Fantasy 版 (精华区)
发信人: dying (dying in the sun), 信区: Fantasy
标 题: Book1 Storm(转寄)(转载)
发信站: 哈工大紫丁香 (2003年06月06日19:04:16 星期五), 站内信件
【 以下文字转载自 dying 的信箱 】
【 原文由 HITdiane.bbs@bbs.sjtu.edu.cn 所发表 】
发信人: silverharper (灰风*-*狂热的东方奇幻抵制者), 信区: DnD
标 题: Book1 Storm
发信站: 饮水思源 (2003年06月05日18:30:45 星期四), 转信
BooK I
1
Storm
tHE STORM hAD BROKEN. Pug danced along the edge of the rocks, his feet
finding scant purchase as he made his way among the tide pools. His dark
eyes darted about as he peered into each pool under the cliff face, seeking
the spiny creatures driven into the shallows by the recently passed storm.
His boyish muscles bunched under his light shirt as he shifted the sack of
sandcrawlers, rockclaws, and crabs plucked from this water garden. The
afternoon sun sent sparkles through the sea spray swirling around him, as
the west wind blew his sun-streaked brown hair about. Pug set his sack
down, checked to make sure it was securely tied, then squatted on a clear
patch of sand. The sack was not quite full, but Pug relished the extra hour
or so that he could relax. Megar the cook wouldn't trouble him about the
time as long as the sack was almost full. Resting with his back against a
large rock, Pug was soon dozing in the sun's warmth. A cool wet spray woke
him hours later. He opened his eyes with a start, knowing he had stayed
much too long. Westward, over the sea, dark thunderheads were forming above
the black outline of the Six Sisters, the small islands on the horizon. The
roiling, surging clouds, with rain trailing below like some sooty veil,
heralded another of the sudden storms common to this part of the coast in
early summer.
To the south, the high bluffs of Sailor's Grief reared up against the sky, as
waves crashed against the base of that rocky pinnacle. Whitecaps started to
form behind the breakers, a sure sign the storm would quickly strike. Pug
knew he was in danger, for the storms of summer could drown anyone on the
beaches, or if severe enough, on the low ground beyond. He picked up his
sack and started north, toward the castle. As he moved among the pools, he
felt the coolness in the wind turn to a deeper, wetter cold. The day began
to be broken by a patchwork of shadows as the first clouds passed before
the sun, bright colors fading to shades of grey. Out to sea, lightning
flashed against the blackness of the clouds, and the distant boom of
thunder rode over the noise of the waves. Pug picked up speed when he came
to the first stretch of open beach.
The storm was coming in faster than he would have thought possible,
driving the rising tide before it. By the time he reached the second
stretch of tide pools, there was barely ten feet of dry sand between
water's edge and cliffs. Pug hurried as fast as was safe across the rocks,
twice nearly catching his foot. As he reached the next expanse of sand, he
mistimed his jump from the last rock and landed poorly. He fell to the
sand, grasping his ankle. As if waiting for the mishap, the tide surged
forward, covering him for a moment. He reached out blindly and felt his
sack carried away. Frantically grabbing at it, Pug lunged forward, only to
have his ankle fail. He went under, gulping water. He raised his head,
sputtering and coughing. He started to stand when a second wave, higher
than the last, hit him in the chest, knocking him backward. Pug had grown
up playing in the waves and was an experienced swimmer, but the pain of his
ankle and the battering of the waves were bringing him to the edge of
panic. He fought it off and came up for air as the wave receded. He half
swam, half scrambled toward the cliff face, knowing the water would be only
inches deep there. Pug reached the cliffs and leaned against them, keeping
as much weight off the injured ankle as possible. He inched along the rock
wall, while each wave brought the water higher. When Pug finally reached a
place where he could make his way upward, water was swirling at his waist.
He had to use all his strength to pull himself up to the path. He lay
panting a moment, then started to crawl up the pathway, unwilling to trust
his balky ankle on this rocky footing. The first drops of rain began to
fall as he scrambled along, bruising knees and shins on the rocks, until he
reached the grassy top of the bluffs. Pug fell forward exhausted, panting
from the exertion of the climb. The scattered drops grew into a light but
steady rain.
When he had caught his breath, Pug sat up and examined the swollen ankle.
It was tender to the touch, but he was reassured when he could move it: it
was not broken. He would have to limp the entire way back, but with the
threat of drowning on the beach behind him, he felt relatively buoyant. Pug
would be a drenched, chilled wretch when he reached the town. He would have
to find a lodging there, for the gates of the castle would be closed for
the night, and with his tender ankle he would not attempt to climb the wall
behind the stables. Besides, should he wait and slip into the keep the next
day, only Megar would have words for him, but if he was caught coming over
the wall, Swordmaster Fannon or Horsemaster Algon would surely have a lot
worse in store for him than words. While he rested, the rain took on an
insistent quality and the sky darkened as the late-afternoon sun was
completely engulfed in storm clouds. His momentary relief was replaced with
anger at himself for losing the sack of sandcrawlers. His displeasure
doubled when he considered his folly at falling asleep. Had he remained
awake, he would have made the return trip unhurriedly, would not have
sprained his ankle, and would have had time to explore the streambed above
the bluffs for the smooth stones he prized so dearly for slinging. Now
there would be no stones, and it would be at least another week before he
could return. If Megar didn't send another boy instead, which was likely
now that he was returning empty-handed. Pug's attention shifted to the
discomfort of sitting in the rain, and he decided it was time to move on.
He stood and tested his ankle. It protested such treatment, but he could
get along on it. He limped over the grass to where he had left his
belongings and picked up his rucksack, staff, and sling. He swore an oath
he had heard soldiers at the keep use when he found the rucksack ripped
apart and his bread and cheese missing. Raccoons, or possibly sand lizards,
he thought. He tossed the now useless sack aside and wondered at his
misfortune. Taking a deep breath, he leaned on his staff as he started
across the low rolling hills that divided the bluffs from the road. Stands
of small trees were scattered over the landscape, and Pug regretted there
wasn't more substantial shelter nearby, for there was none upon the bluffs.
He would be no wetter for trudging to town than for staying under a tree.
The wind picked up, and Pug felt the first cold bite against his wet back.
He shivered and hurried his pace as well as he could. The small trees
started to bend before the wind, and Pug felt as if a great hand were
pushing at his back. Reaching the road, he turned north. He heard the eerie
sound of the great forest off to the east, the wind whistling
Through the branches of the ancient oaks, adding to its already foreboding
aspect. The dark glades of the forest were probably no more perilous
than the King's road, but remembered tales of outlaws and other, less
human, malefactors stirred the hairs on the boy's neck. Cutting across the
King's road, Pug gained a little shelter in the gully that ran alongside
it. The wind intensified and rain stung his eyes, bringing tears to already
wet cheeks. A gust caught him, and he stumbled off balance for a moment.
Water was gathering in the roadside gully, and he had to step carefully to
keep from losing his footing in unexpectedly deep puddles. For nearly an
hour he made his way through the ever growing storm. The road turned
northwest, bringing him almost full face into the howling wind. Pug
leaned into the wind, his shirt whipping out behind him. He swallowed hard,
to force down the choking panic rising within him. He knew he was in danger
now, for the storm was gaining in fury far beyond normal for this time of
year. Great ragged bolts of lightning lit the dark landscape, briefly
outlining the trees and road in harsh, brilliant white and opague black.
The dazzling afterimages, black and white reversed, stayed with him for a
moment each time, confusing his senses. Enormous thunder peals sounding
overhead felt like physical blows. Now his fear of the storm outweighed his
fear of imagined brigands and goblins. He decided to walk among the trees
near the road; the wind would be lessened somewhat by the boles of the
oaks. As Pug closed upon the forest, a crashing sound brought him to a
halt. In the gloom of the storm he could barely make out the form of a
black forest boar as it burst out of the undergrowth. The pig tumbled from
the brush, lost its footing, then scrambled to its feet a few yards away.
Pug could see it clearly as it stood there regarding him, swinging its head
from side to side. Two large tusks seemed to glow in the dim light as they
dripped rainwater. Fear made its eyes wide, and it pawed at the ground.
The forest pigs were bad-tempered at best, but normally avoided humans.
This one was panic-stricken by the storm, and Pug knew if it charged he
could be badly gored, even killed. Standing stock-still, Pug made ready to
swing his staff, but hoped the pig would return to the woods. The boar's
head raised, testing the boys smell on the wind. Its pink eyes seemed to
glow as it trembled with indecision. A sound made it turn toward the trees
for a moment, then it dropped its head and charged. Pug swung his staff,
bringing it down in a glancing blow to the side of the pig's head, turning
it. The pig slid sideways in the muddy footing, hitting Pug in the legs. He
went down as the pig slipped past. Lying on the ground, Pug saw the boar
skitter about as it turned to charge again.
the pig was upon him, and Pug had no time to stand. He
thrustt the staff before him in a vain attempt to turn the animal again.
The boar dodged the staff and Pug tried to roll away, but a weight fell
across his body. Pug covered his face with his hands, keeping his arms
to his chest, expecting to be gored.
", After a moment he realized the pig was still. Uncovering his face, he
discovered the pig lying across his lower legs, a black-feathered,
clothyard arrow protruding from its side. Pug looked toward the forest. A
man garbed in brown leather was standing near the edge of the trees,
carefully wrapping a yeoman's longbow with an oilcloth cover. Once the
valuable weapon was protected from further abuse by the weather, the
man crossed to stand over the boy and beast. He was cloaked and hooded, his
face hidden. He knelt next to Pug and shouted over the sound of the wind,
"Are you 'right, boy?" as he liffted the dead boar easily from Pug's legs.
"Bones broken?"
.'I don't think so," Pug yelled back, taking
account of himself. His right side smarted, and his legs felt equally
bruised.
with his ankle still tender, he was feeling ill-used today, but nothing
seemed broken or permanently damaged. Large, meaty hands lifted him to his
feet. "Here," the man commanded, handing him his staff and the bow. Pug
took them while the stranger quickly gutted the boar with a large hunter's
knife. He completed his work and turned to Pug. "Come with me, boy. You had
best lodge with my master and me. It's not far, but we'd best hurry. This
storrn'll get worse afore it's over. Can you walk?" Taking an unsteady
step, Pug nodded. Without a word the man shouldered the pig and took his
bow. "Come," he said, as he turned toward the forest. He set off at a brisk
pace, which pug had to scramble to match. The forest cut the fury of the
storm so little that conversation was impossible. A lightning flash lit the
scene for a moment, and Pug caught a glimpse of the man's face. Pug tried
to remember if he had seen the stranger before. He had the look common to
the hunters and foresters that lived in the forest of Crydee:
large-shouldered, tall, and solidly built. He had dark hair and beard and
the raw, weather-beaten appearance of one who spends most of his time
outdoors. For a few fanciful moments the boy wondered if he might be some
member of an outlaw band, hiding in the heart of the forest. He gave up the
notion, for no outlaw would trouble himself with an obviously penniless
keep boy. Remembering the man had mentioned having a master, Pug suspected
he was a franklin, one who lived on the estate of a landholder.
He would be in the holder's service, but not bound to him as a bondsman.
The franklins were freeborn, giving a share of crop or herd in
exchange for the use of land. He must be freeborn. No bondsman would
be allowed to carry a longbow, for they were much too
Valuable-and dangerous. Still, Pug couldn't remember any landholdings in
the forest. It was a mystery to the boy, but the toll of the day's abuses
was quickly driving away any curiosity.
AFtER WHAT SEEMED to be hours, the man walked into a thicket of trees. Pug
nearly lost him in the darkness, for the sun had set some time before,
taking with it what faint light the storm had allowed. He followed the man
more from the sound of his footfalls and an awareness of his presence than
from sight. Pug sensed he was on a path through the trees, for his
footsteps met no resisting brush or detritus. From where they had been
moments before, the path would be difficult to find in the daylight,
impossible at night, unless it was already known. Soon they entered a
clearing, in the midst of which sat a small stone cottage. Light shone
through a single window, and smoke rose from the chimney. They crossed the
clearing, and Pug wondered at the storm's relative mildness in this one
spot in the forest. Once before the door, the man stood to one side and
said, "You go in, boy. I must dress the pig." Nodding dumbly, Pug pushed
open the wooden door and stepped in. "Close that door, boy. You'll give me
a chill and cause me my death.' Pug jumped to obey, slamming the door
harder than he intended.
He turned, taking in the scene before him. The interior of the cottage was
a small single room. Against one wall was the fireplace, with a good- size
hearth before it. A bright, cheery fire burned, casting a warm glow. Next
to the fireplace a table sat, behind which a heavyset, yellow-robed figure
rested on a bench. His grey hair and beard nearly covered his entire head,
except for a pair of vivid blue eyes that twinkled in the firelight. A long
pipe emerged from the beard, producing heroic clouds of pale smoke
Pug knew the man. "Master Kulgan . . . was the Duke's
magician and adviser, a familiar face around the castle keep. Kulgan
leveled a gaze at Pug, then said in a deep voice, given to rich rolling
sounds and powerful tones,
"So you know me, then?"
"Yes, sir. From the castle."
"What is your name, boy from the keep?"
"Pug, Master Kulgan."
"Now I remember you." The magician absently waved his
hand.
"Do not call me 'Master,' Pug-though I am rightly called a master of my
arts,'' he said with a merry crinkling around his eyes. 'I am higher-born
than you, it is true, but not by much. Come, there is a blanket hanging by
the fire, and you are drenched. Hang your clothes to dry, then sit there."
He pointed to a bench opposite him.
Pug did as he was bid, keeping an eye on the magician the entire
tIme. He was a member of the Duke's court, but still a magician, an object
of suspicion, generally held in low esteem by the common folk. If a lirmer
had a cow calve a monster, or blight strike the crops, villagers were apt
to ascribe it to the work of some magician lurking in nearby shadows. In
times not too far past they would have stoned Kulgan from Crydee as like as
not. His position with the Duke earned him the tolerance of the townsfolk
now, but old fears died slowly. After his garments were hung, Pug sat down.
He started when he saw a pair of red eyes regarding him from just beyond
the magician's table. A scaled head rose up above the tabletop and studied
the boy.
Kulgan laughed at the boy's discomfort. "Come, boy. Fantus will not hurt
you." He dropped his hand to the head of the creature, who sat next to him
on his bench, and rubbed above its eye ridges. It closed its eyes and gave
forth a soft crooning sound, not unlike the purring of a cat. Pug shut his
mouth, which had popped open with surprise, then
asked, "Is he truly a dragon, sir?"
The magician laughed, a rich, good-natured sound. "Betimes he
thinks he is, boy. Fantus is a firedrake, cousin to the dragon,
though of smaller stature." The creature opened one eye and fastened it on
the magician. "But of equal heart," Kulgan quickly added, and the drake
closed his eye again. Kulgan spoke softly, in conspiratorial tones. "He is
very clever, so mind what you say to him. He is a creature of finely
fashioned sensibilities." Pug nodded that he would. "Can he breathe fire?"
he asked, eyes wide with wonder. To any boy of thirteen, even a cousin to a
dragon was worthy of awe. "When the mood suits hih, he can belch out a
flame or two, though he seems rarely in the mood. I think it is due to the
rich diet I supply him with, boy. He has not had to hunt for years, so he
is something out of practice in the ways of drakes. In truth, I spoil him
shamelessly."
Pug found the notion somehow reassuring. If the magician cared
Enough to spoil this creature, no matter how outlandish, then he seemed
somehow more human, less mysterious. Pug studied Fantus, admiring how the
fire brought golden highlights to his emerald scales. About the size of a
small hound, the drake possessed a long, sinuous .
neck atop which rested an alligatorlike head. His wings were folded
across his back, and two clawed feet extended before him, aimlessly
pawing the air, while Kulgan scratched behind bony eye ridges. His long
tail swung back and forth, inches above the floor.
The door opened and the big bowman entered, holding a dressed and
spitted loin of pork before him. Without a word he crossed to the
fireplace and set the meat to cook. Fantus raised his head, using his long
neck to good advantage to peek over the table. With a flick of his forked
tongue, the drake jumped down and, in stately fashion, ambled over to the
hearth. He selected a warm spot before the fire and curled up to doze away
the wait before dinner. The franklin unfastened his cloak and hung it on a
peg by the door. "Storm will pass afore dawn, I'm thinking." He returned to
the fire and prepared a basting of wine and herbs for the pig. Pug was
startled to see a large scar that ran down the left side of the man's face,
showing red and angry in the firelight. Kulgan waved his pipe in the
franklin's direction. "Knowing my tight- lipped man here, you'll not have
made his proper acquaintance.
Meecham, this boy is Pug, from the keep at
Castle Crydee." Meecham gave a brief nod, then returned to tending the
roasting loin.
Pug nodded back, though a bit late for Meecham to notice. "I never
thought to thank you for saving me from the boar."
Meecham replied, "There's no need for thanks, boy. Had I not startled
the beast, it's unlikely it would have charged you." He left the
hearth and crossed over to another part of the room, took some brown
dough from a cloth-covered bucket, and started kneading. "Well, sir," said
Pug to Kulgan, "it was his arrow that killed the pig. It was indeed
fortunate that he was following the animal." Kulgan laughed. "The poor
creature, who is our most welcome guest for dinner, happened to be as much
a victim of circumstance as yourself." Pug looked perplexed. "I don't
follow, sir." Kulgan stood and took down an object from the topmost shelf
on his bookcase and placed it on the table before the boy. It was wrapped
in a cover of dark blue velvet, so Pug knew at once it must be a prize of
great value for such an expensive material to be used for covering. Kulgan
removed the velvet, revealing an orb of crystal that gleamed in the
firelight. Pug gave an ah of pleasure at the beauty of it, for it was
without apparent flaw and splendid in its simplicity of form.
Kulgan pointed to the sphere of glass. "This device was fashioned as a gift
by Althafain of Carse, a most puissant artihcer of magic, who thought me
worthy of such a present, as I have done him a favor or two
in the past-but that is of little matter. Having just this day returned ''
from the company of Master Althafain, I was testing his token. Look deep
into the orb, Pug." Pug fixed his eyes on the ball and tried to follow the
flicker of firelight "that seemed to play deep within its structure. The
reflections of the room, multiplied a hundredfold, merged and danced as his
eyes tried to ;' fasten upon each aspect within the orb. They flowed and
blended, then grew cloudy and obscure. A soft white glow at the center of
the ball :replaced the red of firelight, and Pug felt his gaze become
trapped by its pleasing warmth. Like the warmth of the kitchen at the keep,
he thought absently. Suddenly the milky white within the ball vanished, and
Pug could see an image of the kitchen before his eyes. Fat Alfan the cook
was making pastries, licking the sweet crumbs from his fingers. This
brought the wrath of Megar, the head cook, down upon his head, for Megar
considered it a disgusting habit.
Pug laughed at the scene, one he had witnessed
before many times, and it vanished. Suddenly he felt tired. KUlgan
wrapped the orb in the cloth and put it away. "You did well, boy," he said
thoughtfully. He stood watching the boy for a moment, as if considering
something, then sat down. "I would not have suspected you of being able to
fashion such a clear image in one try, but you seem to be more than you
first appear to be."
"Sir?"
"Never mind, Pug." He paused for a moment, then
said, "I was using that toy for the first time, judging how far I could
send my sight, when I spied you making for the road. From your limp and
bruised condition, I judged that you would never reach the town, so I sent
Meecham to fetch you." Pug looked embarrassed by the unusual attention,
color rising to his cheeks. He said, with a thirteen-year-old's high
estimation of his own ability, "You needn't have done that, sir. I would
have reached the town in due time."
Kulgan smiled. "Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not. The storm is
unseasonably severe and perilous for traveling." Pug listened to the soft
tattoo of rain on the roof of the cottage. The storm seemed to have
slackened, and Pug doubted the magician's
words. As if reading the boy's thought, Kulgan said, "Doubt me not,
Pug. This glade is protected by more than the great boles. Should you pass
beyond the circle of oaks that marks the edge of my holding, you would feel
the storm's fury. Meecham, how do you gauge this wind?" Meecham put down
the bread dough he was kneading and thought for a moment. "Near as bad as
the storm that beached six ships three
years back." He paused for a moment, as if reconsidering the estimate,
then nodded his endorsement. "Yes, nearly as bad, though it won't blow
so long."
Pug thought back three years to the storm that had blown a Quegan trading
fleet bound for Crydee onto the rocks of Sailor's Grief. At its height, the
guards on the castle walls were forced to stay in the towers, lest they be
blown down. If this storm was that severe, then Kulgan's magic was
impressive, for outside the cottage it sounded no worse than a spring rain.
Kulgan sat back on the bench, occupied with trying to light his extinguished
pipe. As he produced a large cloud of sweet white smoke, Pug's
attention wandered to a case of books standing behind the magician. His
lips moved silently as he tried to discern what was written on the
bindings, but could not. Kulgan lifted an eyebrow and said, "So you can
read, aye?" Pug started, alarmed that he might have offended the magician
by intruding on his domain. Kulgan, sensing his embarrassment, said, "It is
all right, boy. It is no crime to know letters." Pug felt his discomfort
diminish. "I can read a little, sir. Megar the cook has shown me how to
read the tallies on the stores laid away for the kitchen in the cellars. I
know some numbers, as well."
"Numbers, too," the magician exclaimed good-naturedly.
"Well, you are something of a rare bird." He reached behind
himself and pulled out one volume, bound in red-brown leather, from the
shelf. He opened it, squinting at one page, then another, and at last found
a page that seemed to meet his requirements. He turned the open book around
and lay it upon the table before Pug. Kulgan pointed to a page illuminated
by a magnificent design of snakes, flowers, and twining vines in a colorful
design around a large letter in the upper left corner. "Read this,
boy." Pug had never seen anything remotely like it. His lessons had been on
plain parchment with letters fashioned in Megar's blunt script, using a
charcoal stick. He sat, fascinated by the details of the work, then realized
the magician was staring at him. Regaining his wits, he began to read.
"And then there came a sum . . . summons from . . ." He looked
at the word, stumbling over the complex combinations that were
new to
him. ". . . Zacara." He paused, looking at Kulgan to see if he was
correct. The magician nodded for him to continue. "For the north was to be
forgot . . . forgotten, lest the heart of the empire lan . . . lan-guish
and all be lost. And though of Bosania from birth, those soldiers still
were loyal to Great Kesh in their service. So for her great need, they
took up their arms and put on their armor and quit Bosania, taking ship
to the south, to save all from destruction."
Kulgan said, "That's enoughF" and gently closed the cover of the book. "You
are well gifted with letters for a keep boy." 'This book, sir, what is it?"
asked Pug, as Kulgan took it from him. "I have never seen anything like
it." Kulgan looked at Pug for a moment, with a gaze that made him
uncomfortable again, then smiled, breaking the tension. As he put the book
back, he said, "It is a history of this land, boy. It was given as a gift
by the abbot of an Ishapian monastery. It is a translation of a Keshian
text, over a hundred years old." Pug nodded and said, "It all sounded very
strange. what does it tell of?'' of. Kulgan once more looked at Pug as if
trying to see something inside of the boy, then said, "A long time ago,
Pug, all these lands, from the Endless Sea across the Grey Tower Mountains
to the Bitter Sea, were part of the Empire of Great Kesh. Far to the east
existed a small kingdom, on one small island called Rillanon. It grew to
engulf its neighboring island kingdoms, and it became the Kingdom of the
Isles. Later it expanded again to the mainland, and while it is still the
Kingdom of Isles, most of us simply call it 'the Kingdom.' We, who live in
Crydee, are part of the Kingdom, though we live as far from the capital
city of Rillanon as one can and still be within its boundaries. "Once, many
long years ago, the Empire of Great Kesh abandoned
these lands, for it was engaged in a long and bloody conflict with its
neighbors to the south, the Keshian Confederacy." Pug was caught up in the
grandeur of lost empires, but hungry
enough to notice Meecham was putting several small loaves of dark
bread in the hearth oven. He turned his attention back to the
magician.
"Who were the Keshian Con- . . . ?"
"The Keshian Confederacy," Kulgan finished for the boy.
"It is a group of small nations who had existed as
tributaries to Great Kesh for centuries. A dozen years before that book was
written, they united against their oppressor. Each alone was insufficient
to contest with Great Kesh, but united they proved its match. Too close a
match, for the war dragged on year after year. The Empire was forced to
strip its northern provinces of their legions and send them south, leaving
the north open to the advances of the new, younger Kingdom. "It was Duke
Borric's grandfather, youngest son of the King, who brought the army
westward, extending the Western Realm. Since then all of what was once the
old imperial province of Bosania, except for the Free Cities of Natal, has
been called the Duchy of Crydee."
Pug thought for a moment, then said, "I think I would like to travel to
this Great Kesh someday." Meecham snorted, something close to a laugh. "And
what would you be traveling as, a freebooter?" Pug felt his face flush.
Freebooters were landless men, mercenaries who fought for pay, and who were
regarded as being only one cut above outlaws. Kulgan said, "Perhaps you
might someday, Pug. The way is long and full of peril, but it is not
unheard of for a brave and hearty soul to survive the journey. Stranger
things have been known to happen." The talk at the table turned to more
common topics, for the magician had been at the southern keep at Carse for
over a month and wanted the gossip of Crydee. When the bread was done
Baking, Meecham served it hot, carved the pork loin
and brought out plates of cheese and greens. Pug had never eaten so well in
his life. Even when he had
worked in the kitchen, his position as keep boy earned him only meager
fare. Twice during dinner, Pug found the magician regarding him intently.
When the meal was over, Meecham cleared the table, then began
washing the dishes with clean sand and fresh water, while Kulgan and
Pug sat talking. A single scrap of meat remained on the table, which
Kulgan tossed over to Fantus, who lay before the fire. The drake opened
one eye to regard the morsel. He pondered the choice between his
comfortable resting place and the juicy scrap for a moment, then moved the
necessary six inches to gulp down the prize and closed his eye again.
Kulgan lit his pipe,'and once he was satisfied with its production of
smoke, he said, "What are your plans when you reach manhood, boy?" Pug was
fighting off sleep, but Kulgan's question brought him alert again. The time
of Choosing, when the boys of the town and keep were taken into
apprenticeship, was close, and Pug became excited as he said, "This
Midsummer's Day I hope to take the Duke's service under
Swordmaster Fannon."
Kulgan regarded his slight guest. "I would have thought you still a
year or two away from apprenticeship, Pug."
Meecham gave out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a
grunt.
"Bit small to be lugging around sword and shield, aren't you, boy?"
Pug flushed. He was the smallest boy of his age in the castle. "Megar
the cook said I may be late coming to my growth," he said with a faint
note of defiance. "No one knows who my parents were, so they have no notion
of what to expect."
"Orphan, is it?" asked Meecham, raising one eyebrow,
his most expressive gesture yet.
/5Pug nodded. "I was left with the Priests of Dala, in the mountain
by a woman who claimed she found me in the road. They
brought me to the keep, for they had no way to care for me."
"Yes," injected Kulgan, "I remember when those who worship the
Shield of the Weak first brought you to the castle. You were no more
than a baby fresh from the teat. It is only through the Duke's kindness
that you are a freeman today. He felt it a lesser evil to free a bondsman's
son than to bond a freeman's. Without proof, it was his right to have you
declared bondsman." Meecham said in a noncommittal tone, "A good man, the
Duke." Pug had heard the story of his origin a hundred times before from
Magya in the kitchen of the castle. He felt completely wrung out and could
barely keep his eyes open. Kulgan noticed and signaled Meecham. The tall
franklin took some blankets from a shelf and prepared a sleeping pallet. By
the time he finished, Pug had fallen asleep with his head on the table. The
large man's hands lifted him gently from the stool and placed him on the
blankets, then covered him. Fantus opened his eyes and regarded the
sleeping boy. With a wolfish yawn, he scrambled over next to Pug and
snuggled in close. Pug shifted his weight in his sleep and draped one arm
over the drake's neck. The firedrake gave an approving rumble, deep in his
throat, and closed his eyes again.
2
APPRENtiCE
ThE FOREST WAS QUiet.
The slight afternoon breeze stirred the tall oaks and cut the day's
heat, while rustling the leaves only slightly. Birds who would raise a
raucous chorus at sunrise and sundown were mostly quiet at this time
of morning. The faint tang of sea salt mixed with the sweet smell of
flowers and pungency of decaying leaves. Pug and Tomas walked slowly along
the path, with the aimless weaving steps of boys who have no particular
place to go and ample time to get there. Pug shied a small rock at an
imagined target, then turned to look at his companion. "You don't think
your mother was mad, do you?" he asked. Tomas smiled. "No, she understands
how things are. She's seen other boys the day of Choosing. And truthfully,
we were more of hindrance than a help in the kitchen today." Pug nodded. He
had spilled a precious pot of honey as he carried it to Alfan, the
pastrycook. Then he had dumped an entire tray of fresh bread loaves as he
took them from the oven. "I made something of a fool of myself today,
Tomas." Tomas laughed. He was a tall boy, with sandy hair and bright blue
eyes. With his quick smile, he was well liked in the keep, in spite of a
boyish tendency to find trouble. He was Pug's closest friend, more brother
than friend, and for that reason Pug earned some measure of
acceptance from the other boys, for they all regarded Tomas as their
unofficial leader. Tomas said, "You were no more the fool than I. At least
you didn't forget to hang the beef sides high." Pug grinned. "Anyway, the
Duke's hounds are happy." He snickered, then laughed. "She is angry, isn't
she?" Tomas laughed along with his friend. "She's mad. Still, the dogs only
ate a little before she shooed them off. Besides, she's mostly mad at
Father. She claims the Choosing's only an excuse for all the Craftmasters
to sit around smoking pipes, drinking ale, and swapping tales all day. She
says they already know who will choose which boy." Pug said, "From what the
other women say, she's not alone in that opinion." Then he grinned at
Tomas. "Probably not wrong, either." Tomas lost his smile. "She truly
doesn't like it when he's not in the kitchen to oversee things. I think she
knows this, which is why she tossed us out of the keep for the morning, so
she wouldn't take out her temper on us. Or at least you," he added with a
questioning smile. "I swear you're her favorite." pug's grin returned and
he laughed again. "Well, I do cause less trouble." With a playful punch to
the arm, Tomas said, "You mean you get
caught less often." Pug pulled his sling out from within his shirt. "If we
came back with a brace of partridge or quail, she might regain some of her
good temper." Tomas smiled. "She might," he agreed, taking out his own
sling. Both boys were excellent slingers, Tomas being undoubted champion
among the boys, edging Pug by only a little. It was unlikely either could
bring down a bird on the wing, but should they find one at rest, there was
a fair chance they might hit it. Besides, it would give them something to
do to pass the hours and perhaps for a time forget the Choosing. With
exaggerated stealth they crept along, playing the part of hunters. Tomas
led the way as they left the footpath, heading for the watering pool they
knew lay not too far distant. It was improbable they would spot game this
time of the day unless they simply blundered across it, but if any were to
be found, it most likely would be near the pool. The woods to the northeast
of the town of Crydee were less forbidding than the great forest to the
south.
Many years of harvesting trees for lumber had given 3the green glades
a sunlit airiness not found in the deep haunts of the southern forest. The
keep boys had often played here over the years. With small imagination, the
woods were transformed into a wondrous place, a green world of high
adventure. Some of the greatest deeds known had taken place here. Daring
escapes, dread quests, and mightily contested battles had been witnessed by
the silent trees as the boys gave vent to their youthful dreams of coming
manhnood. Foul creatures, mighty monsters, and base outlaws had all been
fought and vanquished, often accompanied by the death of a great hero,
with appropriate last words to his mourning companions, all managed with
just enough time left to return to the keep for supper. Tomas reached a
small rise that overlooked the pool, screened off by young beech saplings,
and pulled aside some brush so they could mount a vigil. He stopped, awed,
and softly said,
"Pug, look!"
Standing at the edge of the pool was a stag, head held high as
he sought the source of something that disturbed his drinking. He was an
old animal, the hair around his muzzle nearly all white, and his head
crowned by magnificent antlers. Pug counted quickly. "He has fourteen
points." Tomas nodded agreement. "He must be the oldest buck in the forest."
The stag turned his attention in the boys' direction, flicking an ear
nervously. They froze, not wishing to frighten off such a beautiful
creature.
For a long, silent minute the stag studied the rise, nostrils
flaring, then slowly lowered his head to the pool and drank. Tomas gripped
Pug's shoulder and inclined his head to one side. Pug followed Tomas's
motion and saw a figure walking silently into the clearing. He was a tall
man dressed in leather clothing, dyed forest green. Across his back hung a
longbow and at his belt a hunter's knife. His green cloak's hood was thrown
back, and he walked toward the stag with a steady, even step. Tomas
said, 'It's Martin.''
Pug also recognized the Duke's Huntmaster. An orphan like Pug,
Martin had come to be known as Longbow by those in the castle, as he had
few equals with that weapon. Something of a mystery, Martin Longbow was
still well liked by the boys, for while he was aloof with the adults in the
castle, he was always friendly and accessible to the boys. As Huntmaster,
he was also the Duke's Forester. His duties absented him from the castle
for days, even weeks at a time, as he kept his trackers busy looking for
signs of poaching, possible fire dangers, migrating goblins, or outlaws
camping in the woods. But when he was in the castle, and not organizing a
hunt for the Duke, he always had time for the boys. His dark eyes were
always merry when they pestered him with questions of woodlore or for tales
of the lands near the boundaries of Crydee. He seemed to possess unending
patience, which set him apart from most of the Craftmasters in the town and
keep. Martin came up to the stag, gently reached out, and touched his neck.
The great head swung up, and the stag nuzzled Martin's arm.
Softly Martin said, "If you walk out slowly, without speaking, he might let
you approach." Pug and Tomas exchanged startled glances, then stepped into
the clearing. They walked slowly around the edge of the pool, the stag
following their movements with his head, trembling slightly. Martin patted
him reassuringly and he quieted. Tomas and Pug came to stand beside the
hunter, and Martin said, "Reach out and touch him, slowly so as not to
frighten him." Tomas reached out first, and the stag trembled beneath his
fingers. Pug began to reach out, and the stag retreated a step. Martin
crooned to the stag in a language Pug had never heard before, and the
animal stood stil. Pug touched him and marveled at the feel of his coat-so
like the cured hides he had touched before, yet so different for the fed of
life pulsing under his fingertips. Suddenly the stag backed off and turned.
Then, with a single bounding leap, he was gone among the trees. Martin
Longbow chuckled and said, "Just as well. It wouldn't do to have him become
too friendly with men. Those antlers would quickly end up over some
poacher's fireplace. "
Tomas whispered, "He's beautiful, Martin." Longbow nodded, his eyes still
fastened upon the spot where the stag had vanished into the woods. "That he
is, Tomas." Pug said, "I thought you hunted stags, Martin. How-" Martin
said, "Old Whitebeard and I have something of an understanding, Pug. I
hunt only bachelor stags, without does, or does too old to calve. When
Whitebeard loses his harem to some younger buck
someday, I may take him. Now each leaves the other to his own way. The day
will come when I will look at him down the shaft of an arrow." He smiled at
the boys. "I won't know until then if I shall let the shaft fly. Perhaps I
will, perhaps not." He fell silent for a time, as if the thought of
Whitebeard's becoming old was saddening. then as a light breeze rustled
the branches said, "Now, what brings two such bold hunters into the Duke's
woods in the early morning? There must be a thousand things left undone
with the Midsummer festival this afternoon.
Tomas answered. "My mother tossed us out of the kitchen. We were more
trouble than not. With the Choosing today . . ." His voice died away, and
he felt suddenly embarrassed. Much of Martin's mysterious reputation
stemmed from when he first came to Crydee. At his time for the Choosing, he
had been placed directly with the old Huntmaster by the Duke, rather than
standing before the assembled Craftmasters with
the other boys his age. This violation of one of the oldest traditions
known had offended many people in town, though none would dare
openly express such feelings to Lord Borric. As was natural, Martin became
the object of their ire, rather than the Duke. Over the years Martin had
more than justified Lord Borric's decision, but still most people were
troubled by the Duke's special treatment of him that one day. Even after
twelve years some people still regarded Martin Longbow as being different
and, as such, worthy of distrust. Tomas said, "I'm sorry, Martin." Martin
nodded in acknowledgment, but without humor. "I understand,
Tomas. I may not have had to endure your uncertainty, but I have
seen many others wait for the day of Choosing. And for four years I myself
have stood with the other Masters, so I know a little of your worry." A
thought struck Pug and he blurted, "But you're not with the other
Craftmasters."
Martin shook his head, a rueful expression playing across
his even features. "I had thought that, in light of your worry, you might
fail to observe the obvious. But you've a sharp wit about you, Pug." Tomas
didn't understand what they were saying for a moment, then comprehension
dawned. "Then you'll accect no apprentices!" Martin raised a finger to his
lips. "Not a word, lad. No, with young Garret chosen last year, I've a full
company of trackers." Tomas was disappointed. He wished more than anything
to take service with Swordmaster Fannon, but should he not be chosen as a
soldier, then he would prefer the life of a forester, under Martin. Now
his second choice was denied him. After a moment of dark brooding, he
brightened: perhaps Martin didn't choose him because Fannon already had.
Seeing his friend entering a cycle of ilation and depression as he
considered all the possibilities, Pug said, "You haven't been in the keep
for nearly a month, Martin." He put away the sling he still held and asked,
"Where have you kept yourself?" Martin looked at Pug as the boy instantly
regretted his question. As friendly as Martin could be, he was still
Huntmaster, a member of the Duke's household, and keep boys did not make a
habit of questioning the comings and goings of the Duke's staff. Martin
relieved Pug's embarrassment with a slight smile. "I've been to Elvandar.
Queen Aglaranna has ended her twenty ,ears of mourning the death of her
husband, the Elf King. There was a great celebration." Pug was surprised by
the answer. To him, as to most people in
Crydee, the elves were little more than legend. But Martin had spent his
youth near the elven forests and was one of the few humans to come and go
through those forests to the north at will. It was another thing that set
Martin Longbow apart from others. While Martin had shared elvish lore with
the boys before, this was the first time in Pug's memory he had spoken of
his relationship to the elves. Pug stammered, "You feasted with the Elf
Queen?" Martin assumed a pose of modest inconsequence. "Well, I sat at the
table farthest from the throne, but yes, I was there." Seeing the unasked
questions in their eyes, he continued. "You know as a boy I was raised by
the monks of Silban's Abbey, near the elven forest. I played with elven
children, and before I came here, I hunted with Prince Calin and his
cousin, Galain." Tomas nearly jumped with excitement. Elves were a subject
holding particular fascination for him. "Did you know King Aidan?" Martin's
expression clouded, and his eyes narrowed, his manner suddenly becoming
stiff. Tomas saw Martin's reaction and said, "I'm sorry, Martin. Did I say
something wrong?" Martin waved away the apology. "No fault of yours,
Tomas," he said, his manner softening somewhat. "The elves do not use the
names of those who have gone to the Blessed Isles, especially those who
have died untimely. They believe to do so recalls those spoken of from
their journey there, denying them their final rest. I respect their
beliefs.
"Well, to answer you, no, I never met him. He was killed when I was
only a small boy. But I have heard the stories of his deeds, and he was a
good and wise King by all accounts." Martin looked about. "It approaches
noon. We should return to the keep." He began to walk toward the path, and
the boys fell in beside him. "What was the feast like, Martin?" asked
Tomas. Pug sighed as the hunter began to speak of the marvels of Elvandar.
He was also fascinated by tales of the elves, but to nowhere near the
degree Tomas was. Tomas could endure hours of tales of the people of the
elven forests, regardless of the speaker's credibility. At least, Pug
considered, in the Huntmaster they had a dependable eye witness. Martin's
voice droned on, and Pug's attention wandered, as he again found himself
pondering the Choosing.
No matter that he told himself worry was useless: he
worried. He found he was facing the approaching of this afternoon with
something akin to dread.
ThE BoYs sTOOD in the courtyard. It was Midsummer, the day that ended one
year and marked the beginning of another. Today everyone in the castle
would be counted one year older. For the milling boys this was
significant, for today was the last day of their boyhood. Today was the
Choosing. Pug tugged at the collar of his new tunic. It wasn't really new,
being one of Tomas's old ones, but it was the newest Pug had ever owned.
