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vegetation that they used so well to cover them.
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Only one returned, and he to report that the human sentries were too thick for even
the skilled elves to pass without detection.
The elven force took advantage of the extra day, however. They constructed trenches
along much of their front, and in other places, they laid long, sharp stakes in the earth to
form a wall thrusting outward. These stakes would protect much of the front from the
enemy horsemen Kith knew to number in the thousands.
Parnigar supervised the excavation, racing from site to site, shouting and cursing. He
insulted the depth of one trench, the width of another. He cast aspersions on the lineage
of the elves who had done the work. The Wildrunners leaped to obey out of respect, not
fear. All along the line they dug in, proving that they used the pick and the spade as well
as the longsword and pike.
Midafternoon slowly crept toward dusk. Kith restlessly worked his way back and
forth along the line. Eventually he came to the reserve, where the men of Silvanost recovered
from their long march under the shrewd tutelage of Kencathedrus. That captain
stepped up to Kith-Kanan as the general dismounted from Kijo.
"Odd how they work for him," noted the older elf, indicating Parnigar. "My elves
wouldn't even look at an officer who talked to them like that."
Kith-Kanan looked at him curiously, realizing that he spoke the truth. "The
Wildrunners here on the plains are a different kind of force than you know from the city,"
he pointed out.
He looked at the reserve force, consisting of the five thousand elves who had
marched with Kencathedrus. Even at ease, they lounged in the sun in neat ranks across
the grassy meadows. A formation of Wildrunners, Kith reflected, would have collected in
the areas of shade.
The teacher nodded, still skeptical. He looked across the front, toward the trees that
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screened the enemy army. "Do you know their deployments?" asked Kencathedrus.
"No." Kith admitted. "We've been shut off all day. I'd fall back if I could. They've
had too much time to prepare an attack, and I'd love to set those preparations to waste.
Your old lesson comes to mind: 'Don't let the enemy have the luxury of following his
plan'."
Kencathedrus nodded, and Kith nearly growled in frustration as he continued. "But I
can't move back. These trees are the last cover between here and Sithelbec. There's not so
much as a ditch to hide behind if I abandon this position."
All he could do was to deploy a company of skirmishers well to each flank of his
position and hope they could provide him with warning of any sudden flanking thrust.
It was a night of restlessness throughout the camp, despite the exhaustion of the
weary troops. Few of them slept for more than a few hours, and many campfires
remained lit well pastmidnightas elves gathered around them and talked of past
centuries, of their families of anything but the terrible destiny that seemed to await them
on the morrow.
Dew crept across the land in the darkest hours of night, becoming a heavy mist that
flowed thickly through the meadows and twisted around the trunks in the groves. With it
came a chill that woke every elf, and thus they spent the last hours of darkness.
They heard the drums before dawn, a far-off rattle that began with shocking
precision from a thousand places at once. Darkness shrouded the woods, and the mists of
the humid night drifted like spirits among the nervous elves, further obscuring visibility.
Gradually the dark mist turned to pale blue. As the sky lightened overhead, the
cadence of a great army's advance swelled around the elves. The Wildrunners held to
their pikes, or steadied their prancing horses. They checked their bowstrings and their
quivers, and made certain that the bucklings on their armor held secure. Inevitably the
blue light gave way to a dawn of vague, indistinct shapes, still clouded by the haze of fog.
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The beat of the drums grew louder. The mist drifted across the fields, leaving even
nearby clumps of trees nothing more than gray shadows. Louder still grew the precise
tapping, yet nothing could be seen of the approaching force.
"There coming through the pines!"
"I see them over that way."
"Here they come from the ravine!"
Elves shouted, pointing to spots all along their front where shapes began to take form
in the mist. Now they could see great, rippling lines of movement, as if waves rolled
through the earth itself. The large, prancing figures of horsemen became apparent, several
waves of them flexing among the ranks of infantry.
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