“Farther,” Longbow called back.
“This is silly!” Hammer shouted as he walked on down the beach.
“Do you think that might be far enough to persuade them?” Longbow asked Rabbit.
“If you can hit it from here, I don’t think we’ll get any more arguments about this.”
“Let’s find out,” Longbow agreed, drawing his bow.
“Aren’t you going to tell him to lean it up against a log or something?”
“I can see it well enough where it is,” Longbow replied, loosing his iron-tipped arrow.
The long, slender bow sang, and the arrow arched up and over the sandy beach. Then it began its descent.
The clamshell shattered into a thousand pieces when Longbow’s arrow smashed it out of Hammer’s hand.
Hammer danced around, swearing and shaking his hand. “You almost tore my fingers off!” he shouted.
“You were holding it too tight,” Longbow called. “Should we break up more shells, or would you rather make arrowheads?”
Things went more smoothly after that. The ironsmiths of Sorgan’s fleet hammered out arrowheads by the score, and the Dhralls of Lattash brought bundles of slender shafts. Soon there were dozens of arrows stacked in neat piles near the front of Zelana’s cave. Rabbit felt a real sense of accomplishment as the sun settled slowly in the west.
The work proceeded rapidly for the next several days, and then the weather turned sour again, with rain along the coast and more snow up in the mountains. Rabbit had to suspend operations while the Dhralls of Lattash erected well-roofed sheds over the anvils and forges to keep the rain from putting out the fires.
It had been raining for three days, and the sheds were still under construction when Eleria came out of the cave and walked down to where Rabbit was sourly looking up at the murky sky. “How much longer are we going to have to put up with all this rain, baby sister?” he asked her.
“As long as the Beloved thinks we need it, Bunny,” she replied. “I need a hug,” she said then, holding her arms out to him. “Everybody’s so busy that they don’t have time for me anymore.”
Rabbit embraced her, and she kissed him soundly. “That’s better,” she said with a sunny smile. “Don’t say bad things about the rain, Bunny. It’s rain here, but it’s snow up there in the mountains. The bad people can’t move when it’s snowing. Are you busy right now? The Beloved wants you to go fetch Hook-Big. There’s somebody coming that she wants him to meet.”
“I’ll go get him,” Rabbit agreed, and he turned and went on down the rain-swept beach to find somebody who could paddle a canoe without tipping it over.
Red-Beard wasn’t doing much except watching the rain, so he agreed to paddle Rabbit out to the
Seagull.
Sorgan was in his cabin, sourly looking out at the dismal rain. “This is the soggiest place in the whole world,” he growled as Rabbit joined him.
“It’s that time of year, Cap’n,” Rabbit reminded him. “Lady Zelana wants you to meet somebody in her cave.”
“Can’t she bring him out here?”
“I suppose I could go ask her, Cap’n, but I don’t think you’d like her answer very much.”
Sorgan sighed and pulled on his heavy fur cape. Rabbit smiled, being careful not to let it show. His position on board the
Seagull
had noticeably changed over the past few weeks. Captain Hook-Beak, Ox, and Ham-Hand no longer ignored him or treated him like some feebleminded errand boy. His position as Longbow’s assistant that night back in Kweta had rather quickly changed everybody’s opinion of him.
Rabbit was of two minds about that. His new status definitely boosted his ego, but he was certain that he’d no longer be able to slip back into his previous anonymity. Whether he liked it or not, he did have a certain prominence now.
Captain Hook-Beak led the way out of his cabin to join Red-Beard on the rain-swept deck. “Does it rain like this every year?” Sorgan asked the leather-clad Red-Beard as they climbed down into the canoe.
“It’s not unusual,” Red-Beard replied. “It isn’t cold enough to snow here on the coast, but the snow’s really piling up in the mountains above us. That’s not really a bad thing, you know. The enemy can’t attack through deep snow.”
“There’s that, I suppose,” Sorgan conceded grudgingly. “Just who is it Lady Zelana wants me to meet, Rabbit?”
“Eleria didn’t say, Cap’n. Maybe Lady Zelana wants to surprise you.”
“I can live without too many surprises,” Sorgan grumbled.
Red-Beard smoothly beached his canoe not far from the mouth of Zelana’s cave. There was an odd-looking boat anchored near the beach some distance on to the south. Rabbit was almost positive that it hadn’t been there when Eleria had come out of the cave to tell him what Zelana wanted. “What kind of tub’s that, Cap’n?” Rabbit asked.