Magya, Tomas's mother, had taken it in for the smaller boy, to ensure he
was presentable before the Duke and his court. Magya and her husband,
Megar the cook, were as close to being parents to the orphan as anyone in
the keep. They tended his ills, saw that he was fed, and boxed his ears
when he deserved it. They also loved him as if he were Tomas's brother. Pug
looked around. The other boys all wore their best, for this was one of the
most important days of their young lives. Each would stand before the
assembled Craftmasters and members of the Duke's staff, and each would be
considered for an apprentice's post. It was a ritual, its origins lost in
time, for the choices had already been made. The crafters and the Duke's
staff had spent many hours discussing each boy's merits with one another
and knew which boys they would call. The practice of having the boys
between eight and thirteen years of age work in the crafts and services had
proved a wise course over the years in fitting the best suited to each
craft. In addition, it provided a pool of semiskilled individuals for the
other crafts should the need arise. The drawback to the system was that
certain boys were not chosen for a craft or staff position. Occasionally
there would be too many boys for a single position, or no lad judged fit
even though there was an opening. Even when the number of boys and openings
seemed well matched, as it did this year, there were no guarantees. For
those who stood in doubt, it was an anxious time. Pug scuffed his bare feet
absently in the dust. Unlike Tomas, who seemed to do well at anything he
tried, Pug was often guilty of trying too hard and bungling his tasks. He
looked around and noticed that a few of the other boys also showed signs of
tension. Some were joking roughly, pretending no concern over whether they
were chosen or not. Others stood like Pug, lost in their thoughts, trying
not to dwell on what they would do should they not be chosen. If he was not
chosen, Pug-like the others-would be free to leave
Crydee to try to find a craft in another town or city. If he stayed, he
would have to either farm the Duke's land as a franklin, or work one of the
town's fishing boats. Both prospects were equally unattractive, but he
couldn't imagine leaving Crydee.
Pug remembered what Megar had told him, the night before. The old cook had
cautioned him about fretting too much over the Choosing. After all, he had
pointed out, there were many apprentices who never
%advanced to the rank of journeyman "thod twcheH aj C i desewtharen wakjtt
into account, there were more men wi u ra n ry F. Megar had glossed over
the fact that many fishers' and farmers' sons forsook the choosing,
electing to follow their fathers.
Pug wondered if Megar was so removed from his own
Choosing he couldn't remember that the boys who were not chosen would stand
before the assembled company of Craftmasters, householders, and newly
chosen apprentices, under their gaze until the last name was called and
they were dismissed in shame. Biting his lower lip, Pug tried to hide his
nervousness. He was not the sort to jump from the heights of Sailor's Grief
should he not be chosen, as some had done in the past, but he couldn't bear
the idea of facing those who had been chosen. Tomas, who stood next to his
shorter friend, threw Pug a smile. He knew Pug was fretting, but could not
feel entirely sympathetic as his own excitement mounted. His father had
admitted that he would be the first called by Swordmaster Fannon. Moreover,
the Swordmaster had confided that should Tomas do well in training, he
might be found a place in the Duke's personal guard. It would be a signal
honor and would improve Tomas's chance for advancement, even earning him an
officer's rank after fifteen or twenty years in the guard. He poked Pug in
the ribs with an elbow, for the Duke's Herald had come out upon the balcony
overlooking the courtyard.
The herald signaled to a guard, who opened the
small door in the great gate, and the Craftmasters entered. They crossed to
stand at the foot of the broad stairs of the keep. As was traditional, they
stood with their backs to the boys, waiting upon the Duke. The large oaken
doors of the keep began to swing out ponderously, and several guards in the
Duke's brown and gold darted through to take up their positions on the
steps. Upon each tabard was emblazoned the golden gull of Crydee, and above
that a small golden crown, marking the Duke a member of the royal family.
The herald shouted, "Hearken to me! His Grace, Borric conDoin,
third Duke of Crydee, Prince of the Kingdom, Lord of Crydee, Carse, and
Tulan; Warden of the West; Knight-General of the King's Armies, heir
presumptive to the throne of Rillanon." The Duke stood patiently while the
list of offices was completed, then stepped forward into the sunlight. Past
fifty, the Duke of Crydee still moved with the fluid grace and powerful step
of a born warrior. Except for the grey at the temples of his dark brown
hair, he looked younger than his age by twenty years. He was dressed from
neck to boot in black, as he had been for the last seven
years, for he still mourned the loss of his beloved wife, Catherine. At his
side hung a black-scabbarded sword with a silver hilt, and upon his hand
his ducal signet ring, the only ornamentation he permitted himself. The
herald raised his voice. "Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Lyam conDoin
and Arutha conDoin, heirs to the House of Crydee,
Knight-Captains of the King's Army of the West,. Princes of the royal house
of Rillanon." Both sons stepped forward to stand behind their father. The
two young men were six and four years older than the apprentices, the Duke
having wed late, but the difference between the awkward candidates for
apprenticeship and the sons of the Duke was much more than a few years in
age.
Both Princes appeared calm and self-possessed. Lyam, the elder, stood on
his father's right, a blond, powerfully built man. His open smile was the
image of his mother's, and he looked always on the verge of laughter. He
was dressed in a bright blue tunic and yellow leggings and wore a closely
trimmed beard, as blond as his shoulder-length hair. Arutha was to shadows
and night as Lyam was to light and day. He stood nearly as tall as his
brother and father, but while they were powerfully built, he was rangy to
the point of gauntness. He wore a brown tunic and russet leggings. His hair
was dark and his face clean-shaven. Everything about Arutha gave one the
feeling of quickness. His strength was in his speed: speed with the rapier,
speed with wit. His humor was dry and often sharp. while Lyam was openly
loved by the Duke's subjects, Arutha was respected and admired for his
ability, but not regarded with warmth by the people. Together the two sons
seemed to capture most of the complex nature of their sire, for the Duke
was capable of both Lyam's robust humor and Arutha's dark moods. They were
nearly opposites in temperament, but both capable men who would benefit the
Duchy and Kingdom in years to come. The Duke loved both his sons. The
herald again spoke. "The Princess Carline, daughter of the royal house."
The slim and graceful girl who made her entrance was the same age as the
boys who stood below, but already beginning to show the poise and grace of
one born to rule and the beauty of her late mother. Her soft yellow gown
contrasted strikingly with her nearly black hair. Her eyes were Lyam's
blue, as their mother's had been, and Lyam beamed when his sister took
their father's arm. Even Arutha ventured one of his rare half smiles, for
his sister was dear to him also. Many boys in the keep harbored a secret
love for the Princess, a fact
she often turned to her advantage when there was mischief afoot. But even
her presence could not drive the day's business from their minds. The
Duke's court then entered. Pug and Tomas could see that all the members of
the Duke's staff were present, including Kulgan. Pug had glimpsed him in
the castle from time to time since the night of the storm, and they had
exchanged words once, Kulgan inquiring as to his well-being, but mostly the
magician was absent from sight. Pug was a little surprised to see the
magician, for he was not properly considered a full member of the Duke's
household, but rather a sometime adviser. Most of the time Kulgan was
ensconced in his tower, hidden from view as he did whatever magicians do in
such places. The magician was deep in conversation with Father Tully, a
priest of Astalon the Builder and one of the Duke's oldest aides. Tully had
been adviser to the Duke's father and had seemed old then. He now appeared
ancient-at least to Pug's youthful perspective-but his eyes betrayed no
sign of senility. Many a keep boy had been impaled upon the pointed gaze of
those clear grey eyes. His wit and tongue were equally youthful, and more
than once a keep boy had wished for a session with Horsemaster Algon's
leather strap rather than a tongue-lashing from Father Tully. The
white-haired priest could nearly strip the skin from a miscreant's back
with his caustic words. Nearby stood one who had experienced Tully's wrath
upon occasion, Squire Roland, son of Baron Tolburt of Tulan, one of the
Duke's vassals. He was companion to both Princes, being the only other boy
of noble birth in the keep. His father had sent him to Crydee the year
before, to learn something of the management of the Duchy and the ways of
the Duke's court. In the rather rough frontier court Roland discovered a
home away from home. He was already something of a rogue when he arrived,
but his infectious sense of humor and ready wit often eased much of the
anger that resulted from his prankish ways. It was Roland, more often than
not, who was Princess Carline's accomplice in whatever mischief she was
embarked upon. With light brown hair and blue eyes, Roland stood tall for
his age. He was a year older than the gathered boys and had played often
with them over the last year, as Lyam and Arutha were frequently busy with
court duties. Tomas and he had been boyish rivals at first, then fast
friends, with Pug becoming his friend by default, because where Tomas was,
Pug was certain to be nearby. Roland saw Pug fidgeting near the edge of the
assembled boys and gave him a slight nod and wink. Pug grinned briefly, for
while he was as often the butt of Roland's jokes as any other, he still
found himself liking the wild young Squire.
After all his court was in attendance, the Duke spoke. "Yesterday was the
last day of the eleventh year of the reign of our Lord King, Rodric the
Fourth. Today is the Festival of Banapis. The following day will find
these boys gathered here counted among the men of Crydee, boys no longer,
but apprentices and freemen. At this time it is proper for me to inquire if
any among you wishes to be released from service to the Duchy. Are there
any among you who so wish?" The question was
formal in nature and no response was expected, for few ever wished to leave
Crydee. But one boy did step forward. The herald asked, "Who seeks release
of his service?" The boy looked down, clearly nervous. Clearing his throat,
he said, "I am Robert, son of Hugen." Pug knew him, but not well. He was a
netmender's son, a town boy, and they rarely mixed with the keep boys. Pug
had played with him upon a few occasions and had a sense the lad was well
regarded. It was a rare thing to refuse service, and Pug was as. curious as
any to hear the reasons. The Duke spoke kindly. "What is your purpose,
Robert, son of Hugen?"
"Your grace, my father is unable to take me into his
craft, for my four brothers are well able to ascend to the craft as
journeymen and masters after him, as are many other netmender's sons. My
eldest brother is now married and has a son of his own, so my family no
longer has room for me in the house. If I may not stay with my family and
practice my father's craft, I beg your grace's leave to take service as a
sailor." The Duke considered the matter. Robert was not the first village
boy to be called by the lure of the sea. "Have you found a master willing
to take you into his company?"
"Yes, Your Grace. Captain Gregson, master of
the ship Green Deep from Margrave's Port is willing."
"I know this man," said the Duke. Smiling slightly he said, "He is a
good and fair man. I recommend you into his service and wish you well
in your travels. You will be welcomed at Crydee whenever you return
with your ship." Robert bowed, a
little stiffly, and left the courtyard, his part in the Choosing done. Pug
wondered at Robert's adventuresome choice. In less than a minute the boy
had renounced his ties with his family and home and was now a citizen of a
city he had never seen. It was custom that a sailor was considered to owe
his loyalty to the city that was his ship's home port. Margrave's port was
one of the Free Cities of Natal, on the Bitter Sea, and was now Robert's
home. The Duke indicated the herald should continue.
The herald announced the first of the Craftmasters, Sailmaker Holm, who
called the names of three boys. All three took service, and none seemed
displeased. The choosing went smoothly, as no boy refused service. Each boy
went to stand next to his new master. As the afternoon wore on and the
number of boys diminished, Pug became more and more uncomfortable. Soon
there were only two boys besides Pug and Tomas standing in the center of
the court. All the Craftmasters had called their apprentices, and only two
of the Duke's household staff beside the Swordmaster had not been heard
from. Pug studied the group on the top of the steps, his heart pounding
with anxiety. The two Princes regarded the boys, Lyam with a friendly
smile, Arutha brooding on some thought or another. The Princess Carline was
bored by the entire affair and took little pains to hide the fact, as she
was whispering to Roland. This brought a disapproving look from Lady Marna,
her governess. Horsemaster Algon came forth, his brown-and-golden tabard
bearing a small horsehead embroidered over his left breast. The Horsemaster
called the name of Rulf, son of Dick, and the stocky son of the Duke's
stableman walked over to stand behind the master. When he turned, he smiled
condescendingly at Pug. The two boys had never gotten along, the
pock-scarred boy spending many hours taunting and tormenting Pug. While
they both worked in the stable under Dick, the stableman had looked the
other way whenever his son sprang a trap on Pug, and the orphan was always
held responsible for any difficulty that arose.
It had been a terrible period for Pug, and the boy had vowed to refuse
service rather than face the prospect of working next to Rulf the rest of
his life. Housecarl Samuel called the other boy, Geoffry, who would become
a member of the castle's serving staff, leaving Pug and Tomas standing
alone. Swordmaster Fannon then stepped forward, and Pug felt his heart
stand still as the old soldier called, "Tomas, son of Megar." There was a
pause, and Pug waited to hear his own name called, but Fannon stepped back
and Tomas crossed over to stand alongside him.
Pug felt dwarfed by the gaze of all upon him. The
courtyard was now larger than he had ever remembered it, and he felt ill
fashioned and poorly dressed.' His heart sank in his chest as he realized
that there was no Craftmaster or staff member present who had not taken an
apprentice. He would be the only boy uncalled. Fighting back tears, he
waited for the Duke to dismiss the company. As the Duke started to speak,
sympathy for the boy showing clearly in his face, he was interrupted by
another voice. "Your Grace, if you would be so kind."
All eyes turned to see Kulgan the magician step forward. "I have need of an
apprentice and would call Pug, orphan of the keep, to service." A wave of
murmuring swept through the assembled Craftmasters. A few voices could be
heard saying it wasn't proper for a magician to participate in the
Choosing. The Duke silenced them with a sweep of his gaze, his face stern.
No Craftmaster would challenge the Duke of Crydee, the third-ranking noble
in the Kingdom, over the standing of one boy. Slowly all eyes returned to
regard the boy. The Duke said, "As Kulgan is a recognized master of his
craft, it is his right to choose. Pug, orphan of the keep, will you take
service?" Pug stood rigid. He had imagined himself leading the King's army
into battle as a Knight-Lieutenant, or discovering someday he was the
lost son of nobility. In his boyish imaginings he had sailed ships, hunted
great monsters, and saved the nation. In quieter moments of reflection he
had wondered if he would spend his life building ships, making pottery, or
learning the trader's skill, and speculated on how well he would do in each
of those crafts. But the one thing he never thought of, the one dream that
had never captured his fantasies, was that of becoming a magician. He
snapped out of his shocked state, aware the Duke patiently
awaited his response. He looked at the faces of those before him. Father
Tully gave him one of his rare smiles, as did Prince Arutha. Prince Lyam
nodded a slight yes, and Kulgan regarded him intently. There were signs of
worry upon the magician's face, and suddenly Pug decided. It might not be
an entirely proper calling, but any craft was better' than none. He stepped
forward .and caught his own heel with his other foot, and landed face down
in the dust. Picking himself up, he half scrambled, half ran to the
magician's side. The misstep broke the tension, and the Duke's booming
laughter filled the courtyard. flushing with embarrassment, Pug stood
behind Kulgan. He looked around the broad girth of his new master and found
the Duke watching, his expression tempered by a kind nod at the blushing
Pug. The Duke turned back to those who stood waiting for the Choosing to
end. "I declare that each boy present is now the charge of his master, to
obey him in all matters within the laws of the Kingdom, and each shall be
judged a true and proper man of Crydee. Let the apprentices attend their
masters. Until the feasting, I bid you all good day." He turned and
presented his left arm to his daughter. She placed her hand lightly upon it
and they passed into the keep between the ranks of the courtiers, who drew
aside. The two Princes followed, and the others of the court. Pug saw Tomas
leave in the direction of the guard barracks, behind Master Fannon.
He turned his attention back to Kulgan, who was standing lost in thought.
After a moment the magician said, "I trust neither of us has made a mistake
this day."
"Sir?" Pug asked, not understanding the magician's meaning.
Kulgan waved one hand absently, causing his pale yellow robe to move like
waves rippling over the sea. "It is no matter, boy. What's done is done.
Let us make the best of things." He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Come, let us retire to the tower where I reside. There is a small room
below my own that should do for you. I had intended it for some project or
another, but have never managed to find the time to prepare it." Pug stood
in awe. "A room of my own?" Such a thing for an apprentice was unheard of.
Most apprentices slept in the workrooms of their master, or protected
herds, or the like.
Only when an apprentice became a journeyman was it usual for him to take
private quarters. Kulgan arched one bushy eyebrow. "Of course. Can't have
you underfoot all the time. I would never get anything done. Besides,
magic requires solitude for contemplation. You will need to be untroubled
as much as or perhaps more than I will." He took out his long, thin pipe
from a fold of his robe and started to stuff it full of tabac from a pouch
that had also come from within the robe. "Let's not bother with too much
discussion of duties and such, boy. For in truth, I am not prepared for
you. But in short order I will have things well in hand. Until then we can
use the time by becoming acquainted with one another. Agreed?" Pug was
startled. He had little notion of what a magician was about, in spite of
the night spent with Kulgan weeks ago, but he readily knew what
Craftmasters were like, and none would have thought to inquire whether or
not an apprentice agreed with his plans. Not knowing what to say, Pug just
nodded. "Good, then," said Kulgan, "let us be off to the tower to find you
some new clothes, and then we will spend the balance of the day feasting.
Later there will be ample time to learn how to be master and apprentice."
With a smile for the boy, the stout magician turned Pug around and led him
away.
THE LaTE AftERNOOM was clear and bright, with a gentle breeze from the sea
cooling the summer heat. Throughout the keep of Castle Crydee, and the town
below, preparations for the Festival of Banapis were in progress. Banapis
was the oldest known holiday, its origins lost in antiquity. It was held
each Midsummer's Day, a day belonging to neither the past
nor the coming year. Banapis, known by other names in other nations, was
celebrated over the entire world of Midkemia according to legend. It was
believed by some that the festival was borrowed from the elves and dwarves,
for the long-lived races were said to have celebrated the feast of
Midsummer as far back as the memory of both races could recall. Most
authorities disputed this allegation, citing no reason other than the
unlikelihood of humans borrowing anything from the elven or dwarven folk.
it was rumored that even the denizens of the Northlands, the goblin tribes
and the clans of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, celebrated Banapis,
though no one had ever reported seeing such a celebration. The courtyard
was busy.
Huge tables had been erected to hold the myriad varieties of foods that had
been in preparation for over a week. Giant barrels of dwarven ale, imported
from Stone Mountain, had been hauled out of the cellars and were resting on
protesting, overburdened wood frames. The workmen, alarmed at the fragile
appearance of the barrd ricks, were quickly emptying some of the contents.
Megar came out of the kitchen and angrily shooed them away. "Leave off,
there will be none left for the evening meal at this rate! Back to the
kitchen, dolts! There is much work to be done yet." The workers went off,
grumbling, and Megar filled a tankard to ensure the ale was at proper
temperature. After he drained it dry and satisfied himself that all was as
it should be, he returned to the kitchen. There was no formal beginning to
the feast. Traditionally, people and food, wine and ale, all accumulated
until they reached a certain density, then all at once the festivities
would be in full swing.
Pug ran from the kitchen. His room in the northmost tower, the
magician's tower as it had become known, provided him with a shortcut
through the kitchen, which he used rather than the main doors of the keep.
He beamed as he sped across the courtyard in his new tunic and trousers. He
had never worn such finery and was in a hurry to show his friend Tomas. He
found Tomas leaving the soldiers' commons, nearly as much in a hurry as Pug.
When the two met, they both spoke at once. "Look at the new tunic-" said
Pug. "Look at my soldier's tabard-" said Tomas. Both stopped and broke into
laughter. Tomas regained his composure first. "Those are very fine clothes,
Pug," he said, fingering the expensive material of Pug's red tunic. "And
the color suits you."
Pug returned the compliment, for Tomas did cut a striking figure in
his brown-and-gold tabard. It was of little consequence that he wore his
regular homespun tunic and trousers underneath. He would not receive a
soldier's uniform until Master Fannon was satisfied with his worthiness as
a man-at-arms. The two friends wandered from one heavily laden table to
another. Pug's mouth watered from the rich fragrances in the air. They came
to a table heaped with meat pies, steam rising from their hot crusts,
pungent cheeses, and hot bread. At the table a young kitchen boy was
stationed with a shoo-fly. His job was to keep pests from the food,
whether of the insect variety or the chronically hungry apprentice
variety. Like most other situations involving boys, the relationship
between this guardian of the feast and the older apprentices was closely
bound by tradition. It was considered ill-mannered and in poor taste
merely to threaten or bully the smaller boy into parting with food before
the start of the feast. But it was considered fair to use guile, stealth,
or speed in gaining a prize from the table. Pug and Tomas observed with
interest as the boy, named Jon, delivered a wicked whack to the hand of
one young apprentice seeking to snag a large pie. With a nod of his head,
Tomas sent Pug to the far side of the table. Pug ambled across Jon's field
of vision, and the boy watched him carefully. Pug moved abruptly, a feint
toward the table, and Jon leaned in his direction. Then suddenly Tomas
snatched a puff-pastry from the table and was gone before the shoo-fly
lash began to descend. As they ran from the table, Pug and Tomas could
hear the distressed cries of the boy whose table they had plundered. Tomas
gave Pug half the pie when they were safely away, and the smaller
apprentice laughed. "You're the quickest hand in the castle, I bet."
"Or young Jon was slow of eye for keeping it on you."
They shared a laugh. Pug popped his half of the pie into his mouth.
It was delicately seasoned, and the contrast between the salty pork filling
and the sweet puff-pastry crust was delicious. The sound of pipes and drums
came from the side courtyard as the Duke's musicians approached the main
courtyard. By the time they had emerged around the keep, a silent message
seemed to pass through the crowd. Suddenly the kitchen boys were busy
handing out wooden platters for the celebrants to heap food upon, and
mugs of ale and wine were being drawn from the barrels. The boys dashed to
a place in line at the first table. Pug and Tomas used their size and
quickness to good advantage, darting through the
throng, snagging food of every description and a large mug of foamy ale
each. They found a relatively quiet corner and fell to with ravenous hunger.
Pug tasted his first drink of ale and was surprised at the robust, slightly
bitter taste. It seemed to warm him as it went down, and after another
experimental taste he decided that he liked it.
Pug could see the Duke and his family mingling with the common
folk. Other members of his court could also be seen standing in line before
the tables. There was no ceremony, ritual, or rank observed this afternoon.
Each was served as he arrived, for Midsummer's Day was the time when all
would equally share in the bounties of the harvest. Pug caught a glimpse of
the Princess and felt his chest tighten a little. She looked radiant as
many of the boys in the courtyard complimented her on her appearance. She
wore a lovely gown of deep blue and a simple, broad-brimmed hat of the same
color. She thanked each author of a flattering remark and used her dark
eyelashes and bright smile to good advantage, leaving a wake of infatuated
boys behind. Jugglers and clowns made their appearance in the courtyard,
the first of many groups of traveling performers who were in the town for
the festival. The actors of another company had set up a stage in the town
square and would give a performance in the evening. Until the early hours
of the next morning the festivities would continue. Pug knew that many of
the boys the year before had to be excused duty the day following Banapis,
for their heads and stomachs were in no condition for honest work. He was
sure that scene would be repeated tomorrow. Pug looked forward to the
evening, for it was the custom for new apprentices to visit many of the
houses in the town, receiving congratulations and mugs of ale. It was
also a ripe time for meeting the town girls. While dalliance was not
unknown, it was frowned upon. But mothers tended to be less vigilant during
Banapis. Now that the boys had crafts, they were viewed less as bothersome
pests and more as potential sons-in-law, and there had been more than one
case of a mother looking the other way while a daughter used her natural
gifts to snare a young husband. Pug, being of small stature and youthful
appearance, got little notice from the girls of the keep. Tomas, however,
was more and more the object of girlish flirtation as he grew in size and
good looks, and lately Pug had begun to be aware that his friend was being
sized up by one or another of the castle girls.Pug was still young enough
to think the whole thing silly, but old enough to be fascinated by it. Pug
chewed an improbable mouthful and looked around. People from the town and
keep passed, offering congratulations on the boys' apprenticeship and
wishing them a good new year. Pug felt a deep sense of
rightness about everything. He was an apprentice, even if Kulgan seemed
completely unsure of what to do with him. He was well fed, and on his way
to being slightly intoxicated-which contributed to his sense of well-being.
And, most important, he was among friends. There can't be much more to life
than this, he thought.
3
kEEP
Puc sAT SULKING ON HIS SLEEPING PAllET.
Fantus the firedrake pushed his head forward, inviting Pug to scratch him
behind his eye ridges. Seeing that he would get little satisfaction, the
drake made his way to the tower window and with a snort of displeasure,
complete with a small puff of black smoke, launched himself in flight. Pug
didn't notice the creature's leaving, so engrossed was he in his own world
of troubles. Since he had taken on the position of Kulgan's apprentice
fourteen months ago, everything he had done seemed to go wrong. He lay back
on the pallet, covering his eyes with a forearm. he could smell the salty
sea breeze that blew in through his window and feel the sun's warmth across
his legs. Everything in his life had taken a turn for the better since his
apprenticeship, except the single most important thing, his studies. For
months Kulgan had been laboring to teach him the fundamentals of the
magician's arts, but there was always something that caused his efforts to
go awry. In the theories of spell casting, Pug was a quick study, grasping
the basic concepts well. But each time he attempted to use his knowledge,
something seemed to hold him' back. It was as if a part of his mind refused
to follow through with the magic, as if a block existed that prevented him
from passing a certain point in the spell. Each time
he tried he could feel himself approach that point, and like a rider of a
balky horse, he couldn't seem to force himself over the hurdle. Kulgan
dismissed his worries, saying that it would all sort itself out in time.
The stout magician was always sympathetic with the boy, never reprimanding
him for not doing better, for he knew the boy was trying. Pug was brought
out of his reverie by someone's opening the door. Looking up, he saw Father
Tully entering, a large book under his arm. The cleric's white robes
rustled as he closed the door. Pug sat up. "Pug, it's time for your writing
lesson-" He stopped himself when he saw the downcast expression of the boy.
"What's the matter, lad?" Pug had come to like the old priest of Astalon.
He was a strict master, but a fair one. He would praise the boy for his
success as often as scold him for his failures. He had a quick mind and a
sense of humor and was open to questions, no matter how stupid Pug thought
they might sound. Coming to his feet, Pug sighed. "I don't know, Father.
It's just that things don't seem to be going right. Everything I try I
manage to make a mess of.''
"Pug, it can't be all black," the priest said, placing a hand
on Pug's shoulder. "Why don't you tell me what is troubling you, and we can
practice writing some other time." He moved to a stool by the window and
adjusted his robes around him as he sat. As he placed the large book at his
feet, he studied the boy. Pug had grown over the last year, but was still
small. His shoulders were beginning to broaden a bit, and his face was
showing signs of the man he would someday be. He was a dejected figure in
his homespun tunic and trousers, his mood as grey as the material he wore.
His room, which was usually neat and orderly, was a mess of scrolls and
books, reflecting the disorder in his mind. Pug sat quietly for a moment,
but when the priest said nothing, started to speak. "Do you remember my
telling you that Kulgan was trying to teach me the three basic cantrips to
calm the mind, so that the working of spells could be practiced without
stress? Well, the truth is that I mastered those exercises months ago. I
can bring my mind to a state of calm in moments now, with little effort.
But that is as far as it goes. After that, everything seems to fall apart."
"what do you mean?"
"The next thing to learn is to discipline the mind to
do things that are not natural for it, such as think on one thing to the
exclusion of everything else, or not to think of something, which is quite
hard once you've been told what it is. I can do those things most of the
time, but
now and again I feel like there are some forces inside my head, crashing
about, demanding that I do things in a different way. It's like there was
something else happening in my head than what Kulgan told me to expect.
"Each time I try one of the simple spells Kulgan has taught me, like making
an object move, or lifting myself off the ground, these things in my head
come flooding in on my concentration, and I lose my control. I can't even
master the simplest spell." Pug felt himself tremble, for this was the first
chance he had had to speak about this to anyone besides Kulgan. "Kulgan
simply says to keep at it and not worry." Nearing tears, he continued. "I
have talent. Kulgan said he knew it from the first time we met, when I used
the crystal. You've told me that I have talent. But I just can't make the
spells work the way they're supposed to. I get so confused by it all."
"Pug," said the priest, "magic has many properties, and we understand
little of how it works, even those of us who practice it. In the temples we
are taught that magic is a gift from the gods, and we accept that on faith.
We do not understand how this can be so, but we do not question. Each order
has its own province of magic, with no two quite alike. I am capable of
magic that those who follow other orders are not. But none can say why.
"Magicians deal in a different sort of magic, and their practices are very
different from our practices in the temples. Much of what they do, we
cannot. It is they who study the art of magic, seeking its nature and
workings, but even they cannot explain how magic works. They only know how
to work it, and pass that knowledge along to their students, as Kulgan is
doing with you."
"Trying to do with me, Father. I think he may have
misjudged me."
"I think not, Pug. I have some knowledge of these things,
and since you have become Kulgan's pupil, I have felt the power growing in
you. Perhaps you will come to it late, as others have, but I am sure you
will find the proper path." Pug was not comforted. He didn't question the
priest's wisdom or his opinion, but he did feel he could be mistaken. "I
hope you're right, Father. I just don't understand what's wrong with me."
"I think I know what's wrong," came a voice from the door. Startled, Pug
and Father Tully turned to see Kulgan standing in the doorway. His blue
eyes were set in lines of concern, and his thick grey brows formed a V over
the bridge of his nose. Neither Pug nor Tully had heard the door open.
Kulgan hiked his long green robe and stepped into the room, leaving the
door open. "Come here, Pug," said the magician with a small wave of his
hand.
Pug went over to the magician, who placed both hands on his shoulders.
"Boys who sit in their rooms day after day worrying about why things don't
work make things not work. I am giving you the day for yourself. As it is
Sixthday, there should be plenty of other boys to help you in whatever sort
of trouble boys can find." He smiled, and his pupil was filled with relief.
"You need a rest from study. Now go." So saying, he fetched a playful cuff
to the boy's head, sending him running down the stairs. crossing over to
the pallet, Kulgan lowered his heavy frame to it and looked at the priest.
"Boys," said Kulgan, shaking his head. "You hold a festival, give them a
badge of craft, and suddenly they expect to be men. But they're still boys,
and no matter how hard they try, they still act like boys, not men." He
took out his pipe and began filling it. "Magicians are considered young and
inexperienced at thirty, but in all other crafts thirty would mark a man a
journeyman or master, most likely readying his own son for the Choosing."
He put a taper to the coals still smouldering in Pug's fire pot and lit his
pipe. Tully nodded. "I understand, Kulgan. The priesthood also is an old
man's calling. At Pug's age I still had thirteen years of being an acolyte
before me." The old priest leaned forward. "Kulgan, what of the boy's
problem?"
"The boy's right, you know," Kulgan stated flatly. "There is no
explanation for why he cannot perform the skills I've tried to teach. The
things he can do with scrolls and devices amaze me. The boy has such gifts
for these things, I would have wagered he had the makings of a magician of
mighty arts. But this inability to use his inner powers . . ."
"Do you think you can find a solution?"
"I hope so. I would hate to have to release
him from apprenticeship. It would go harder on him than had I never chosen
him." His face showed his genuine concern. "It is confusing, Tully. I think
you'll agree he has the potential for a great talent. As soon as I saw him
use the crystal in my hut that night, I knew for the first time in years I
might have at last found my apprentice. When no master chose him, I knew
fate had set our paths to cross. But there is something else inside that
boy's head, something I've never met before, something powerful. I don't
know what it is, Tully, but it rejects my exercises, as if they were
somehow . . . not correct, or . . . ill suited to him. I don't know if I
can explain what I've encountered with Pug any better. There is no simple
explanation for it."
"Have you thought about what the boy said?" asked the
priest, a look of thoughtful concern on his face. "You mean about my having
been mistaken?" Tully nodded. Kulgan dismissed the question with a wave of
his hand.
"Tully, you know as much about the nature of magic as I do, perhaps more.
Your god is not called the God who Brought Order for nothing. Your sect
unraveled much about what orders this universe. Do you for one moment doubt
the boy has talent?"
"Talent, no. But his ability is the question for the
moment."
"Well put, as usual. Well, then, have you any ideas? Should we make a
cleric out of the boy, perhaps?" 'Tully sat back, a disapproving expression
upon his face. "You know the priesthood is a calling, Kulgan," he said
stiffly. "Put your back down, Tully. I was making a joke." He sighed.
"Still, if he hasn't the calling of a priest, nor the knack of a magician's
craft, what can we make of this natural ability of his?" Tully pondered the
question in silence for a moment, then said, . "Have you thought of the
lost art?" Kulgan's eyes widened. "That old legend?" Tully nodded. "I doubt
there is a magician alive who at one time or another hasn't reflected on
the legend of the lost art. If it had existed, it would explain away many
of the shortcomings of our craft." Then he fixed Tully with a narrowed eye,
showing his disapproval. "But legends are common enough. Turn up any rock
on the beach and you'll find one. I for one prefer to look for real answers
to our shortcomings, not blame them on ancient superstitions." Tully's
expression became stern and his tone scolding. "We of the temple do not
count it legend, Kulgan! It is considered part of the revealed truth,
taught by the gods to the first men." Nettled by Tully's tone, Kulgan
snapped, "So was the notion the world was flat, until Ro' lendirk-a
magician, I'll remind you-sent his magic sight high enough to disclose the
curvature of the horizon, clearly demonstrating the world to be a sphere!
It was a fact known by almost every sailor and fisherman who'd ever seen a
sail appear upon the horizon before the rest of the ship since the
beginning of time!" His voice rose to a near shout. Seeing Tully was stung
by the reference to ancient church canon long since abandoned, Kulgan
softened his tone. "No disrespect to you, Tully. But don't try to teach an
old thief to steal. I know your order chops logic with the best of them,
and that half your brother clerics fall into laughing fits when they hear
those deadly serious young acolytes debate theological issues set aside a
century ago. Besides which, isn't the legend of the lost art an Ishapian
dogma?"
Now it was Tully's turn to fix Kulgan with a disapproving eye. With a
tone of amused exasperation, he said, "Your education in religion is still
lacking, Kulgan, despite a somewhat unforgiving insight into the inner
workings of my order." He smiled a little. "You're right about the moot
gospel courts, though. Most of us find them so amusing because we remember
how painfully grim we were about them when we were acolytes." Then
turning serious, he said, "But I am serious when I say your education is
lacking. The Ishapians have some strange beliefs, it's true, and they are
an insular group, but they are also the oldest order known and are
recognized as the senior church in questions pertaining to
interdenominational differences."
"Religious wars, you mean," said Kulgan with an
amused snort. Tully ignored the comment. "The Ishapians are caretakers for
the oldest lore and history in the Kingdom, and they have the most
extensive library in the Kingdom. I have visited the library at their
temple in Krondor, and it is most impressive." Kulgan smiled and with a
slight tone of condescension said, "As have I, Tully, and I have browsed
the shelves at the Abbey of Sarth, which is ten times as large. What's the
point?"
Leaning forward, Tully said, "The point is this: say what you will about
the Ishapians, but when they put forth something as history, not lore, they
can usually produce ancient tomes to support their claims."
"No," said Kulgan, waving aside Tully's comments with a dismissive wave.
"I do not
make light of your beliefs, or any other man's, but I cannot accept this
nonsense about lost arts. I might be willing to believe Pug could be
somehow more attuned to some aspect of magic I'm ignorant of, perhaps
something involving spirit conjuration or illusionareas I will happily
admit I know little about-but I cannot accept that he will never learn to
master his craft because the long-vanished god of magic died during the
Chaos Wars! No, that there is unknown lore, I accept. There are too many
shortcomings in our craft even to begin to think our understanding of magic
is remotely complete. But if Pug can't learn magic, it is only because I
have failed as a teacher." Tully now glared at Kulgan, suddenly aware the
magician was not pondering Pug's possible shortcomings but his own. "Now
you are being foolish. You are a gifted man, and were I to have been the
one to discover Pug's talent, I could not imagine a better teacher to place
him with than yourself. But there can be no failing if you do not know what
he needs to be taught." Kulgan began to sputter an objection, but Tully cut
him off. "No, let me continue. What we lack is understanding. You seem to
forget there have been others like Pug, wild talents who could not master
their gifts, others who failed as priests and magicians." Kulgan puffed on
his pipe, his brow knitted in concentration. Suddenly he began to
chuckle, then laugh. Tully looked sharply at the magician. Kulgan waved
offhandedly with his pipe. "I was just struck by the
thought that should a swineherd fail to teach his son the family calling,
he could blame it upon the demise of the gods of pigs." Tully's eyes went
wide at the near-blasphemous thought, then he too laughed, a short bark.
"That's one for the moot gospel courts!" Both men laughed a long,
tension-releasing laugh at that. Tully sighed and stood up. "Still, do not
close your mind entirely to what I've said, Kulgan. It may be Pug is one of
those wild talents. And you may have to reconcile yourself for letting him
go." Kulgan shook his head sadly at the thought. "I refuse to believe there
is any simple explanation for those other failures, Tully. Or for Pug's
difficulties, as well. The fault was in each man or woman, not in the
nature of the universe. I have often felt where we fail with Pug is in
understanding how to reach him. perhaps I would be well advised to seek
another master for him, place him with one better able to harness his
abilities."
Tully sighed. "I have spoken my mind of this question,
Kulgan. Other than what I've said, I cannot advise you. Still, as they say,
a poor master's better than no master at all. How would the boy have
fared if no one had chosen to teach him?" Kulgan bolted upright from his
seat. "What did you say?"
"I said, how would the boy have fared if no one
had chosen to teach him?" Kulgan's eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared
into space. He began puffing furiously upon his pipe. After watching for a
moment, Tully said, "What is it, Kulgan?" Kulgan said, "I'm not sure,
Tully, but you may have given me an idea."
"What sort of idea?" Kulgan
waved off the question. "I'm not entirely sure. Give me time to ponder. But
consider your question, and ask yourself this: how did the first magicians
learn to use their power?" Tully sat back down, and both men began to
consider the question in silence. Through the window they could hear the
sound of boys at play, filling the courtyard of the keep.
EvERY SixthdaY, the boys and girls who worked in the castle were allowed
to spend the afternoon as they saw fit. The boys, apprentice age and
younger, were a loud and boisterous lot. The girls worked in the service
.of the ladies of the castle, cleaning and sewing, as well as helping in
the kitchen. They all gave a full week's work, dawn to dusk and more, each
day, but on the sixth day of the week they gathered in the courtyard of !
the castle, near the Princess's garden. Most of the boys played a rough
game of tag, involving the capture of a ball of leather, stuffed hard with
rags, by one side, amid shoves and shouts, kicks and occasional fistfights.
All wore their oldest clothes, for rips, bloodstains, and mudstains were
common. The girls would sit along the low wall by the Princess's garden,
occupying themselves with gossip about the ladies of the Duke's court.
They nearly always put on their best skirts and blouses, and their hair
shone from washing and brushing. Both groups made a great display of
ignoring
each other, and both were equally unconvincing. Pug ran to where the
game was in progress. As was usual, Tomas was in the thick of the fray,
sandy hair flying like a banner, shouting and laughing above the noise.
Amid blows and kicks he sounded savagely joyous, as if the incidental pain
made the contest all the more worthwhile. He ran through the pack,
kicking the ball high in the air, trying to avoid the feet of those who
sought to trip him. No one was quite sure how the game had come into
existence, or exactly what the rules were, but the boys played with
battlefield intensity, as their fathers had years before. Pug ran onto the
field and placed a foot before Rulf just as he was about to hit Tomas from
behind. Rulf went down in a tangle of bodies, and Tomas broke free.. He ran
toward the goal and, dropping the ball in front of himself, kicked it into
a large overturned barrel, scoring for his side. While other boys yelled in
celebration, Rulf leaped to his feet and pushed aside another boy to place
himself directly in front of Pug. Glaring out from under thick brows, he
spat at Pug, "Try that again and I'll break your legs, sand squint!" The
sand squint was a bird of notoriously foul habits-not the least of which
was leaving eggs in other birds' nests so that its offspring were raised by
other birds. Pug was not about to let any insult of Rulf's pass
unchallenged. With the frustrations of the last few months only a little
below the surface, Pug was feeling particularly thin-skinned this day. With
a leap he flew at Rulf's head, throwing his left arm around the stockier
boy's neck. He drove his right fist into Rulf's face and could feel Rulf's
nose squash under the first blow. Quickly both boys were rolling on the
ground. Rulf's greater weight began to tell, and soon he sat astride Pug's
chest, driving his fat fists into the smaller boy's face. Tomas stood by
helpless, for as much as he wanted to aid his friend, ~ the boys' code of
honor was as strict and inviolate as any noble's. Should he intervene on
his friend's behalf, Pug would never live down the shame. Tomas jumped up
and down, urging Pug on, grimacing each time Pug was struck, as if he felt
the blows himself.
