Free Forging the Sword (The Farsala Trilogy) by Hilari Bell Page A

shouting orders from the start. Jiaan now knew enough Hrum to understand “get back here!” and the Hrum words for “gather” and “middle,” but most of the commandswere unintelligible. The result, however, became visible when the Hrum formed their shield shell in the center of the valley.
    It wasn’t yet solid, and Jiaan sent another shot to arc between two sloppily held shields—though amidst the shouted orders and the screams of the wounded, he couldn’t tell if he’d hit anyone.
    He shot at another man, who was running for the safety of the shield formation. That arrow grazed the man’s ribs, but evidently the injury wasn’t serious, for he dashed in among his comrades and vanished.
    Except when they opened it to admit stragglers, the shields now presented a solid barrier, and Jiaan lowered his bow.
    “It looks like we killed more than forty of them!” said Fasal. “And I don’t think we took a single casualty. Well done, Commander.”
    Jiaan stared at him, but there was no irony in his face or voice.
    “Shall I order the retreat now?” Fasal asked. “They’ll get organized enough to come looking for us sooner or later.”
    “Yes,” said Jiaan. “Get everyone out of here. But send one of the Suud back to me—I’ll meet you later in camp.”
    “You’re not coming with us?”
    Jiaan shook his head. “I want to see what the Hrum commander does now.”
    “What can he do?” asked Fasal. “We beat them soundly. There’s nothing he can do.”
    And it doesn’t occur to you that it might be worthwhile to see how this man reacts to defeat?
    But even Jiaan wasn’t certain what he hoped to learn. “I’ll stay anyway—you go on ahead. Just send me a Suud guide, or I won’t be able to find you myself.”
    Fasal shrugged. But he had the good sense to crawl back down the hill until he was out of the Hrum’s sight before he rose to his feet and trotted off.
    Jiaan returned his attention to the valley where the Hrum’s shield formation was moving—first to the wounded men, some of whom, he was glad to see, had been picked up when the formation moved on. The dead were left behind. Jiaan stifled a sigh. This was war. Fasal would think him mad to regret the deaths of enemies—and Jiaan wasn’t certain he was wrong.
    As soon as they gathered up their wounded comrades, the Hrum picked up their gear and marched out of the small valley, maintaining their formation until there was no high ground within arrow range. When they finally lowered their shields, even at a distance Jiaan could see that they were all back in armor, except for the wounded, who were being carried on shields with more shields laid over them for their protection.
    “Good good,” said a Suud boy, coming up to crouch beside him. He was swathed from head to foot in the tightly woven striped robes the Suud wore to protect them from the sun. Even the endsof the sleeves were tied shut, to keep sunlight from touching his hands. Jiaan had thought their care excessive until, one overcast afternoon two weeks ago when they were trying to get their tents up before the desert’s brief, heavy rain arrived, one young man had become impatient and freed his hands to tie a few knots. His blisters were barely healed, and Jiaan reminded himself again to be very careful to protect his “advisors” from the sun. Not that they couldn’t protect themselves and their Farsalan allies, too, most of the time. Now the boy gestured to the valley below. “Hrum men not two times do this.”
    The corpses lay still in the blazing light. The scavengers would be coming for them soon.
    “No,” said Jiaan. “He won’t make that mistake again. How do the Suud dispose … what do you do with the bodies of the dead?”
    “We bury,” said the boy promptly. “Under dirt, then rocks, so the jackals can’t eat. You want bury the Hrum bodies.”
    “Yes,” said Jiaan, “if you can arrange it.” Farsalans burned their dead, and he had no idea what the Hrum did,