“I think it’s what they call a fishing sloop, Rabbit,” Sorgan replied. “People on to the south of Maag have lots of them out on the water at certain times of the year when the fish are running. I’m not all that fond of dried fish myself, but Southerners seem to like them.”
The three of them pulled Red-Beard’s canoe above the high-water mark and then went on up the hill to the rickety-looking hut that concealed the mouth of Zelana’s cave. Longbow, Chief White-Braid, and Chief Old-Bear were waiting for them, and they led the way on into the cave.
“Ah, there you are, Sorgan,” Zelana said. “Now we can get started. You’ve already met my brother Veltan. The antique over there is our older brother, Dahlaine, and the overdressed lady is my big sister, Aracia. They’ve come to watch you destroy the invading force.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint them, Lady Zelana,” Hook-Beak said. Then he looked inquiringly at the stranger standing beside Zelana’s brother Veltan. The man had dark hair touched with silver at the temples, and he wore tight-fitting, glossy black leather clothing. His upper body was encased in a sort of iron vest, and he had a rounded iron helmet under one arm. There was a sheathed sword belted to his waist, and it reached almost down to his ankles. The hilt of the sword was quite heavy and long, suggesting that it was commonly wielded with both hands.
“This is Commander Narasan of the Trogite Empire, Captain Hook-Beak,” Veltan introduced the soldier. “He’s bringing a sizeable force here to aid you during the current unpleasantness.”
“Captain,” the Trogite said with a brief nod.
“Commander,” Sorgan responded, also nodding. Then he straightened. “I guess we’d better get this right out in the open,” he said. “Up until a little while ago I made my living robbing Trogite treasure ships, and I was very good at it. Lady Zelana persuaded me that I could earn much more gold if I gathered up a fleet and came here to fight this war for her. I know that it seems unnatural, but that puts you and me on the same side, and Maags and Trogites have never gotten along very well. Is this going to give you any kind of problems?”
“I’m a soldier, Captain Hook-Beak,” the Trogite replied, “but I fight wars for gold, not for patriotism. I’ve fought wars against men I’ve called friends beside people I didn’t like in the past. Then too, I don’t really have much use for the greedy Trogites who swindle the natives of Shaan. Those poor savages don’t even realize what gold’s worth, so they’re willing to trade it for worthless trinkets. Rob as many of those swindlers as you want to, Hook-Beak. It doesn’t hurt my feelings in the slightest. There’s plenty of gold here in the Land of Dhrall, and we’ll earn every ounce we get by fighting this war. We won’t cheat each other, and we won’t cheat the people who pay us.”
“We’ll get along fine, then,” Sorgan said with a faint smile. “I haven’t seen the enemy myself, but the Dhralls tell me that I’m probably going to be seriously outnumbered when the snow melts and the enemy comes down through that river valley. How many men can you bring here, and how long do you think it’ll take them to get here?”
“I have twenty thousand or so men on the way, Sorgan. They should be here in a week or so.”
“I can probably hold out at least that long,” Sorgan assured him. “I sent my cousin here with an advance fleet, and he had his people building fortifications a ways on up the ravine that’ll probably be the enemy’s invasion route. Everything stopped a few weeks ago, though. My cousin tells me that a snowstorm buried everything up there in the ravine, so nobody’s moving at all.” Sorgan scratched his cheek. “I really wanted to gather more ships and men back in Dhrall, but Lady Zelana was a little worried about what was happening here, so she ordered me to get here as soon as I could. I’ve got another cousin back home who’s gathering up more ships and men, but I can’t be certain sure when he’ll get here. If things start to get tight, you and your army might just save the day for us. The way things stand right now, though, the enemy’s buried up to his ears in snow up at the head of the ravine, and it looks like there’s more snow on the way. We may not have to do any serious fighting until midsummer.”
“This promises to be a very interesting war, doesn’t it?” the Trogite Narasan observed mildly. “That’s assuming that we don’t kill each other before the
real
war starts.”
“We’d really rather that you didn’t, Narasan,” Veltan said with a faint smile.
The Trogite’s expression grew thoughtful. “It occurs to me, Captain, that even though we’ve both fought wars in the past, we probably don’t fight in exactly the same way. As long as we’re both here anyway, and since there’s nothing of any urgency in the wind, wouldn’t it be useful to pool our experience and get to know each other better? Is there anything in particular that you need right now?”
Sorgan squinted and scratched his cheek. “Not that I can think of right offhand.”