Pug tried to squirm out from under the larger boy, causing many of his
blows to slip by, striking dirt instead of Pug's face. Enough of them were
hitting the mark, however, so that Pug soon began to feel a queer
detachment from the whole procedure. He thought it strange that everybody
sounded so far away, and that Rulf's blows seemed not to hurt. His vision
was beginning to fill with red and yellow colors, when he felt the weight
lifted from his chest. After a brief moment things came into focus, and Pug
saw Prince Arutha standing over him, his hand firmly grasping Rulf's
collar.
While not as powerful a figure as his brother or father, the Prince was
still able to hold Rulf high enough so that the stableboy's toes barely
touched the ground. The Prince smiled, but without humor. "I think the boy
has had enough," he said quietly, eyes glaring. "Don't you agree?" His cold
tone made it clear he wasn't asking for an opinion. Blood still ran down
Rulf's face from Pug's initial blow as he choked out a sound the Prince took
to mean agreement. Arutha let go of Rulf's collar, and the stableboy
fell backward, to the laughter of the onlookers. The Prince reached down
and helped Pug to his feet. Holding the wobbly boy steady, Arutha said, "I
admire your courage, youngster, but we can't have the wits beaten out of
the Duchy's finest young magician, can we?" His tone was only slightly
mocking, and Pug was too numb to do more than stand and stare at the
younger son of the Duke. The Prince gave him a slight smile and handed him
over to Tomas, who had come up next to pug, a wet cloth in hand. Pug came
out of his fog as Tomas scrubbed his face with the cloth, and felt even
worse when he saw the Princess and Roland standing only a few feet away as
Prince Arutha returned to their side. To take a beating before the girls
of the keep was bad enough, to be punished by a lout like Rulf in front of
the Princess was a catastrophe. Emitting a groan that had little to do with
his physical state, Pug tried to look as much like someone else as he
could. Tomas grabbed him roughly. "Try not to squirm around so much. You're
not all that bad off. Most of this blood is Rulf's anyway. By tomorrow his
nose will look like an angry red cabbage."
"So will my head."
"Nothing so bad. A black eye, perhaps two, with a swollen cheek thrown in
to the
bargain. On the whole, you did rather well, but next time you want to
tangle with Rulf, wait until you've put on a little more size, will you?"
Pug watched as the Prince led his sister away from the site of battle.
Roland gave him a wide grin, and Pug wished himself dead.
PuG AND Tomas walked out of the kitchen, dinner plates in hand. It was a
warm night, and they preferred the cooling ocean breeze to the heat of the
scullery. They sat on the porch, and Pug moved his jaw from side to side,
feeling it pop in and out. He experimented with a bite of lamb and put his
plate to one side. Tomas watched him. "Can't eat?" Pug nodded. "Jaw hurts
too much." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and chin on
his fists. "I should have kept my temper. Then I would have done better."
Tomas spoke from around a mouthful of food. "Master Fannon says a soldier
must keep a cool head at all times or he'll lose it."
Pug sighed. "Kulgan said something like that. I have some drills I can do
that make me relax. I should have used them." Tomas gulped a heroic portion
of his meal. "Practicing in your room is one thing. Putting that sort of
business into use while someone is insulting you to your face is quite
another. I would have done the same thing, I suppose."
"But you would have won."
"Probably. Which is why Rulf would never have come at me." His
manner showed he wasn't being boastful, merely stating things as they were.
"Still, you did all right. Old cabbage nose will think twice before picking
on you again, I'm sure, and that's what the whole thing is about, anyway."
Pug said, "What do you mean?" Tomas put down his plate and belched. With a
satisfied look at the sound of it, he said, "With bullies it's always the
same: whether or not you can best them doesn't matter. What is important
is whether or not you'll stand up to them. Rulf may be big, but he's a
coward under all the bluster. He'll turn his attention to the younger boys
now and push them around a bit. I don't think he'll want any part of you
again. He doesn't like the price." Tomas gave Pug a broad and warm smile.
"That first punch you gave him was a beaut. Right square on the beak." Pug
felt a little better. Tomas eyed Pug's untouched dinner. "You going to eat
that?" Pug looked at his plate. It was fully laden with hot lamb, greens,
and potatoes. In spite of the rich smell, Pug felt no appetite. "No, you
can have it." Tomas scooped up the platter and began shoving the food into
his mouth. Pug smiled. Tomas had never been known to stint on food.
Pug returned his gaze to the castle wall. "I felt like such a fool." Tomas
stopped eating, with a handful of meat halfway to his mouth. He studied Pug
for a moment. "You too?"
"Me too, what?" Tomas laughed. '"you're
embarrassed because the Princess saw Rulf give you a thrashing." Pug
bridled.
"It wasn't a thrashing. I gave as well as I got."
Tomas whooped. "There! I knew it. It's the Princess." Pug sat back in
resignation. "I suppose it is." Tomas said nothing, and Pug looked over at
him. He was busy finishing off Pug's dinner. Finally Pug said, "And I
suppose you don't like her?" Tomas shrugged. Between bites he said, "Our
Lady Carline is pretty enough, but I know my place. I have my eye on
someone else, anyway." Pug sat up. "Who?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"I'm not saying," Tomas said with a sly smile. Pug laughed. "It's Neala,
right?" Tomas's jaw dropped. "How did you know?" Pug tried to look
mysterious. "We magicians have our ways." Tomas snorted. "Some magician.
You're no more a magician than I am a Knight-Captain of the King's army.
Tell me, how did you know?" Pug laughed. "It's no mystery. Every time you
see her, you puff up in that tabard of yours and preen like a bantam
rooster." Tomas looked troubled. "You don't think she's on to me, do you?"
Pug smiled like a well-fed cat. "She's not on to you, I'm sure." He paused.
"If she's blind,. and all the other girls in the keep haven't pointed it
out to her a hundred times already." A woebegone look crossed Tomas's face.
"What must the girl think?" Pug said, "who knows what girls think? From
everything I can tell, she probably likes it." Tomas looked thoughtfully at
his plate. "Do you ever think about taking a wife?" Pug blinked like an owl
caught in a bright light. "I . . . I never thought about it. I don't know
if magicians marry. I don't think they do."
"Nor soldiers, mostly. But
Master Fannon says a soldier who thinks about his family is not thinking
about his job." Tomas was silent for a minute. Pug said, "It doesn't seem
to hamper Sergeant Gardan or some of the other soldiers." Tomas snorted, as
if those exceptions merely proved his point. "I sometimes try to imagine
what it would be like to have a family."
"You have a family, stupid. I'm the orphan here."
"I mean a wife, rock head." Tomas gave Pug his best "you're too stupid to
live" look. "And
children someday, not a mother and father." Pug shrugged. The conversation
was turning to provinces that disturbed him. He never thought about these
things, being less anxious to grow up than Tomas. He said, "I expect we'll
get married and have children if it's what we're supposed to do." Tomas
looked very seriously at Pug, so the younger boy didn't make light of the
subject. "I've imagined a small room somewhere in the castle, and . . . I
can't imagine who the girl would be." He chewed his food. "There's
something wrong with it, I think."
"Wrong?"
"As if there's something else I'm not understanding . . . I don't
know.'" Pug said, "Well, if you don't,
how am I supposed to?" Tomas suddenly changed the topic of conversation.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Pug was taken by surprise. "Of course we're
friends. You're like a brother. Your parents have treated me like their own
son. Why would you ask something like that?" Tomas put down his plate,
troubled. "I don't know. It's just that sometimes I think this will all
somehow change. You're going to be a magician, maybe travel over the world,
seeing other magicians in faraway lands. I'm going to be a soldier, bound
to follow my lord's orders. I'll probably never see more than a little part
of the Kingdom, and that only as an escort in the Duke's personal guard, if
I'm lucky."
Pug became alarmed. He had never seen Tomas so serious about anything. The
older boy was always the first to laugh and seemed never to have a worry.
"I don't care what you think, Tomas," said Pug. "Nothing will change. We
will be friends no matter what." Tomas smiled at that. "I hope you're
right." He sat back, and the two boys watched the stars over the sea and
the lights from the town, framed like a picture by the castle gate.
Puc triED to wash his face the next morning, but found the task too arduous
to complete. His left eye was swollen completely shut, his right only
half-open. Great bluish lumps decorated his visage, and his jaw popped when
he moved it from side to side. Fantus lay on Pug's pallet, red eyes
gleaming as the morning sun poured in through the tower window.
The door to the boy's room swung open, and Kulgan stepped through, his
stout frame covered in a green robe. Pausing to regard the boy for a
moment, he sat on the pallet and scratched the drake behind the eye ridges,
bringing a pleased rumble from deep within Fantus's throat. "I see you
didn't spend yesterday sitting about idly," he said. "I had a bit of
trouble, sir."
"Well, fighting is the province of boys as well as grown men, but I trust
that the other boy looks at least as bad. It would be a shame to have had
none of the pleasure of giving as well as receiving."
"You're making sport of me."
"Only a little, Pug. The truth is that in my
own youth I had my share of scraps, but the time for boyish fighting is
past. You must put your energies to better use."
"I know, Kulgan, but I
have been so frustrated lately that when that clod Rulf said what he did
about my being an orphan, all the anger came boiling up out of me."
'-'well,
knowing your own part in this is a good sign that you're becoming a man.
Most boys would have tried to justify their actions, by shifting blame or
by claiming some moral imperative to fight."
Pug pulled over the stool and sat doumF facing the magician. Kulgan took
out his pipe and started to fill it. "Pug, I think in your case we may have
been going about the matter of your education in the wrong way." Searching
for a taper to light in the small fire that burned in a night pot and
finding none, Kulgan's face clouded as he concentrated for a minute, then
a small flame erupted from the index finger of his right hand. Applying it
to the pipe, he soon had the room half-filled with great clouds of white
smoke. The flame disappeared with a wave of his hand. "A handy skill, if
you like the pipe."
"I would give anything to be able to do even that much,"
Pug said in disgust. "As I was saying, I think that we may have been going
about this in the wrong way. Perhaps we should consider a different
approach to your education."
"What do you mean?"
"Pug, the first magicians long ago had no teachers in the arts of
magic. They evolved the skills that we've learned today. Some of the
old skills, such as smelling the changes in the weather, or the
ability to find water with a stick, go back to our earliest
beginnings.. I have been thinking that for a time I am going to leave
you to your own devices. Study what you want in the books that I have.
Keep up with your other work, learning the scribe's arts from Tully,
but I will not trouble you with any lessons for a while. I will, of
course, answer any question you have. But I think for the time being
you need to sort yourself out." Crestfallen, Pug
asked, "Am I beyond help?" Kulgan smiled reassuringly. "Not in the least.
There have been cases of magicians having slow starts before. Your
apprenticeship is for nine more years, remember. Don't be put off by the
failures of the last few months. "By the way, would you care to learn to
ride?" Pug's mood did a complete turnabout, and he cried, "Oh, yes! May I?"
"The Duke has decided that he would like a boy to ride with the Princess
from time to time. His sons have many duties now that they are grown, and
he feels you would be a good choice for when they are too busy to accompany
her." Pug's head was spinning. Not only was he to learn to ride, a skill
limited to the nobility for the most part, but to be in the company of the
Princess as well! "When do I start?"
"This very day. Morning chapel is
almost done." Being Firstday, those inclined went to devotions either in
the Keep's chapel, or in the small temple down in the town. The rest of the
day was given to light work, only that needed to put food on the Duke's
table. The boys and girls might get an extra half day on Sixthday, but
their elders rested only on Firstday. "Go to Horsemaster Algon, he has been
instructed by the Duke and will begin your lessons now." Without a further
word, Pug leaped up and sped for the stables.
4
ASSAULt
Puc RODE IM SILENCE.
His horse ambled along the bluffs that overlooked the sea. The warm breeze
carried the scent of flowers, and to the east the trees of the forest
swayed slowly. The summer sun caused a heat shimmer over the ocean. Above
the waves, gulls could be seen hanging in the air, then diving to the water
as they sought food. Overhead, large white clouds drifted. Pug remembered
this morning, as he watched the back of the Princess on her fine white
palfrey. He had been kept waiting in the stables for nearly two hours
before the Princess appeared with her father. The Duke had lectured Pug at
length on his responsibility toward the lady of the castle. Pug had stood
mute throughout as the Duke repeated all of Horsemaster Algon's
instructions of the night before. The master of the stables had been
instructing him for a week and judged him ready to ride with the
Princess-if barely. Pug had followed her out of the gate, still marveling
at his unexpected fortune. He was exuberant, in spite of having spent the
night tossing and then skipping breakfast. Now his mood was changing from
boyish adulation to outright irritation. The Princess refused to respond
to any of his polite attempts at conversation, except to order him about.
Her tone was imperious and rude, and she insisted on calling him "boy,"
ignoring several courteous reminders that his name was Pug. She acted
little like the poised young woman of the court now, and resembled nothing
as much as a spoiled, petulant child. He had felt awkward at first as he
sat atop the old grey dray horse that had been judged sufficient for one of
his skills. The mare had a calm nature and showed no inclination to move
faster than absolutely necessary. Pug wore his bright red tunic, the one
that Kulgan had given to him, but still looked poorly attired next to the
Princess. She was dressed in a simple but exquisite yellow riding dress
trimmed in black, and a matching hat. Even sitting sidesaddle, Carline
looked like one born to ride, while Pug felt as if he should be walking
behind his mare with a plow between. Pug's horse had an irritating tendency
to want to stop every dozen feet to crop grass or nibble at shrubbery,
ignoring Pug's frantic kicks to the side, while the Princess's excellently
trained horse responded instantly to the slightest touch of her crop. She
rode along in silence, ignoring the grunts of exertion from the boy behind,
who attempted by force of will as much as horsemanship to keep his
recalcitrant mount moving. Pug felt the first stirring of hunger, his
dreams of romance surrendering to his normal, fifteen-year-old's appetite.
As they rode, his thoughts turned more and more to the basket of lunch that
hung from his saddle horn. After what seemed like an eternity to Pug, the
Princess turned to him. "Boy, what is your craft?" Startled by the question
after the long silence, Pug stammered his reply. "I . . . I'm apprenticed
to Master Kulgan."
She fixed him with a gaze that would have suited her had an insect
been found crawling across a dinner plate. "Oh. You're that boy." Whatever
brief spark of interest there had been went out, and she turned away from
him. They rode awhile longer, then the Princess said, "Boy, we stop here."
Pug pulled up his mare, and before he could reach the Princess's side, she
was nimbly downF not waiting for his hand as Master Algon had instructed
him she would. She handed him the reins of her horse and walked to the edge
of the cliffs. She stared out to sea for a minute, then, without looking at
Pug, said, "Do you think I am beautiful?" Pug stood in silence, not knowing
what to say. She turned and looked at him. "Well?" Pug said, "Yes, Your
Highness."
"Very beautiful?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Very beautiful." The
Princess seemed to consider this for a moment, then returned
her attention to the vista below. "It is important for me to be beautiful,
boy. Lady Marna says that I must be the most beautiful lady in the
Kingdom, for I must find a powerful husband someday, and only the most
beautiful ladies in the Kingdom can choose. The homely ones must take
whoever will ask for them. She says that I will have many suitors, for
Father is very important." She turned, and for a brief moment Pug
thought he saw a look of apprehension pass over her lovely features. "Have
you many friends, boy?" Pug shrugged. "Some, Your Highness." She
studied him for a moment, then said, "That must be nice,"
absently brushing aside a wisp of hair that had come loose from under her
broad-brimmed riding hat. Something in her seemed so wounded and alone
that moment, that Pug found his heart in his throat again. Obviously his
expression revealed something to the Princess, for suddenly her eyes
narrowed and her mood shifted from thoughtful to regal. In her most
commanding voice she announced, "We will have lunch now." Pug quickly
staked the horses and unslung the basket. He placed it on the ground and
opened it. Carline stepped over and said, "I will prepare the meal, boy.
I'll not have clumsy hands overturning dishes and spilling wine." Pug
took a step back as she knelt and began unpacking the lunch. Rich odors
of cheese and bread assailed Pug's nostrils, and his mouth watered. The
Princess looked up at him. "Walk the horses over the hill to the stream
and water them. You may eat as we ride back. I'll call you when I have
eaten." Suppressing a groan, Pug took the horses' reins and started
walking. He kicked at some loose stones, emotions conflicting within him
as he led the horses along. He knew he wasn't supposed to leave the girl,
but he couldn't very well disobey her either. There was no one else in
sight, and trouble was unlikely this far from the forest. Additionally
he was glad to be away from Carline for a little while. He reached the
stream and unsaddled the mounts, he brushed away the damp saddle and
girth marks, then left their reins upon the ground. The palfrey was
trained to ground-tie, and the draft horse showed no inclination to
wander far. They cropped grass while Pug found a comfortable spot to
sit. He considered the situation and found himself perplexed. Carline was
still the loveliest girl he had ever seen, but her manner was quickly
taking the sheen off his fascination. For the moment his stomach was
of larger concern than the girl of his dreams. He thought perhaps there
was more to this love business than he had imagined. He amused himself for
a while by speculation on that. When he grew bored, he went to look for
stones in the water. He hadn't had much
opportunity to practice with his sling of late, and now was a good time.
He found several smooth stones and took out his sling. He practiced by
picking out targets among the small trees some distance off, startling
the birds in residence there. He hit several clusters of bitter berries,
missing only one target out of six. Satisfied his aim was still as good as
always, he tucked his sling in his belt. He found several more stones that
looked especially promising and put them in his pouch. He judged the girl
must be nearly through, and he started toward the horses to saddle them
so that when she called, he'd be ready. As he reached the Princess's
horse, a scream sounded from the other side of the hill. He dropped the
Princess's saddle and raced to the crest and, when he deared the ridge,
stopped in shock. The hair on his neck and arms stood on end. The
Princess was running, and close in pursuit were a pair of trolls. Trolls
usually didn't venture this far from the forest, and Pug was unprepared
for the sight of them. They were humanlike, but short and broad, with
long, thick arms that hung nearly to the ground. They ran on all fours as
often as not, looking like some comic parody of an ape, their bodies
covered by thick grey hide and their lips drawn back, revealing long
fangs. The ugly creatures rarely troubled a group of humans, but they
would attack a lone traveler from time to time. Pug hesitated for a
moment, pulling his sling from his belt and loading a stone; then he
charged down the hill, whirling his sling above his head. The creatures
had nearly overtaken the Princess when he let fly with a stone. It caught
the foremost troll in the side of the head, knocking it for a full
somersault. The second stumbled into it, and both went down in a tangle.
Pug stopped as they regained their feet, their attention diverted from
Carline to their attacker. They roared at Pug, then charged. Pug ran back
up the hill. He knew that if he could reach the horses, he could outrun
them, circle around for the girl, and be safely away. He looked over his
shoulder and saw them coming-huge canine teeth bared, long foreclaws
tearing up the ground. Downwind, he could smell their rank, rotting-meat
odor. He cleared the top of the hill, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
His heart skipped as he saw that the horses had wandered across the
stream and were twenty yards farther away than before. Plunging down the
hill, he hoped the difference would not prove fatal. He could hear the
trolls behind him as he entered the stream at a full run. The water was
shallow here, but still it slowed him down.
Splashing through the stream, he caught his foot on a stone and fell. He
threw his arms forward and broke his fall with his hands, keeping his
head above water. Shock ran up through his arms as he tried to regain
his feet. He stumbled again and turned as the trolls approached the
water's edge. They howled at the sight of their tormentor stumbling in
the water and paused for a moment. Pug felt blind terror as he struggled
with numb fingers to put a stone in his sling. He fumbled and dropped the
sling, and the stream carried it away. Pug felt a scream building in his
throat. As the trolls entered the water, a flash of light exploded behind
Pug's eyes. A searing pain ripped across his forehead as letters of grey
seemed to appear in his mind. They were familiar to Pug, from a scroll
that Kulgan had shown him several times. Without thinking, he mouthed
the incantation, each word vanishing from his mind's eye as he spoke it.
When he reached the last word, the pain stopped, and a loud roar sounded
from before him. He opened his eyes and saw the two trolls writhing in
the water, their eyes wide with agony as they thrashed about helplessly,
screaming and groaning. Dragging himself out of the water, Pug watched
while the creatures struggled. They were making choking and sputtering
noises now as they flopped about. After a moment one shook and stopped
moving, lying facedown in the water. The second took a few minutes longer
to die, but like its companion, it also drowned, unable to keep its head
above the shallow water. Feeling light-headed and weak, Pug recrossed
the stream. His mind was numb, and everything seemed hazy and disjointed.
He stopped after he had taken a few steps, remembering the horses. He
looked about and could see nothing of the animals. They must have run off
when they caught wind of the trolls and would be on the way to safe
pasture. Pug resumed his walk to where the Princess had been. He topped
the hillock and looked around. She was nowhere in sight, so he headed for
the overturned basket of food. He was having trouble thinking, and he was
ravenous. He knew he should be doing or thinking about something, but
all he could sort out of the kaleidoscope of his thoughts was food.
Dropping to his knees, he picked up a wedge of cheese and stuffed it in
his mouth. A half-spilled bottle of wine lay nearby, and he washed the
cheese down with it. The rich cheese and piquant white wine revived
him, and he felt his mind clearing. He ripped a large piece of bread from
a loaf and chewed on it while trying to put his thoughts in order. As Pug
recalled events, one thing stood out. Somehow he had managed to cast a
magic spell. What's more, he had done so without the aid of a book,
scroll, or device. He was not sure, but that seemed
somehow strange. His thoughts turned hazy again. More than anything he
wanted to lie down and sleep, but as he chewed his food, a thought pushed
through the crazy quilt of his impressions. The Princess! He jumped to
his feet, and his head swam. Steadying himself, he grabbed up some bread
and the wine and set off in the direction he had last seen her running.
He pushed himself along, his feet scuHng as he tried to walk. After a few
minutes he found his thinking improving and the exhaustion lifting. He
started to call the Princess's name, then heard muted sobbing coming from
a clump of bushes. Pushing his way through, he found Carline huddled
behind the shrubs, her balled fists pulled up into her stomach. Her eyes
were wide with terror, and her gown was soiled and torn. Startled when
pug stepped into view, she jumped to her feet and flew into his arms,
burying her head in his chest. Great racking sobs shook her body as she
clutched the fabric of his shirt. Standing with his arms still
outstretched, wine and bread occupying his hands, Pug was totally
confused over what to do.
He awkwardly placed his arm around the terrified girl and said, "It's all
right. They're gone. You're safe." She hung on to him for a moment,
then, when her tears subsided, she steppdd away. With a sniffle she said,
"I thought they had killed you and were coming back for me." Pug found
this situation more perplexing than any he had ever
known. Just when he had come through the most harrowing experience of his
young life, he was faced with one that sent his mind reeling with a
different sort of confusion. Without thinking, he held the Princess in
his arms, and now he was suddenly aware of the contact, and her soft,
warm appeal. A protective, masculine feeling welled up inside him, and he
started to step toward her. As if sensing his mood change, Carline
retreated. For all her courtly ways and education, she was still a girl
of fifteen and was disturbed by the rush of emotions she had experienced
when he had held her. She took refuge in the one thing she knew well, her
role as Princess of the castle. Trying to sound commanding, she said, "I
am glad to see you are unhurt, boy." Pug winced visibly at that. She
struggled to regain her aristocratic bearing, but her red nose and
tearstained face undermined her attempt. "Find my horse, and we shall
return to the keep."
Pug felt as if his nerves were raw. Keeping tight control over his voice,
he said, "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but the horses have run off. I'm
afraid we'll have to walk."
Carline felt abused and mistreated. It was not
Pug's fault any of the afternoon's events had taken place, but her
often-indulged temper seized on the handiest available object. "walk! I
can't walk all the way to the keep," she snapped, looking at Pug as if he
were supposed to do something about this matter at once and without
question. Pug felt all the anger, confusion, hurt, and frustration of the
day surge up within him. "
'Then you can bloody well sit here until they notice you're missing
and send someone to fetch you." He was now shouting. "I figure that will
be about two hours after sunset."
Carline stepped back, her face ashen, looking as if she'd been
slapped. Her lower lip trembled, and she seemed on the verge of tears
again. "I will not be spoken to in that manner, boy." Pug's eyes grew
large, and he stepped toward her, gesturing with the wine bottle. "I
nearly got myself killed trying to keep you alive," he shouted. "Do I
hear one word of thanks? No! All I hear is a whining complaint that you
can't walk back to the castle. We of the keep may be lowborn, but at
least we have enough manners to thank someone when it's deserved." As
he spoke, he could feel the anger flooding out of him. "You can stay here
if you like, but I'm going. . . ." He suddenly realized that he was
standing with the bottle raised high overhead, in a ridiculous pose. The
Princess's eyes were on the loaf of bread, and he realized that he was
holding it at his belt, thumb hooked in a loop, which only added to the
awkward appearance. He sputtered for a moment, then felt his anger
evaporate and lowered the bottle. The Princess looked at him, her large
eyes peeking over her fists, which she had before her face. Pug started
to say something, thinking she was afraid of him, when he saw she was
laughing. It was a musical sound, warm and unmocking. "I'm. sorry, Pug,"
she said, "but you look so silly standing there like that. You look like
one of those awful statues they erect in Krondor, with bottle held high
instead of a sword." Pug shook his head. "I'm the one who's sorry, Your
Highness. I had no right to yell at you that way. Please forgive me."
Her expression abruptly changed to one of concern. "No, Pug. You had
every right to say what you did. I really do owe you my life, and I've
acted horribly." She stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his arm.
"Thank you." Pug was overcome by the sight of her face. Any resolutions
to rid himself of his boyhood fantasies about her were now carried away
on the sea breeze. The marvelous fact of his using magic was replaced by
more urgent and basic considerations. He started to reach for her, then
the reality of her station intruded, and he presented the bottle to her.
"Wine?" She laughed, sensing his sudden shift in thought. They were both
wrung out and a little giddy from the ordeal, but she still held on to her
wits and understood the effect she was having on him. With a nod she took
the bottle and sipped. Recovering a shred of poise, Pug said, ""We'd
better hurry. We might make the keep by nightfall." She nodded, keeping
her eyes upon him, and smiled. Pug was feeling uncomfortable under her
gaze and turned toward the way to the keep. "Well, then. We'd best be
off." She fell into step beside him. After a moment she asked, "May I have
some bread too, Pug?"
Puc hAD RUN the distance between the bluffs and the keep many times
before, but the Princess was unused to walking such distances, and her
soft riding boots were ill suited to such an undertaking. When they came
into view of the castle, she had one arm draped over Pug's shoulder and
was limping badly. A shout went up from the gate tower, and guards came
running toward them. After them came the Lady Marna, the girl's governess,
her red dress pulled up before her as she sprinted toward the Princess.
Although twice the size of court ladies-and a few of the guards as well
she outdistanced them all. She was coming on like a she-bear whose -cub
was being attacked. Her great bosom heaved with the effort as she reached
the slight girl and grasped her in a hug that threatened to engulf
Carline completely. Soon the ladies of the court were gathered around the
Princess, overwhelming her with questions. Before the din subsided, Lady
Marna turned and fell on Pug like the sow bear she resembled. "How dare
you allow the Princess to come to such a state! Limping in, dress all
torn and dirty. I'll see you whipped from one end of the keep to the
other. Before I have done with you, you'll wish you'd never seen the
light of day." Backing away before the onslaught, Pug was overwhelmed by
confusion, unable to get a word in. Sensing that somehow Pug was
responsible for the Princess's condition, one of the guards stepped up
and seized him by the arm. "Leave him alone!" Silence descended as
Carline forced her way between the governess and Pug. Small fists struck
at the guard as he let go of Pug and fell back with a look of
astonishment on his face. "He saved my life! He almost got killed saving
me." Tears were running down her face. "He's done nothing wrong. And I
won't have any of you bullying him." The crowd closed in around them,
regarding Pug with newfound respect. Hushed voices sounded from all
sides, and one of the guards ran to carry the
news to the castle. The Princess placed her arm' around Pug's shoulder
once more and started toward the gate. The crowd parted, and the two
weary travelers could see the torches and lanterns being lit on the wall.
By the time they had reached the courtyard gate, the Princess had
consented to let two of her ladies help her, much to Pug's relief. He
could not have believed that such a slight girl could become such a
burden. The Duke hurried out to her, having been told of Carline's
return. He embraced his daughter, then started to speak with her. Pug
lost sight of them as curious, questioning onlookers surrounded him. He
tried to push his way toward the magician's tower, but the press of
people held him back. "Is there no work to be done?" a voice roared.
Heads turned to see Swordmaster Fannon, followed closely by Tomas. All
the keep folk quickly retired, leaving Pug standing before Fannon, Tomas,
and those of the Duke's court with rank enough to ignore Fannon's
remark. Pug could see the Princess talking to her father, Lyam, Arutha,
and Squire Roland. Fannon said, "What happened, boy?" Pug tried to speak,
but stopped when he saw the Duke and his sons approaching. Kulgan came
hurrying behind the Duke, having been
alerted by the general commotion in the courtyard. All bowed to the Duke
when he approached, and Pug saw Carline break free of Roland's
solicitations and follow her father, to stand at Pug's side. Lady Marna
threw a besieged look heavenward, and Roland followed the girl, an open
expression of surprise upon his face. when the Princess took Pug's hand
in her own, Roland's expression changed to one of black-humored jealousy.
The Duke said, "My daughter has said some very remarkable things about
you, boy. I would like to hear your account." Pug felt suddenly
self-conscious and gently disengaged his hand from Carline's. He recounted
the events of the day, with Carline enthusiastically adding
embellishments. Between the two of them, the Duke gained a nearly
accurate account of things. When Pug finished, Lord Borric asked, "How
is it the trolls drowned in the stream, Pug?" Pug looked uncomfortable.
"I cast a spell upon them, and they were unable to reach the shore," he
said softly. He was still confused by this accomplishment and had not
given much thought to it, as the Princess had pushed all other thoughts
aside. He could see surprise registered on Kulgan's face. Pug began to
say something, but was interrupted by the Duke's next remark. "Pug, I
can't begin to repay the service you've done my family. But I shall find
a suitable reward for your courage." In a burst of enthusiasm Carline
threw her arms around Pug's neck, hugging him fiercely. Pug
stood in embarrassment, looking frantically about, as if trying to
communicate that this familiarity was none of his doing. Lady Marna
looked ready to faint, and the Duke pointedly coughed, motioning with his
head for his daughter to retire. As she left with the Lady Marna, Kulgan
and Fannon simply let their amusement show, as did Lyam and Arutha.
Roland shot Pug an angry, envious look, then turned and headed off toward
his own quarters.
Lord Borric said to Kulgan, "Take this boy to his room. He
looks exhausted. I'll order food sent to him. Have him come to the great
hall after tomorrow's morning meal." He turned to Pug. "Again, I thank
you." The Duke motioned for his sons to follow and walked away. Fannon
gripped Tomas by the elbow, for the sandy-haired boy had started to speak
with his friend. The old Swordmaster motioned with his head that the boy
should come with him, leaving Pug in peace. Tomas nodded, though he was
burning with a thousand questions. When they had all left, Kulgan
placed his arm around the boy's shoulder. "Come, Pug. You're tired, and
there is much to speak of."
Puc lAY baCK on his pallet, the remains of his meal lying on a platter
next to him. He couldn't remember ever having been this tired before.
Kulgan paced back and forth across the room. "It's absolutely incredible."
He waved a hand in the air, his red robe surging over his heavy
frame like water flowing over a boulder. "You close your eyes, and the
image of a scroll you saw weeks before appears. You incant the spell, as
if you were holding the scroll in your hand before you, and the trolls
fall. Absolutely incredible." Sitting down on the stool near the window,
he continued. "Pug, nothing like this has ever been done before. Do you
know what you've done?" Pug started from the edge of a warm, soft sleep
and looked at the magician. "Only what I said I did, Kulgan." "Yes, but
do you have any idea what it means?" "No." "Neither do I." The magician
seemed to collapse inside as his excitement left, replaced by complete
uncertainty. "I don't have the slightest idea what it all means.
Magicians don't toss spells off the top of their heads. Clerics can, but
they have a different focus and different magic. Do you remember what I
taught you about focuses, Pug?" Pug winced, not being in the mood to
recite a lesson, but forced himself to sit up. "Anyone who employs magic
must have a focus for the power he uses. Priests have power to focus
their magic through
prayer, their incantations are a form of prayer. Magicians use their
bodies, or devices, or books and scrolls."
"Correct," said Kulgan, "but you have just violated that truism."
He took out his long pipe and absently
stuffed tabac into the bowl. "The spell you incanted cannot use the
caster's body as a focus. It has been devdoped to inflict great pain upon
another. It can be a very terrible weapon. But it can be cast only by
reading from a scroll that it is written upon, at the time it's cast. Why
is this?" Pug forced leaden eydids open. "The scroll itself is magic."
"True. Some magic is intrinsic to the magician, such as taking on the
shape of an animal or smelling weather. But casting spells outside the
body, upon something else, needs an external focus. Trying to incant the
spell you used from memory should have produced terrible pain in you, not
the trolls, if it would have worked at all! That is why magicians
developed scrolls, books, and other devices, to focus that sort of magic in
a way that will not harm the caster. And until today, I would have
sworn that no one alive could have made that spell work without the
scroll in hand." Leaning against the windowsill, Kulgan puffed on his
pipe for a moment, gazing out into space. "It's as if you have
discovered a completely new form of magic," he said softly. Hearing no
response, Kulgan looked down at the boy, who was deeply asleep. Shaking
his head in wonder, the magician pulled a cover over the exhausted boy.
He put out the lantern that hung on the wall and let himself out. As he
walked up the stairs to his own room, he shook his head. "Absolutely
incredible."
Puc wAitED as the Duke held court in the great hall. Everyone in the keep
and town who could contrive a way to gain entrance to the audience was
there. Richly dressed Craftmasters, merchants, and minor nobles were in
attendance. They stood regarding the boy with expressions ranging from
wonder to disbelief. The rumor of his deed had spread through the town
and had grown in the telling. Pug wore new clothing, which had been in
his room when he awoke. In his newfound splendor he felt self-conscious
and awkward. The tunic was a bright yellow affair of the costliest silk,
and the hose were a soft pastel blue. Pug tried to wiggle his toes in the
new boots, the first he had ever worn. Walking in them seemed strange and
uncomfortable. At his side a jeweled dagger hung from a black leather
belt with a golden buckle in the form of a gull in flight. Pug suspected
the clothing had once belonged to one of the Duke's sons, put aside when
outgrown, but still looking new and beautiful.
The Duke was finishing the morning's business: a request from one of the
shipwrights for guards to accompany a lumber expedition to the great
forest. Borric was dressed, as usual in black, but his sons and daughter
wore their finest court regalia. Lyam was listening closely to the
business before his father. Roland stood behind him, as was the custom.
Arutha was in rare good humor, laughing behind an upraised hand at some
quip Father Tully had just made. Carline sat quietly, her face set in a
warm smile, looking directly at Pug, which was adding to his
discomfort-and Roland's irritation. The Duke gave his permission for a
company of guards to accompany the craftsmen into the forest. The
Craftmaster gave thanks and bowed, then returned to the crowd, leaving
Pug alone before the Duke. The boy stepped forward as Kulgan had told him
to do and bowed properly, albeit a little stiffly, before the Lord of
Crydee. Borric smiled at the boy and motioned to Father Tully. The priest
removed a document from the sleeve of his voluminous robe and handed it
to a herald. The herald stepped forward and unrolled the scroll. In a
loud voice he read: "To all within our demesne: Whereas the youth Pug,
of the castle of Crydee, has shown exemplary courage in the act of
risking life and limb in defense of the royal person of the Princess
Carline, and; Whereas the youth, Pug of Crydee, is considered to hold us
forever in his debt, It is my wish that he be known to all in the realm
as our beloved and loyal servant, and it is furthermore wished that he be
given a place in the court of Crydee, with the rank of Squire, with all
rights and privileges pertaining thereunto. Furthermore let it be known
that the title for the estate of Forest Deep is conferred upon him and
his progeny as long as they shall live, to have and to hold, with servants
and properties thereupon. Title to this estate shall be held by the crown
until the day of his majority. Set this day by my hand and seal Borric
conDoin, third Duke of Crydee, Prince of the Kingdom; Lord of
Crydee, Carse, and Tulan; Warden of the West; Knight-General of the
King's Armies, heir presumptive to the throne of Rillanon." Pug felt his
knees go slack but caught himself before he fell. The room erupted in
cheers. People were pressing around him, offering their congratulations
and slapping him on the back. He was a Squire and a landholder with
franklins, a house, and stock. He was rich. Or at least he would be in
three years when he reached his majority. While he was considered a man
of the Kingdom at fourteen, grants of land and titles couldn't be
conferred until he reached eighteen. The crowd backed away as the Duke
approached, his family and Roland behind. Both Princes smiled at Pug, and
the Princess seemed positively aglow. Roland gave Pug a rueful smile, as
if in disbelief.
"I'm honored, Your Grace," Pug stammered. "I don't know what to say."
"Then say nothing, Pug. It makes you seem wise when everyone is babbling.
Come, and we'll have a talk." The Duke motioned for a chair to be placed
near his own, as he put an arm around the boy's shoulders and walked him
through the crowd. Sitting down, he said, "You may all leave us now. I
would speak with the Squire." The crowd pressing around muttered in
disappointment, but began to drift out of the hall. "Except you two," the
Duke added, pointing toward Kulgan and Tully. Carline stood by her
father's chair, a hesitant Roland at her side. "You as well, my child,"
said the Duke. Carline began to protest, but was cut off by her father's
stern admonition: ''You may pester him later, Carline." The two Princes
stood at the door, obviously amused at her outrage, Roland tried to offer
his arm to the Princess, but she pulled away and swept by her grinning
brothers. Lyam clapped Roland on the shoulder as the embarrassed Squire
joined them. Roland glared at Pug, who felt the anger like a blow.
When the doors clanged closed and the hall was empty, the Duke said,
"Pay no heed to Roland, Pug. My daughter has him firmly under her spell,
he counts himself in love with her and wishes someday to petition for her
hand." With a lingering look at the closed door, he added almost
absently, "But he'll have to show me he's more than the rakehell he's
growing into now if he ever hopes for my consent." The Duke dismissed the
topic with a wave of his hand. "Now, to
other matters. Pug, I have an additional gift for you, but first I want to
explain something to you. "My family is among the oldest in the Kingdom.
I myself am descended from a King, for my grandfather, the first Duke of
Crydee, was third son to the King. Being of royal blood, we are much
concerned with matters of duty and honor. You are now both a member of my
court and apprentice of Kulgan. In matters of duty you are responsible to
him. In matters of honor you are responsible to me. This room is hung with
the trophies and banners of our triumphs. Whether we have been resisting
the Dark Brotherhood in their ceaseless effort to destroy us, or fighting
off pirates, we have ever fought bravely. Ours is a proud heritage that
has never known the stain of dishonor. No member of our court has ever
brought shame to this hall, and I will expect the same of you." Pug
nodded, tales of glory and honor remembered from his youth spinning in his
mind.
The Duke smiled. "Now to the business of your other
gift. Father Tully has a document that I asked him to draw up last night.
I am going to ask him to keep it, until such time as he deems fit to give
it to you. I will say no more on the subject, except that when he
gives it to you, I hope you will remember this day and consider long what
it says." "I will, Your Grace." Pug was sure the Duke was saying
something very important, but with all the events of the last half hour,
it did not register very well. "I will expect you for supper, Pug. As a
member of the court, you will not be eating meals in the kitchen
anymore." The Duke smiled at him. "We'll make a young gentleman out of
you, boy. And someday when you travel to the King's city of Rillanon, no
one will fault the manners of those who come from the court of Crydee."
5
ShIPwrECK
ThE brEEZE WAS COOL. The last days of summer had passed, and soon the
rains of autumn would come. A few weeks later the first snows of winter
would follow. Pug sat in his room, studying a book of ancient exercises
designed to ready the mind for spell casting. He had fallen back into his
old routine once the excitement of his elevation to the Duke's court had
worn off. His marvelous feat with the trolls continued to be the object
of spec-ulation by Kulgan and Father Tully. Pug found he still couldn't
do many of the things expected of an apprentice, but other feats were
beginning to come to him. Certain scrolls were easier to use now, and
once, in secret, he had tried to duplicate his feat. He had memorized a
spell from a book, one designed to levitate
objects. He had felt the familiar blocks in his mind when he tried to
incant it from memory. He had failed to move the object, a candleholder,
but it trembled for a few seconds and he felt a brief sensation,
as if he had touched the holder with a part of his mind. Satisfied
that some sort of progress was being made, he lost much of his former
gloom and renewed his studies with vigor. Kulgan still let him find his
own pace. They had had many long
discussions on the nature of magic, but mostly Pug worked in solitude.
