pointed to the east. "Out there. On the opposite bank of the Rhone. Behold!"
His powerful farsense projected a vision. For the shortersighted people in the train, it was as if the mysterious fog had abruptly become transparent, and the bottomland forest beyond the river as well.
Pouring out of one of the steep tributary valleys that formed corridors into the Alps came an army, arrogant in strength. It quick-marched through the ghostly farseen jungle casting no shadows, its members dark and numberless as a horde of predatory ants, unidentifiable until Ochal's mental eye magnified them and proved them to be Firvulag. They were some four kilometres away, not generating illusion-camouflage as was their usual custom, perhaps trusting in the fog to conceal them-or perhaps not caring whether or not they were detected. They came, giants and dwarfs and medium-sized warriors clad in obsidian battledress, bearing their traditional arms and holding standards draped with festoons of gilded skulls. As they marched they hummed a war chant with notes far beyond the threshold of audibility for Tanu or humans.
But the bear-dogs heard.
The track that the Firvulag army followed led straight into the Rhone bottomland, intersecting the narrow east-bank trail to Bardelask, not half a day's march upstream.
There were at least 8000 warriors.
"It's the main host of Mimee of Famorel," said Ochal, letting the terrible picture fade. "Now the raids and the pretence of Howler responsibility for the outrages committed against my grandmother's city are at an end. The Little People violate the Armistice openly! Doubtless the death of Nodonn Battlemaster served to embolden them."
One of the Tanu coercers said "This is the opening offensive in that conflict that certain of us feared to be inevitable. I cannot speak its name! But we all know Celadeyr's prediction. Tana have mercy!"
Ochal said, "I have already farspoken Lady Armida. My kinfolk, although hopelessly outnumbered, will defend the city to the end."
"Shoo!" breathed Jim. "Never saw so many spooks in my life!"
"Compared to the army that hit Burask, it's a skeleton crew,"
Vilkas growled. "But it'll do. Bardelask's doomed-and the best damn brewery in the Pliocene along with it! Now we'll drink nothing but plonk and jungle juice."
Yosh sat slumped in the saddle. "Well, Ochal-our infrared eyeball system and load of Milieu arms aren't worth a mousefart to Bardy now."
The farsensor leader nodded grim agreement. He addressed the entire column on the command mode: Companions! There is no way we can reach my home city before the Firvulag do. They would surely fall upon us as we attempted to cross the Rhone to the Bardelask docks. I have bespoken the King, pleading with him to allow us to die with my Exalted Grandmother. But for strategic reasons, he has forbidden it"God save Aiken Drum!" muttered Vilkas.
-so we must regroup, then return at once to Sayzorask. Our King has told me that the futuristic equipment we carry must be safeguarded from the Foe at all costs. We will wait in Sayzorask for his orders ...
"And with our luck," came Vilkas' sotto voce snarl, "we'll end up marching on Famorel itself."
Ignoring him, Ochal addressed Yosh. "Have this wagon repaired as quickly as possible while I inspect the rest of the column. There's small chance of the Foe crossing the river to engage us, but we must not present an overly tempting target by lingering. They doubtless know that we're here-and they may suspect what we carry."
Yosh gave the Tanu salute. Ochal the Harper beckoned mentally to the waiting coercer knights, and the glowing purple shape and the three blue ones faded away into the fog. Their departure revealed how much darker it had become. Sunset was less than an hour away and the miasma seemed thicker than ever.
Yosh slipped the Husky back into its sheath. "Well, let's get on with it. Unpack a spotlight, Vilkas, and we'll study the damage."
As the Lithuanian complied, Jim slid cautiously