall—opened. Asbjorn led his cousins into it, back with steaming bowls, pitchers of beer, platters piled with bread. The inhabitants of Haraldholt settled down to the serious business of dinner.
Children off to bed, some of the adults as well, Harald drew his youngest son aside.
"Where is Donal now?"
"My guess, still guesting down vale. Foxes should be coming east in a week or so, no point his going west and back again. Invited him to come home; said he might. You think this is more than a swimming pool."
"Yes. Tomorrow, down to Valholt. Ask 'Liana which of the sisters knows rock throwers best. Both of them up here tomorrow; I'll explain. You head down vale, talk to Donal, bring him back with you."
The next morning, after Niall had set out, Harald found Asbjorn.
"Show me your new toy—from the right side, this time."
Four days later, when Niall came back with his foster brother, Harald and Asbjorn took them into the back pasture. Asbjorn's trebuchet stood four feet at the pivot, nearly ten with the throwing arm vertical.
"I call her Little Bird."
"Biggest bird I ever saw."
"Black Bird's bigger."
Harald's engine was nearly twice the size, its pivot well above even Donal's head.
Asbjorn demonstrated. The arm down, a rock in the sling attached to the end. Four of Harald's grandchildren caught hold of the ropes at the other end of the arm. At Asbjorn's command they pulled together. Their end went down, the long end of the arm up, the rock down range. Under Asbjorn's delighted instruction, the adults, joined by Hrolf, tried to duplicate the performance with the larger machine. The first rock went straight up; everyone scattered as it came down. By the fifth, they were going consistently in the right direction. Harald called a brief halt to stake out the target—a rectangle on the ground forty feet long by twenty wide—and specify rules. The rest of the day was spent throwing rocks.
In the kitchen, Gerda looked up from the fire.
"When did you take over the children's job?"
"Forfeit. They beat us fair and square."
Harald picked up the platter of bread, carried it out to his grandson.
The next morning, he called together Niall, Donal, and Aliana.
"One more day practicing, another packing. Then pick up Bergthora at Valholt—need at least one person who knows what she's doing, as 'Bjorn showed us yesterday. Donal to recruit clan brothers—at the eastern end of Fox range by then. Other three to the mine to load horses. Meet at the Northflood crossing. More practice there with the clan brothers—plenty of rocks, splashes to tell you where they're going."
He reached over the arm of his chair, caught firm hold of his grandson's tunic.
"And since you insist on coming to councils you are not invited to, I have an errand for you too. Message to Jonholt, top of Greenvale."
Asbjorn looked up, calculation in his eyes.
"I'll go now; where is it?"
An hour later, his grandson having vanished over a path better suited to a mountain goat, Harald found the other two, with several new recruits, throwing rocks.
"Take her apart, pack."
"I thought we had two more days."
"Pack this morning, out this afternoon. Time 'Bjorn gets back, long gone. Know a better way of keeping him from going with you, tell me. Do your practicing full team, river to throw into."
Three hours later Black Bird, disassembled and divided between two pack horses, was riding down vale—with Niall, Donal, and Aliana to keep her company.
Andros looked carefully around the deserted square, lit only by the lanterns of the legionary guards, took three quiet steps sideways towards the other guard, spoke from the side of his mouth in a hoarse whisper.
"What'd you do?"
"Last out this morning. You?"
"Captain said shield wasn't shiny. Getting awful picky. You'd almost think . . ."
"Buddy of mine, someone told him chest of gold in the pool; need an excuse for guards."
"Afraid someone will put a killer fish in, bite His Highness."
"How'd they get something that big?"
"Put in a baby. By the time they get the damn pool filled . . . what's that?"
"Drum? Tearing?"
"Behind us."
The two guards turned to face the covered pool. A second sound of ripping cloth. One of them reached back for his lantern, held it up.
"Idiots laced the cover too tight—it's splitting."
Something struck the center of the canvas cover, making it billow out. Another ripping sound. The guards stared, frozen. Again.
"Get the officer; I'll stay."
By the time the officer of the watch arrived, the canvas cover was in tatters. He stared wide eyed at the splash as something fell into the pool. Another. Another.
"Attacking us, sir. Engines. Sound the alarm? Sir."
Fifty yards the other side of the wall that guarded the fortified oasis, the Lady Bergthora spoke in a low voice to her team.
"Pull."
The five men tugged down on the harness attached to the short end of the throwing arm. The long end came up, the sling flung its ten-pound load high.
"Up."
Harness up, arm down, another lump in the sling.
"Pull."
From the gate around the corner of the wall, voices. Someone was raising a lantern on a pole to illuminate the space beyond the gate. More voices, yells from the wall:
"Arrows. 'Ware arrows."
The lantern went out. Voices, running feet. Along the wall figures moving.
The piles on either side of the trebuchet were gone. Black Bird's team, white as ghosts, looked around. Bergthora brushed salt off her tunic, the men, bare to the waist, off their skin. Donal put two fingers in his mouth, whistled. By the time the engine was reduced to a pile of pieces the horses had arrived to be loaded. A few minutes later the rest of the clan brothers, already mounted, joined them.
"Front gate tight; must think we're an army."
"Time to go."
They went.
Three days later, sixty miles north, a column of tired riders cautiously approached the cluster of tents around a well, men, horses. From the lead rider's lance a fox pennon. Donal's uncle, as senior member of the party, spoke for all.
"No feud, No foe
Friendship
Grace ask
of guest peace."
A graybeard, bear clan tattoo on his chest, came forward:
"No ill done to,
No ill doing,
Our water drink, our well draw
Three nights, three days."
He handed the lead rider a horn cup. Donal took a sip of the water, passed it to his uncle. Niall, at the end of the line, emptied the cup, rode forward to return it.
The formalities over, the Fox clan riders dismounted, saw to their horses. Their hosts eyed the string of unloaded pack horses, politely said nothing about the blood-stained cloth wrapping the arm of one of their guests.
Around the fire that night, conversation drifted gradually towards their presence far north of their own territory. Donal muttered something about more guards than they expected; his uncle glared at him, cut into the conversation:
"An unprofitable trip, save for the pleasure of guesting with you. Maybe better luck later. Any problems, foreigners, Ravens, not your folk. Eagle territory anyway."
The next morning they set off again, headed for another well a day's travel south and west. Once out of sight of their hosts, Donal and Niall moved forward until they were riding beside Maelsach. The older man turned to Niall.
"Too much last night?"
"Kept offering; guest's duty to drink. Talk too. I did. Wagons full of Empire's gold—or something else worth six hands of Ravens to guard. They wanted to know more, told them if there'd been fewer guards I'd know more. Only thing I'm sure they were carrying was arrows. Lot of guards for a caravan of arrows.
"Didn't see my brother." He turned to look at Donal.
"Better than drinking. Pretty lady asks questions, what can I do? Didn't know for sure what they were carrying. Had our guesses. Take more men than we had to find out."