Shouting came from the courtyard below. Pug walked to his window.
Seeing a familiar figure, he leaned out and cried, "Ho! Tomas! What is
afoot?" Tomas looked up. "Ho! Pug! A ship has foundered in the night. The
wreck has beached beneath Sailor's Grief. Come and see." "I'll be right
down." Pug ran to the door, pulling on a cloak, for while the day was
clear, it would be cold near the water. Racing down the stairs, he cut
through the kitchen, nearly knocking over Alfan, the pastry cook. As he
bolted out the door, he heard the stout baker yell, "Squire or not, I'll
box your ears if you don't watch where you're going, boy!" The kitchen
staff had not changed their attitude toward the boy, whom they considered
one of their own, beyond feeling proud of his achievement. Pug shouted
back with laughter in his voice, "My apologies, Mastercook!" Alfan
gave him a good-natured wave as Pug vanished through the
outside door and around the corner to where Tomas was waiting. Tomas
turned toward the gate as soon as he saw his friend. Pug grabbed his arm.
"Wait. Has anyone from the court been told?" "I don't know. Word just
came from the fishing village a moment ago," Tomas said impatiently.
"Come on, or the villagers will pick the wreck clean." It was commonly
held that salvage could be legally carried away before any of the Duke's
court arrived. As a result, the villagers and townsfolk were less than
timely in informing the authorities of such occurrences. There was also a
risk of bloodshed, should the beached ship still be manned by sailors
determined to keep their master's cargo intact so that they would get
their fair sailing bonus. Violent confrontation, and even death, had
been the result of such dispute. Only the presence of men-at-arms could
guarantee no commoner would come to harm from lingering mariners. "Oh,
no," said Pug. "If there is any trouble down there and the Duke finds out
I didn't tell someone else, I'll be in for it." "Look, Pug. Do you think
with all these people rushing about, the Duke will be long in hearing of
it?" Tomas ran his hand through his hair. "Someone is probably in the
great hall right now, telling him the news. Master Fannon is away on
patrol, and Kulgan won't be back awhile yet." Kulgan was due back later
that day from his cottage in the forest, where he and Meecham had spent
the last week. "It may be our only chance to see a shipwreck." A look of
sudden inspiration came over his face. "Pug, I have it! You're a member
of the court now. Come along, and when we get there, you declare for the
Duke." A calculating expression crossed his
face. "And if we find a rich bauble or two, who's
to know?" "I would know." Pug thought a moment.
"I can't properly declare for the Duke, then take something for myself . .
." He fixed Tomas with a disapproving expression. ". . . or let one of
his men-at-arms take some-thing either." As Tomas's face showed his
embarrassment, Pug said, "But we can still see the wreck! Come on!"
Pug was suddenly taken with the idea of using his new office, and if he
could get there before too much was carried away or someone was hurt, the
Duke would be pleased with him. "All right," he said, "I'll saddle a
horse and we can ride down there before everything is stolen." Pug turned
and ran for the stable. Tomas caught up with him as he opened the large
wooden doors. "But, Pug, I have never been on a horse in my life. I don't
know how." "It's simple," Pug said, taking a bridle and saddle from the
tack room. He spied the large grey he had ridden the day he and the
Princess had their adventure. "I'll ride and you sit behind me. just keep
your arms around my waist, and you won't fall off." Tomas looked
doubtful. "I'm to depend on you?" He shook his head. "After all, who has
looked after you all these years?" Pug threw him a wicked smile. "Your
mother. Now fetch a sword from the armory in case there's trouble. You
may get to play soldier yet." Tomas looked pleased at the prospect and
ran out the door. A few minutes later the large grey with the two boys
mounted on her back lumbered out the main gate, heading down the road
toward Sailor's Grief.
ThE suRF was pounding as the boys came in sight of the wreckage. Only a
few villagers were approaching the site, and they scattered as soon as a
horse and rider appeared, for it could only be a noble from the court to
declare the wreck's salvage for the Duke. By the time Pug reined in, no
one was about. Pug said, "Come on. We've got a few minutes to look around
before anyone else gets here." Dismounting, the boys left the mare to
graze in a little stand of grass only fifty yards from the rocks. Running
through the sand, the boys laughed, with Tomas raising the sword aloft,
trying to sound fierce as he yelled old war cries learned from the sagas.
Not that he had any illusions about his ability to use it, but it might
make someone think twice about attacking them-at least long enough for
castle guards to arrive. As they neared the wreck, Tomas whistled a low
note. "This ship
didn't just run on the rocks, Pug. It looks like it was driven by a
storm." Pug said, "There certainly isn't much left, is there?" Tomas
scratched behind his right ear. "No, just a section of the bow. I don't
understand. There wasn't any storm last night, just a strong wind. How
could the ship be broken up so badly?" "I don't know." Suddenly something
registered on Pug. "Look at the bow. See how it's painted." The bow
rested on the rocks, held there until the tide rose. From the deck line
down, the hull was painted a bright green, and it shone with reflected
sunlight, as if it had been glazed over. Instead of a figurehead,
intricate designs were painted in bright yellow, down to the waterline,
which was a dull black. A large blue-and-white eye had been painted
several feet behind the prow, and all the above-deck railing that they
could see was painted white. Pug grabbed Tomas's arm. "Look!" He pointed
to the water behind the prow, and Tomas could see a shattered white mast
extending a few feet above the surging foam. Tomas took a step closer.
"It's no Kingdom ship, for certain." He turned to Pug. "Maybe they were
from Queg?" "No," answered Pug. "You've seen as many quegan ships as I
have. This is nothing from Queg or the Free Cities. I don't think a ship
like this has ever passed these waters before. Let's look around."
Tomas seemed suddenly timid. "Careful, Pug. There is something
strange here, and I have an ill feeling. Someone may still be about."
Both boys looked around for a minute, before Pug concluded, "I
think not. whatever snapped that mast and drove the ship ashore with
enough force to wreck it this badly must have killed any who tried to
ride her in." Venturing closer, the boys found small articles lying
about, tossed among the rocks by the waves. They saw broken crockery and
boards, pieces of torn red sailcloth, and lengths of rope. Pug stopped
and picked up a strange-looking dagger fashioned from some unfamiliar
material. It was a dull grey and was lighter than steel, but still quite
sharp. Tomas tried to pull himself to the railing, but couldn't find a
proper footing on the slippery rocks. Pug moved along the hull until he
found himself in danger of having his boots washed by the tide; they
could board the hulk if they waded into the sea, but Pug was unwilling to
ruin his good clothing. He walked back to where Tomas stood studying the
wreck. Tomas pointed behind Pug. "If we climb up to that ledge, we could
lower ourselves down to the deck."
Pug saw the ledge, a jutting single piece of stone that started twenty
feet back on their left, extending upward and out to overhang the bow. It
looked like an easy climb, and Pug agreed. They pulled themselves up and
inched along the ledge, backs flat to the base of the bluffs. The path
was narrow, but by stepping carefully, they ran little risk of falling.
They reached a point above the hull, Tomas pointed. :'Look. Bodies!"
Lying on the deck were two men, both dressed in bright blue armor of
unfamiliar design.
One had his head crushed by a fallen spar, but the other, lying
facedown, didn't show any injuries, beyond his stillness. Strapped across
that man's back was an alien-looking broadsword, with strange serrated
edges. His head was covered by an equally alien-looking blue helmet,
potlike, with an outward flaring edge on the sides and back. Tomas
shouted over the sound of the surf, "I'm going to let myself down. After
I get on the deck, hand me the sword, and then lower yourself so I can
grab you."
Tomas handed Pug the sword, then turned around slowly. He knelt
with his face against the cliff wall. Sliding backward, he let himself
down until he was almost hanging free. With a shove he dropped the
remaining four feet, landing safely. Pug reversed the sword and handed it
down to Tomas, then followed his friend's lead, and in a moment they both
stood on the deck. The foredeck slanted alarmingly down toward the water,
and they could feel the ship move beneath their feet. "The tide's rising,"
Tomas shouted. "It'll lift what's left of the ship and smash it on the
rocks. Everything will be lost." "Look around," Pug shouted back.
"Anything that looks worth saving
we can try to throw up on .the ledge." Tomas nodded, and the boys started
to search the deck. Pug put as much space as he could between the bodies
and himself when he passed them. All across the deck, debris created a
confused spectacle for the eye. Trying to discern what might prove
valuable and what might not was difficult. At the rear of the deck was a
shattered rail, on either side of a ladder to what was left of the main
deck below: about six feet of planking remaining above the water. Pug was
sure that only a few feet more could be underwater, or else the ship
would be higher on the rocks. The rear of the ship must have already been
carried away on the tide. Pug lay down on the deck and hung his head
over the edge. He saw a door to the right of the ladder. Yelling for
Tomas ~to join him, he made his way carefully down the ladder. The lower
deck was sagging, the undersupports having been caved in. He grasped the
handrail of the ladder for support. A moment later Tomas stood beside
him, stepped around Pug, and moved to the door. It hung half-open, and he
squeezed through with Pug a step behind. The cabin was dark, for there was
only a single port on the bulkhead next to the door. In the gloom they
could see many rich-looking pieces of fabric and the shattered remnants
of a table.
What looked like a cot or low bed lay upside down in a corner. Several
small chests could be seen, with their contents spread around the room as
if tossed about by some giant hand. Tomas tried to search through the
mess, but nothing was recognizable as important or valuable. He found
one small bowl of unusual design glazed with bright colored figures on
the sides, and he put it inside his tunic. Pug stood quietly, for
something in the cabin commanded his attention. A strange, urgent
feeling had overtaken him as soon as he had stepped in. The wreck
lurched, throwing Tomas off balance. He caught himself on a chest,
dropping the sword. "The ship's lifting. We'd better go." Pug didn't
answer, his attention focused on the strange sensations. Tomas grabbed
his arm. "Come on. The ship'll break up in a minute." Pug shook his hand
off. "A moment. There is something . . ." His voice trailed off. Abruptly
he crossed the disordered room and pulled open a drawer in a latched
chest. It was empty. He yanked open another, then a third. In it was
the object of his search. He drew out a rolled parchment with a black
ribbon and black seal on it and thrust it into his shirt. "Come on," he
shouted as he passed Tomas. They raced up the ladder and scrambled over
the deck. The tide had raised the ship high enough for them to pull
themselves up to the ledge with ease, and they turned to sit. The ship
was now floating on the tide, rocking forward and back, while the waves
sent a wet spray into the boys' faces. They watched as the bow slid off
the rocks, timbers breaking with a loud and deep tear-ing sound, like a
dying moan. The bow lifted high, and the boys were splashed by waves
striking the cliffs below their ledge. Out to sea the hulk floated,
slowly leaning over to its port side, until the outward surging tide came
to a halt. Ponderously, it started back toward the rocks. Tomas grabbed
at Pug's arm, signaling him to follow. They got up and made their way
back to the beach. When they reached the place where the rock overhung
the sand, they jumped down. ~ A loud grinding sound made them turn to
see the hull driven onto the rocks. Timbers shattered, and separated with
a shriek. The hull heaved to starboard, and debris started sliding off
the deck into the sea.
Suddenly Tomas reached over and caught Pug's arm. "Look." He pointed at
the wreck sliding backward on the tide. Pug couldn't make out what he was
pointing at. "What is it?"
"I thought for a moment there was only one body on deck." Pug looked at
him. Tomas's face was set in an expression of worry. Abruptly it changed
to anger. "Damn!" "What?" "When I fell in the cabin, I dropped the
sword. Fannon will have my ears." A sound like an explosion of thunder
marked the final destruction of the wreck as the tide smashed it against
the cliff face. Now the shards of the once fine, if alien, ship would be
swept out to sea, to drift back in along the coast for miles to the south
over the next few days.
A low groan ending in a sharp cry made the boys turn. Standing
behind them was the missing man from the ship, the strange broad-sword
held loosely in his left hand and dragging in the sand. His right arm was
held tightly against his side, blood could be seen running from under his
blue breastplate, and from under his helmet. He took a staggering step
forward. His face was ashen, and his eyes wide with pain and confusion.
He shouted something incomprehensible at the boys. They stepped back
slowly, raising their hands to show they were unarmed. He took another
step toward them, and his knees sagged. He staggered erect and closed
his eyes for a moment. He was short and stocky, with powerfully muscled
arms and legs. Below the breastplate he wore a short skirt of blue cloth.
On his forearms were bracers, and on his legs, greaves that looked like
leather, above thonged sandals. He put his hand to his face and shook his
head. His eyes opened, and he regarded the boys again. Once more he spoke
in his alien tongue. When the boys said nothing, he appeared to grow
angry and yelled another series of strange words, from the tone seemingly
questions. Pug gauged the distance necessary to run past the man, who
blocked the narrow strip of beach. He decided it wasn't worth the risk of
finding out if the man was in a condition to use that wicked-looking
sword. As if sensing the boy's thoughts, the soldier staggered a few feet
to his right, cutting off any escape. He closed his eyes again, and what
little color there was in his face drained away. His gaze began to
wander, and the sword slipped from limp fingers. Pug started to take a
step toward him, for it was now obvious that he could do them no harm.
As he neared the man, shouts sounded up the beach. Pug and Tomas saw
Prince Arutha riding before a troop of horsemen. The wounded soldier
turned his head painfully at the sound of approaching horses,
and his eyes widened. A look of pure horror crossed his face, and he
tried to flee. He took three staggering steps toward the water and fell
forward into the sand.
Puc stooD near the door of the Duke's council chamber. Several feet away
a concerned group sat at Duke Borric's round council table. Besides the
Duke and his sons, Father Tully, Kulgan, who had returned only an hour
before, Swordmaster Fannon, and Horsemaster Algon sat in assembly. The
tone was serious, for the arrival of the alien ship was viewed as
potentially dangerous to the Kingdom. Pug threw a quick glance at Tomas,
standing on the opposite side of the door. Tomas had never been in the
presence of nobility, other than serving in the dining hallF and being in
the Duke's council chamber was making him nervous. Master Fannon spoke,
and Pug returned his attention to the table. "Reviewing what we
know," said the old Swordmaster, "it is obvious that these people are
completely alien to us." He picked up the bowl Tomas had taken from the
ship. "This bowl is fashioned in a way un-known to our Masterpotter. At
first he thought it was simply a fired and glazed clay, but upon closer
inspection it proved otherwise. It is fashoned from some sort of hide,
parchment-thin strips being wound around a mold-perhaps wood-then
laminated with resins of some type. It is much stronger than anything we
know." To demonstrate, he struck the bowl hard against the table. instead
of shattering, as a clay bowl would have, it made a dull sound. "Now,
even more perplexing are these weapons and armor." He pointed to the blue
breastplate, helmet, sword, and dagger. "They appear to be fashioned in a
similar manner." He lifted the dagger and let it drop. It made the same
dull sound as the bowl. "For all its lightness, it is nearly as strong as
our best steel."
Borric nodded. "Tully, you've been around longer than any of us. Have you
heard of any ship constructed like that?" "No." Tully absently stroked
his beardless chin. "Not from the Bitter Sea, the Kingdom Sea, or even
from Great Kesh have I heard of such a ship. I might send word to the
Temple of Ishap in Krondor. They have records that go further back than
any others. Perhaps they have some knowledge of these people." The Duke
nodded. "Please do. Also we must send word to the elves and dwarves. They
have abided here longer than we by ages, and we would do well to seek their
wisdom."
Tully indicated agreement. "Queen Aglaranna might have knowledge of these
people if they are travelers from across the Endless Sea. Perhaps they
have visited these shores before." "Preposterous," snorted Horsemaster
Algon. "There are no nations across the Endless Sea. Otherwise it
wouldn't be endless." Kulgan took on an indulgent expression. "There are
theories that other lands exist across the Endless Sea. It is only that
we have no ships capable of making such a long journey." "Theories,"
was all Algon said. "Whoever these strangers are," said Arutha, "we had
best make sure we can find out as much as possible about them." Algon
and Lyam gave him a questioning look, while Kulgan and Tully looked on
without expression. Borric and Fannon nodded as Arutha continued. "From
the boys' description, the ship was obviously a war-ship. The heavy prow
with bowsprit is designed for ramming, and the high foredeck is a perfect
place for bowmen, as the low middle deck is suitable for boarding other
vessels when they have been grappled. I would imagine the rear deck was
also high. If more of the hull had survived, I would guess we would have
found rowers' benches as well."
"A war galley?" asked Algon. Fannon looked impatient. "Of
course, you simpleton." There was a friendly rivalry between the two
masters, which at times degenerated to some unfriendly bickering. "Take a
look at our guest's weapon." He indicated the broadsword. "How would you
like to ride at a determined man weilding that toy? He'd cut your horse
right out from under you. That armor is light, and efficiently
constructed for all its gaudy coloring. I would guess that he was
infantry. As powerfully built as he is, he probably could run half a day
and still fight." He stroked his mustache absently. "These people have
some warriors among them." Algon nodded slowly. Arutha sat back in his
chair, making a tent of his hands, fingertips flexing. "What I can't
understand," said the Duke's younger son, "is why he tried to run. We had
no weapons drawn and were not charging. There was no reason for him to
run." Borric looked at the old priest. "Will we ever know?" Tully
looked concerned, his brow furrrowed. "He had a long piece of wood
embedded in his right side, under the breastplate, as well as a bad blow
to the head. That helmet saved his skull. He has a high fever and has lost
a great deal of blood. He may not survive. I may have to resort to a
mind contact, if he regains enough consciousness to establish it." Pug
knew of the mind contact, Tully had explained it to him before. It was a
method only a few clerics could employ, and it was extremely
dangerous for both the subject and the caster. The old priest must feel a
strong need to gain information from the injured man to risk it. Borric
turned his attention to Kulgan. "What of the scroll the boys found?"
Kulgan waved a hand absently. "I have given a preliminary, and brief,
inspection. It has magical properties without a doubt. That is why Pug
felt some compulsion to inspect the cabin and that chest, I think. Anyone
as sensitive to magic as he is would feel it." He looked directly at
the Duke. "I am, however, unwilling to break the seal until I have made a
more involved study of it, to better determine its purpose. Breaking
enchanted seals can be dangerous if not handled properly. If the seal was
tampered with, the scroll might destroy itself, or worse, those trying to
break it. It wouldn't be the first such trap I've seen for a scroll of
great power." The Duke drummed his fingers on the table for a moment.
"All right. We will adjourn this meeting. As soon as something new has
been learned, either from the scroll or from the wounded man, we will
recon-vene." He turned to Tully. "See how the man is, and if he should
wake, use your arts to glean whatever you can." He stood, and the others
rose also. "Lyam, send word to the Elf queen and the dwarves at Stone
Mountain and the Grey Towers of what has happened. Ask for their
counsel."
Pug opened the door. The Duke went through and the others followed.
Pug and Tomas were the last to leave, and as they walked down the
hall, Tomas leaned over toward Pug. "We really started something." Pug
shook his head. "We were simply the first to find the man. If not us,
then someone else."
Tomas looked relieved to be out of the chamber and the Duke's scrutiny.
"If this turns out badly, I hope they remember that."
Kulgan went up the stairs to his tower room as Tully moved off
toward his own quarters, where the wounded man was being tended by
Tully's acolytes. The Duke and his sons turned through a door to their
private quarters, leaving the boys alone in the hallway. Pug and Tomas
cut through a storage room, and into the kitchen. Megar stood supervising
the kitchen workers, several of whom waved greetings to the boys. When he
saw his son and fosterling, he smiled and said, "Well, what have you two
gotten yourselves into, now?" Megar was a loose-jointed man, with sandy
hair and an open countenance. He resembled Tomas, as a rough sketch
resembled a finished drawing. He was a fair-looking man of middle years,
but lacked the fine features that set Tomas apart.
Grinning, Megar said, "Everyone is hushed up about that man in
Tully's quarters, and messengers are dashing from here to there, one
place to another. I haven't seen such a to-do since the Prince of Krondor
visited seven years ago!" Tomas grabbed an apple from a platter and
jumped up to sit on a table. Between bites he recounted to his father
what had taken place. Pug leaned on the counter while listening. Tomas
told the story with a minimum of embellishment. When he was done, Megar
shook his head.
"Well, well. Aliens, is it? I hope they're not marauding pirates. We
have had peaceful enough times lately. Ten years since the time the
Brotherhood of the Dark Path"-he gestured spitting-"curse their murderous
souls, stirred up that trouble with the goblins. Can't say as I'd welcome
that sort of mess again, sending all those stores to the outlying
villages. Having to cook based on what will spoil first and what will
last longest. I couldn't make a decent meal for a month."
Pug smiled. Megar had the ability to take even the most difficult
possibilities and break them down to basics: how much inconvenience they
were likely to cause the scullery staff. Tomas jumped down from the
counter. "I had best return to the soldiers' commons and wait for Master
Fannon. I'll see you soon." He ran from the kitchen. Megar said, "Is it
serious, Pug?" Pug shook his head. "I really can't say. I don't know. I
know that Tully and Kulgan are worried, and the Duke thinks enough of the
problem to want to talk to the elves and dwarves. It could be." Megar
looked out the door that Tomas had used. "It would be a bad time for war
and killing." Pug could see the poorly hidden worry in Megar's face and
could think of nothing to say to a father of a son who had just become a
soldier. Pug pushed himself away from the counter. "I'd better be off, as
well, Megar." He waved good-bye to the others in the kitchen and walked
out of the kitchen and into the courtyard. He had little temper for
study, being alarmed by the serious tone of the meeting in the Duke's
chambers. No one had come out and said as much, but it was obvious they
were considering the possibility that the alien ship was the vanguard of
an invasion fleet.
Pug wandered around to the side of the keep and climbed the three steps
to the Princess's small flower garden. He sat on a stone bench, the
hedges and rows of rosebushes masking most of the courtyard from sight.
He could still see the top of the high walls, with the guards patrolling
the parapets. He wondered if it was his imagination, or were the guards
looking especially watchful today?
The sound of a delicate cough made him turn. Standing on the other side
of the garden was Princess Carline, with Squire Roland and two of her
younger ladies-in-waiting. The girls hid their smiles, for Pug was still
something of a celebrity in the keep. Carline shooed them off, saying, "I
would like to speak with Squire Pug in private." Roland hesitated, then
bowed stiffly. Pug was irritated by the dark look Roland gave him as he
left with the young ladies. The two young ladies looked over their
shoulder at Pug and Carline, giggling, which seemed only to add to
Roland's irritation. Pug stood as Carline approached and made an awkward
bow. She said, in short tones, "Oh, sit down. I find that rubbish tiring
and get all I need from Roland." Pug sat. The girl took her place next
to him, and they were both silent for a moment. Finally she said, "I
haven't seen you for more than a week. Have you been busy? Pug felt
uncomfortable, still confused by the girl and her mercurial moods. She
had been only warm to him since the day, three weeks ago, when he had
saved her from the trolls, stirring up a storm of gossip among the staff
of the castle. She remained short-tempered with others, however,
especially Squire Roland. "I have been busy with my studies." "Oh,
pooh. You spend too much time in that awful tower." Pug didn't consider
the tower room the least bit awful-except for being a bit drafty. It was
his own, and he felt comfortable there. "We could go riding, Your
Highness, if you would like." The girl smiled. "I would like that. But
I'm afraid Lady Marna won't allow it." Pug was surprised. He thought
that after the way he had protected the Princess, even the girl's
surrogate mother would allow that he was proper company. "Why not?"
Carline sighed. "She says that when you were a commoner, you would keep
your place. Now that you are a courtier, she suspects you of having
aspirations." A slight smile played across her lips. "Aspirations?" Pug
said, not understanding. Carline said shyly, "She thinks that you have
ambitions to rise to higher station. She thinks you seek to influence me
in certain ways." Pug stared at Carline. Abruptly comprehension dawned on
him, and he said, "Oh," then, "Oh.' Your Highness." He stood up. "I never
would do such a thing. I mean, I would never think to . . . I mean . . ."
Carline abruptly stood and threw Pug an exasperated look. "Boys! You're
all idiots." Lifting the hem of her long green gown, she stormed off.
Pug sat down, more perplexed than before by the girl. It was almost as if
. . . He let the thought trail away. The more it seemed possible that she
could care for him, the more anxious the prospect made him. Car-line was
quite a bit more than the fairy-tale Princess he had imagined a short
time back. With the stamp of one little foot, she could raise a storm in
a saltcellar, one that could shake the keep. A girl of complex mind was
the Princess, with a contradictory nature tossed into the bargain.
Further musing was interrupted by Tomas, dashing by. Catching a glimpse
of his friend, he leapt up the three steps and halted breathlessly before
him. "The Duke wants us. The man from the ship has died."
ThEY HASTILY ASSEMBLEd in the Duke's council chamber, except Kulgan, who
had not answered when a messenger knocked at his door. It was supposed he
was too deeply engrossed in the problem of the magic scroll. Father
Tully looked pale and drawn. Pug was shocked by his appearance. Only a
little more than an hour had passed, yet the old cleric looked as if he
had spent several sleepless nights. His eyes were red-rimmed and
deep-set in dark circles. His face was ashen, and a light sheen of
perspiration showed across his brow. Borric poured the priest a goblet of
wine from a decanter on a side-board and handed it to him. Tully
hesitated, for he was an abstemious man, then drank deeply. The others
resumed their former positions around the table. Borric looked at Tully
and said, simply, "Well?" "The soldier from the beach regained
consciousness for only a few minutes, a final rally before the end.
During that time I had the opportunity to enter into a mind contact
with him. I stayed with him through his last feverish dreams, trying to
learn as much about him as I could. I nearly didn't remove the contact in
time."
Pug paled. During the mind contact, the priest's mind and the subjects
become as one. If Tully had not broken contact with the man when he
died, the priest could have died or been rendered mad, for the two men
shared feelings, fears, and sensations as well as thought. He now
understood Tully's exhausted state: the old priest had spent a great deal
of energy maintaining the link with an uncooperative subject and had
been party to the dying man's pain and terror. Tully took another drink
of wine, then continued. "If this man's dying dreams were not the product
of fevered imaginings, then I fear his appearance heralds a grave
situation." Tully took another sip of wine
and pushed the goblet aside. "The man's name was Xomich. He was a simple
soldier of a nation, Honshoni, in something called the Empire of
Tsuranuanni." Borric said, "I have never heard of this nation, nor of
that Empire." Tully nodded and said, "I would have been surprised if you
had. That man's ship came from no sea of Midkemia." Pug and Tomas looked
at each other, and Pug felt a chilling sensation, as, apparently, did
Tomas, whose face had turned pale. Tully went on. "We can only
speculate on how the feat was managed, but I am certain that this ship
comes from another world, removed from our own in time and space." Before
questions could be asked, he said, "Let me explain." "This man was sick
with fever, and his mind wandered." Tully's face flickered with
remembered pain.
"He was part of an honor guard for someone he thought of only as
'Great One.' There were conflicting images, and I can't be sure, but it
seems that the journey they were on was considered strange, both for the
presence of this Great One and for the nature of the mission. The only
concrete thought I gained was that this Great One had no need to travel
by ship. Beyond that, I have little but quick and disjointed impressions.
There was a city he knew as Yankora, then a terrible storm, and a sudden
blinding brilliance, which may have been lightning striking the ship, but
I think not. There was a thought of his captain and comrades being washed
overboard. Then a crash on the rocks." He paused for a moment. "I am not
sure if those images are in order, for I think it likely that the crew
was lost before the blinding light." "Why?" asked Borric. "I'm ahead
of myself," said Tully. "First I'd like to explain why I think this man
is from another world. "This Xomich grew to manhood in a land ruled by
great armies. They are a warrior race, whose ships control the seas. But
what seas? Never, to my knowledge, has there been mention of contact with
these people. And there are other visions that are even more convincing.
Great cities, far larger than those in the heart of Kesh, the largest
known to us. Armies on parade during high holiday, marching past a review
stand; city garrisons larger than the King's Army of the West." Algon
said, "Still, there is nothing to say they are not from"-he paused, as if
the admission were difficult-"across the Endless Sea." That prospect
seemed to trouble him less than the notion of some place not of this
world. Tully looked irritated at the interruption. "There is more, much
more. I followed him through his dreams, many of his homeland. He
remembers creatures unlike any I have heard of or seen, things with six
legs that pull wagons like oxen, and other creatures, some that look
like insects or reptiles, but speak like men. His land was hot, and his
memory of the sun was of one larger than ours and more green in color.
This man was not of our world."
The last was said flatly, removing from all in the room any lingering
doubts. Tully would never make a pronouncement like that unless he was
certain. The room was silent as each person reflected on what had been
said. The boys watched and shared the feeling. It was as if no one were
willing to speak, as if to do so would seal the priest's information
forever in fact, while to stay silent might let it pass like a bad dream.
Borric stood and paced over to the window. It looked out upon a blank
rear wall of the castle, but he stared as if seeking something there,
some-thing that would provide an answer for the questions that spun in
his mind. He turned quickly and said, "How did they get here, Tully?"
The priest shrugged. "Perhaps Kulgan can offer a theory as to the means.
What I construct as being the most likely series of events is this: the
ship foundered in the storm, the captain of the ship and most of its crew
were lost. As a last resort this Great One, whoever he is, invoked a
spell to remove the ship from the storm, or change the weather, or some
other mighty feat. As a result, the ship was cast from its own world into
this, appearing off the coast at Sailor's Grief. With the ship moving at
great speed on its own world, it may have appeared here with the same
movement, and with the westerly blowing strong, and little or no crew,
the ship was driven straight onto the rocks. Or it simply may have
appeared upon the rocks, smashed at the instant it came into being here."
Fannon shook his head. "From another world. How can that be possible?"
The old priest raised his hands in a gesture of mystification. "One can
only speculate. The Ishapians have old scrolls in their temples. Some are
reputed to be copies of older works, which in turn are copies of still
older scrolls. They claim the originals date back, in unbroken line, to
the time of the Chaos Wars. Among them is mention of 'other planes' and
'other dimensions,' and of concepts lost to us. One thing is clear,
however. They speak of lands and peoples unknown and suggest that once
mankind traveled to other worlds, or to Midkemia from other worlds. These
notions have been the center of religious debate for centuries, and no
one could say with certainty what truth there was in any of them." He
paused, then said, "Until now. If I had not seen what was in Xomich's
mind, I would not have accepted such a theory to explain this day's
occurrences. But now. '
Borric crossed to his chair to stand behind it, his hands gripping the
side of the high back. "It seems impossible." "That the ship and man were
here is fact, Father," said Lyam.
Arutha followed his brother's comment with another. "And we must decide
what the chances are that this feat may be duplicated."
Borric said to Tully, "You were right when you said this may herald a
grave situation. Should a great Empire be turning its attention toward
Crydee and the Kingdom . . ." Tully shook his head. "Borric, have you so
long been removed from my tutelage that you miss the point entirely?" He
held up a bony hand as the Duke started to protest. "Forgive me, my
lord. I am old and tired and forget my manners. But the truth is still
the truth. A mighty nation they are, or rather an empire of nations, and
if they have the means to reach us, it could prove dire, but most
important is the possibility that this Great One is a magician or priest
of high art. For if he is not one alone, if there are more within this
Empire, and if they did indeed try to reach this world with magic, then
grave times are truly in store for us." When everyone at the table still
appeared not to comprehend what he was alluding to, Tully continued, like
a patient teacher lecturing a group of promising but occasionally slow
students. "The ship's appearance may be the product of chance and, if
so, is only a cause for curiosity. But if it was by design that it came
here, then we may be in peril, for to move a ship to another world is an
order of magic beyond my imagining. If these people, the Tsurani as
they call themselves, know we are here, and if they possess the means to
reach us, then not only must we fear armies that rival Great Kesh at the
height of its power, when its reach extended to even this remote corner
of the world, we must also face magic far greater than any we have
known." Borric nodded, for the conclusion was obvious, once pointed out.
"We must have Kulgan's counsel on this at once." "One thing, Arutha,"
said Tully. The Prince looked up from his chair, for he had been lost in
thought. "I know why Xomich tried to run from you and your men. He
thought you were creatures he knew in his own world, centaurlike
creatures, called ThUn, feared by the Tsurani." "Why would he think
that?" asked Lyam, looking puzzled. "He had never seen a horse, or any
creature remotely like it. I expect these people have none." The Duke
sat down again. Drumming his fingers on the table, he
said, "If what Father Tully says is true, then we must make some decisions,
and quickly. If this is but an accident that has brought these
people to our shores, then there may be little to fear. If, however, there
is some design to their coming, then we should expect a serious threat.
Here we are the fewest in number of all the Kingdom's garrisons, and it
would be a hard thing should they come here in force." The others
murmured agreement, and the Duke said, "We would do
well to try to understand that what has been said here is still only
speculation, though I am inclined to agree with Tully on most points. We
should have Kulgan's thoughts upon the matter of these people." He turned
to Pug. "Lad, see if your master is free to join us." Pug nodded and
opened the door, then raced through the keep. He ran to the tower steps
and took them two at a time. He raised his hand to knock and felt a
strange sensation, as if he were near a lightning strike, causing the
hair on his arms and scalp to stand up. A sudden sense of wrongness swept
over him, and he pounded on the door. "Kulgan! Kulgan! Are you all
right?" he shouted, but no answer was forth-coming. He tried the door
latch and found it locked. He placed his shoulder against the door and
tried to force it, but it held fast. The -feeling of strangeness had
passed, but fear rose in him at Kulgan's silence. He looked about for
something to force the door and, finding nothing, ran back down the
stairs. He hurried into the long hall. Here guards in Crydee livery stood
at their post. he shouted at the two nearest, "you two, come with me. My
master is in trouble." Without hesitation they followed the boy up the
stairs, their boots pounding on the stone steps. When they reached the
magician's door, Pug said, "Break it down!" They quickly put aside spear
and shield and leaned their shoulders against the door. Once, twice,
three times they heaved, and with a protesting groan the timbers cracked
around the lock plate. One last shove and the door flew open. The guards
stopped themselves from -falling through the door and stepped back,
amazement and confusion on their faces. Pug shouldered between them and
looked into the room. On the floor lay Kulgan, unconscious. His blue
robes were disheveled, and one arm was thrown across his face, as if in
protection. Two feet from him, where his study table should have stood,
hung a shimmering void. Pug stared at the place in the air. A large
sphere of grey that was not quite grey shimmered with traces of a broken
spectrum. He could not see through it, but there was nothing solid there.
Coming out of the grey space was a pair of human arms, reaching toward
the magician. When they touched the material of his robe, they stopped
and fingered the cloth. As if a decision had been made, they traveled
over his body, until they identified Kulgan's arm. The hands took hold of
him and tried to lift his arm into the void. Pug stood in horror, for
whoever or whatever was on the other side of the void was trying to pull
the stout magician up and through. Another pair of hands reached through
and
picked up the magician's arm next to where the first held him, and Kulgan
was being pulled toward the void. Pug turned and grabbed one of the
spears from against the wall where the shocked guards had placed them.
Before either of the men-at-arms could act, he leveled it at the grey
spot and threw.
The spear flew across the ten feet that separated them from
Kulgan and disappeared into the void. A brief second after, the arms
dropped Kulgan and withdrew. Suddenly the grey void blinked out of
existence, with a clap of air rushing in to fill it. Pug ran to Kulgan's
side and knelt by his master. The magician was breathing, but his face
was white and beaded with sweat. His skin felt cold and clammy. Pug ran
to Kulgan's sleeping pallet and pulled off a blanket. As he was covering
the magician, he shouted at the guards, "Get Father Tully."
Puc AND ToMAs sat up that night, unable to sleep. Tully had tended to the
magician, giving a favorable prognosis. Kulgan was in shock but would
recover in a day or two. Duke Borric had questioned Pug and the guards on
what they had witnessed, and now the castle was in an uproar. All the
guards had been turned out, and patrols to the outlying areas of the
Duchy had been doubled. The Duke still did not know what the connection
between the appearance of the ship and the strange manifestation in the
magician's quarters was, but he was taking no chances with the safety of
his realm. All along the walls of the castle, torches burned, and guards
had been sent to Longpoint lighthouse and the town below. Tomas sat
next to Pug on a bench in Princess Carline's garden, one of the few quiet
places in the castle. Tomas looked thoughtfully at Pug. "I expect that
these Tsurani people are coming." Pub ran a hand through his hair. "We
don't know that." Tomas sounded tired. "I just have a feeling." Pug
nodded. "We'll know tomorrow when Kulgan can tell us what
happened." Tomas looked out toward the wall. "I've never seen it so
strange around here. Not even when the Dark Brotherhood and the goblins
attacked back when we were little, remember?" Pug nodded, silent for a
moment, then said, "We knew what we were facing then. The dark elves have
been attacking castles on and off as far back as anyone can remember. And
goblins . . . well, they're goblins." They sat in silence for a long
time; then the sound of boots on the pavement announced someone coming.
Swordmaster Fannon, in chain mail and tabard, halted before them. "What? Up
so late? You should both be abed."
The old fighter turned to survey the castle walls. "There are
many who find themselves unable to sleep this night." He turned his
attention back to the boys. "Tomas, a soldier needs to learn the knack of
taking sleep whenever he can find it, for there are many long days when
there is none. And you, Squire Pug, should be asleep as well. Now, why
don't you try to rest yourselves?" The boys nodded, bade the Swordmaster
good night, and left. The grey-haired commander of the Duke's guard
watched them go and stood quietly in the little garden for a time, alone
with his own disquieting thoughts.
Puc wAs AWAKENED by the sound of footsteps passing his door. He quickly
pulled on trousers and tunic and hurried up the steps to Kul: gan's room.
Passing the hastily replaced door, he found the Duke and Father Tully
standing over Kulgan's sleeping pallet. Pug heard his master's voice,
sounding feeble, as he complained about being kept abed. "I tell you, I'm
fine," Kulgan insisted. "Just let me walk about a bit, and I'll be back
to normal in no time." Tully, still sounding weary, said, "Back on your
back, you mean. You sustained a nasty jolt, Kulgan. Whatever it was that
knocked you un-conscious packed no small wallop. You were lucky, it
could have been much worse." Kulgan noticed Pug, who stood quietly at
the door, not wishing to disturb anyone.."Ha, Pug," he said, his voice
regaining some of its usual volume. "Come in, come in. I understand I
have you to thank for not taking an unexpected journey with unknown
companions." Pug smiled, for Kulgan seemed his oldF jovial self, in spite
of his wan appearance. "I really did nothing, sir. I just felt that
something was not right, and acted." "Acted quickly and well," said the
Duke with a smile. "The boy is again responsible for the well-being of
one of my household. At this rate I may have to grant him the title
Defender of the Ducal Household." Pug smiled, pleased with the Duke's
praise. Borric turned to the magician. "Well, seeing as you are full of
fire, I think we should have a talk about yesterday. Are you well enough?"
The question brought an irritated look from Kulgan. "Of course I'm well
enough. That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last ten
minutes." Kulgan started to rise from the bed, but as dizziness overtook
him, Tully put a restraining hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to
the large pile of pillows he had been resting on.
"You can talk here quite well enough, thank you. Now, stay in bed."
Kulgan made no protest. He shortly felt better and said, "Fine, but hand
me my pipe, will you, please?" Pug fetched Kulgan's pipe and pouch of
tabac and, as the magician tamped down the bowl, a long burning taper
from the fire pot. Kulgan lit his pipe and, when it was burning to his
satisfaction, lay back with a contented look on his face. "Now," he said,
"where do we begin?" The Duke quickly filled him in on what Tully had
revealed, with the priest adding a few details the Duke overlooked. When
they were done, Kulgan nodded. "Your assumption about the origin of these
people is likely. I suspected the possibility when I saw the artifacts
brought from the ship, and the events in this room yesterday bear me
out." He paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "The scroll was a
personal letter from a magician of these people, the Tsurani, to his
wife, but it was also more. The seal was magically endowed to force the
reader to incant a spell contained at the end of the message. It is a
remarkable spell enabling anyone, whether or not they can normally read,
to read the scroll." The Duke said, "This is a strange thing." Tully
said, "It's astonishing." "The concepts involved are completely new to
me," agreed Kulgan. "Anyway, I had neutralized that spell so I could read
the letter without fear of magical traps, common to private messages
written by magicians. The language was of course strange, and I
employed a spell from another scroll to translate it. Even understanding
the language through that spell, I don't fully understand everything
discussed. "A magician named Fanatha was traveling by ship to a city on
his homeworld. Several days out to sea, they were struck by a severe
storm. The ship lost its mast, and many of the crew were washed
overboard.
