The Battle for Skandia by John Flanagan Page B

couldn’t see a thing.
    â€œThe Tem’uj,” Halt continued. “He’s covering his tracks as he goes. I don’t think your man would have been able to follow him.”
    Which was the crux of the matter. When Halt and Erak had agreed to join forces the previous night, it had been the result of their mutual need. Halt’s natural inclination had been to see what the Temujai were up to. Erak had the same need. But he also had need of Halt’s tracking skills. He was only too aware of his own men’s limitations.
    â€œWell,” he said jerkily, “that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes.” Halt smiled grimly. “The question is, why are you?”
    Erak wisely said nothing. He concentrated his efforts into staying astride the shaggy horse as it struggled up the steep slope, under the unaccustomed weight of the bulky Skandian sea captain.
    They came to the crest with a sudden rush, their horses scrambling the last few meters through the wet snow. They found themselves looking down on a deep, wide valley, and beyond that, another range of hills.
    Below them on the vast plain, a mass of campfires sent columns of smoke spiraling into the late-afternoon air, spreading as far as the eye could see—thousands of them, surrounded by more thousands of dome-shaped felt tents. The smell of the smoke reached them now. Not heady and scented, like pine smoke, but acrid and sour smelling. Erak wrinkled his nose in disgust.
    â€œWhat are they burning?” he asked.
    â€œDried horse dung,” Halt replied briefly. “They carry their fuel source with them. Look.”
    He pointed to where the Temujai horse herd could be seen, a giant, amorphous mass that seemed to flow across the valley floor as the horses sought fresh grazing.
    â€œGorlog’s teeth!” Erak exclaimed, stunned at the numbers. “How many are there?”
    â€œTen thousand, maybe twelve,” Halt replied briefly. The Skandian let out a low whistle.
    â€œAre you sure? How can you tell?” It wasn’t a sensible question, but Erak was overwhelmed by the size of the horse herd and he asked the question more for something to say than for any other reason. Halt looked at him dryly.
    â€œIt’s an old cavalry trick,” he said. “You count the legs and divide by four.”
    Erak returned the look. “I was just making conversation, Ranger,” he said. Halt seemed singularly unimpressed by the statement.
    â€œThen don’t,” he replied shortly. There was silence as they studied the enemy camp.
    â€œAre you saying there are ten to twelve thousand warriors down there?” Erak asked finally. The number was a daunting one. At best, Skandia could put a force of fifteen hundred warriors in the field to face them. Perhaps two thousand, at the outside. That meant odds of six or seven to one. But Halt was shaking his head.
    â€œMore like five to six thousand,” he estimated. “Each warrior will have at least two horses. There are probably another four to five thousand personnel in the baggage train and supply columns, but they wouldn’t be combatants.”
    That was a little better, thought Erak. The odds had reduced to around three or four to one. A little better, he thought. Not a lot.
    Not a lot by a long way.

14
    â€˜WAIT HERE,” HALT SAID BRIEFLY. “I’M GOING DOWN FOR A closer look.”
    â€œTo hell with waiting here,” Erak told him. “I’m coming with you.”
    Halt looked at the big Skandian, knowing it would be useless to argue. Still, he made the attempt. “I suppose it will make no difference if I point out I’m going to have to be as inconspicuous as possible?”
    Erak shook his head. “Not in the slightest. I’m not taking back a secondhand report to my Oberjarl. I want to get a closer look at these people, get some idea of what we’re up against.”
    â€œI can tell you