Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [74]
At this point, however, night was all but upon her. Now she had to turn to her other trick to find her way. With her left hand, she reached for the trunk of the next tree just at shoulder-height; even though she had good night-vision, she could barely make it out, dark against the white snow. She ran her fingers along the bark, and found the little cut she had put there, pointing the way she should go.
Step by slow and careful step, making sure to make as little noise as possible, she made her way from tree to tree, following her marks. She counted each tree that she passed, and when she had gone far enough, she took a deep breath and called like an owl, three times.
The answer came back. Three calls, then a count to five, then four calls. She followed the sound, pausing now and again, to repeat her call and follow the reply.
She had done this so many times in the past that she had schooled herself to patience. It only seemed as if it took forever to make her way through the snow-filled darkness.
But, at last, she did. She hooted and heard the answer right beside her, and she felt Aeron grip her elbow with one hand. She reached around and clapped him on the back, and the two of them made their way to the carefully concealed camp.
She didn’t speak until she squatted down beside the fire and accepted a fire-warmed stone to cradle in her hands. “Small raiding party of six,” she began, and made a succinct summary of everything she had seen and heard. “I think we’re going to have to take them,” she finished. “And get one alive to tell us what they’re up to.”
The others nodded. “Try to ambush them in the morning?” asked Aeron. “Or see if we can find a better place to bring them down?”
“Morning would be best. They don’t think there’re any fighters out here, just the odd farmer. They’re good enough not to let their guard down, but they’re also not as alert as they could be.” She let the heat from the stone soak into her. “I want to hit them before they have any inkling we could be here.” She looked around her troop; four, counting herself, but that should be enough. Aeron and Meical were the best of the archers. So they would be best put as first and last watch, so they had solid, unbroken sleep. “Aeron, first watch, I’ll take second, Owain, third, Meical, last. Meical, wake us all at first light. We’ll take them from the forest, and I only need one living.”
The other three nodded. Aeron wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and ghosted off into the night. They set a proper watch, regardless of conditions, with the sentry making irregular rounds outside the camp. She smiled to herself. She could not have asked for better men.
The rest of them took heated stones from beside the fire and curled up around them to sleep. Like the Saxons, they had made beds of bracken to keep them off the snow. Tolerably comfortable, actually, especially situated as they were in the heart of a thicket, screened from wind and most of the falling snowflakes.
Sleep when you can. Eat when you can. Reminded of that second of the warrior’s rules of the field, she rummaged out a lump of cheese and some cold rabbit from the common food pack. That was the one good thing about a winter campaign. Food didn’t go bad; you didn’t have to subsist on rock-hard journey bread and dried meat. If you had it in camp, you could take it with you for a good wholesome meal. She ate quickly and neatly, licked her fingers clean, then ate a handful of clean snow for a “drink,” curled up around her own rock, and went straight to sleep.
Luck was with them. When the troop eased up toward the Saxon camp, five of the men were still asleep, and the sixth was nodding