The magician took a brief time to pen the scroll-it was written
in a hasty hand-and cast the spells upon it. It seems this man could have
left the ship at any time and returned to his home or some other place of
safety, but was enjoined from doing so by his concern for the ship and
its cargo. I am not clear on this point, but the tone of the letter
suggested that risking his life for the others on the ship was somehow
unusual. Another puzzling thing was a mention of his duty to someone he
called the 'Warlord.' I may be reaching for straws, but the tone leads me
to think this was a matter of honor or a promise, not some personal duty.
In any event he penned the note, sealed it, and was then going to
undertake to move the ship magically." Tully shook his head in disbelief.
"Incredible."
"And as we understand magic, impossible," Kulgan added excitedly.
Pug noticed that the magician's professional interest was not shared by
the Duke, who looked openly troubled. The boy remembered Tully's comments
on what magic of that magnitude meant if these people were to invade the
Kingdom. The magician continued, "These people possess powers about
which we can only speculate. The magician was very clear on a number of
points-his ability to compress so many ideas into so short a message
shows an unusually organized mind. "He took great pains to reassure his
wife he would do everything in his power to return. He referred to
opening a rift to the 'new world,' because-and I don't fully understand
this-a bridge was already established, and some device he possessed
lacked . . . some capacity or an-other to move the ship on his own
world. From all indications, it was a most desperate gamble. He placed a
second spell on the scroll-and this is what caught me in the end. I
thought by neutralizing the first spell I had countered the second also,
but I was in error. The second spell was designed to activate as soon as
someone had finished reading the scroll aloud, another unheard-of piece
of magical art. The spell caused an-other of these rifts to open, so the
message would be transported to a place called 'the Assembly' and from
there to his wife. I was nearly caught in the rift with the message."
Pug stepped forward. Without thinking, he blurted, "Then those
hands might have been his friends trying to find him." Kulgan looked at
his apprentice and nodded. "A possibility. In any event, we can derive
much from this episode. These Tsurani have the ability to control magic
that we can only hint at in our speculation. We know a little about the
occurrences of rifts, and nothing of their nature." The Duke looked
surprised. "Please explain." Kulgan drew deep on his pipe, then said,
"Magic, by its nature, is unstable. Occasionally a spell will become
warped-why, we don't know to such a degree, it . . . tears at the very
fabric of the world. For a brief time a rift occurs, and a passage is
formed, going . . . somewhere. Little else is known about such
occurrences, except that they involve tremendous releases of energy."
Tully said, "There are theories, but no one understands why every so
often a spell, or magic device, suddenly explodes in this fashion and why
this instability in reality is created. There have been several occurrences
like this, but we have only secondhand observations to go on. Those who
witnessed the creation of these rifts died or vanished." Kulgan picked up
the narrative again. "It's considered axiomatic that they were destroyed
along with anything within several feet of the rift."
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "By rights I should have been killed
when that rift appeared in my study." The Duke interrupted. "From your
description, these rifts, as you call them, are dangerous." Kulgan
nodded. "Unpredictable, as well. They are one of the most uncontrollable
forces ever discovered. If these people know how to manufacture them
and control them as well, to act as a gate between worlds, and can pass
through them safely, then they have arts of the most powerful sort."
Tully said, "We've suspected something of the nature of rifts before, but
this is the first time we've had anything remotely like hard evidence."
Kulgan said, "Bah! Strange people and unknown objects have appeared
suddenly from time to time over the years, Tully. This would
certainly explain where they came from." Tully appeared unwilling to
concede the point. "Theory only, Kulgan, not proof. The people have all
been dead, and the devices . . . no one understands the two or three that
were not burned and twisted beyond recognition." Kulgan smiled.
"Really? What about the man who appeared twenty
years ago in Salador?" To the Duke he said, "This man spoke no language
known and was dressed in the strangest fashion." Tully looked down his
nose at Kulgan. "He was also hopelessly mad and never could speak a word
that could be understood. The temples invested much time on him-"
Borric paled. "Gods! A nation of warriors, with armies many times the
size of our own, who have access to our world at will. Let us hope they
Have not turned their eyes toward the Kingdom." Kulgan nodded and blew a
puff of smoke. "As yet, we have not heard of any other appearances of
these people, and we may not have to fear them, but I have a feeling . .
." He left the thought unfinished for a moment. He turned a little to one
side, easing some minor discomfort, then said, "It may be nothing, but a
reference to a bridge in the message troubles me. It smacks of a
permanent way between the worlds already in existence. I hope I'm wrong."
The sound of feet pounding up the stairs made them turn. A guard hurried
in and came to attention before the Duke, handing him a small paper.
The Duke dismissed the man and opened the folded paper. He read it
quickly, then handed it to Tully. "I sent fast riders to the elves and
the dwarves, with pigeons to carry replies. The Elf queen sends word that
she is already riding to Crydee and will be here in two days' time."
Tully shook his head. "As long as I have lived, I have never heard of the
Lady Aglaranna leaving Elvandar. This sets my bones cold."
Kulgan said, "Things must be approaching a serious turn for her to come
here. I hope I am wrong, but I think that we are not the only ones to have
news of these Tsurani." Silence descended over the room, andPug was
struck by a feeling of hopelessness. He shook it off, but its echoes
followed him for days.
6
ELFCOUNSEL
Puc LEaNED OuT THE WINDOW.
Despite the driving rain that had come in early morning, the court-yard
was in an uproar. Besides the necessary preparations for any important
visit, there was the added novelty of these visitors being elves. Even
the infrequent elf messenger from Queen Aglaranna was the object of much
curiosity when one appeared at the castle, for rarely did the elves
venture south of the river Crydee. The elves lived apart from the society
of men, and their ways were thought strange and magical. They had lived
in these lands long before the coming of men to the West, and there was
an unvoiced agreement that, in spite of any claims made by the Kingdom,
they were a free people. A cough caused Pug to turn and see Kulgan
sitting over a large tome. The magician indicated with a glance that the
boy should return to his studies. Pug closed the window shutters and sat
on his pallet. Kulgan said, "There will be ample time for you to gawk at
elves, boy, in a few hours. Then there will be little time for studies.
You must learn to make the best use of what time you have." Fantus
scrambled over to place his head in the boy's lap. Pug
scratched absently behind an eye ridge as he picked up a book and started
to read. Kulgan had given Pug the task of formulating shared qualities of
spells as described by different magicians, in the hope it would deepen
his understanding of the nature of magic.
Kulgan was of the opinion that Pug's spells with the trolls had been the
result of the tremendous stress of the moment. He hoped the study of
other magicians' research might help the boy break through the barriers
that held him back in his studies. The book work also proved fasci-nating
to Pug, and his reading had improved greatly. Pug glanced at his master,
who was reading while puffing great clouds of smoke from his long pipe.
Kulgan showed no signs of the weakness of the day before and had insisted
the boy use these hours to study, rather than sit idly by waiting for the
arrival of the Elf Queen and her court. A few minutes later, Pug's eyes
began to sting from the pungent smoke, and he turned back to the window
and pushed open the shutters. "Kulgan?" "Yes, Pug?" "It would be
much nicer working with you if we could somehow keep the fire going for
warmth but move the smoke outside." Between the -smoking fire pot and the
magician's pipe, the room was thick with a blue-white haze. The
magician laughed loudly. "Right you are." He closed his eyes for a
moment, his hands flew in a furious motion, and he softly mouthed a
series of incantations. Soon he was holding a large sphere of white and
grey smoke, which he took to the window and tossed outside, leaving the
room fresh and clear. Pug shook his head, laughing. "Thank you, Kulgan.
But I had a more mundane solution in mind. What do you think of making a
chimney for the fire pot?" "Not possible, Pug," Kulgan said, sitting
down. He pointed to the wall. "If one had been installed when the tower
was built, fine. But to try to remove the stones from the tower, from
here past my room, and up to the roof would be difficult, not to mention
costly." "I wasn't thinking of a chimney in the wall, Kulgan. You know
how the forge in the smithy has a stone hood taking the heat and smoke
through the roof?" The magician nodded. "Well, if I could have a metal
one fashioned by the smith, and a metal chimney coming from the hood to
carry the smoke away, it would work the same way, wouldn't it?" Kulgan
pondered this for a moment. "I don't see why it wouldn't. But where would
you put this chimney?"
"There." Pug pointed to two stones above and to
the left of the window. They had been ill fitted when the tower was
built, and now there was a large crack between them that allowed the wind
to come howling into the room. "This stone could be taken out," he said,
indi-cating the leftmost one. "I checked it and it's loose. The chimney
could come from above the fire pot, bend here"-he pointed to a spot in the
air above the pot and level with the stone-"and come out here. If we
covered the space around it, it would keep the wind out." Kulgan looked
impressed.
"It's a novel idea, Pug. It might work. I'll speak to the
smith in the morning and get his opinion on the matter. I wonder that no
one thought of it before." Feeling pleased with himself for having
thought of the chimney, Pug resumed his studies. He reread a passage that
had caught his eye before, puzzling over an ambiguity. Finally he looked
up at the magician and said, "Kulgan." "Yes, Pug?" he answered, looking
up from his book. "Here it is again. Magician Lewton uses the same
cantrip here as Marsus did, to baffle the effects of the spell upon the
caster, directing it to an external target." Placing the large tome down
so as not to lose his place, he picked up another. "But here Dorcas
writes that the use of this cantrip blunts the spell, increasing the
chance that it will not work. How can there be so much disagreement over
the nature of this single con-struction?" Kulgan narrowed his gaze a
moment as he regarded his student. Then he sat back, taking a long pull
on his pipe, sending forth a cloud of blue smoke. "It shows what I've
said before, lad. Despite any vanity we magi-cians might feel about our
craft, there's really very little order or science involved. Magic is a
collection of folk arts and skills passed along from master to apprentice
since the beginning of time. Trial and error, trial and error is the way.
There has never been an attempt to create a system for magic, with laws
and rules and axioms that are well understood and widely accepted." He
looked thoughtfully at Pug. "Each of us is like a carpenter, making a
table, but each of us choosing different woods, different types of saws,
some using pegs and dowel, others using nails, another dovetailing joints,
some staining, others not . . . in the end there's a table, but the means
for making it are not the same in each case.
"What we have here is most likely an insight about the limits of each of
these venerable sages you study, rather than any sort of prescription for
magic. For Lewton and Marsus, the cantrip aided the construction of the
spell; for Dorcas, it hindered." "I understand your example, Kulgan, but
I'll never understand how these magicians all could do the same thing,
but in so many different ways. I understand that each of them wanted to
achieve his end and found a different means, but there is something
missing in the manner they did it." Kulgan looked intrigued. "What is
missing, Pug?"
The boy looked thoughtful. "I . . . I don't know. It's as if I expect to
find something that will tell me, 'This is the way it must be done, the
only way,' or something like that. Does that make any sense?"
Kulgan nodded. "I think I know you well enough to understand. You have a
very well-ordered mind, Pug. You understand logic far better than most,
even those much older than yourself. You see things as a system, rather
than as a haphazard collection of events. Perhaps that is part of your
trouble." Pug's expression showed his interest in what the magician was
saying. Kulgan continued. "Much of what I am trying to teach is based on
a system of logic, cause and effect, but much is not. It is like trying
to teach someone to play the lute. You can show them the fingering of the
strings, but that knowledge alone will not make a great troubadour. It is
the art, not the scholarship, that troubles you." "I think I understand,
Kulgan." He sounded dispirited. -Kulgan stood up. "Don't dwell on it;
you are still young, and I have hope for you yet." His tone was light,
and Pug felt the humor in it. "Then I am not a complete loss?" he said
with a smile. "Indeed not." Kulgan looked thoughtfully at his pupil. "In
fact, I have the feeling that someday you may use that logical mind of
yours for the betterment of magic." Pug was a little startled. He did
not think of himself as one to accomplish great things. Shouts came
through the window, and Pug hurried to look out. A
troop of guards was running toward the front gate. Pug turned to Kulgan.
"The elves must be coming! The guard is out." Kulgan said, "Very
well. We are done with study for this day. There will be no holding you
until you get a look at the elves. Run along." Pug raced out the door and
down the stairs. He took them two at a time, jumping to the bottom of the
tower landing over the last four and hitting the floor at a full run. He
dashed through the kitchen and out the door. As he rounded the keep to
the front courtyard, he found Tomas standing atop a hay wagon. Pug
climbed up next to him, to be better able to see the arrival over the
heads of the curious keep folk gathered around. Tomas said, "I thought
you weren't coming, thought you'd be locked away with your books all
day." Pug said, "I wouldn't miss this. Elves~!" Tomas playfully dug his
elbow into Pug's side. "Haven't you had your fill of excitement for this
week?" Pug threw him a black look. "If you're so indifferent, why are you
standing in the rain on this wagon?"
Tomas didn't answer. Instead he pointed. "Look!" Pug turned to see the
guard company snap to attention as riders in green cloaks entered through
the gate. They rode to the main doors of the keep, where the Duke waited.
Pug and Tomas watched in awe, for they rode the most perfect white horses
the boys had ever seen, using no saddle or bridle. The horses seemed
untouched by wetness, and their coats glowed faintly; whether by some
magic, or a trick of the grey afternoon light, Pug couldn't tell. The
leader rode on an especially grand animal, full seventeen hands in
height, with a long flowing mane and a tail like a plume. The riders
reared the mounts in salute, and an audible intake of breath could be
heard from those in the crowd. "Elf steeds," said Tomas, in hushed tones.
The horses were the legendary mounts of the elves. Martin Longbow had once
told the boys they lived in hidden, deep glades near Elvandar. It was
said they possessed intelligence and a magic nature, and no human could sit
their backs. It was also said that only one with royal elvish blood could
command them to carry riders. Grooms rushed forward to take the horses,
but a musical voice said, "There is no need." It came from the first
rider, the one mounted on the greatest steed. She jumped nimbly down,
without aid, landing lightly on her feet, and threw back her hood,
revealing a mane of thick reddish hair.
Even in the gloom of the afternoon rain it appeared to
be shot through with golden highlights. She was tall, nearly a match for
Borric. She mounted the steps as the Duke came forward to meet her.
Borric held out his hands and took hers in greeting. ""Welcome, my lady;
you do me and my house a great honor." The Elf Queen said, 'You are most
gracious, Lord Borric." Her voice was rich and surprisingly clear, able
to carry over the crowd so that all in the courtyard could hear. Pug felt
Tomas's hand clutching his shoulder. He turned to see a rapt expression
on Tomas's face. "She's beautiful," said the taller boy. Pug returned
his attention to the welcome. He was forced to agree that the Queen of
the elves was indeed beautiful, if not in entirely human terms. Her eyes
were large and a pale blue, nearly luminous in the gloom. Her face was
finely chiseled, with high cheekbones and a strong but not masculine jaw.
Her smile was full, and her teeth shone white between almost-red lips.
She wore a simple circlet of gold around her brow, which held back her
hair,
revealing the lobeless, upswept ears that were the hallmark of her race.
The others in her company dismounted, all dressed in rich clothing. Each
tunic was bright with contrasting leggings below. One wore a tunic of
deep russet, another pale yellow with a surcoat of bright green. Some
wore purple sashes, and others crimson hose. Despite the bright colors,
these were elegant and finely made garments, with nothing loud or gaudy
about them. There were eleven riders with the Queen, all similar in
appearance, tall, youthful, and lithe in movement. The Queen turned from
the Duke and said something in her musical language. The elf steeds
reared in salute, then ran through the gate, past the surprised
onlookers. The Duke ushered his guests inside, and soon the crowd drifted
away. Tomas and Pug sat quietly in the rain. Tomas said, "If I live to be
a hundred, I don't think that I'll ever see her like." Pug was
surprised, for his friend rarely showed such feelings. He had a brief
impulse to chide Tomas over his boyish infatuation, but something
about his companion's expression made that seem inappropriate. "Come on,"
he said, "we're getting drenched." Tomas followed Pug from the wagon. Pug
said, "You had better change into some dry clothing, and see if you can
borrow a dry tabard." Tomas said, "Why?" With an evil grin, Pug said,
"Oh? Didn't I tell you? The Duke wants you to dine with the court. He
wants you to tell the Elf queen what you saw on the ship." Tomas looked
as if he were going to break down and run. "Me? Dine in the great hall?"
His face went white. "Talk? To the Queen?"
Pug laughed with glee. "It's easy. You open your mouth and words come
out." Tomas swung a roundhouse at Pug, who ducked under the blow,
grabbing his friend from behind when he spun completely around. Pug had
strength in his arms even if he lacked Tomas's size, and he easily picked
his larger friend off the ground. Tomas struggled, and soon they were
laughing uncontrollably. "Pug, put me down." "Not until you calm down."
"I'm all right." Pug put him down. "What brought that on?" "Your smug
manner, and not telling me until the last minute."
"All right. So I'm sorry I waited to tell you. Now what's the rest of it?"
Tomas looked uncomfortable, more than was reasonable from the
rain. "I don't know how to eat with quality folk. I'm afraid I'll do
something stupid." "It's easy. Just watch me and do what I do. Hold the
fork in your left hand and cut with the knife. Don't drink from the bowls
of water; they're to wash with, and use them a lot, because your hands
will get greasy from the rib bones. And make sure you toss the bones over
your shoulder to the dogs, and not on the floor in front of the Duke's
table.
And don't wipe your mouth on your sleeves, use the tablecloth, that's
what it's for." They walked toward the soldiers' commons, with Pug giving
his friend instruction on the finer points of court manners. Tomas was
impressed at the wealth of Pug's knowledge.
ToMAS VACILLATEd between looking sick and pained. Each time someone
regarded him, he felt as if he had been found guilty of the most grievous
breach of etiquette and looked sick. Whenever his gaze wandered to the
head table and he caught sight of the Elf Queen, his stomach tied up in
knots and he looked pained. Pug had arranged for Tomas to sit next to him
at one of the more removed tables from the Duke's. Pug's usual place was
at Lord Borric's table, next to the Princess. He was glad for this chance
to be away from her, for she still showed displeasure with him. Usually
she chatted with him about the thousand little bits of gossip the ladies
of the court found so interesting, but last night she had pointedly
ignored him, lavishing all her attention on a surprised and obviously
pleased Roland. Pug found his own reaction puzzling, relief mixed with a
large dose of irritation. While he felt relieved to be free of her wrath,
he found Roland's fawning upon her a bothersome itch he couldn't
scratch.
Pug had been troubled by Roland's hostility toward him of late, poorly
hidden behind stiff manners. He had never been as close to Roland as
Tomas had, but they had never before had cause to be angry with one
another. Roland had always been one of the crowd of boys Pug's age. He
had never hidden behind his rank when he had cause to be at odds with the
common boys, always standing ready to settle the matter in whatever way
proved necessary. And already being an experienced fighter when he
arrived in Crydee, his differences soon were settled peacefully as
often as not. Now there was this dark tension between Pug and Roland, and
Pug found himself wishing he was Tomas's equal in fighting; Tomas was the
only boy Roland was unable to best with fists, their one encounter ending
quickly with Roland receiving a sound thumping. For as certain as the
sun was rising in the morning, Pug knew a confrontation with the
hotheaded young Squire was quickly approaching. He dreaded it, but knew
once it came, he'd feel relief. Pug glanced at Tomas, finding his friend
lost in his own discomfort. Pug returned his attention to Carline. He
felt overwhelmed by the Princess, but her allure was tempered by a
strange discomfort he felt when-ever she was near. As beautiful as he
found her-her black locks and blue eyes igniting some very uncomfortable
flames of imagination-the
images were always somehow hollow, colorless at heart, lacking the amber
-and-rose glow such daydreams had possessed when Carline had been a
distant, unapproachable, and unknown figure. Observing her closely for
even as short a time as he had recently made such idealized musing
impossible. She was proving herself to be just too complicated to fit
into simple daydreams. On the whole he found the question of the Princess
troublesome, but seeing her with Roland made him forget his internal
conflicts over her, as a less intellectual, more basic emotion came to
the fore. He was becoming jealous. Pug sighed, shaking his head as he
thought about his own misery at this moment, ignoring Tomas's. At least,
thought Pug, I'm not alone. To Roland's obvious discomfort, Carline was
deeply involved at the moment in conversation with Prince Calin of
Elvandar, son of Aglaranna. The Prince seemed to be the same age as
Arutha, or Lyam, but then so did his mother, who appeared to be in her
early twenties. All the elves, except the Queen's seniormost adviser,
Tathar, were quite young looking, and Tathar looked no older than the
Duke. When the meal was over, most of the Duke's court retired. The Duke
rose and offered his arm to Aglaranna and led those who had been ordered
to attend them to his council chamber.
For the third time in two days, the boys found themselves in the Duke's
council chamber. Pug was more relaxed about being there than before,
thanks in part to the large meal, but Tomas seemed more disturbed than
ever. If the taller boy had spent the hour before dinner staring at the
Elf queen, in these close quarters he seemed to be looking everywhere
but in her direction. Pug thought Aglaranna noticed Tomas's behavior and
smiled slightly, but he couldn't be sure.
The two elves who came with the Queen, Calin and Tathar, went at once to
the side table that had the bowl and the artifacts taken from the Tsurani
soldier. They examined them closely, fascinated by every detail. The
Duke called the meeting to order, and the two elves came to chairs on
either side of the Queen. Pug and Tomas stood by the door as usual. The
Duke said, "We have told you what has occurred as well as we know, and now
you have seen proof with your own eyes. If you think it would be helpful,
the boys can recount the events on the ship." The queen inclined her
head, but it was Tathar who spoke. "I would like to hear the story
firsthand, Your Grace." Borric motioned for the boys to approach. They
stepped forward, and Tathar said, "Which of you found this outworlder?"
Tomas threw Pug a look that indicated the shorter boy should do the
talking. Pug said, "We both did, sir," not knowing the proper address for
the elf. Tathar seemed content with the general honorific. Pug recounted
the events of that day, leaving out nothing he could remember.
When he had done, Tathar asked a series of questions, each jogging Pug's
memory, bringing out small details he had forgotten. When he was done,
Pug stepped back, and Tathar repeated the pro-cess with Tomas. Tomas
began haltingly, obviously discomfited, and the Elf queen bestowed a
reassuring smile on him. That only served to make him more unsettled, and
he was soon dismissed. Tathar's questions provided more details about the
ship, small things forgotten by the boys: fire buckets filled with sand
tossed about the deck, empty spear-racks, substantiating Arutha's surmise
that it had been, indeed, a warship. Tathar leaned back. "We have never
heard of such a ship. It is in many ways like other ships, but not in all
ways. We are convinced." As if by silent signal, Calin spoke. "Since the
death of my Father-King, I serve as warleader of Elvandar. It is my
duty to supervise the scouts and patrols that guard our glades. For some
time we have been aware that there were strange occurrences in the great
forest, south of the river Crydee. Several times our runners have found
tracks made by men, in isolated parts of the forest. They have been found
as near as the borders of Elvandar, and as far as the North Pass near
Stone Mountain. "Our scouts have tried for weeks to find these men, but
only tracks could be seen. There were none of the usual things that would
be expected of a scouting or raiding party. These people were taking
great care to disguise their presence. Had they not passed so close to
Elvandar, they might have remained undetected, but no one may intrude
near our home and go unnoticed. "Several days ago, one of our scouts
sighted a band of strangers passing the river, near the edge of our
forests heading in the direction of the North Pass. He followed for a
half day's march, then lost them." Fannon raised his eyebrows. "An elven
tracker lost them?" Calin inclined his head slightly. "Not by his lack of
skill. They simply entered a thick glade and never appeared on the other
side. He followed their tracks up to the point where they vanished."
Lyam said, "I think we know now where they went." He looked uncommonly
somber, resembling his father more than usual. Calin continued.
"Four days before your message arrived, I led a patrol that sighted a
band near the place of last sighting. They were
short and stocky men, without beards. Some were fair and others dark.
There were ten of them, and they moved through the forest with little
ease, the slightest sound put them on guard. But with all their caution,
they still had no idea they were being tracked. "They all wore armor of
bright colors, reds and blues, some green, others yellow, save one in
black robes. They carried swords like the one on the table and others
without the serration, round shields, and strange bows, short and curved
in an odd doubled-back way." Algon sat forward. "They're recurved bows,
like the ones used by Keshian dog-soldiers." Calin spread his hands.
"Kesh has long been gone from these lands, and when we knew the Empire,
they used simple bows of yew or ash." Algon interrupted in excited tones.
"They have a way, secret to them, of fashioning such bows from wood and
animal horn. They are small, but possess great power, though not as much
as the longbow. Their range is surprisingly-" Borric cleared his throat
pointedly, being unwilling to let the Horse-master indulge himself in
his preoccupation with weaponry. "If His Highness will please continue?"
Algon sat back, blushing furiously, and Calin said, "I tracked them for
two days. They stopped and made cold camp at night and took great care
not to leave signs of their passing. All food scraps and body wastes were
gathered together in a sack and carried by one of their band. They moved
carefully, but were easy for us to follow. "When they came to the edge of
the forest, near the mouth of North Pass, they made marks upon a
parchment as they had several times during their trek. Then the one in
black activated some strange device, and they vanished." There was a stir
from the Duke's company. Kulgan especially looked disturbed. Calin
paused. "The thing that was most strange, however, was their language,
for their speech was unlike any we know. They spoke in hushed tones, but
we could hear them, and their words were without meaning." The Queen
then spoke. "Hearing this, I became alarmed, for these outworlders are
clearly mapping the West, ranging freely through the great forest, the
hills of Stone Mountain, and now the coasts of the Kingdom. Even as we
prepared to send you word, the reports of these outworlders became more
frequent. Several more bands were seen in the area of the North Pass."
Arutha sat forward, resting his arms on the table. "If they cross the
North pass, they will discover the way to Yabon, and the Free Cities.
The snows will have started to fall in the mountains, and they may
discover we are effectively isolated from aid during the winter." For a
moment alarm flickered on the Duke's face, betraying his stoic demeanor.
He regained his composure and said, "There is still the South Pass, and
they may not have mapped that far. If they were in that area, the dwarves
would most likely have seen signs of them, as the villages of the Grey
Towers are more widely scattered than those of Stone Mountain."
"Lord Borric," said Aglaranna, "I would never have ventured from Elvandar
if I
had not thought the situation critical. From what you have told us of the
outworld Empire, if they are as powerful as you say, then I fear for all
the free peoples of the West. While the elves have little love for the
Kingdom as such, we respect those of the Crydee, for you have ever been
honorable men and have never sought to extend your realm into our lands.
We would ally with you should these outworlders come for conquest."
Borric sat quietly for a moment. "I thank the Lady of Elvandar for the
aid of the elven folk should war come. We are also in your debt for your
counsel, for now we can act. Had we not known of these happenings in the
great forests, we would likely have given the aliens more time for
whatever trouble they are preparing." He paused again, as if considering
his next words. "And I am convinced that these Tsurani plan us ill.
Scouting an alien and strange land I could see, trying to determine the
nature and temper of the people who live there, but extensive mapping by
warriors can only be a prelude to invasion."
Kulgan sounded fatigued as he said, "They most likely will come with a
mighty host." Tully shook his head. "Perhaps not." All eyes turned to him
as he said, "I am not so certain. Much of what I read in Xomich's mind
was confused, but there is something about this Empire of Tsuranuanni
that makes it unlike any nation we know of, there is something very alien
about their sense of duty and alliances. I can't tell you how I know, but I
suspect they may choose to test us first, with but a small part of their
might. It's as if their attentions are elsewhere, and we're an
afterthought."
He shook his head in admitted confusion. "I have this sense,
nothing more." The Duke sat upright, a commanding tone coming into his
voice.
"We will act. I will send messages to Duke Brucal of Yabon, and again to
Stone Mountain and the Grey Towers." Aglaranna said, "It would be good to
hear what the dwarven folk know."
Borric said, "I had hoped for word by now, but our messengers have not
returned, nor have the pigeons they carry." Lyam said, "Hawks, perhaps.
The pigeons are not always reliable, or perhaps the messengers never
reached the dwarves." Borric turned to Calin. "It has been forty years
since the siege of Carse, and we have had little traffic with the
dwarves since. Who commands the dwarven clans now?" The Elf Prince
said, "As then. Stone Mountain is under the banner of Harthorn, of
Hogar's line, at village Delmoria. The Grey Towers rally to the banner of
Dolgan, of Tholin's line, at village Caldara."
"Both are known to me, though I was but a boy when they raised the
Dark Brothers' siege at Carse," said Borric.
"They will prove fierce allies if trouble comes."
Arutha said, "What of the Free Cities, and the Prince in Krondor?"
Borric sat back. "I must think on that, for there are problems in the
East, or so I have word. I will give thought to the matter this night." He
stood. "I thank you all for this counsel. Return to your quarters and
avail yourselves of rest and refreshments. I will ask you to consider plans
for dealing with the invaders, should they come, and we will meet again
tomorrow." As the Elf queen rose, he offered her his arm, then escorted
her through the doors that Tomas and Pug held open. The boys were the
last to exit. Fannon took Tomas in tow, leading him to the soldiers'
commons, while Kulgan stood outside the hall with Tully and the two elven
advisers. The magician turned to his apprentice. "Pug, Prince Calin
expressed an interest in your small library of magic books. Would you
please show them to him?" Pug said he would and led the Prince up the
stairs to his door and opened it for him. Calin stepped through, and Pug
followed. Fantus was asleep and woke with a start. He threw the elf a
distrustful look. Calin slowly crossed over to the drake and spoke a few
soft words in a language that Pug didn't understand. Fantus lost his
nervousness and stretched forth his neck to allow the Prince to scratch
his head. After a moment the drake looked expectantly to Pug. Pug said,
"Yes, dinner is over. The kitchen will be full of scraps." Fantus moved
to the window with a wolfish grin and used his snout to push it open.
With a snap of his wings he was out, gliding toward the kitchen. Pug
offered Calin a stool, but the Prince said, "Thank you, but your chairs
and stools are of little comfort to my kind. I will just sit on the floor,
with your leave. You have a most unusual pet, Squire Pug." He
gave Pug a small smile. Pug was a little uncomfortable hosting the Elf
Prince in his poor room, but the elf's manner was such that the boy
started to relax. "Fantus is less a pet than a permanent guest. He has a
mind of his own. It is not unusual for him to disappear for weeks at a
time, now and again, but mostly he stays here. He must eat outside the
kitchen now that Meecham has gone." Calin inquired who Meecham was. Pug
explained, adding, "Kulgan
has sent him over the mountains to Bordon, with some of the Duke's
guards, before the North Pass is snowed in. He didn't say why he was
going, Highness." Calin looked at one of the boy's books. "I prefer to be
called Calin, Pug." Pug nodded, pleased. "Calin, what do you think the
Duke has in mind?"
The elf gave him an enigmatic smile. "The Duke will reveal his own
plans, I think. My guess is that Meecham is preparing the way should the
Duke choose to journey east. You will most probably know on the morrow."
He held up the book he had glanced at. "Did you find this interesting?"
Pug leaned over and read the title. "Dorcas's Treatise on the Animation
of Objects? Yes, though it seemed a little unclear."
"A fair judgment. Dorcas was an unclear man, or at least I found him
so., Pug started.
"But Dorcas died thirty years ago." Calin smiled broadly, showing even
white teeth. His pale eyes shone in the lantern light. "Then you know
little of elven lore?"
"Little," Pug agreed. "You are the first elf I
have ever spoken with, though I may have seen another elf once, when I
was very little. I'm not sure.'" Calin tossed aside the book. "I know
only what Martin Longbow has told me, that you can somehow speak with
animals, and some spirits. That you live in Elvandar and the surrounding
elven forests, and that you stay among your own kind mostly." The elf
laughed, a soft, melodic sound. "Nearly all true. Knowing friend Longbow,
I wager some of the tales were colorful, for while he is not a deceiving
man, he has an elf's humor." Pug's expression showed he did not
understand. "We live a very long time by your standards. We learn to
appreciate the humor in the world, often finding amusement in places
where men find little. Or you can call it simply a different way of
looking at life. Martin has learned this from us, I think." Pug nodded.
"Mocking eyes."
Calin raised an eyebrow in question. Pug explained, "Many people here
find Martin difficult to be with. Different, somehow. I once heard a
soldier say he had mocking eyes." Calin sighed. "Life has been difficult
for Martin. He was left on his own at an early age. The Monks of Silban
are good, kindly men, but ill equipped to raise a boy. Martin lived in
the woods like a wild thing when he could flee his tutors. I found him
one day, fighting with two of our children-we are not very much different
from men when very young. Over the years he has grown to be one of the few
humans who is free to come to Elvandar at will. He is a valued friend. But
I think he bears a special burden of loneliness, not being fully in the
world of elves nor of men, but partially in both." Pug saw Martin in a
new light and resolved to attempt to know the huntmaster better.
Returning to the original topic, he said, "Is what he said true?" Calin
nodded. "In some respects. We can speak to animals only as men do, in
tones to make them easy, though we are better at it than most humans, for
we read the moods of wild things more readily. Mar-tin has some of this
knack. We do not, however, speak with spirits. There are creatures we
know whom humans consider spirits, Dryads, sprites, pixies-but they are
natural beings who live near our magic." Pug's interest was piqued. "Your
magic?"
"Ours is a magic that is part of our being, strongest in
Elvandar. It is a heritage ages old, allowing us to live at peace within
our forests. There we work as others do, hunting, tending our gardens,
celebrating our joys, teaching our young. Time passes slowly in Elvandar,
for it is an ageless place. That is why I can remember speaking with
Dorcas, for in spite of my youthful appearance, I am over a hundred years
old."
"A hundred . . ."
Pug shook his head. "Poor Tomas, he was distressed
to hear you were the Queen's son. Now he will be desolate." Calin
inclined his head, a half-smile playing across his face. "The lad who was
with us in the council hall?"
Pug nodded. Calin said, "It is not the first
time my Mother-queen has had such an effect upon a human, though older
men can mask the effect with more ease."
"You don't mind?" asked Pug,
feeling protective toward his friend. "No, Pug, of course not. All in
Elvandar love the Queen, and it is acknowledged her beauty is
unsurpassed. I find it not surprising your friend is smitten. Since my
Father-King passed, more than one bold noble of your race has come to
press his suit for Aglaranna's hand. Now her mourning is at an end, and
she may take another should she wish. That it would be one of your race
is unlikely, for while a few such
marriages have been made, they are very rare, and tend to be sad things
at the end for our kind. She will live many more human life spans, the
gods willing." Calin looked around the room, then added, "It is likely
our friend Tomas will outgrow his feelings for the great lady of the
elves. Much as your Princess will change her feelings toward you, I would
think." Pug felt embarrassed. He had been curious as to what Carline and
the Elf Prince had spoken about during dinner, but had been uncomfortable
asking. "I noticed you spoke with her at great length."
"I had expected to meet a hero of seven feet in height, with
lightning dancing around his shoulders. It seems you slew a score of
trolls with a cast of your hand."
Pug blushed. "It was only two, and mostly by accident."
Calin's eyebrows shot up. "Even two is an accomplishment. I had thought
the girl guilty of a flight of fancy. I would like to hear the story."
Pug told him what had happened. When he was done, Calin said, "It is an
unusual tale, Pug. I know little of human magic, but I do know enough to
think that what you did was as strange as Kulgan said. Elf magic is far
different from human, but we understand ours better than you understand
your own. Never have I heard of such an occurrence, but I can share this
with you. Occasionally, at times of great need, an inner call can be
made, bringing forth powers that lay dormant, deep within." Pug said,
"I have thought as much, though it would be nice to under-stand a little
better what happened."
"That may 'come in time." Pug looked at his
guest and sighed deeply. "I wish I could understand Carline, as well."
Calin shrugged and smiled. "Who can understand another's mind? I think
for some time to come you will be the object of her attention. Then, it
may be, another will distract her, perhaps young Squire Roland.
He seems held in thrall by her."
Pug snorted. "Roland! That . . . bother."
Calin smiled appreciatively. "Then you are fond of the
Princess?"
Pug looked upward, as if seeking guidance from some higher
source.
"I do like her," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "But I don't know if I
care for her that special way. Sometimes I think I do-especially when I
see Roland fawning over her-but other times I don't. She makes it very
hard for me to think clearly, and I always seem to say the wrong things
to her."
"Unlike Squire Roland," prompted Calin.
Pug nodded. "He's court born and bred. He knows all the right things
to say." Pug leaned back on his elbows and sighed wistfully. "I guess I'm
just bothered by him out of envy as much as anything. He makes me
feel like an ill-mannered clod with great lumps of stone for hands and
tree stumps for feet."
Calin nodded understandingly. "I don't count myself an expert in all
the ways of your people, Pug, but I've spent enough time with humans
to know that you choose how you feel; Roland makes you feel clumsy
only because you let him.
"I would hazard a guess young Roland might feel much the same way
when your positions are reversed. The faults we see in others never seem
as dreadful as those we see in ourselves. Roland might envy your direct
speech and honest manner.
"In any event, what you or Roland do will have little effect on the
Princess so long as she's determined to have her own way. She has
romanticized
you in much the same manner your friend has our Queen.
Short of you becoming a hopeless boor, she will not be shaken from this
attitude until she is ready. I think she has you in mind as her future
consort."
Pug gaped for a moment, then said, "Consort?"
Calin smiled. "The young are often overly concerned with matters to
be settled in later years. I suspect her determination in the matter is as
much a result of your reluctance as from a true appreciation of your
worth. She, like many children, simply wants what she can't have." In a
friendly tone he added, "Time will decide the issue."
Pug leaned forward, a worried expression on his face. "Oh, my, I have
made a hash of things. Half the keep boys think themselves in love with
the Princess. If they only knew how terrifying the real thing can be." He
closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut a moment. "My head
aches. I thought she and Roland . . ."
Calin said, "He may be but a tool to provoke your interest. Sadly,
that seems to have resulted in bad feelings between you."
Pug nodded slowly. "I think so. Roland is a good enough sort on the
whole; we've been friends for the most part. But since I was elevated in
rank, he's been openly hostile. I try to ignore it, but it gets under my
skin after a while. Maybe I should try to talk to him."
"That would prove wise, I think. But don't be surprised if he is not
receptive to your words. He is most certainly caught up in her spell."
Pug was getting a headache from the topic, and the mention of spells
made him ask, "Would you tell me more about elven magic?"
"Our magic is ancient. It is part of what we are and in what
we create.
Elven boots can make even a human silent when walking, and elven
bows are better able to strike the mark, for that is the nature of our
magic. It is vested in ourselves, our forests, our creations. It can
sometimes be managed, subtly by those who fully understand it . .
Spellweavers, such as Tathar. But this is not easily done, for our magic
resists manipulation. It is more like air than anything, always
surrounding us, yet unseen. But like air, which can be felt when the wind
blows, it has substance. Our forests are called enchanted by men, for so
long have we dwelled there, our magic has created the mystery of Elvandar.
All who dwell there are at peace. No one may enter Elvandar uninvited,
save by mighty arts, and even the distant boundaries of the elven forests
cause unease in those who enter with evil intent. It has not always been
so, in ages past we shared our lot with others, the moredhel, those you
call the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. Since the great break, when we
drove them from our forests, Elvandar has been changing, becoming
more our place, our home, our essence."
Pug said, "Are the Brothers of the Dark Path truly cousin to the
elves?"
Calin's eyes grew hooded. He paused for a moment, then said, "We
speak little of such things, for there is much we wish were not true. I
can tell you this: there is a bond between the moredhel, whom you call
the Brotherhood, and my people, though ancient and long strained. We wish
it were not so, but they are true cousins to us. Once in a great while
one comes back to us, what we call Returning." He looked as if the topic
were making him very uncomfortable. Pug said, "I'm sorry if-" Calin
waved away the apology. "Curiosity is nothing to apologize for in a
student, Pug. I just would rather not say more on this subject." They
spoke late into the night, of many things. Pug was fascinated by the Elf
Prince and was flattered so many things he said seemed to be of interest
to Calin. At last Calin said, "I should retire. Though I need little
rest, I do need some. And I think you do as well." Pug rose and said,
"Thank you for telling me so much." Then he
smiled, half in embarrassment. "And for talking to me about the Princess."
"You needed to talk." Pug led Calin to the long hall, where a
servant showed him to his quarters. Pug returned to his room and lay down
for sleep, rejoined by a damp Fantus, who snorted in indignation at
having to fly through the rain. Fantus was soon asleep. Pug, however, lay
staring at the flickering light from his fire pot that danced on the
ceiling, unable to call up sleep. He tried to put the tales of strange
warriors out of his mind, but
images of brightly clad fighters stalking through the forests of the
westlands made sleep impossible.