“Uh . . . Cap’n,” Rabbit said a bit hesitantly, “I really need more iron.”
“Have you used up all we gave you when we first got here, Rabbit?” Sorgan asked, sounding a bit surprised.
“We’re getting down to the bottom of the barrel, Cap’n. I’ve got a lot of smiths working on this, and if the rain ever lets up, we’ll go through what little iron is left in a hurry.”
“What are you building that needs so much iron, Sorgan?” Narasan asked.
“Arrowheads for the Dhralls. This tall one here is Longbow, and he’s the only man I know of who can thread needles with his arrows from a half mile away. When we were gathering the fleet back in Maag, I was using gold for bait, and there was a greedy ship captain named Kajak who really wanted my gold. Five ships came at me one night in the harbor of a town called Kweta. Longbow stopped them with only Rabbit here to help him. People start to get real jumpy when everybody nearby suddenly starts sprouting arrows out of their foreheads. The Dhralls aren’t really as helpless as they look, but they chip their arrowheads out of stone. Iron’s better, so we started making iron arrowheads for them when we got here. Every Maag ship has a smith on board, and they’ve used up just about every scrap of iron in the whole fleet hammering out arrowheads. I’ve talked it over with Longbow, and we pretty much agree that when the time comes, I’ll lead my men up along the bottom of the ravine while the Dhralls move along the rim on both sides. If there’s a steady downpour of arrows out in front of my men, it’ll cut down on the number of enemies we’ll have to fight.”
“Shrewd,” Narasan said. “Who’s your smith?”
“Rabbit here,” Sorgan replied. “He’s not very big, but he really knows how to work with iron.”
“Are you familiar with other metals as well, Rabbit?” Narasan asked.
“I can work with copper if I have to,” Rabbit told him, “but it’s really too soft to make anything very useful.”
Narasan reached into a leather pouch at his belt and took out a handful of large round coins. “Could you make arrowheads out of this?” He handed one of the coins to Rabbit.
Rabbit bounced the coin on the palm of his hand. It wasn’t as heavy as iron, but it seemed harder and denser than copper. “It’s possible, I suppose. What kind of metal is this?”
“It’s called bronze. Trogites use bronze coins to buy things that aren’t very expensive. I’ve got a fair-sized fleet coming along the coast, and there’ll be thousands of those coins on those ships, as well as assorted tools and ornaments. The fleet should be here before long, and once it arrives, you’ll probably have all the bronze you’ll need.”
Rabbit thoughtfully snapped his fingernail against the bronze coin. “How hot a fire does it take to melt this?” he asked.
Narasan smiled. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Why?”
“We’ve got forges as well as hammers and anvils,” Rabbit explained. “If we can stoke up the fires in the forges and get them hot enough to melt this bronze, we could make molds out of clay while we’re waiting for your fleet to get here. We’ll bake the molds to make them hard, and pour melted bronze into those molds. That’d be a lot faster than hammering them into shape on our anvils. We’ll turn out arrowheads by the thousands instead of hundreds.”
“Ah . . . Commander?” Zelana’s brother Veltan said then. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t the anchors on your ships made of bronze?”
Narasan blinked, and then he started to laugh. “I guess I overlooked that,” he admitted. “I wasn’t alone, though. If I remember correctly, the anchor on your little sloop’s also made of bronze. That should give our little friend here enough for some experimentation, wouldn’t you say?”
T
he steady drizzle continued for the next few days, and Rabbit brought his forge into Zelana’s cave so that he could continue his work with Veltan’s bronze anchor. Things went much faster, he discovered, if he chopped the anchor into chunks instead of trying to melt it down all at once.
The first few bronze arrowheads he produced were not quite heavy enough to satisfy Longbow, so he made his mold larger and then larger again. Once he’d produced one Longbow found satisfactory, he used it to produce clay molds with the help of the village potters. There was quite a bit of trial and error involved, but he finally got the procedure smoothed out, and then he concentrated on making more and more of the hard-baked clay molds. He was certain now that when Narasan’s fleet arrived with all that bronze, he’d be ready. Once he’d produced several arrowheads that Longbow found to be satisfactory, his friend went off to the lodge of his chief. It seemed that Longbow and Old-Bear were very close, and the two of them conferred very often with the scrawny old fellow they called “the shaman.” Rabbit wasn’t exactly sure what the title meant. It seemed to be an odd mixture of religion, healing various illnesses, and tending to wounds and injuries.