TheRE WAs a somber mood throughout Castle Crydee the next morning. 'the
servants' gossip had spread the news about the Tsurani, though the
details were lacking. Everyone went about his duties with one ear open
for a tidbit of speculation on what the Duke was going to do. Everyone
was agreed to one thing: Borric conDoin, Duke of Crydee, was not a man to
sit idly by waiting. Something would be done, and soon.
Pug sat atop a bale of hay, watching Tomas practice with a sword,
swinging at a pell post, hacking backhand, then forehand, over and over.
His blows were halfhearted, and finally he threw his sword down with
disgust. "I'm not accomplishing a thing." He walked over and sat next to
Pug. "I wonder what they're talking about." Pug shrugged. "They" were the
Duke's council; today the boys had not been asked to attend, and the last
four hours had passed slowly. Abruptly the courtyard became busy as
servants began to rush toward the front gate. "Come on," said Tomas. Pug
jumped off the bale and followed his friend. They rounded the keep in
time to see the guards turning out as they had the day before. It was
colder than yesterday, but there was no rain. The boys climbed on the
same wagon, and Tomas shivered. "I think the snows will come early this
year. Maybe tomorrow."
"If they do, it will be the earliest snowfall in
memory. You should have worn your cloak. Now you're all sweaty from the
drill, and the air is chilling you." Tomas looked pained. "Gods, you
sound like my mother." Pug mimicked an exasperated manner. In a tone that
was highpitched and nasal, he said, "And don't come running to me when
you're all blue with chill, and coughing and sneezing, looking for
comfort, for you'll find none here, Tomas Megarson." Tomas grinned.
"Now you sound exactly like her.' They turned at the sound of the great
doors opening. The Duke and Elf queen led the other guests from the
central keep, the Duke holding the queen's hand in a parting gesture of
friendship. Then the queen placed her hand to her mouth and sang out a
musical series of words, not loud, but carrying over the noise of the
crowd. The servants who were standing in the court became silent, and
soon the sound of hoofbeats could be heard outside the castle. Twelve
white horses ran through the gates and reared up in greeting to the Elf
Queen. The elves quickly mounted, each springing up on an
elf steed's back without assistance. They raised their hands in salute to
the Duke, then turned and raced out the gate. For a few minutes after
they were gone, the crowd stood around, as if loath to admit that they
had seen their last of the elves, probably their last in this lifetime.
Slowly they began to drift back to work. Tomas looked far away, and Pug
turned toward him. "What is it?" Tomas said softly, "I wish I could see
Elvandar, someday." Pug understood. "Maybe you will." Then he added, in
lighter tones, "But I doubt it. For I will be a magician, and you will
be a soldier, and the Queen will reign in Elvandar long after we are
dead." Tomas playfully jumped atop his friend, wrestling him down in the
straw. "Oh! Is that so. Well, I will too go to Elvandar someday." He
pinned Pug under him, sitting atop his chest. "And when I do, I'll be a
great hero, with victories over the Tsurani by the score. She'll welcome
me as an honored guest. What do you think of that?" Pug laughed, trying
to push his friend off. "And I'll be the greatest magician in the land."
They both laughed. A voice broke through their play. "Pug! There you
are." Tomas got off, and Pug sat up. Approaching them was the stocky
figure of Gardell the smith. He was a barrel-chested man, with little hair
but a thick black beard. His arms were grimy with smoke, and his apron
was burned through with many small holes. He came to the side of the
wagon and placed fists on hips. "I've been looking all over for you. I
have that hood Kulgan asked me to fashion for your fire pot."
Pug scrambled out of the wagon, with Tomas close behind. They
walked after Gardell toward the smithy behind the central keep. The burly
smith said, "Damned clever idea, that hood. I've worked the forge for
nearly thirty years and never thought of using a hood for a fire pot. Had
to make one as soon as Kulgan told me of the plan." They entered the
smithy, a large shed with a large and small forge and several
different-sized anvils. All manner of things lay about waiting for
repair: armor, stirrup irons, and kitchen utensils. Gardell walked to the
larger forge and picked up the hood. It was about three feet to a side,
about three feet high, and formed a cone with a hole at the top. Lengths
of round metal pipe lay nearby, fashioned especially thin. Gardell held
out his creation for them to study. "I made it fairly thin, using a lot
of tin for lightness, for were it too heavy, it would collapse." With his
toe he pointed to several lengths of metal rods. "We'll knock some little
holes in the floor and use these for support. It may take a bit of time
to get it right, but I think this thing of yours is going to work." Pug
smiled broadly. He found great pleasure in seeing an idea of his taking
concrete form. It was a novel and gratifying sensation. "When can we
install it?"
"Now if you like. I would like to see it work, I must
confess." Pug gathered up some of the pipe, and Tomas the rest, as well
as the rods. Juggling the awkward load, they set out toward the
magician's tower, with the chuckling smith following.
KulgAN WAS DEEP in thought as he started to mount the stairs to his room.
Suddenly a shout from above sounded: ''Watch out!" Kulgan glanced up in
time to see a block of stone come tumbling down the stairs, bounding over
the steps as if in some fit of drunken craziness. He leapt aside as it
struck against the wall where he had stood and came to rest at the bottom
of the stairs. Mortar dust filled the air, and Kulgan sneezed. Tomas
and Pug came running down the stairs, expressions of worry on their
faces. When they saw no one was hurt, they both looked relieved.
Kulgan leveled a baleful gaze upon the pair and said, "What is all
this?" Pug appeared sheepish, while Tomas tried to blend in with the
wall. Pug spoke first. "We were trying to carry the stone down to the
yard, and it sort of slipped."
"Sort of slipped? It looked more like a
mad dash for freedom. Now, why were you carrying the stone, and where did
it come from?"
"It's the loose one from my wall," answered Pug. "We took it out so that
Gardell could put the last pipe in place." When Kulgan still appeared
uncomprehending, Pug said, "It's for my fire pot hood, remember?"
"Ah," said Kulgan, "yes. Now I do." A servant arrived to investigate the
noise, and Kulgan asked him to fetch a couple of workmen from the yard to
carry the block away. He left, and Kulgan said to the boys, "I think it
would be better to let someone a little larger tote that stone out. Now
let us see this marvel." They climbed the stairs to the boy's room and
found Gardell installing the last length of pipe. The smith turned when
they entered and said, "Well, what do you think?" The pot had been
moved a little closer to the wall, and the hood sat on four metal rods
of equal length over it. All of the smoke was trapped by the hood and
carried away through the light metal pipe. Unfortunately, the hole
where the stone was missing was considerably larger
than the pipe, so most of the smoke was blown back into the room by the
wind. "Kulgan, what do you think?" said Pug. "Well, boy. It looks
rather impressive, but I can't see much improvement in the atmosphere
here." Gardell gave the hood a solid whack with his hand, causing it to
ring out with a tinny sound. His thick calluses kept his hand from being
burned by the hot metal. "She'll do, soon as I plug up that hole, magician.
I'll fetch some bull hide that I use for making shields for the
horsemen and cut a hole in a piece, slip it around the pipe, and nail it to
the wall. A few slaps of tanning agent on it, and the heat will dry it out
all stiff and hard. It will take the heat and keep the rain and wind out of
the room, as well as the smoke." The smith looked pleased with his
handiwork. "Well, I'll fetch the hide. Back in a moment." Pug looked as
if he would burst from pride, seeing his invention before him, and Tomas
reflected Pug's glory. Kulgan chuckled softly to himself for a moment.
Suddenly Pug turned to the magician, remembering where he had spent the
day. "What is the news from the council?"
"The Duke sends messages to all the nobles of the West, explaining what
has occurred in great
detail, and asking that the Armies of the West be made ready. I am afraid
Tully's scribes have some rigorous days ahead of them, since the Duke
wants them all finished as soon as possible. Tully's in a state, for he
has been commanded to stay and act as Lyam's adviser, along with Fannon
and Algon, during the Duke's absence."
"Lyam's adviser? Absence?" asked
Pug, uncomprehendingly. "Yes, the Duke, Arutha, and I are going to
journey to the Free Cities, and on to Krondor, to speak with Prince
Erland. I am going to send a dream message to a colleague of mine
tonight, if I can. Belgan lives north of Bordon. He will send word to
Meecham, who should be there by now, to find us a ship. The Duke feels it
best that he should carry the word in person." Pug and Tomas looked
excited. Kulgan knew they both wanted to
come along. To visit Krondor would be the greatest adventure of their
young lives.
Kulgan stroked his grey beard. "It will be difficult to continue
your lessons, but Tully can brush you up on a trick or two." Pug
looked as if he were going to burst. "Please, Kulgan, may I come too?"
Kulgan feigned surprise. "You come? I never thought of that." He paused
for a moment while the suspense built. "Well . . ." Pug's eyes
pleaded. ". . . I guess it would be all right." Pug let out a yelp and
jumped in the air. Tomas struggled to hide his disappointment. He forced
a thin smile and tried to look happy for Pug. Kulgan walked to the
door. Pug noticed Tomas's dejected expression. "Kulgan?" Pug said. The
magician turned, a faint smile on his lips. "Yes, Pug?" "Tomas, too?"
Tomas shook his head, for he was neither a member of the court nor the
magician's charge, but his eyes looked at Kulgan imploringly. Kulgan
smiled broadly. "I guess we're better off keeping you together, so we
need look for trouble in only one place. Tomas, too. I'll arrange things
with Fannon." Tomas shouted, and the two boys slapped each other on the
back. Pug said, "When do we leave?" Kulgan laughed. "In five days'
time. Or sooner, if the Duke hears from the dwarves. Runners are being
sent to the North Pass to see if it is clear. If not, we ride by the
South Pass." Kulgan departed, leaving the two boys dancing arm in arm and
whooping with excitement.
7
UNderstanding
Puc huRRIED ACROss ThE COURtyARD.
Princess Carline had sent him a note asking him to meet her in her flower
garden. It was the first word from the girl since she had stormed away
from their last meeting, and Pug was anxious. He did not want to be on
bad terms with Carline, regardless of any conflicts he might be feeling.
After his brief discussion with Calin, two days earlier, he had sought
out Father Tully and talked with him at length. The old priest had been
willing to take time out to speak with the boy, in spite of the demands
the Duke was placing upon his staff. It had been a good talk for Pug,
leaving him with a surer sense of himself. The final message from the old
cleric had been: Stop worrying about what the Princess feels and thinks,
and start discovering what Pug feels and thinks. He had taken the
cleric's advice and was now sure of what he would say should Carline
start referring to any sort of "understanding" between them. For the first
time in weeks he felt something like a sense of direction-even if he was
not sure what destination he would eventually reach, holding to such a
course. Reaching the Princess's garden, he rounded a corner, then
stopped, for instead of Carline, Squire Roland stood by the steps. With a
slight smile, Roland nodded. "Good day, Pug."
"Good day, Roland." Pug looked around.
"Expecting someone?" said Roland, forcing a note of lightness that did
little to hide a belligerent tone. He casually rested his left hand on
the pommel of his sword. Apart from his sword, he was dressed as usual,
in colorful breeches and tunic of green and gold, with tall riding boots.
"Well, actually, I was expecting to see the Princess," Pug said, with a
small note of defiance in his manner. Roland feigned surprise. "Really?
Lady Glynis mentioned something about a note, but I had come to
understand things were strained between the two of you . . ." While
Pug had tried to sympathize with Roland's situation over the last few
days, his offhanded, superior attitude and his chronic antagonism
conspired to irritate Pug. Letting his exasperation get the better of
him, he snapped, "As one squire to another, Roland, let me put it this
way: how things stand between Carline and myself is none of your business.!"
-Roland's face took on an expression of open anger. He stepped
forward, looking down at the shorter boy. "Be damned it's none of my
business! I don't know what you're playing at, Pug, but if you do anything
to hurt her, I'll-"
"Me hurt her!" Pug interrupted. He was shocked
by the intensity of Roland's anger and infuriated by the threat. "She's
the one playing us one against the other-" Abruptly Pug felt the ground
tilt under him, rising up to strike him from behind. Lights exploded
before his eyes and a bell-like clanging sounded in his ears. It was a
long moment before he realized Roland had just hit him. Pug shook his
head and his eyes refocused. He saw the older, larger squire standing
over him, both hands balled into fists. Through tightly clenched teeth,
Roland spat his words. "If you ever say ill of her again, I'll beat you
senseless." Pug's anger fired within him, rising each second. He got
carefully to his feet, his eyes upon Roland, who stood ready to fight.
Feeling the bitter taste of anger in his mouth, Pug said, "You've had
two years and more to win her, Roland. Leave it alone." Roland's face
grew livid and he charged, bowling Pug off his feet. They went down in a
tangle, Roland striking Pug harmlessly on the shoulders and arms. Rolling
and grappling, neither could inflict much damage. Pug got his arm around
Roland's neck and hung on as the older squire thrashed in a frenzy.
Suddenly Roland wedged a knee against Pug's chest and shoved him away.
Pug rolled and came to his feet. Roland was up an instant later, and they
squared off. Roland's expression had changed from rage to cold,
calculating anger as he measured the distance between them. He advanced
carefully, his left arm
bent and extended, his right fist held ready before his face. Pug had no
experience with this form of fighting, called fist-boxing, though he had
seen it practiced for money in traveling shows. Roland had demonstrated
on several occasions that he had more than a passing acquaintance with
the sport. Pug sought to take the advantage and swung a wild, roundhouse
blow at Roland's head. Roland dodged back as Pug swung completely around;
then the squire jumped forward, his left hand snapping out, catching Pug
on the cheek, rocking his head back with a stinging blow. Pug stumbled
away, and Roland's right hand missed Pug's chin by a fraction. Pug held
up his hands to ward off another blow and shook his head, clearing it of
the dancing lights that obscured his vision, barely managing to duck
beneath Roland's next blow. Under Roland's guard, Pug lunged, catching
the other boy in the stomach with his shoulder, knock-ing him down
again. Pug fell on top of him and struggled to pin the larger boy's arms
to his side. Roland struck out, catching Pug's temple with an elbow, and
the dazed magician's apprentice fell away, momentarily confused. As
he rose to his feet again, pain exploded in Pug's face, and the world
tilted once more. Disoriented, unable to defend himself, Pug felt
Roland's blows as distant events, somehow muted and not fully recognized by
his reeling senses. A faint note of alarm sounded in part of Pug's mind.
Without warning, processes began to occur under the level of pain-dimmed
consciousness. Basic, more animal instincts took hold, and in a
disjointed, hardly understood awareness, a new force emerged. As in the
encounter with the trolls, blinding letters of light and flame appeared
in his mind's eye, and he silently incanted. Pug's being became
primitive. In his remaining consciousness he was a primal creature
fighting for survival with murderous intent. All he could envision was
choking the very life from his adversary. Suddenly an alarm rang within
Pug's mind. A deep sense of wrong-ness, of evil, struck him. Months of
training came to the fore, and it was as if he could hear Kulgan's voice
crying, "This is not how the power is to be used!" Ripping aside the
mental shroud that covered him, Pug opened his eyes. Through blurred
vision and sparkling lights, Pug saw Roland kneeling a mere yard before
him, eyes enlarged, vainly struggling with the invisible fingers around
his neck. Pug felt no sense of contact with what he saw, and with
returning clarity of mind knew at once what had occurred. Leaning
forward, he seized Roland's wrists. "Stop it, Roland!
Stop it! It isn't real. There are no hands but your own at your throat."
Roland, blind with panic, seemed unable to hear Pug's shouts. Mustering
what remaining strength he possessed, Pug yanked Roland's hands away,
then struck him a stinging slap to the face. Roland's eyes teared and
suddenly he breathed in, a gasping, ragged sound. Still panting, Pug
said, "It's an illusion. You were choking yourself." Roland gasped and
pushed himself back from Pug, fear evident on his face. He struggled
weakly to pull his sword. Pug leaned forward and firmly gripped Roland's
wrist. Hardly able to speak, he shook his head and said, "There's no
reason." Roland looked into Pug's eyes, and the fear in his own began to
subside. Something inside the elder squire seemed to break, and there was
only a fatigued, drained young man sitting on the ground. Breathing
heavily, Roland sat back, tears forming in his eyes, and asked, "Why?"
Pug's own fatigue made him lean back, supporting himself on his hands. He
studied the handsome young face before him, twisted by doubt. "Because
you're held under a spell more compelling than any I could fashion." He
looked Roland in the eyes. "You truly love her, don't you?"
The last vestige of Roland's anger slowly evaporated and his eyes showed
some slight fear remaining, but also Pug saw deep pain and anguish as a
tear fell to his cheek. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, his breath
ragged as he tried to speak. For a moment he was on the verge of crying,
but he fought off his pain and regained his poise. Taking a deep breath,
Roland wiped away the tears and took another deep breath. He looked
directly at Pug, then guardedly asked, "And you?" Pug sprawled on the
ground, feeling some strength returning. "I . . . I'm not sure. She makes
me doubt myself. I don't know. Sometimes I think of no one else, and
other times I wish I were as far from her as I could be." Roland
indicated understanding, the last residue of fear draining away. "where
she's concerned, I don't have a whit of wit." Pug giggled. Roland looked
at him, then also began to laugh. "I don't know why," said Pug, "but for
some reason, I find what you said terribly funny." Roland nodded and
began to laugh too. Soon they were both sitting with tears running down
their faces as the emotional vacuum left by the fleeing anger was
replaced by giddiness. Roland recovered slightly, holding back the
laughter, when Pug looked at him and said, "A whit of wit!" which sent both
of them off on another jag of laughter. "Well! " a voice said sharply.
They turned and found Carline, flanked by two ladies-in-waiting,
surveying the scene before her. Instantly both boys became silent.
Casting a disapproving look upon the pair as they sprawled upon the ground,
she said, "Since you two seem so taken with each other, I'll not intrude."
Pug and Roland exchanged looks and suddenly erupted into uproarious
laughter. Roland fell over backward, while Pug sat, legs stretched before
him, laughing into his cupped hands.
Carline flushed angrily and her eyes widened. With cold fury in her voice
she said "Excuse me!" and turned, sweeping by her ladies. As she left,
they could hear her loudly exclaim, "Boys!" Pug and Roland sat for a
minute until the near-hysterical fit passed, then Roland rose and
extended his hand to Pug. Pug took it and Roland helped him to his feet.
"Sorry, Pug. I had no right to be angry with you." His voice softened. "I
can't sleep nights thinking of her. I wait for the few moments we're
together each day. But since you saved her, all I ever hear is your
name." Touching his sore neck, Roland said, "I got so angry, I thought
I'd kill you. Damn near got myself killed instead." Pug looked at the
corner where the Princess had disappeared, nodding agreement. "I'm
sorry, too, Roland. I'm not very good at controlling magic yet, and
when I lose my temper, it seems all sorts of terrible things can happen.
Like with the trolls." Pug wanted Roland to under-stand he was still
Pug, even though he was now a magician's apprentice. "I would never do
something like that on purpose~specially to a friend." Roland studied
Pug's face a moment and grinned, half-wryly, half-apologetically. "I
understand. I acted badly. You were right: she's only setting us one
against the other. I am the fool. It's you she cares for." Pug seemed to
wilt. "Believe me, Roland, I'm not so sure I'm to be envied." Roland's
grin widened. "She is a strong-willed girl, that's clear." Caught halfway
between an open display of self-pity and mock-bravado, Roland selected
mock-bravado. Pug shook his head. "What's to be done, Roland?" Roland
looked surprised, then laughed loudly. "Don't look to me for advice, Pug.
I dance to her tune more than any. But 'there are as many changes in a
young girl's heart as in the fickle winds,' as the old saying goes. I'll
not blame you for Carline's actions." He winked at Pug conspiratorially.
"Still, you won't mind if I keep an eye out for a change in
the weather?" Pug laughed in spite of his exhaustion. "I thought you
seemed a little too gracious in your concessions." A thoughtful look came
over his face. "You know, it would be simpler-not better, but simpler-if
she'd ig-nore me forever, Roland. I don't know what to think about all
this. I've got my apprenticeship to complete. Someday I'll have estates
to manage.
Then there's this business with the Tsurani. It's all come so quickly,
I don't know what to do." Roland regarded Pug with some sympathy. He put
his hand upon the younger boy's shoulder. "I forget this business of
being apprentice and noble is all rather new to you. Still, I can't say
I've given too much time to such weighty considerations myself, even
though my lot was decided before I was born. This worrying about the
future is a dry sort of work. I think it would be benefited by a mug of
strong ale." Feeling his aches and bruises, Pug nodded agreement. "Would
that we could. But Megar will be of a different mind, I'm afraid."
Roland placed his finger alongside his nose. "We shan't let the Mastercook
smell us out, then. Come on, I know a place where the boards of
the ale shed are loose. We can quaff a cup or two in private."
Roland began to walk away, but Pug halted him by saying, "Roland, I am
sorry we came to blows." Roland stopped, studied Pug a moment, and
grinned. "And I." He extended his hand. "A peace." Pug gripped it. "A
peace." They turned the corner, leaving the Princess's garden behind,
then stopped. Before them was a scene of unalloyed misery. Tomas was
walking the length of the court, from the soldiers' commons to the side
gate, in full rstood a chain mail over gambeson, full helm, and heavy
metal greaves over knee boots. On one arm he bore a greater shield, and
in the other hand he held a heavy spear, twelve feet long and iron-tipped,
which bore down cruelly upon his right shoulder. It also gave him a comic
appearance, as it caused him to lean a little to the right and wobble
slightly as he struggled to keep it balanced while he marched. The
sergeant of the Duke's Guard stood counting out cadence for him. Pug knew
the sergeant, a tall, friendly man named Gardan. He was Keshian by
ancestry, evident in his dark skin. His white teeth split his dark, nappy
beard in a grin at the sight of Pug and Roland. He stood nearly as broad
in the shoulders as Meecham, with the same loose-gaited movement of a
hunter or fighter. Though his black hair was lightly dusted with grey,
his face was young-looking and unlined, despite thirty years' service. With
a wink at Pug and Roland, he barked, "Halt!" and Tomas stopped in his
tracks. As Pug and Roland closed the distance between them, Gardan
snapped, "Right turn!" Tomas obeyed. "Members of the court approaching.
Present arms!" Tomas extended his right arm, and his spear dipped in
salute. He let the tip drop slightly too low, and nearly broke from
attention to pull it back.
Pug and Roland came up to stand next to Gardan, and the large
soldier gave them a casual salute and a warm smile. "Good day,
Squires." He turned to Tomas for a moment. "Shoulder arms! March post . .
. march!" Tomas set off, marching the "post" assigned to him, in this
case the length of the yard before the soldiers' commons. With a laugh,
Roland said, "What is this? Special drills?" Gardan stood with one hand
on his sword, the other pointed at Tomas. "Swordmaster Fannon felt it
might prove beneficial to our young warrior if someone was here to see
his drilling didn't become sloppy from exhaustion or some other petty
inconvenience." Dropping his voice a bit, he added, "He's a tough lad,
he'll be fine, if a little foot-sore."
"Why the special drilling?"
asked Roland. Pug shook his head as Gardan told them. "Our young hero
lost two swords. The first was understandable, for the matter of the ship
was vital, and in the excitement of the moment such an oversight could be
forgiven. But the second was found lying on the wet ground near the pell
the afternoon the Elf Queen and her party left, and young Tomas was
nowhere in sight." Pug knew Tomas had forgotten all about returning to
his drilling when Gardell had come with the hood for his fire pot.
Tomas reached the end of his appointed route, did an about-face, and
began his return. Gardan regarded the two bruised and dirty boys and
said, "What have you two young gentlemen been up to?" Roland cleared his
throat in a theatrical fashion and said, "Ah . . . I was giving Pug a
fist-boxing lesson." Gardan reached out and took Pug's chin in his hand,
turning the
boy's face for inspection. Evaluating the damage, he said, "Roland, remind
me never to ask you to instruct my men in swordplay-we couldn't
withstand the casualty rate." Releasing his hold upon Pug's face, he said,
"You'll have a beautiful eye in the morning, Squire." Changing the topic,
Pug said, "How are your sons, Gardan?"
"Well enough, Pug. They learn
their craft and dream of making themselves rich, save for the youngest,
Faxon, who is still intent on becoming a soldier next Choosing. The rest
are becoming expert cart-wrights under my brother Jeheil's tutelage." He
smiled sadly. "With only Faxon at home the house is very empty, though my
wife seems glad for the peace." Then he grinned, an infectious smile that
rarely could be viewed and not answered. "Still, it won't be too long
before the elder boys marry, and then there'll be grandchildren under
foot and plenty of merry noise again, from time to time." As Tomas drew
near, Pug asked, "May I speak with the condemned?"
Gardan laughed, stroking his short beard. "I guess I might look the other
way for a moment, but be brief, Squire." Pug left Gardan talking with
Roland and fell into step beside Tomas as he passed on his way to the
opposite end of the court. "How goes it?" Pug asked. Out of the side of
his mouth, Tomas said, "Oh, just fine. Two more hours of this and I'll be
ready for burial."
"Can't you rest?"
"On the half hour I get five minutes to stand at attention."
He reached the terminus of his post and
did a reasonably sharp about-face, then resumed walking back toward
Gardan and Roland. "After the fire-pot cover was finished, I came back
to the pell and found the sword missing. I thought my heart would stop. I
looked everywhere. I almost thrashed Rulf, thinking he had hidden it to
spite me. When I returned to the commons, Fannon was sitting on my bunk,
oiling down the
blade. I thought the other soldiers would hurt themselves holding in the
laughter when he said, 'If you judge yourself skilled enough with the
sword, perhaps you'd care to spend your time learning the proper way to
walk post with a poll arm.' All day walking punishment," he added
woefully. "I'll die." They passed Roland and Gardan, and Pug struggled to
feel sympathy. Like the others, he found the situation comical. Hiding
his amusement, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone and said,
"I'd better get along. Should the Swordmaster come along, he might tack
on an extra day's marching." Tomas groaned at the thought. "Gods
preserve me. Get away, Pug." Pug whispered, "When you're done, join us
in the ale shed if you're able." Pug left Tomas's side and rejoined
Gardan and Roland. To the sergeant he said, "Thank you, Gardan."
"You are welcome, Pug. Our young knight-in-the-making will be fine,
though he
feels set upon now. He also chafes at having an audience." Roland nodded.
"Well, I expect he'll not be losing a sword again soon." Gardan
laughed. "Too true. Master Fannon could forgive the first, but not the
second. He thought it wise to see Tomas didn't make a habit of it. Your
friend is the finest student the Swordmaster has known since Prince
Arutha, but don't tell Tomas that. Fannon's always hardest on those with
the most potential. Well, good day to you both, Squires. And, boys,"-they
paused-"I won't mention the 'fist-boxing lesson."' They thank the
sergeant for his discretion and walked toward the ale shed, with the
measured cadence of Gardan's voice filling the court.
Puc wAs wELL into his second mug of ale and Roland finishing his fourth
when Tomas appeared through the loose boards. Dirty and sweating, he was
rid of his armor and weapons. With a great display of fatigue, he said,
"The world must be coming to an end; Fannon excused me from punishment
early."
"Why?" asked Pug. Roland lazily reached over to a storage
shelf, next to where he sat upon a sack of grain soon to be used for
making ale, and got a cup from a stack. He tossed it to Tomas, who caught
it, then filled it from the hogshead of ale that Roland rested his feet
upon. Taking a deep drink, Tomas wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand and said, "Something's afoot. Fannon swooped down, told me to put
away my toys, and nearly dragged Gardan off, he was in such a hurry
Pug said, "Maybe the Duke is getting ready to ride east." Tomas said,
"Maybe." He studied his two friends, taking note of their freshly bruised
countenances. "All right. what happened?" Pug regarded Roland,
indicating he should explain the sad state of their appearance. Roland
gave Tomas a lopsided grin and said, "We had a practice bout in
preparation for the Duke's fist-boxing tourney." Pug nearly choked on his
ale, then laughed. Tomas shook his head. "If you two don't look a pair.
Fighting over the Princess?" Pug and Roland exchanged glances, then as
one they leaped at Tomas and bore him to the floor under their combined
weight. Roland pinned Tomas to the floor, then, while Pug held him in
place, took a half-filled cup of ale and held it high. With mock
solemnity Roland said, "I hearby anoint thee, Tomas, First Seer of
Crydee!" So saying, he poured the contents of the cup over the struggling
boy's face. Pug belched, then said, "As do I." He poured what remained in
his cup over his friend. Tomas spat ale, laughing as he said, "Right! I
was right!" Struggling against the weight upon him, he said, "Now get
off! Or need I remind you, Roland, of who gave you your last bloody
nose?" Roland moved off very slowly, intoxicated dignity forcing him to
move with glacial precision. "Quite right." Turning toward Pug, who had
also rolled off Tomas, he said, "Still, it must be made clear that at the
time, the only reason Tomas managed to bloody my nose is that during our
fight he had an unfair advantage." ~ Pug looked at Roland through bleary
eyes and said, "What unfair advantage?" Roland put his finger to his
lips indicating secrecy, then said, "He was winning."
Roland collapsed back upon the grain sack and Pug and Tomas dissolved
into laughter. Pug found the remark so funny, he couldn't stop, and
hearing Tomas's laughter only caused his own to redouble. At last he sat
up, gasping, with his sides hurting. Catching his breath, Pug said, "I
missed that set-to. I was doing something else, but I don't remember
what."
"You were down in the village learning to mend nets, if I remember
rightly, when Roland first came here from Tulan." With a crooked grin
Roland said, "I got into an argument with some-one or another-do you
remember who?" Tomas shook his head no. "Anyway, I got into an argument,
and Tomas came over and tried to break it up. I couldn't believe this
skinny boy-" Tomas began to voice an objection, but Roland cut him off,
holding a finger upright and wiggling it. "Yes, you were. Very skinny. I
couldn't believe this skinny boy-skinny common boy-would presume to tell
me-a newly appointed member of the Duke's court and a gentleman, I must
add-the way to behave. So I did the only thing a proper gentleman could
do under the circumstances." "What?" asked Pug. "I hit him in the
mouth." The three laughed again. Tomas shook his head at the
recollection, while Roland said, "Then he proceeded to give me the worst
beating I had since the last time my father caught me out at something.
"That's when I got serious about fist-boxing." With an air of mock
gravity, Tomas said, "Well, we were younger then." Pug refilled the
cups.'Moving his jaw in discomfort, he said, "Well, right now I feel
about a hundred years old." Tomas studied them both a moment. "Seriously,
what was the fight
about?" With a mixture of humor and regret, Roland said, "Our liege
lord's daughter, a girl of ineffable charm . . ." "What's ineffable?"
Tomas asked. Roland looked at him with intoxicated disdain.
"Indescribable, dolt!" Tomas shook his head. "I don't think the Princess
is an indescribable dolt-" He ducked as Roland's cup sailed through the
space occupied by his head an instant before. Pug fell over backward
laughing again. Tomas grinned as Roland, in a display of great ceremony,
fetched down another cup from the shelf. "As I was saying," he began,
filling the cup from the hogshead, "our lady, a girl of ineffable
charms-if somewhat questionable judgment-has taken it into her head-for
reasons only the gods may fully comprehend-to favor our young magician
here with her attentions. Why-when she could spend time with me-I can't
imagine." He paused to belch.
"In any event, we were discussing the proper
manner in which to accept such largess." Tomas looked at Pug, a huge grin
on his face. "You have my sympathy, Pug. You most certainly have your
hands full." Pug felt himself blush. Then with a wicked leer, he said,
"Do
I? And what about a certain young apprentice soldier, well-known
hereabouts, who has been seen sneaking into the larder with a certain
kitchen girl?" He leaned back and with a look of mock concern etched upon
his face added, "I'd hate to think what would happen to him should Neala
find out '
Tomas's mouth fell open. "You wouldn't . . . you couldn't!" Roland lay
back, holding his sides. "Never have I seen such a fair impersonation of
a freshly landed fish!" He sat up, crossed his eyes, and opened and shut
his mouth rapidly. All three degenerated into helpless mirth again.
Another round was poured, and Roland held up his cup. "Gentlemen, a
toast!" Pug and Tomas held up their cups. Roland's voice turned serious,
and he said, "No matter what differences we have had in the past, you
are two fellows I gladly count friends." He held his cup higher and said,
"To friendship!" The three drained their cups and refilled them. Roland
said, "Your hand upon it." The three boys joined hands, and Roland
said, "No matter where we go, no matter how many years pass, never again
shall we be without friends." Pug was struck by the sudden solemnity of
the pledge and said,
"Friends!" Tomas echoed Pug's words, and the three shook hands in a
gesture of affirmation. Again the cups were drained, and the afternoon
sun quickly fled beyond the horizon as the three boys lost time in the
rosy glow of camaraderie and ale.
Puc cAME AWAKE, groggy and disoriented. The faint glow from his nearly
extinguished fire pot cast the room into halftones of rose and black. A
faint but persistent knocking sounded on his door. He slowly stood, then
nearly fell, still intoxicated from his drinking bout. He had stayed with
Tomas and Roland in the storage room all evening and into the night,
missing supper entirely. "Putting a considerable dent" in the
castle's ale supply, as Roland had described it. They hadn't partaken of
any great amount, but as their capacity was slight, it seemed a heroic
undertaking. Pug drew on his trousers and wobbled over to the door. His
eyelids felt gritty, and his mouth was cotton dry. Wondering who could be
demanding entrance in the middle of the night, he threw aside the door.
A blur of motion passed him, and he turned to find Carline standing in
the room, a heavy cloak wrapped around her. "Close the door!" she hissed.
"Someone might pass the base of the tower and see light upon the
stairway." Pug obeyed, still disoriented. The only thing that penetrated
his numb mind was the thought that it was unlikely the faint light from
the coals would cast much brightness down the stairwell. He shook his
head, gathering his wits about him, and crossed to the fire pot. He lit a
taper from the coals and lit his lantern. The room sprang into cheery
brightness. Pug's thinking began to pick up a little as Carline looked
about the room, taking stock of the disorderly pile of books and scrolls
next to the pallet. She peered into every corner of the room, then said,
"Where is that dragon thing you keep about?" Pug's eyes focused a
little, and marshaling his balky tongue, he said, "Fantus? He's off
somewhere, doing whatever it is firedrakes do." Removing her cloak, she
said, "Good. He frightens me." She sat on Pug's unmade pallet and looked
sternly at him. "I want to speak with you." Pug's eyes went wide, and he
stared, for Carline was wearing only a light cotton sleeping gown.' While
covering her from neck to ankles, it was thin and clung to her figure
with alarming tenacity. Pug suddenly realized he was dressed only in
trousers and hurriedly grabbed up his tunic from where he had dropped it
onto the floor and pulled it over his head. As he struggled with the
shirt, the last shreds of alcoholic fog evaporated. "Gods!" he said, in a
pained whisper. "Should your father learn of this, he'd have my head."
"Not if you've wits enough to keep your voice lowered," she answered with
a petulant look. Pug crossed to the stool near his pallet, freed of his
drunken wobble by newly arrived terror. She studied his rumpled
appearance and with a note of disapproval in her voice said, "You've been
drinking." When he didn't deny it, she added, "When you and Roland
didn't appear at supper, I wondered where you'd gotten yourselves off to.
It's a good thing Father also skipped the meal with the court, otherwise
he'd have sent someone to find you."
Pug's discomfort was growing at an alarming rate as every tale of what
horrible fate awaits lowborn lovers of noblewomen rushed back into his
memory. That Carline was an uninvited guest and that nothing untoward
had occurred were niceties he didn't think the Duke would find
particularly mitigating. Gulping down panic, Pug said, "Carline, you
can't stay here. You'll get us both into more trouble than I can imagine."
Her expression became determined. "I'm not leaving until I tell you
what I came to say." Pug knew it was futile to argue. He had seen that
look too many times in the past. With a resigned sigh, he said, "All
right, then, what is it?" Carline's eyes widened at his tone. "Well, if
that's how you're going to be, I won't tell you!" Pug suppressed a
groan and sat back with his eyes closed. Slowly shaking his head, he
said, "Very well. I'm sorry. Please, what do you want me to do?" She
patted the pallet next to her. "Come, sit here." He complied, trying to
ignore the feeling that his fate-an abruptly short life-was being decided
by this capricious girl. He landed rather than sat beside her. She
giggled at the groan he made. "You got drunk! What's it like?"
"At this moment, not terribly entertaining. I feel like a used kitchen
rag." She tried to look sympathetic, but her blue eyes sparkled with
mirth. With a
theatrical pout, she said, "You boys get to do all the interesting
things, like sword work and archery. Being a proper lady can be such a
bore. Father would have a fit if I should ever drink more than a cup of
watered wine with supper." With rising desperation in his voice, Pug
said, "Nothing compared to the fit he will have if you're found here.
Carline, why did you come here?"
She ignored the question. "What were you and Roland doing this
afternoon, fighting?" He nodded. "Over me?" she asked, a glimmer in her
eyes. Pug sighed. "Yes, over you." Her pleased look at the reply nettled
him, and irritation crept into his voice. "Carline, you've used him rather
badly."
"He's a spineless idiot!" she snapped back. "If I asked him to
jump off the wall, he'd do it."
"Carline," Pug nearly whined, "why
have-" His question was cut off as she leaned forward and covered his
mouth with her own. The kiss was one-sided, for Pug was too stunned to
respond.
She quickly sat back, leaving him agape, and she said, "Well?" Lacking
any original response, Pug said, "What?" Her eyes flashed. "The kiss,
you simpleton."
"Oh!" said Pug, still in shock. "It was . . . nice."
She rose and looked down on him, her eyes widening with mixed
anger and embarrassment. She crossed her arms and stood tapping her foot,
making a sound like summer hail striking the window shutters. Her tone
was low and harsh. "Nice! Is that all you have to say?" Pug watched her,
a variety of conflicting emotions surging inside. At this moment panic
was contesting with a nearly painful awareness of how lovely she looked
in the dim lantern light, her features alive and animated, her dark hair
loose around her face, and the thin shift pulled tight across her bosom
by her crossed arms. His own confusion made his pose seem unintentionally
casual, which further fueled her petulance. "You're the first man-not
counting Father and my brothers-I've ever kissed, and all you can say is
'nice."' Pug was unable to recover. Still awash with tumultuous emotions,
he blurted, "Very nice." She placed her hands upon her hips-which
pulled her nightdress in disturbing new directions and stood looking down
on him with an ex-pression of open disbelief. In controlled tones she
said, "I come here and throw myself at you. I risk getting myself banished
to a convent for life!" Pug noticed she failed to mention his possible
fate. "Every other boy-and not a slight number of the older nobles-in the
West fall over themselves to get my attention. And all you do is treat me
like some common kitchen drudge, a passing amusement for the young lord."
Pug's wits returned, less of their own accord than from the realization
that Carline was arguing her case a little more emphatically than was
warranted. Suddenly struck with the insight that there was a fair bit of
dramatics mixed in with her genuine irritation, he said, "Carline, wait.
Give me a moment."
"A moment! I've given you weeks. I thought . . . well,
I thought we had an understanding." Pug tried to look sympathetic, as
his mind raced. "Sit down, please. Let me try to explain." She
hesitated, then returned to sit next to him. Somewhat clumsily he took
her hands in his own. Instantly he was struck by the nearness of the
girl, her warmth, the smell of her hair and skin. The feelings of desire
he had felt on the bluffs returned with stunning impact, and he had to
fight to keep his mind upon what he wished to say. Forcing his thoughts
away from the hot surge he experienced, he said,
"Carline, I do care for you. A great deal. Sometimes I even think I love
you as much as Roland does, but most of the time I only get confused when
you're around. That's the problem: there's so much confusion inside of
me. I don't understand what it is I feel most of the time." Her eyes
narrowed, for this obviously wasn't the answer she expected. Her tone was
sharp as she said, "I don't know what you mean. I've never known a boy so
caught up in understanding things." Pug managed to force a smile.
"Magicians are trained to seek explanations. Understanding things is
very important to us." He saw a flicker of comprehension in her eyes at
this and pressed on. "I have two offices now, both new to me. I may not
become a magician, in spite of Kulgan's attempts to make me one, for I
have trouble with a lot of my work. I don't really avoid you, you see,
but with this trouble I have, I must spend as much time with my studies
as I can." Seeing his explanation was gaining little sympathy, he changed
tactics. "In any event, I have little time to consider my other office.
I may end up another noble of your father's court, running my
estates-small though they might be-caring for my tenants, answering calls
to arms, and the rest. But I can't even think of that until I resolve
this other matter, my studies of magic. I must keep trying until I'm
satisfied I made the wrong choice. Or until Kulgan dismisses me," he
added quietly. He stopped and studied her face. Her large blue eyes
watched him intently. "Magicians are of little consequence in the
Kingdom. I mean, should I become a master magician . . . Well, could you
see yourself married to a magician, whatever his rank?" She looked
slightly alarmed. Quickly she leaned over and kissed him again, rupturing
his already frayed composure. "Poor Pug," she said, pulling away a
little. Her soft voice rang sweetly to his ears. "You don't have to be. A
magician, I mean. You have land and title, and I know Father could
arrange others when the time was right."
"It's not a question of what I
want, don't you see? It's a question of what I am. Part of the problem
may be I haven't truly given myself over to my work. Kulgan took me for
his apprentice as much from pity as need, you know. And in spite of what
he and Tully have said, I've never been really convinced I was especially
talented. But perhaps I need to dedicate myself, commit myself to
becoming a magician." He took a breath. "How can I do that if I'm
concerning myself with my estates ~ and offices? Or gaining new ones?" He
paused. "Or you?" Carline bit her lower lip slightly, and Pug fought down
the urge to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all
right. He had no doubt that once he did that, matters would quickly be
beyond his control. No girl in his limited experience, even the prettier
ones in the town, aroused such strong feelings in him. Lowering her
lashes a little as she looked down, she softly said, "I'll do whatever
you say, Pug." Pug felt relief for a moment, then the full impact of what
she had just said hit him. Oh, gods! he thought. No magician's trick
could keep him focused in the face of youthful passion. He frantically
sought some way to drive desire from him and then thought of her father.
Instantly an image of a scowling Duke of Crydee standing before the
hangman's gibbet banished most of his lust. Taking a deep breath, Pug
said, "In my own way, I do love you, Carline." Her face came aglow, and
forfending disaster, he plunged on.
"But I think I should try to find out about myself before I try to make
up my mind about the rest." His concentration was sorely tested as the
girl seemed to ignore his remarks, being busy kissing his face. Then she
stopped and sat back. Her happy expression faded into one of
thoughtfulness as her natural intelligence overrode her childish need to
get everything she wanted. Comprehension came into her eyes as he said,
"If I chose now, Carline, I might always doubt the choice. Would you want
to face the possibility I would come to resent you for the choice I
made?" She said nothing for a while, then quietly said, "No. I don't
think I could stand that, Pug."
He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt tension drain away. Suddenly the
room seemed cold, and both of them shivered. Carline gripped his hands
tight, with surprising strength. She mustered a smile and said, with
forced calm, "I understand, Pug." She took a long breath, then softly
added, "That's why I think I love you. You could never be false with
anyone. Least of all with yourself."
"Or you, Carline." Her eyes grew
moist, but she maintained her smile. "This isn't easy," Pug said, assaulted
by feelings for the girl.
"Please, please, believe me, this is not easy." Suddenly the tension
broke, and Carline laughed softly, sweet music to Pug. Caught halfway
between tears and laughter, she said, "Poor Pug. I've upset you." Pug's
face showed his relief at her understanding. He felt buoyant with his
affection for the girl. Shaking his head slowly, with a smile of released
tension that gave him a somewhat silly expression, he said, "You've no
idea, Carline. No idea." He reached out and touched her face tenderly.
"We have time. I'm not going anywhere." From under lowered lashes, blue
eyes regarded him with worry.
"You'll be leaving with Father soon."
"I mean when I return. I'll be here
for years." Gently he kissed her
cheek. Forcing a lighter tone, he said, "I can't inherit for three more
years, that's the law. And I doubt your father would part with you for as
many years yet." Attempting a wry smile, he added, "In three years you
might not be able to stand the sight of me." She came softly into his
arms, holding him tightly, her face resting on his shoulder. "Never, Pug.
I could never care for another." Pug could only marvel at the feel of
her. Her body trembled as she said, "I don't have words, Pug. You're the
only one who tried to . . . understand me. You see more than anyone
else." Gently he pulled back a little and raised up her face with his
hand. Again he kissed her, tasting salty tears upon her lips. She
suddenly responded, holding him tighter and kissing him with passion. He
could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her gown, and
heard soft sighing sounds in his ear as he felt himself drifting back
into mindless passion, his own body beginning to respond. Steeling his
resolve, he gently disengaged himself from Car-line's embrace. Slowly he
forced himself away from her and, with regret in his voice, said, "I
think you should return to your rooms, Carline." Carline looked up at
Pug, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly parted. Her breathing was
husky, and Pug fought a mighty struggle to control himself and the
situation. More firmly, he said, "You had best return to your rooms, now.
" They rose slowly from the sleeping pallet, each intensely aware of the
other. Pug held her hand a moment longer, then released it. He bent and
retrieved her cloak, holding it for her as she slipped into it. Guiding
her to the door, he pulled it open and peered down the steps of the
tower. With no hint of anyone nearby, he opened the door fully. She
stepped through, then turned. Softly she said, "I know you think me a
sometimes silly and vain girl, and there are times when I am, Pug. But I
do love you."
Before he could say a word, she vanished down the stairs, the faint
rustling of her cloak echoing in the darkness. Pug quietly closed the
door and then put out the lamp. He lay upon his pallet, staring up into
the darkness. He could still smell her fresh scent in the air around him,
and the remembered touch of her soft body under his hands made them
tingle. Now that she was gone and the need for self-control gone with
her, he let longing rush through himself. He could see her face alive
with desire for him. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he groaned
softly to himself and said, "I'm going to hate myself tomorrow."
Puc AWOKE to pounding on the door. His first thought as he scrambled
toward the door was of the Duke having learned of Carline's visit. He's
here to hang me! was all he could think. It was still dark outside, so Pug
opened the door expecting the worst. Instead of the girl's angry father
leading a company of castle guards, a castle porter stood outside the
door. "Sorry to wake you, Squire, but Master Kulgan wishes you to join
him at once," he said, pointing up toward Kulgan's room. "At once," he
repeated, mistaking Pug's expression of relief for one of sleepy confusion.
Pug nodded and shut the door. He took stock. He was still dressed,
having fallen asleep again without undressing. He stood quietly as his
pounding heart stilled. His eyes felt as if they were packed with sand,
and his stomach was upset, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. He went to
his small table and splashed cold water on his face, muttering that he
would never have another cup of ale again. Pug reached Kulgan's room
and found the magician standing over a pile of personal belongings and
books. Sitting on a stool by the magician's sleeping pallet was Father
Tully. The priest watched the magician adding to the steadily growing
pile and said, "Kulgan, you can't take all those books along. You would
need two pack mules for them, and where you would keep them aboard ship
where they would do you any good is beyond me." Kulgan looked at two
books he held, like a mother regarding her young. "But I must take them
along to further the boy's education."
"Pah! So you'll have something to
mull over around the campfires and aboard ship, more likely. Spare me
excuses. You will be riding hard to clear the South Pass before it is
snowed in. And who can read in a ship crossing the Bitter Sea in winter?
The boy will only be away from his studies a month or two. He'll have
over eight years more study after that. Give him a rest." Pug was
perplexed by the conversation and tried to ask a question, but was
ignored by the two old companions as they bickered. After several more
remonstrations from Tully, Kulgan surrendered. "I suppose you're right,"
he said, tossing the books onto his pallet. He saw Pug waiting by the
door and said, "What? Still here?" Pug said, "You haven't told me why
you sent for me yet, Kulgan."
"Oh?" Kulgan said, eyes blinking wide like
those of a barn owl caught in a bright light. "I haven't?" Pug nodded.
"Well, then. The Duke orders us ready to ride at first light. The dwarves
have not answered, but he will not wait. The North Pass is almost certain
to be closed, and he fears snow in the South Pass." Kulgan said as
an aside, "Which he should. My weather nose tells me snow is nearly
here. We are in for an early and hard winter."
Tully shook his head as he stood up. "This from the man who predicted
drought seven years ago, when we had the worst flooding in memory.
Magicians! Charlatans, all of you." He walked slowly to the door, then
stopped to look at Kulgan, his mock irritation replaced by genuine
concern. "Though you are right this time, Kulgan. My bones ache deeply.
Winter is upon us." Tully left and Pug asked, "We're leaving?" With
exasperation, Kulgan said, "Yes! I just said so, didn't I? Get your
things together and quickly. Dawn's less than an hour away." Pug turned
to leave, when Kulgan said, "Oh, a moment, Pug." The magician crossed to
the door and glanced through it, ensuring Tully was down the stairs and
out of earshot. Kulgan turned to Pug and said, "I have no fault to find
with your behavior . . . but should you in the future find yourself with
another late-night caller, I suggest you not subject yourself to further
. . . testing. I'm not so sure you would do as well a second time." Pug
blanched. "You heard?" Kulgan pointed to a spot where the floor and wall
met. "That fire-pot thing of yours exits the wall a foot below there, and
it seems a marvelous conduit for sound." Absently he said, "I'll have
to look to see how it conducts sound so well when we return." Returning
to the boy, he said, "In any event, I was working late and didn't mean to
eavesdrop, but I heard every word." Pug flushed. Kulgan said, "I don't
mean to embarrass you, Pug. You acted rightly and showed surprising
wisdom." Putting his hand upon Pug's shoulder, he said, "I'm not one to
advise you in such matters, I fear, as I've had scant experience with
women, of any age, let alone such young and headstrong ones." Looking Pug
in the eyes, he said, "But this much I do know, it is almost impossible
in the heat of the moment to understand long-term consequences. I am
proud you were able to do this." Pug smiled self-consciously. "It was
easy enough, Kulgan, I just kept my mind focused on something."
"What?"
"Capital punishment." Kulgan laughed, a sharp barking sound,
then said, "Very well, but the potential for disaster would be as high
for the Princess, too, Pug. A city-bred noblewoman of the eastern court
may indulge herself in as many lovers of any rank that she can enjoy
while maintaining discretion, but the only daughter of a frontierduke who
is so closely rdated to the king has no such luxury. She must be above
suspicion in all things. Even suspicion could harm Carline. One who cares
for her would take that into consideration. Do you understand?"
Pug nodded, fully relieved now that he had resisted temptation the night
before. "Good, I know you'll be careful in the future." Kulgan smiled.
"And don't mind old Tully. He's just cross because the Duke ordered him
to stay behind. He still thinks he's as young as his acolytes. Now run
along and get ready. Dawn's less than an hour away." Pug nodded and
hurried off, leaving Kulgan to regard the piles of books before him. With
regret he picked the nearest one up and placed it on a nearby shelf.
After a moment he grabbed another and stuffed it into a sack. "just one
won't cause any harm," he said to the invisible specter of Tully shaking
his head in disapproval. He put the rest of the books back on the shelf,
save the last volume, which he shoved into the sack. "All right, then,"
he said defiantly, "two!"
8
JOUrNEY
sNOW WAS FALLING.
Pug shivered under his greatcloak, sitting astride his horse. He had been
in the saddle for the last ten minutes, waiting as the rest of the Duke's
company made ready. The courtyard filled with hurrying, shouting men,
lashing supplies onto the balky mules of the baggage train. Dawn was just
commencing, giving the courtyard a little cdor instead of the blacks and
grey that had greeted Pug when he came from the tower. Porters had
already carried his baggage down and were securing it among the other
items being brought along. A panicked "Whoa!" erupted behind Pug, and
he turned to see Tomas pulling frantically at the reins of a spirited
bay, his head tossing high. Like Pug's own sleek, light war-horse, he was
a far cry from the old draft animal they had ridden to the site of the
shipwreck. 'Don't pull so hard," Pug shouted. "You'll saw at his mouth
and make him mad. Pull back gently and release a couple of times."
Tomas did, and the horse quieted down, moving alongside Pug's own. Tomas
sat as if the saddle had nails sticking through it. His face was a study
in concentration as he tried to guess what the horse would do next. '
If you hadn't been walking post yesterday, you could have gone riding,
getting in some practice. Now I'll have to teach you as we go."
Tomas looked thankful for the promise of aid. Pug smiled. '"By the time
we reach Bordon, you'll be riding like the King's Lancers." '
"And walking like a ruptured spinster." Tomas shifted in the saddle.
"Already I feel
like I've been sitting on a stone block for hours. After just a little
way from the saddling post." Pug jumped down from his horse and looked
over Tomas's saddle,
making Tomas move his leg so he could examine under the saddle flap, then
asked, "Who saddled this horse for you?"
"Rulf. Why?"
"I thought so. He's paying you back for threatening him about that
sword, or because we're friends. He doesn't dare threaten me anymore,
now that I'm a Squire, but he thinks nothing of knotting your stirrup
leathers. A couple of hours riding like this, and you'd be standing at
meals for a month, if you didn't get pitched on your head and killed.
Here, get down and I'll show you." -
Tomas dismounted, halfway between a leap and a fall. Pug
showed him the knots. "They would have rubbed the inside of your thighs
raw by the end of the day. And they're not long enough." Pug took out the
knots and adjusted the leathers to the proper length. "It's going to feel
very strange for a while, but you've got to keep your heels down. I'll
remind you until you're sick of hearing it, but it'll keep you out of
trouble when you do it without thought. And don't try to grip with your
knees; that's wrong, and it'll make your legs so sore, you'll hardly be
able to walk by tomorrow." He went on with a few basic instructions and
inspected the cinch, which was loose. He tried tightening it, and the
horse sucked air. Pug struck the gelding a blow in the side, and the
animal exhaled sharply. Pug quickly pulled the cinch strap and said,
"Sometime today, you most likely would have found yourself listing to one
side, a most discomforting position." "That Rulf!" Tomas turned toward
the stable. "I'll thrash him within an inch of death!" Pug grabbed his
friend's arm. "Wait. We don't have time for brawling." Tomas stood
with fists clenched, then relaxed with a relieved sigh. "I'm in no
condition for fighting, anyway." He turned to see Pug inspecting the
horse. Pug shook his head, then winced. "Me too." He finished inspecting
the saddle and bridle, and the horse shied. Pug gentled the horse.
'~Rulf's also given you a temperamental mount. This fellow would have
probably thrown you before noon, and be halfway back to the stable before
you hit the ground. With sore legs and shortened stirrup leathers, you
never would have stood a chance. I'll trade with you."
Tomas looked relieved and struggled into the saddle of the other horse.
Pug readjusted the stirrups for both riders. "We can swap our travel rolls
when we take our noon meal." Pug then soothed the high-strung war-horse
and climbed nimbly into the saddle. Feeling surer hands at the reins,
and a firm leg on either side, the gelding quieted. "Ho! Martin," shouted
Tomas as the Duke's Huntmaster walked into view. "Are you traveling with
us?" A wry grin split the face of the hunter, who was wearing his heavy
green cloak over his forester's leathers. "For a short while, Tomas. I'm
to lead some trackers around the boundaries of Crydee. I'll be heading
due eastward when we come to the south branch of the river. Two of my
trackers were on their way an hour ago, breaking trail for the Duke."
"What do you think of this Tsurani business, Martin?" Pug asked. The
still-youthful Huntmaster's face clouded. "If elves are given to worry,
there is something to worry over." He turned toward the front of the
assembling line. "Excuse me, I must instruct my men." He left the boys
sitting alone. Pug asked Tomas, "How's your head this morning?" Tomas
made a face. "About two sizes smaller than when I awoke." His face
brightened a bit. "Still, the excitement seems to have stopped the
banging inside. I feel almost good." Pug gazed at the keep. Memories of
his encounter last night kept tugging at his mind, and suddenly he
regretted the need to travel with the Duke. Tomas noticed his friend's
pensive mood and said, "Why so glum? Aren't you excited about going?"
"It's nothing. Just thinking." Tomas studied Pug for a moment. "I think I
understand." With a
deep sigh, he sat back in the saddle, and his horse stamped and nickered.
"I, for one, am glad to be leaving. I think Neala has tumbled to
that little matter we spoke of yesterday." Pug laughed. "That will teach
you to be mindful of who you escort into pantries." Tomas smiled
sheepishly. The doors to the keep opened, and the Duke and Arutha came
out, accompanied by Kulgan, Tully, Lyam, and Roland. Carline followed,
with Lady Marna behind. The Duke and his companions made their
way to the head of the column, but Carline hurried down to where Pug and
Tomas sat. As she passed, guardsmen saluted her, but she paid them no
heed. She reached Pug's side, and when he bowed politely, she said, "Oh,
get off that stupid horse." Pug climbed down, and Carline threw her arms
around his neck,
holding him closely for a moment. "Take care and stay well," she said.
"Don't let anything happen to you." She pulled away, then kissed him
briefly. "And come home." Holding back tears, she hurried to the head of
the line, where her father and brother waited to say good-bye. Tomas let
out a theatrical whoop and laughed, while Pug remounted, the soldiers
nearby attempted to restrain their own amusement. "It seems the Princess
has made plans for you, m'lord," Tomas gibed. He ducked as Pug stirred to
give him a backhanded cuff. The motion caused his horse to start forward,
and suddenly Tomas was fighting to bring his horse back into line. The
horse seemed determined to go in any direction except the one Tomas
wished, now it was Pug's turn to laugh. He finally moved his own horse
alongside Tomas's and herded the fractious mare back into line. She
flattened her ears and turned to nip at Pug's horse, and the short boy
said, "We both have accounts to settle with Rulf; he gave us two horses
that don't like each other, too. We'll trade your mount off with one of
the soldiers." With relief Tomas half dismounted, half fell to the
ground, and Pug directed the exchange with a soldier down the line. The
exchange was made, and as Tomas returned to his place, Roland came down
to where they stood and offered them both his hand. "You two watch
yourselves, now. There's plenty of trouble waiting out there without your
looking for it." They acknowledged they would, and Roland said to Pug,
"I'll keep an eye on things for you." Pug noticed his wry smile,
glanced back to where Carline stood with her father, and said, "No
doubt," then added, "Roland, whatever happens, good luck to you, too."
Roland said, "Thank you. I'll take that as it's meant." To Tomas he said,
"And things are certainly going to be dull without you around." Tomas
said, "Given what's going on, dull would be welcome." Roland said, "As
long as it's not too dull, right? Take good care! You're a bothersome
pair, but I'd hate to lose you." Tomas laughed as Roland walked off with
a friendly wave. Watching the Squire go up to the Duke's party, and
seeing Carline standing next to her father, Pug turned to Tomas. "That
decides it. I am glad to be going. I need a rest." Sergeant Gardan came
riding back with orders to move the column, and they set off. The Duke
and Arutha rode in the van, with Kulgan and Gardan behind. Martin Longbow
and his trackers set off at a run beside the Duke's horse. Twenty pair of
mounted guards followed, with Tomas and Pug nestled between them and the
baggage train at the rear with its
five pairs of guards. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, they
moved through the gates of the castle and down the south road.
THEY HAD BEEN riding for three days, the last two through dense woodlands.
Martin Longbow and his men had turned east that morning as they
crossed the southern branch of the river Crydee, called river Boundary.
It marked the border between Crydee and the Barony of Carse, one of Lord
Borric's vassal provinces. The sudden snows of early winter had come and
draped the autumn landscape in white. Many of the denizens of the forest
had been caught unaware by the sudden winter, rabbits whose coats were
still more brown than white, and ducks and geese who scampered across
half-frozen ponds, resting as they migrated south. The snow fell in
flurries of heavy wet flakes, melting slightly during the day, to refreeze
at night, making a thin crust of ice. As the horses' and mules' hooves
cracked through the ice, the crunching of leaves underneath could be
heard in the still winter air. In the afternoon Kulgan observed a
flight of firedrakes circling in the distance, barely visible through the
trees.
The colorful beasts, red, gold, green, and blue in color, raced over the
treetops and dipped out of sight, then reappeared as they spiraled
upward, with cries and small bursts of flame. Kulgan reined in as the
train passed and waited for Pug and Tomas to overtake him. When they were
alongside, he pointed out the display, saying, "It has the appearance of
a mating flight. See, the more aggressively the males act, the more
responsive the females. Oh, I wish we had time to study this more
closely." Pug followed the creatures with his eyes as they rode through a
clearing, then, somewhat startled, said, "Kulgan, isn't that Fantus
there, hovering near the edge?" Kulgan's eyes widened. "By the gods! I
think it is." Pug asked, "Shall I call him?" The magician chuckled.
"Given the attention he's receiving from those females, I think it would
do little good." They lost sight of the congregation of drakes as they
rode after the Duke's train. Kulgan said, "Unlike most creatures, drakes
mate at first snow. The females will lay ens in nests, then sleep the
winter, warming them with their bodies. In the spring the young hatch and
are cared for by their mothers. Fantus will most likely spend the next
few days . . . ahem, fathering a clutch of young. Then he'll be back at
the keep, annoying Megar and the kitchen staff for the rest of the
winter." Tomas and Pug laughed. Tomas's father made a great show of
considering the playful drake a plague from the gods visited upon his
well-ordered kitchen, but on several occasions both boys had spied Megar
lavishing some of the choicest dinner scraps upon the beast. In the
fifteen months since Pug had become Kulgan's apprentice, Fantus had
become a winged, scaled house pet to most of the Duke's staff, though a
few, like the Princess, found Fantus's dragonlike appearance disquieting.
They continued to move east by south, as quickly as the terrain would
permit.
The Duke was concerned about reaching the South Pass before the snows
made it impassable, cutting them off from the east until spring. Kulgan's
weather sense had allowed they had a fair chance of making it before any
big storms struck. Soon they came to the edge of the deepest part of the
great southern forests, the Green Heart. Deep within the glades, at
prearranged locations, two troops of guards from the keep at Carse were
waiting for them with fresh horses. Duke Borric had sent pigeons south
with instructions for Baron Bellamy, who sent a reply the same way that
horses would be waiting. The remounts and guards would be hurrying to the
meeting places from the Jonril garrison, maintained by Bellamy and
Tolburt of Tulan near the edge of the great forests. By changing mounts,
the Duke would save three, perhaps four days of travel to Bordon.
Longbow's trackers had left clear blazes for the Duke to follow, and they
were due to reach the first meeting place later that day. Pug turned to
Tomas. The taller boy was sitting his horse somewhat better, though he
stil flapped his arms like a chicken trying to fly when they were forced
to a fast trot. Gardan came riding back down the line, to where the boys
rode before the baggage guards. "Be wary," he shouted. "From here to the
Grey Towers is the darkest part of the Green Heart. Even the elves pass
through here quickly and in numbers." The sergeant of the Duke's Guard
turned his horse and galloped back to the head of the line. They
traveled the balance of the day, every eye searching the forest for signs
of trouble. Tomas and Pug made light conversation, with Tomas remarking
on the chance of a good fight. Both boys' banter
sounded hollow to the soldiers around them, who sat silent and vigilant.
They reached the place of meeting just before sundown. It was a clearing
of considerable size, with several tree stumps grown over with ground
cover that peeked through the snow, showing that the trees had been
harvested long ago. The fresh horses stood in a picket, each tied to a
long line, while six guards stood careful watch around them. When the
Duke's party had ridden up, they had weapons ready. They lowered their
weapons when they saw the familiar banner of Crydee. These were men of
Carse, who wore the scarlet tabard of Baron Bellamy quartered by a gold
cross, a golden griffin rampant over their hearts. The shield of each man
bore the same device. The sergeant of the six guards saluted. "Well
met, my lord."
Borric acknowledged the salute. "The horses?" he asked simply.
"They are fit, lord, and restless from waiting. As are the men." Borric
dismounted, another soldier of Carse took his horse's reins. "Trouble?"
"None, my lord, but this place is suited for other than honest men. All
last night we stood watches by twos and felt the crawl of eyes upon us."
The sergeant was a scarred veteran, who had fought goblins and bandits in
his day. He was not the type to give in to flights of imagination, and
the Duke acknowledged this. "Double the watch this night. You will escort
the horses back to your garrison tomorrow. I would rather have them
rested a day, but this is a poor place." Prince Arutha came forward. "I
have also felt eyes upon us for the last few hours, Father." Borric
turned to the sergeant. "It may be that we have been shad-owed by a band
of brigands, seeking to judge our mission. I will send two men back with
you, for fifty men or forty-eight is of little difference, but eight is a
far better number than six." If the sergeant felt any relief at this, he
did not show it, simply saying, "I thank my lord."
Borric dismissed the man and with Arutha walked toward the center of the
camp, where a large fire was burning. The soldiers were erecting rude
shelters against the night wind, as they had each' night of the journey.
Borric saw two mules with the horses and noted that bales of hay had been
brought along. Arutha followed his gaze. "Bellamy is a prudent man, he
serves Your Grace well." Kulgan, Gardan, and the boys approached the two
nobles, who stood warming themselves before the fire. Darkness was
descending Quickly; even at noon there was little light in the
snow-shrouded forest. Borric looked around and shivered from more than
the cold. "This is an ill-omened place. We will do well to be away as
soon as possible."
They ate a quick meal and turned in. Pug and Tomas lay close, start-ing
at every strange sound until fatigue lulled them to sleep.
the DuKE's COMPANY passed deep into the forest, through glades so thick
that often the trackers had had to change their course, doubling back to
find another way for the horses, marking the trail as they went. Much of
this forest was dark and twisted, with choking underbrush that impeded
travel
Pug said to Tomas, "I doubt the sun ever shines here." He spoke in soft
tones. Tomas slowly nodded, his eyes watching the trees. Since leaving
the men from Carse three days ago, they had felt more tension
each passing day. The noises of the forest had lessened as
they moved deeper into the trees, until they now rode in silence. It was
as if the animals and birds themselves shunned this part of the forest.
Pug knew it was only because there were few animals that hadn't migrated
south or gone into hibernation, but that knowledge didn't lessen his and
Tomas's dread. Tomas slowed down. "I feel something terrible is about
to happen." Pug said, "You've been saying that for two days now." After a
minute he added, "I hope we don't have to fight. I don't know how to use
this sword, in spite of what you've tried to show me." "Here," said
Tomas, holding something out. Pug took it and found a small pouch inside
of which was a collection of small, smooth rocks and a sling. "I thought
you might feel better with a sling. I brought one, too." They rode for
another hour, then stopped to rest the horses and eat a cold meal. It was
midmorning, and Gardan inspected each horse, ensuring it was fit. No
soldier was given a chance to overlook the slightest possible injury or
illness. Should a horse falter, its rider would have to double up with
another, and those two would have to return as best they could, for the
Duke could not wait for such a delay. This far from any safe haven, .it
was something no one wished to think about or discuss aloud. They were
due to meet the second detachment of horses at midaf-ternoon. The
breakneck pace of the first four days had given way to a careful walk,
for to rush through the trees would be dangerous. At the rate they were
progressing, they would be on time. Still, the Duke was chafing at the
slow pace. On and on they rode, at times having to stop while guards drew
swords and cut at the brush before them, their sword blows echoing through
the stillness of the forest as they followed the narrow path left by the
trackers. Pug was lost in thoughts of Carline when, later, a shout
erupted from the front of the column, out of sight of the boys. Suddenly
the horse-men near Pug and Tomas were charging forward, oblivious to the
thicket around them, dodging low-hanging branches by instinct.
Pug and Tomas spurred their horses after the others, and soon their senses
recorded a blur of brown and white, as snow-spotted trees seemed to fly
past. They stayed low, close to the necks of their mounts, avoiding most
tree branches, while they struggled to stay aboard. Pug looked over his
shoulder and saw Tomas falling behind. Branches and twigs caught at Pug's
cloak as he crashed through the forest into a clearing. The sounds of
battle assaulted his ears, and the boy saw fight-ing in progress. The
remount horses were trying to pull up their stakes, while fighting
exploded around them. Pug could only vaguely make out the form of
combatants, dark shrouded shapes slashing upward with swords at the
horsemen. A figure broke away and came running toward him, avoiding the
blow of a guard a few yards ahead of Pug. The strange warrior grinned
wick-edly at Pug, seeing only the boy before him. Raising his sword for a
blow, the fighter screamed and clawed at his face as blood ran between his
fingers. Tomas had reined in behind Pug and with a yell let fly with
another stone.
"I thought you'd get yourself into trouble," he shouted. He spurred
his horse forward and rode over the fallen figure. Pug sat rooted for a
moment, then spurred his own horse. Pulling out his sling, he let fly at a
couple of targets, but couldn't be sure if the stones struck. Suddenly
Pug was in a place of calm in the fighting. On all sides he could see
figures in dark grey cloaks and leather armor pouring out from the
forest. They looked like elves, save their hair was darker, and they
shouted in a language unpleasant to Pug's ears. Arrows flew from the trees,
emptying saddles of Crydee horsemen. Lying about were bodies of both
attackers and soldiers. Pug saw the lifeless bodies of a dozen men of
Carse, as well as Longbow's two lead trackers, tied to stakes in lifelike
poses around the campfire. Scarlet bloodstains spotted the white snow
beside them. The ruse had worked, for the Duke had ridden straight into
the clearing, and now the trap was sprung. Lord Borric's voice rang out
over the fray. "To me! To me! We are surrounded." Pug looked about for
Tomas as he frantically kicked his mount toward the Duke and his
gathering men. Arrows filled the air, and the screams of the dying echoed
in the glade. Borric shouted, "This way!" and the survivors followed him.
They crashed into the forest, riding over attack-ing bowmen. Shouts
followed them while they galloped away from the ambush, keeping low over
the necks of their mounts, avoiding arrows and low-hanging branches.
Pug frantically pulled his horse aside, avoiding a large tree. He looked
about, but could not see Tomas. Fixing his gaze upon the back of another
horseman, Pug determined to concentrate on one thing only, not losing
sight of the man's back. Strange loud cries could be heard from behind, and
other voices answered from one side. Pug's mouth was dry and his hands
sweating in the heavy gloves he wore. They sped through the forest,
shouts and cries echoing around them. Pug lost track of the distance
covered, but he thought it surely a mile or more. Still the voices
shouted in the forest, calling to others the course of the Duke's flight.
Suddenly Pug was crashing through the thick underbrush, forcing his
lathered, panting horse up a small but steep rise. All around him was a
gloom of grey and greens, broken only by patches of white. Atop the rise
the Duke waited, his sword drawn, as others pulled up around him. Arutha
sat by his father, his face covered with perspiration in spite of the cold.
Panting horses and exhausted guards gathered around. Pug was relieved to
see Tomas beside Kulgan and Gardan. When the last rider approached, Lord
Borric said, "How many?"
Gardan surveyed the survivors and said, "We've lost eighteen men, have
six wounded, and all the mules and baggage were taken." Borric nodded.
"Rest the horses a moment. They'll come." Arutha said, "Are we to stand,
Father?" Borric shook his head. "There are too many of them. At least a
hun-dred struck the clearing." He spat. "We rode into that ambush like a
rabbit into a snare." He glanced about. "We've lost nearly half our
company." Pug asked a soldier sitting beside him, "Who were they?" The
soldier looked at Pug. "The Brotherhood of the Dark Path,
Squire, may Ka-hooli visit every one of the bastards with piles," he
answered, invoking the vengeance god. The soldier indicated a circle
around them with his hand. "Small bands of them travel through the Green
Heart, though they mostly live in the mountains east of here, and way up
in the Northlands. That was more than I'd have bargained was around,
curse the luck." Voices shouted from behind, and the Duke said, "They
come. Ride!" The survivors wheeled and rode off, again racing through
the trees ahead of their pursuers. Time became suspended for Pug as he
negotiated the dangerous course through the dense forest. Twice men
nearby screamed, whether from striking branches or from arrows Pug didn't
know. Again they came to a clearing, and the Duke signaled a halt. Gardan
said, 'Your grace, the horses can't endure much more of this."
Borric struck his saddle horn in frustration, his face dark with anger.
"Damn them! And where are we?" Pug looked about. He had no idea of where
they stood in relationship
to the original site of attack, and from the looks on the faces around
him, no one else did either. Arutha said, "We must strike eastward,
Father, and make for the mountains." Borric nodded. "But which way lies
east?" The tall trees and overcast sky with its defused sunlight
conspired to deny them any point of reference. Kulgan said, "One
moment, your grace," and closed his eyes. Again shouts of pursuit echoed
through the trees, as Kulgan opened his eyes and pointed. "That way.
There lies the east." Without question or comment, the Duke spurred his
horse in the indicated direction, mo-tioning for the others to follow.
Pug felt a strong urge to be near some-one familiar and tried to rejoin
Tomas, but couldn't make his way through the press of riders. He
swallowed hard and admitted to himself he was badly scared. The grim
faces of the nearby soldiers told him he was not alone in that feeling.
More time passed as they raced through the dark corridors of the Green
Heart. Every advance along the escape route was accompanied by the
echoing cries of Dark Brothers as they alerted others of the fugitives'
route. Occasionally Pug would spy a shape loping along in the distance,
quickly lost in the darkness of the trees as it ran a parallel course.
The accompanying runners did not seek to hinder them, but always they
were near. Once more the Duke ordered a halt. Turning to Gardan, he said,
"Skirmishers! Find out how close they follow. We must have rest." Gardan
indicated three men, who quickly leapt from their horses and ran back
along the route of their retreat. A single clash of steel 'and a strangled
cry heralded their encounter with the closest Dark Brother tracker.
"Damn them!" said the Duke. "They're herding us in a circle, seeking to
bring us back into their main strength. Already we're moving more north
than east." Pug took the opportunity to move next to Tomas. The horses
were panting and shivering as perspiration steamed off them in the cold.
Tomas managed a feeble smile, but said nothing. Men moved quickly among
the horses, checking for injury. In a few minutes the skirmishers
returned at a run. Panting, one said, "Lord, they are close behind,
fifty, sixty at least." "How long?" The man stood with perspiration
pouring down his face as he answered, "Five minutes, my lord." With
grim humor he said, "The two we killed will make them pause, but no more
time than that."
Borric said to the company, "We rest a moment, then we ride."
Arutha said, "A moment or an hour, what does it matter? The horses are
done. We should stand before more Brothers come to the call." Borric
shook his head. "I must get through to Erland. He must know of the coming
of the Tsurani." An arrow, quickly followed by a second, flew from the
nearby trees, and another rider fell. Borric shouted, "Ride!" They
cantered the exhausted horses deeper into the woods, then
slowed to a walk, while they kept watch for the coming attack. The Duke
used hand signals to deploy the line of soldiers so they might swing to
either flank and charge on command. Horses blew foam as their nostrils
distended, and Pug knew they were close to dropping. "Why don't they
attack?" whispered Tomas. "I don't know," answered Pug. "They just harry
us from the sides and behind." -The Duke raised his hand and the
column halted. No sounds of pursuit could be heard. He turned and spoke
in a low tone. "They may have lost us. Pass the word to inspect your
mounts-" An arrow sped past his head, missing him by inches. "Forward!"
he shouted, and they began a ragged trot along the path they had been
following. Gardan shouted, "My lord, it seems they wish us to keep
moving." In a harsh whisper Borric swore, then asked, "Kulgan, which way
lies east?" The magician closed his eyes again, and Pug knew he was
tiring
himself with this particular spell. Not difficult if one was standing
calmly, it had to be fatiguing him under these conditions. Kulgan's eyes
opened and he pointed to the right. The column was heading northward.
Arutha said, "Again they slowly turn us, Father, back into their main
strength." Raising his voice, Borric said, "Only fools or children would
keep to this route. On my command, wheel to the right and charge." He
waited as every man readied weapons and made silent prayers to their gods
that the horses could withstand one more gallop. Then the Duke shouted,
"Now!" As a body, the column wheeled to the right, and riders spurred
their flagging mounts. Arrows came pouring from the trees, and men and
horses screamed. Pug ducked under a branch, desperately holding on to the
reins while he fumbled with sword and shield. He felt the shield slipping
and, as he struggled with it, sensed his horse slowing. He couldn't
exercise the needed control over the animal and manage the weapons at the
same time.
Pug reined in, risking a momentary stop to put his equipment right. A
noise made him look to the right. Standing less than five yards away was
a bowman of the Brotherhood of the Dark path. Pug stayed rooted for a
moment, as did the bowman. Pug was struck by his resemblance to the Elf
Prince, Calin. There was little to distinguish the two races, nearly the
same in height and build, save hair and eyes. The creature's bowstring
had snapped, and he stood with dark eyes fixed upon Pug while calmly
setting about restringing his bow. Pug's astonishment at finding the Dark
Brother standing so close to him momentarily caused him to forget the
reason he had halted. He sat numbly watching the bowman repairing his
weapon, entranced by the dark elf's coolly efficient manner. Then he
was pulling an arrow from his quiver in a fluid motion and fitting the
shaft to the bowstring. Sudden alarm made Pug act. His staggering horse
answered his frantic kicks and was off again. He didn't see the bowman's
arrow, but heard and felt it speed past his ear, then he was back to a
gallop, the bowman lost behind as Pug overtook the Duke's company.
Noise from ahead made Pug urge his horse on, though the poor animal was
giving every indication it was moving as fast as possible. Pug wove
through the forest, the gloom making it difficult to negotiate. Abruptly
he was behind a rider wearing the Duke's colors and then passing the man
as Pug's horse proved fresher for carrying a lighter rider. The terrain
became more hilly, and Pug wondered if they were entering the foothills
of the Grey Towers. A horse's scream caused Pug to glance behind. He saw
the soldier he had passed thrown as his mount collapsed, foaming blood
spurting from the animal's nose. Pug and another rider halted, and the
soldier turned back, riding over to where the first man stood. He
extended his hand to offer the fallen man a double ride. The fallen
soldier just shook his head, as he struck the standing horse on the rump,
sending it ahead again. Pug knew the second man's horse could barely
carry one rider, never two. The fallen rider pulled his sword and put down
the injured horse, then turned to wait for the pursuing Dark Brothers. Pug
found his eyes tearing as he contemplated the man's courage. The other
soldier shouted something over his shoulder that was lost to the boy, then
suddenly he was riding by. He shouted, "Move, Squire!" Pug put heels to
the sides of his horse, and the animal picked up a staggering trot. The
fleeing column continued on its stumbling, exhausted flight, Pug moving
up through the company of riders to a place near the Duke. After a few
minutes Lord Borric signaled for them to slow. They entered another
clearing. Borric surveyed his company. A look of helpless rage crossed his
face, to be replaced by surprise. He held his hand aloft, and the riders
stopped their milling about. Shouts sounded in the forest, but from some
distance away. Arutha, eyes wide with wonder, said, "Have we lost them?"
Slowly the Duke nodded, his attention focused on the distant shouts.
"For the moment. when we broke through the archers, we must
have slipped behind their pursuit. They'll discover that fact shortly and
double back. We have ten, fifteen minutes at best." He looked over his
ragged company. "If only we could find a place to hide." Kulgan moved his
staggering horse alongside the Duke. "My lord, I might have a solution,
though it is risky and might prove fatal."
Borric said, "No more fatal than waiting for them to come for us. What is
your plan?"
"I have an amulet, which can control weather. I had planned to save it
against possible storms at sea, for its use is limited. I may be able to
mask our whereabouts with it. Let every man gather his horse at the far
end of the clearing, near that outcropping of rock. Have them silence the
animals."
Borric ordered it done, and the animals were moved to the opposite end of
the clearing. Reassuring hands gentled exhausted and excited horses,
quieting the mounts after their long flight. They had gathered at the
highest end of a narrow clearing, their backs to an outcropping of
granite that rose overhead like a grey fist. On three sides the ground
sloped away gently. Kulgan began to walk along the perimeter of the
compact company. He chanted in a low voice, waving the amulet in an
intricate pattern. Slowly the grey afternoon light faded, and a mist
began to gather around him. At first only light wisps appeared nearby,
then other, more substantial patches of moisture formed, becoming light
fog. Soon the air between the Duke's company and the tree line grew
hazy. Kulgan moved more quickly and the fog deepened, filling the
clearing with whiteness, moving outward from the magician into the trees
on all sides. Within a few minutes it was impossible to see beyond a few
yards. On and on paced Kulgan, sending thicker blankets of haze to
obscure the already grey light in the trees. The clearing slowly became
darker as the gloomy fog deepened with every incantation made by the
magician. Then Kulgan stopped and turned to the Duke, whispering, "All
must remain quiet. Should the dark elves wander blindly into the fog, the
sloping terrain will, I hope, guide them past on one side or the other as
they come around the rocks. But let no man move. Any sound will defeat
us." Each man nodded, understanding the danger coming fast. They would
stand in the center of this deep fog in the hope the Dark Brothers
would walk past, putting the Duke and his men once more behind them. It
was an all-or-nothing gambit, for should they win free, there was a good
chance they would be far removed from this spot when the Brotherhood once
more backtracked. Pug looked at Tomas and whispered, "It's a good thing
it's rocky here, else we'd leave some pretty tracks." Tomas nodded, too
frightened to speak. A nearby guard motioned for Pug to be silent, and
the young Squire nodded. Gardan and several guards, with the Duke and
Arutha, took up position near the front of the company, weapons ready
should the ploy fail. Shouts grew louder as the Dark Brotherhood returned
along their trail. Kulgan stood near the Duke, enchanting quietly,
gathering more mist around him, then sending it forth. Pug knew the mist
would be ex-panding rapidly, shrouding a continuously larger area as
long as Kulgan continued to incant. Every extra minute would encompass
more of the Green heart in fog, making it increasingly more difficult
for the attack-ers to find them. Pug felt wetness on his cheek and
looked up. Snow was beginning to fall. With apprehension he looked to the
mist, to see if the newly arriving snow was affecting it. He watched a
tense minute, then silently sighed with relief, for if anything, the snow
was adding to the masking effects of the fog. A soft footfall could be
heard nearby. Pug froze, as did every man near him. A voice rang out in
the Brotherhood's strange language. Pug felt an itch between his
shoulders, but refused to move, fighting to ignore the nagging sensation
on his back. He glanced sideways at Tomas. Tomas stood stock-still, his
hand on his horse's muzzle, looking like a statue in the haze. Like every
other remaining horse, Tomas's mount knew the hand upon his face was a
command for quiet. Another voice rang out in the mist, and Pug nearly
jumped. It
sounded as if the caller were standing directly in front of him. Again the
answering call came, sounding farther away. Gardan stood directly before
Pug, who saw the sergeant's back twitch. Gardan slowly knelt, silently
laying his sword and shield on the ground. He rose up, still moving
slowly, pulling his belt knife. Then suddenly he stepped into the mist,
his movements as quick and fluid as a cat disappearing into the night.
There was a faint sound, and Gardan reappeared.
Before him struggled the form of a Dark Brother, one of Gardan's huge
black hands clamped tightly over the creature's mouth. The other arm was
choking its throat. Pug could see the sergeant couldn't risk letting go
for the brief instant needed to plunge the knife in its back. Gardan
gritted his teeth in pain as the creature raked the sergeant's arm with
clawlike nails. Its eyes bulged as it fought to breathe. Gardan stood
rooted to the spot, holding the Dark Brother off the ground by main force
as it struggled to get free. The creature's face turned red, then purple,
as Gardan choked the life from it. Blood from the creature's raking nails
flowed freely down Gardan's arm, but the powerful soldier barely moved at
all. Then the Dark Brother went limp, and Gardan gave it a final,
throat-crushing jerk of his arm and let the creature slide silently to
the ground. Gardan's eyes were wide with exertion, and he panted quietly
as he regained his breath. Slowly he turned, knelt, and replaced his
knife. -Recovering his sword and shield, he stood, resuming his watch in
the mist. Pug felt nothing but awe and admiration for the sergeant, but
like the others he could only silently watch. Time passed, and the voices
grew more faint as they sounded their angry inquiries to one another,
seeking the fugitives' hiding place. The voices moved off, and then, like
a long sigh of relief heaved by all in the clearing, it was silent. The
Duke whispered, "They are past us. Lead the horses. We go east."
Puc lookED ABOut min the gloom. Ahead, Duke Borric and Prince Arutha led
the way. Gardan stayed beside Kulgan, who was still exhausted from his
magical undertaking. Tomas walked silently beside his friend. Of the
fifty guardsmen who had set out with the Duke from Crydee, thirteen
remained. Only six horses had survived the day. As they had faltered, the
others had been quickly put down by silent, tight-lipped riders. They
trudged upward, climbing higher into the foothills. The sun had set, but
the Duke ordered them onward, fearful of the return of their pursuers.
The men stepped cautiously forward, tentative in the rough terrain at
night. The darkness was punctuated by softly uttered oaths as men lost
their footing on the icy rocks time and again. Pug plodded along, his
body numb with fatigue and cold. The day had seemed an eternity, and he
could not remember when he had last stopped or eaten. Once he had been
handed a waterskin by a soldier, but the lone drink was a dim memory. He
grabbed a handful of snow and put it in his mouth, but the melting
iciness gave him little relief.
The snow was falling more heavily, or at least it seemed so to Pug, he
couldn't see it fall, but it struck his face with more frequency and force.
It was bitterly cold, and he shivered inside his cloak. Like a booming
call, the Duke's whisper sounded in the murk. "Stop. I doubt they are
wandering about in the dark. We'll rest here." Arutha's whisper could be
heard from somewhere ahead: "The falling snow should cover our tracks by
morning." Pug dropped to his knees and pulled his cloak about himself.
Tomas's voice sounded nearby. "Pug?" Softly he answered, "Here."
Tomas dropped heavily beside him. "I think . . . ," he said between
panting breaths, "I'll never . . . move again." Pug could only nod. The
Duke's voice came from a short distance away. "No fires." Gardan
answered, "It's a bitter night for a cold camp, Your Grace." Borric said,
"Agreed, but if those sons of hell are nearby, a fire would bring them
howling down upon us. Huddle together for warmth, so no one will freeze.
Post guards and tell the others to sleep. When dawn breaks, I want to
put as much distance between ourselves and them as possible." Pug felt
bodies begin to press around him and didn't mind the discomfort for the
warmth. Soon he drifted off into a fitful doze, starting awake often
during the night. Then suddenly it was dawn.
ThrEE MOrE hoRsEs died during the night, their frozen bodies lying
uncovered in the snow. Pug came to his feet, feeling light-headed and
stiff.
He shivered uncontrollably as he stamped his feet, trying to stir some
life into his chilled, aching body. Tomas stirred, then awoke with a start,
looking to see what was occurring. He climbed awkwardly to his feet, then
joined Pug in stamping feet and swinging arms.
"I've never been so cold in my life,"
he said through chattering teeth. Pug looked around. They were
in a hollow between large outcroppings of granite, still bare and grey
in patches, which rose up behind them thirty feet into the air, joining a
ridge above. The ground sloped away along the path of their march, and
Pug noticed the trees were thinner here. "Come along," he said to Tomas
as he began to scramble up the rocks. "Damn!" sounded from behind, and
Pug and Tomas looked back to see Gardan kneeling over the still form of a
guard. The sergeant looked at the Duke and said, "Died in the night, Your
Grace." He shook his head as he added, "He took a wound and never spoke
of it."
Pug counted, besides himself, Tomas, Kulgan, the Duke, and his son, there
were now just twelve soldiers. Tomas looked up at Pug, who had climbed
ahead, and said, "Where are we going?" Pug noticed he whispered. He
inclined his head upward and said, "To see what's over there." Tomas
nodded, and they continued their climb. Stiff fingers pro-tested against
the need to grip hard rock, but soon Pug found himself warm again as
exertion heated his body. He reached up and gripped the edge of the ridge
above. He pulled himself up and over and waited for Tomas. Tomas came
over the ridge, panting for breath, looked past Pug, and said, "Oh,
glory!" Rising up majestically before them were the tall peaks of the
Grey Towers. The sun rose behind, casting rose and golden highlights on
the north faces of the mountains, while the western faces were still
veiled in indigo darkness. The sky was clear, the snowfall over.
Everywhere they looked, the scenery was draped in white. Pug waved
toward Gardan. The sergeant walked up to the base of the rocks, climbed a
short way, and said, "What is it?" Pug said, "The Grey Towers! No more
than five miles away." Gardan waved for the boys to return, and they
scrambled down, fall-ing the last few feet to land with a thump. With
their destination in sight, they felt revived. They came to where Gardan
stood in conference with the Duke, Arutha, and Kulgan. Borric spoke
softly, his words carrying clearly in the crisp morning air. "Take
whatever is left on the dead animals and divide it among the men. Bring
the remaining horses, but no one rides. No use covering the animals, for
we'll make broad tracks anyway." Gardan saluted and began circulating
among the soldiers. They stood about in pairs or singly, eyes watching
for signs of possible pursuit. Borric said to Kulgan, "Have you an idea
where the South Pass lies?" "I will try to use my magic sight, my lord."
Kulgan concentrated, and Pug watched closely, for seeing with the mind's
eye was another of the feats that had eluded him in his studies. It was
akin to using the crystal, but less pictorial, more an impression of
where something was in relation to the spellcaster. After a few minutes
of silence, Kulgan said, "I cannot tell, Sire. If I had been there before,
then perhaps, but I get no impression of where the pass may lie."
Borric nodded. "I wish Longbow were here. He knows the landmarks of the
area.'" He turned to the east, as if seeing the Grey Towers through the
intervening ridge. "One mountain looks much like another to me."
Arutha said, "Father, to the north?" Borric smiled a little at Arutha's
logic. "Yes. If the pass lies northward, we still might chance across it
before it is impassable. Once across the mountains, the weather will
prove milder in the east-at least that is the rule this time of year. We
should be able to walk to Bordon. If we are already north of the pass,
then we will eventually reach the dwarves. They will shelter us and
perhaps know another route to the east." He inspected his exhausted
company. "With three horses and snow melted for drinking water, we should
last another week." He looked around, studying the sky. "If the weather
holds." Kulgan said, "We should be free of bad weather in two, perhaps
three days. Farther into the future I cannot judge." A distant shout
echoed over the trees, from deep within the forest below. Instantly
everyone was still. Borric looked to Gardan. "Sergeant, how far away do
you judge them?" Gardan listened. "It is hard to say, my lord. One
mile, two, maybe more. Sound carries oddly in the forest, more so when it
is this cold." Borric nodded. "Gather the men. We leave now."
Puc's FINGErTIPs BLED through his torn gloves. At every opportunity during
the day, the Duke had kept the men traveling over rock, to prevent
Dark Brotherhood trackers from following. Every hour guards had been sent
back to cut false trails over their own, pulling blankets taken from the
dead horses behind, obscuring the tracks as best they could. They stood
at the edge of a clearing, a circle of bare rock surrounded on all sides
by scattered pines and aspens. The trees had grown progressively thinner
as they moved up into the mountains, staying on the rougher, higher
terrain rather than risk being followed. Since dawn they had moved
northeast, following a ridge of rugged hills toward the Grey Towers, but
to Pug's dismay the mountains seemed no closer. The sun stood high
overhead, but Pug felt little of its warmth, for a cold wind blew down
from the heights of the Grey Towers. Pug heard Kulgan's voice some
distance behind. "As long as the wind is from the northeast, we'll have
no snow, as any moisture will have fallen on the peaks. Should the wind
shift and come from the west, or northwest, from off the Endless Sea,
we'll have more snow." Pug panted as he scrambled along the rocks,
balancing on the slippery surface. "Kulgan, must we have lessons, too?"
Several men laughed, and momentarily the grim tension of the last two
days lessened. They reached a large flat, before another upward rise,
and the Duke ordered a halt. "Build a fire and slaughter an animal. We'll
wait here for the last rear guard." Gardan quickly sent men to gather
wood in the trees, and one was given two of the horses to lead away. The
high-strung mounts were footsore, tired, and unfed, and in spite of their
training, Gardan wanted them removed from the smell of blood. The
chosen horse screamed, then was suddenly silent, and when the fires were
ready, the soldiers placed spits over the flames. Soon the aroma of
roasting meat filled the air. In spite of his anticipated distaste, Pug
found his mouth watering at the smell. In a while he was handed a stick,
with a large piece of roasted liver on it, which he wolfed down. Nearby,
Tomas was doing equal justice to a portion of sizzling haunch. When they
were done eating, the still-hot meat left over was wrapped with strips
from horse blankets and torn tabards, then divided among . the men. Pug
and Tomas sat by Kulgan as men broke camp, putting out fires, covering
signs of passing, and readying for the resumption of the march. Gardan
came to the Duke. "My lord, the rear guard is overdue."
Borric nodded. "I know. They should have returned a half-hour ago." He
peered down the hillside, toward the huge forest, mist shrouded in the
distance. "We'll wait five more minutes, then we will go."
They waited in silence, but the guards didn't return. Finally Gardan gave
the order. "All right, lads. Off we go." The men formed up behind the
Duke and Kulgan, and the boys fell in at the rear. Pug counted. There
were only ten soldiers left.
Two dAYS LAtER the howling winds came, icy knives ripping at exposed
flesh. Cloaks were gathered around each figure tramping slowly northward,
leaning into the wind. Rags had been torn and tied around boots in a
feeble attempt to hold off frostbite. Pug tried vainly to keep his
eyelashes free of ice, but the harsh wind made his eyes tear, and the
drops quickly froze, blurring his vision. Pug heard Kulgan's voice above
the wind. "My lord, a storm comes. We must find shelter or perish." The
Duke nodded and waved two men ahead to seek shelter. The two set off at a
stumbling run, moving only slightly faster than the others, but valiantly
putting their remaining meager strength into the task. Clouds began to
roll in from the northwest, and the skies darkened. "How much time,
Kulgan?" shouted the Duke over the shrieking wind. The magician waved
his hand above his head, as the wind blew his
hair and beard back from his face, exposing his high forehead. "An hour
at most." The Duke nodded again and exhorted his men to move along. A sad
sound, a neighing cry, pierced the wind, and a soldier called out that
the last horse was down. Borric stopped and with a curse ordered it
slaughtered as quickly as possible. Soldiers butchered the animal,
steaming hunks of meat being cut away, to chill in the snow where they
were cast before they could be wrapped. When they were done, the meat
was divided among the men. "If we can find shelter, we will build a fire
and cook the meat," the Duke shouted. Silently Pug added that if they
couldn't find shelter, they'd have little use for the meat. They resumed
their march. A short time later the two guards returned with the news of
a cave less than a quarter mile distant. The Duke ordered them to show
the way. Snow began to fall, whipped by the driving wind. The sky was
now dark, limiting visibility to only a few hundred feet. Pug felt
light-headed and had to struggle to pull his feet from the resisting
snow. Both hands were numb, and he wondered if he was frostbitten.
Tomas looked slightly better, being somewhat hardier by nature, but he
also was too exhausted to speak. He just plodded along beside his friend.
Suddenly Pug was lying face down in the snow feeling surprisingly warm
and sleepy. Tomas knelt beside the fallen magician's apprentice. He shook
Pug, and the nearly unconscious boy groaned. "Get up," Tomas shouted.
"It's only a little way farther." Pug struggled upright, aided by Tomas
and one of the soldier's. When he was standing, Tomas indicated to the
soldier he could take care of his friend. The soldier nodded, but stayed
near. Tomas loosened one of the many strips of blanket tied around him
for warmth, knotted one end to Pug's belt, and half guided, half pulled
the smaller boy along. The boys follewed the guard who had helped them
around an outcropping
of rock and found themselves at the mouth of a cave. They
staggered forward a few steps into the sheltering darkness, then fell to
the stone floor. In contrast to the biting wind outside, the cave seemed
warm, and they lapsed into an exhausted sleep.
Pug AWOKe to the smell of cooking horse meat. He roused himself and 'saw
it was dark outside, beyond the fire. Piles of branches and deadwood were
heaped nearby, and men were carefully feeding the fire. Others stood by,
roasting pieces of meat. Pug flexed his fingers and found them
painfully sore, but as he peeled off his tattered gloves, he saw no signs
of frostbite. He nudged Tomas awake, and the other boy raised himself up
on his elbows, blinking at the firelight. Gardan stood on the other side
of the fire, speaking with a guard. The Duke sat nearby, in quiet
conversation with his son and Kulgan. Beyond Gardan and the guard, Pug
could see only blackness. He couldn't remember what time of day it had
been when they found the cave, but he and Tomas must have slept for
hours. Kulgan saw them stirring and came over. "How do you feel?" he
asked, a look of concern on his face. The boys indicated they felt all
right, considering the circumstances. Pug and Tomas doffed their boots
at Kulgan's orders, and he was pleased to report they had suffered no
frostbite, though one of the soldiers, he said, hadn't been as lucky.
"How long were we asleep?" asked Pug.
"Throughout last night and all this day," said the magician with a
sigh.
Then Pug noticed signs that a lot of work had been done. Besides the
brush being cut, he and Tomas had been covered by some of the blankets.
A pair of snared rabbits hung near the cave mouth with a row of
freshly filled waterskins stacked near the fire. "You could have woken
us," Pug said, a note of worry in his voice.
Kulgan shook his head. "The Duke wouldn't have moved until the
storm had passed, and that was only a few hours ago. In any event, you
and Tomas weren't the only tired ones here. I doubt even the hearty
sergeant there could have gone more than another few miles with only
one night's rest. The Duke will see how things stand tomorrow. I expect
we shall leave then, if the weather holds."
Kulgan stood and, with a small gesture indicating the boys should
return to sleep if possible, went to stand beside the Duke. Pug was
surprised that, for someone who had slept the day around, he was again
tired, though he thought he would fill his stomach before seeking more
sleep. Tomas nodded at his unspoken question, and the two scooted
over by the fire. One of the soldiers was busy cooking meat and handed
them hot portions.
The boys wolfed down the food and after they were done sat back
against one wall of the large cave. Pug started to speak to Tomas but was
distracted when he caught sight of the guard by the cave's mouth. A
queer look passed over the man's face as he stood talking to Sergeant
Gardan, then his knees buckled. Gardan reached out to catch him,
lowering him to the floor. The big sergeant's eyes widened as he saw the
arrow protruding from the man's side.
Time seemed suspended for an instant, then Gardan shouted, "Attack!"
A howling cry sounded from outside the cave's mouth, and a figure
came bounding into the light, jumping over the low brush, then again
bounding over the fire, knocking down the soldier cooking meat. It
landed a short way from the boys and spun to face those it had leapt
past. It was wrapped in a coat and trousers of animal furs. On one arm it
bore a battle-scarred buckler-size shield, and in the other a curved sword
was held high.
Pug stayed motionless as the creature regarded the company in the
cave, a snarl on inhuman lips, eyes glowing with reflected firelight and
fangs bared. Tomas's training asserted itself, and the sword he had clung
to over the long march was out of its scabbard in an instant. With a
show the creature swung downward at Pug, who rolled sideways, avoiding
the blow. The blade rang out as it struck the ground, and Tomas
made an off-balance lunge, awkwardly taking the creature low in the
chest. It fell to its knees and gurgled as blood filled its lungs, then fell
forward.
Other attackers were leaping into the cave and were quickly engaged
by the men from Crydee. Curses and oaths sounded, and swords rang
out in the close confines of the cave.
Guards and attackers stood face-to-face,
unable to move more than a few feet. Several of the Duke's
men dropped swords and pulled daggers from their belts, better for
close fighting.
Pug grabbed his sword and looked for an attacker, but found none. In
the dancing light of the fire, he could see the attackers were outnumbered
by the remaining guards, and as two or three' men of Crydee
grappled with each attacker, it was quickly down and killed.
Suddenly the cave was quiet, save for the heavy breathing of the
soldiers. Pug looked and saw only one man down, the one who had
taken the arrow. A few others sported light wounds. Kulgan hurried
among the men, checking the wounds, then said to the Duke, "My lord,
we have no other serious injuries."
Pug looked at the dead creatures. Six of them lay sprawled upon the
cave floor. They were smaller than men, but not by much. Above thick
browridges, their sloping foreheads were topped by thick black hair.
Their blue-green tinged skins were smooth, save for one who had something
like a youth's beard upon his cheeks. Their eyes, open in death,
were huge and round, with black irises on yellow. All died with snarls
upon their hideous faces, showing long teeth that came close to being
fangs.
Pug crossed to Gardan, peering into the gloom of the night for signs
of more of the creatures. "What are they, Sergeant?"
"Goblins, Pug. Though I can't fathom what they are doing this far
from their normal range."
The Duke came to stand next to him and said, "Only a half dozen,
Gardan. I have never heard of goblins attacking armed men except
when the advantage was theirs. This was suicide."
"My lord, look here," came Kulgan's call, as he knelt over the body of
a goblin. He had pulled away the dirty fur jacket worn by the creature
and pointed to a poorly bandaged long, jagged wound on its chest.
"This was not made by us. It is three, four days old and healing
badly."
Guards inspected the other bodies and reported three others also
bore recent wounds, not caused by this fight. One had a broken arm and
had fought without a shield.
Gardan said, "Sire, they wear no armor. Only the weapons in their
hands." He pointed to a dead goblin with a bow slung over its back, and
an empty quiver at its belt. "They had but the one arrow they used to
wound Daniel."
Arutha glanced at the carnage. "This was madness. Hopeless madness."
Kulgan said, "Yes, Highness; madness. They were battle weary, freezing,
and starved. The smell of cooking meat must have driven them
mad. From their appearance I'd say they've not eaten in some time.
They preferred to gamble all on one last, frantic assault than to watch
us eat while they froze to death."
Borric looked at the goblins again, then ordered his men to take the
bodies outside the cave. To no one in particular, he said, "But who have
they been fighting?"
Pug said, "The Brotherhood?"
Borric shook his head. "They are the Brotherhood's creatures, or
when not allied against us, they leave one another alone. No, it was
someone else."
Tomas looked around as he joined those by the entrance. He wasn't
as comfortable speaking to the Duke as Pug, but finally he said, "My
lord, the dwarves?"
Borric nodded. "If there's been a dwarven raid on a nearby goblin
village, it would explain why they were unarmored and unprovisioned.
They would have grabbed the nearest weapons and fought their way
free, fleeing at first chance. Yes, perhaps it was the dwarves."
The guards who had carried the bodies off into the snow ran back
into the cave. "Your Grace," one of them said, "we hear movement in
the trees."
Borric turned to the others. "Get ready!"
Every man in the cave quickly readied his weapons. Soon all could
hear the tread of feet crunching through the icy snow. It grew louder as
they waited, getting closer. Pug stood tensely, holding his sword, pushing
down a churning feeling inside.
Suddenly the sounds of footfalls stopped, as those outside halted.
Then the sound of a single pair of boots could be heard coming closer.
Appearing out of the dark came a figure directly toward the cave. Pug
craned his neck to see past the soldiers, and the Duke said, "Who
passes this night?"
A short figure, no more than five feet tall, pulled back the hood of his
cloak, revealing a metal helm sitting over a shock of thick brown hair.
Two sparkling green eyes reflected the firelight. Heavy brows of brownred
hair came together at a point above a large hooked nose. The figure
stood regarding the party, then signaled behind. More figures appeared
from out of the night, and Pug pressed forward to get a better view,
Tomas at his side. At the rear they could see several of the arrivals
leading mules.
The Duke and soldiers visibly relaxed, and Tomas said, "They're
dwarves!"
Several of the guards laughed, as did the closest dwarf. The dwarf
fixed Tomas with a wry gaze, saying, "What were you expecting, boy?
Some pretty dryad come to fetch you away?"
The lead dwarf walked into the firelight. He stopped before the Duke
and said, "From your tabard, I see you to be men of Crydee." He struck
himself upon the chest and said, formally, "I am Dolgan, chief of
village Caldara, and Warleader of the Grey Towers dwarven people."
Pulling a pipe out of his cloak, from under a long beard that fell below
his belt, he filled his pipe as he looked at the others in the cave. Then
in less formal language he said, "Now, what in the name of the gods brings
such a sorry-looking party of tall folk to this cold and forlorn place?"
MAC mOrBaIN CadIL
ThE DWARVES St'OOD GUArD.
Pug and the others from Crydee sat around the campfire as they
hungrily ate the meal prepared by Dolgan's men. A pot of stew bubbled
near the fire. Hot loaves of trail bread, thick hard crust broken to reveal
dark sweet dough thick with honey, were quickly being devoured.
Smoked fish, from the dwarves' pack animals, provided a welcome
change from the diet of horse meat of the last few days.
Pug looked from where he sat beside Tomas, who was hard at work
consuming his third portion of bread and stew. Pug watched as the
dwarves worked efficiently about the camp. Most were outside the
cave's mouth, for they seemed less inconvenienced by the cold than the
humans. Two tended the injured man, who would live, while two others
served the hot meal to the Duke's men, and another filled ale cups from
a large skin filled with the bubbling brown liquid.
There were forty dwarves with Dolgan. The dwarven chief was
flanked by his sons, Weylin, the older, and Udell. Both showed a striking
resemblance to their father, though Udell tended to darkness, having
black hair rather than red-brown. Both seemed quiet compared to their
father, who gestured expansively with a pipe in one hand and a cup of
ale in the other as he spoke with the Duke.
The dwarves had been on some sort of patrol along the edge of the
forest, though Pug gained the impression a patrol this far from their
villages was unusual. They had come across the tracks of the goblins
who had attacked a few minutes before and were following closely behind,
otherwise they would have missed the Duke's party as the night's
storm obliterated all tracks of the men from Crydee's passage.
"I remember you, Lord Borric," said Dolgan, sipping at his ale cup,
"though you were scarcely more than a baby when I was last at Crydee. I
dined with your father. He set a fine table."
"And should you come again to Crydee, Dolgan, I hope you'll find
my table equally satisfactory." They had spoken of the Duke's mission,
and Dolgan had remained mostly silent during the preparation of the
meal, lost in thought. Suddenly he regarded his pipe, which had gone
out. He sighed forlornly, putting it away, until he noticed Kulgan had
pulled out his own and was producing respectable clouds of smoke.
Brightening visibly, he said, "Would you be having the requirement of
an extra pipe upon you, master magician?" He spoke with the deep,
rolling burr the dwarves made when speaking the King's Tongue.
Kulgan fetched out his tabac pouch and handed it across to the
dwarf. "Providentially," said Kulgan, "my pipe and pouch are two items
always kept upon my person at all times. I can withstand the loss of my
other goods-though the loss of my two books troubles me deeply-but
to endure any circumstance without the comfort of my pipe is unthinkable. "
Aye," agreed the dwarf as he lit up his own, "you have the right of it
there. Except for autumn's ale-and my loving wife's company or a
good fight, of course-there's little to match the pipe for pure pleasure."
He drew forth a long pull and blew out a large cloud of smoke to
emphasize his point. A thoughtful look crossed his rugged face, and he
said, "Now to the matter of the news you carry. They are strange tidings,
but explain away some mysteries we have been tussling with for
some time now."
Borric said, "What mysteries?"
Dolgan pointed out of the cave mouth. "As we told you, we've had to
patrol the area hereabouts. This is a new thing, for in years past the
lands along the borders of our mines and farms have been free from
trouble." He smiled. "Occasionally a band of especially bold bandits or'
moredhel-the Dark Brothers you call them-or a more than usually
stupid tribe of goblins troubles us for a time. But for the most part
things remain pretty peaceful.
"But of late, everything's gone agley. About a month ago, or a bit
more, we began to see signs of large movements of moredhel and goblins
from their villages to the north of ours. We sent some lads to
investigate. They found entire villages abandoned, both goblin and
moredhel. Some were sacked, but others stood empty without sign of
trouble.
"Needless to say, the displacement of those miscreants caused an
increase in problems for us. Our villages are in the higher meadows and
plateaus, so they dare not attack, but they do raid our herds in the lower
valleys as they pass-which is why we now mount patrols down the
mountainside. With the winter upon us, our herds are in our lowest
meadows, and we must keep vigilant.
"Most likely your messengers didn't reach our villages because of the
large number of moredhel and goblins fleeing the mountains down into
the forests. Now at least we've some gleaning of what's causing this
migration."
The Duke nodded. "The Tsurani."
Dolgan was thoughtful for a moment, while Arutha said, "Then
they're up there in strength."
Borric gave his son a questioning look, while Dolgan chuckled and
said, "That's a bright lad you've got, Lord Borric." He nodded thoughtfully,
then said, "Aye, Prince. They're up there, and in strength. Despite
their other grievous faults, the moredhel are not without skill in
warcraft."
He fell silent again, lost in thought for a few minutes. Then,
tapping out the dottle of his pipe, he said, "The dwarven folk are not
counted the finest warriors in the West for naught, but we lack the
numbers to dispose of our more troublesome neighbors. To dislodge
such a host as have been passing would require a great force of men,
well armed and provisioned."
Kulgan said, "I would give anything to know how they reached these
mountains."
"I would rather know how many there are," said the Duke.
Dolgan refilled his pipe and, after it was lit, stared thoughtfully into
the fire. Weylin and Udell nodded at each other, and Weylin said,
"Lord Borric, there may be as many as five thousand."
Before the startled Duke could respond, Dolgan came out of his
reverie. Swearing an oath, he said, "Closer to ten thousand!" He turned
to look at the Duke, whose expression showed he clearly didn't understand
what was being said. Dolgan added, "We've given every reason for
this migration save invasion. Plague, internal warfare between bands,
pests in their crops causing famine, but an invading army of aliens was
not one of them.
"From the number of towns empty, we guess a few thousand goblins
and moredhel have descended into the Green Heart. Some of those
villages are a clutch of huts my two boys could overcome unaided. But
others are walled hill forts, with a hundred, two hundred warriors to
man the palisade. They've swept away a dozen such in little over a
month. How many men do you judge you'd need to accomplish such a
deed, Lord Borric?"
For the first time in his memory, Pug saw fear clearly etched upon the
Duke's face. Borric leaned forward, his arm resting across his knee, as he
said, "I've fifteen hundred men in Crydee, counting those in the frontier
garrisons along the boundary. I can call another eight hundred or a
thousand each from the garrisons at Carse and Tulan, though to do so
would strip them fully. The levies from the villages and towns number
at best a thousand, and most would be old veterans from the siege at
Carse or young boys without skills."
Arutha looked as grim as his father as he said, "Forty-five hundred at
the outside, a full third unproved, against an army of ten thousand."
Udell looked at his father, then at Lord Borric. "My father makes no
boast of our skills, nor of the moredhel's, Your Grace. Whether there be
five thousand or ten thousand, they'll be hard, experienced fighters to
drive out the enemies of our blood so quickly."
"Then I'm thinking," said Dolgan, "you'd best send word to your
elder son and your vassal barons, telling them to stay safely behind the
walls of your castles, and hie yourself to Krondor. It will take all the
Armies of the West to withstand these newcomers this spring."
Tomas suddenly said, "Is it really that bad?" then looked embarrassed
for interrupting the council.
"I'm sorry, my lord."
Borric waved away the apology. "It may be we are weaving many
threads of fear together into a larger tapestry than exists, but a good
soldier prepares for the worst, Tomas. Dolgan is right. I must enlist the
Prince's aid."
He looked at Dolgan. "But to call the Armies of the West
to arms, I must reach Krondor."
Dolgan said, "The South Pass is closed, and your human ships' masters
have too much sense to brave the Straits of Darkness in winter. But
there is another way, though it is a difficult path. There are mines
throughout these mountains, ancient tunnels under the Grey Towers.
Many were carved by my people as we dug for iron and gold. Some are
natural, fashioned when the mountains were born. And still others were
here when my people first came to these mountains, dug by only the
gods know whom. There is one mine that passes completely under the
mountains, coming out on the other side of the range, only a day's
march from the road to Bordon. It will take two days to pass through,
and there may be dangers."
The dwarven brothers looked at their father, and Weylin said, "Father,
the Mac Mordain Cadal?"
Dolgan nodded his head. "Aye, the abandoned mine of my grandfather,
and his father before him." He said to the Duke, "We have dug
many miles of tunnels under the mountain, and some connect with the
ancient passages I have spoken of. There are dark and queer tales about
Mac Mordain Cadal, for it is connected with these old passages. Not a
few dwarves have ventured deep into the old mines, seeking legendary
riches, and most have returned. But a few have vanished. Once upon a
path, a dwarf can never lose his way back, so they were not lost in their
searching. Something must have befallen them. I tell you this so there
will be no misunderstandings, but if we keep to the passages dug by my
ancestors, we should have small risk."
" 'We,' friend dwarf?" said the Duke.
Dolgan grinned. "Should I simply place your feet upon the path,
you'd be hopelessly lost within an hour. No, I'd care not for traveling to
Rillanon to explain to your King how I'd managed to lose one of his
better Dukes. I will guide you willingly, Lord Borric, for a small price."
He winked at Pug and Tomas as he spoke the last. "Say, a pouch of
tabac and a fine dinner at Crydee."
The Duke's mood lightened a little. With a smile he said, "Done, and
our thanks, Dolgan."
The dwarf turned to his sons. "Udell, you take half the company and
one of the mules, and the Duke's men too ill or wounded to continue.
Make for the castle at Crydee. There's an ink horn and quill, wrapped in
parchment, somewhere in our baggage; find it for his lordship, so he
may instruct his men. Weylin, take the others of our kin back to
Caldara, then send word to the other villages before the winter blizzards
strike. Come spring, the dwarves of the Grey Towers go to war."
Dolgan looked at Borric. "No one has ever conquered our highland
villages, not in the longest memory of the dwarven folk. But it would
prove an irritation for someone to try. The dwarves will stand with the
Kingdom, Your Lordship. You have long been a friend to us, trading
fairly and giving aid when asked. And we have never run from battle
when we were called."
Arutha said, "And what of Stone Mountain?"
Dolgan laughed. "I thank His Highness for the jog to my memory.
Old Harthorn and his clans would be sorely troubled should a good fight
come and they were not invited. I'll send runners to Stone Mountain as
well."
Pug and Tomas watched while the Duke wrote messages to Lyam and
Fannon, then full stomachs and fatigue began to lull them, despite their
long sleep. The dwarves gave them the loan of heavy cloaks, which they
wrapped about pine boughs to make comfortable mattresses. Occasionally
Pug would turn in the night, coming out of his deep sleep, and hear
voices speaking low. More than once he heard the name Mac Mordain
Cadal.
9
Mac Mordain Cadal
DoLcAN LED the Duke's party along the rocky foothills of the Grey Towers.
They had left at first light, the dwarven chieftain's sons departing
for their own destinations with their men. Dolgan walked before the
Duke and his son, followed by the puffing Kulgan and the boys. Five
soldiers of Crydee, those still able to continue, under the supervision of
Sergeant Gardan followed behind, leading two mules. Walking behind
the struggling magician, Pug said, "Kulgan, ask for a rest. You're all done
in."
The magician said, "No, boy, I'll be all right. Once into the mines,
the pace will slow, and we should be there soon."
Tomas regarded the stocky figure of Dolgan, marching along at the
head of the party, short legs striding along, setting a rugged pace.
"Doesn't he ever tire?"
Kulgan shook his head. "The dwarven folk are renowned for their
strong constitutions. At the Battle of Carse Keep, when the castle was
nearly taken by the Dark Brotherhood, the dwarves of Stone Mountain
and the Grey Towers were on the march to aid the besieged. A messenger
carried the news of the castle's imminent fall, and the dwarves ran
for a day and a night and half a day again to fall on the Brotherhood
from behind without any lessening of their fighting ability. The
Brotherhood was broken, never again organizing under a single leader." He
panted a bit. "There was no idle boasting in Dolgan's appraisal of the aid
forthcoming from the dwarves, for they are undoubtedly the finest fighters
in the West. While they have few numbers compared to men, only the hadati
hillmen come close to their equal as mountain fighters."
Pug and Tomas looked with newfound respect upon the dwarf as he
strode along. While the pace was brisk, the meal of the night before and
another this morning had restored the flagging energies of the boys, and
they were not pushed to keep up.
They came to the mine entrance, overgrown with brush. The soldiers
cleared it away, revealing a wide, low tunnel. Dolgan turned to the
company. "You might have to duck a bit here and there, but many a
mule has been led through here by dwarven miners. There should be
ample room."
Pug smiled. The dwarves proved taller than tales had led him to
expect, averaging about four and a half to five feet tall. Except for being
short-legged and broad-shouldered, they looked much like other people.
It was going to be a tight fit for the Duke and Gardan, but Pug was only
a few inches taller than the dwarf, so he'd manage.
Gardan ordered torches lit, and when the party was ready, Dolgan led
them into the mine. As they entered the gloom of the tunnel, the dwarf
said, "Keep alert, for only the gods know what is living in these tunnels.
We should not be troubled, but it is best to be cautious."
Pug entered and, as the gloom enveloped him, looked over his shoulder.
He saw Gardan outlined against the receding light. For a brief
instant he thought of Carline, and Roland, then wondered how she
could seem so far removed so quickly, or how indifferent he was to his
rival's attentions. He shook his head, and his gaze returned to the dark
tunnel ahead.
ThE TUNNELs were damp. Every once in a while they would pass a tunnel
branching off to one side or the other. Pug peered down each as he
passed, but they were quickly swallowed up in gloom. The torches sent
flickering shadows dancing on the walls, expanding and contracting as
they moved closer or farther from each other, or as the ceiling rose or
fell. At several places they had to pull the mules' heads down, but for
most of their passage there was ample room.
Pug heard Tomas, who walked in front of him, mutter, "I'd not want
to stray dowm here; I've lost all sense of direction." Pug said nothing,
for the mines had an oppressive feeling to him.
After some time they came to a large cavern with several tunnels
leading out. The column halted, and the Duke ordered watches to be
posted. Torches were' wedged in the rocks and the mules watered. Pug
and Tomas stood with the last watch, and Pug thought a hundred times
that shapes moved just outside the fire's glow. Soon guards came to
replace them, and the boys joined the others, who were eating. They
were given dried meat and biscuits to eat. Tomas asked Dolgan, "What
place is this?"
The dwarf puffed on his pipe. "It is a glory hole, laddie. When my
people mined this area, we fashioned many such places. When great
runs of iron, gold, silver, and other metals would come together, many
tunnels would be joined. And as the metals were taken out, these
caverns would be formed. There are natural ones down here as large, but
the look of them is different. They have great spires of stone rising from
the floor, and others hanging from the ceiling, unlike this one. You'll see
one as we pass through."
Tomas looked above him. "How high does it go?"
Dolgan looked up. "I can't rightly say. Perhaps a hundred feet, perhaps
two or three times as much. These mountains are rich with metals
still, but when my grandfather's grandfather first mined here, the metal
was rich beyond imagining. There are hundreds of tunnels throughout
these mountains, with many levels upward and downward from here.
Through that tunnel there"-he pointed to another on the same level
as the floor of the glory hole-"lies a tunnel that wil join with another
tunnel, then yet another. Follow that one, and you'll end up in the Mac
Bronin Alroth, another abandoned mine. Beyond that you could make
your way to the Mac Owyn Dur, where several of my people would be
inquiring how you managed entrance into their gold mine." He
laughed. "Though I doubt you could find the way, unless you were
dwarven born."
He puffed at his pipe, and the balance of the guards came over to eat.
Dolgan said, "Well, we had best be on our way."
Tomas looked startled. "I thought we were stopping for the night."
"The sun is yet high in the sky, laddie. There's half the day left before
we sleep."
"But I thought . . ."
"I know. It is easy to lose track of time down here, unless you have
the knack of it."
They gathered together their gear and started off again. After more
walking they entered a series of twisting, turning passages that seemed
to slant down. Dolgan explained that the entrance on the east side of
the mountains was several hundred feet lower than on the west, and
they would be moving downward most of the journey.
Later they passed through another of the glory holes, smaller than the
last, but still impressive for the number of tunnels leading from it.
Dolgan picked one with no hesitation and led them through.
Soon they could hear the sound of water, coming from ahead. Dolgan
said, over his shoulder, "You'll soon see a sight that no man living and
few dwarves have ever seen."
As they walked, the sound of rushing water became louder. They
entered another cavern, this one natural and larger than the first by
several times. The tunnel they had been walking in became a ledge,
twenty feet wide, that ran along the right side of the cavern. They all
peered over the edge and could see nothing but darkness stretching
away below.
The path rounded a curve in the wall, and when they passed around
it, they were greeted with a sight that made them all gasp. Across the
cavern, a mighty waterfall spilled over a huge outcropping of stone.
From fully three hundred feet above where they stood, it poured into
the cavern, crashing down the stone face of the opposite wall to disappear
into the darkness below. It filled the cavern with reverberations
that made it impossible to hear it striking bottom, confounding any
attempt to judge the fall's height. Throughout the cascade luminous
colors danced, aglow with an inner light. Reds, golds, greens, blues, and
yellows played among the white foam, falling along the wall, blazing
with brief flashes of intense luminosity where the water struck the wall,
painting a fairy picture in the darkness.
Dolgan shouted over the roar, "Ages ago the river Wynn-Ula ran from
the Grey Towers to the Bitter Sea. A great quake opened a fissure under
the river, and now it falls into a mighty underground lake below. As it
runs through the rocks, it picks up the minerals that give it its glowing
colors." They stood quietly for a while, marveling at the sight of the
falls of Mac Mordain Cadal.
The Duke signaled for the march to resume, and they moved on.
Besides the spectacle of the falls, they had been refreshed by spray and
cool wind off them, for the caverns were dank and musty. Onward they
went, deeper into the mines, past numberless tunnels and passages.
After a time, Gardan asked the boys how they fared. Pug and Tomas
both answered that they were fine, though tired.
Later they came to yet another cavern, and Dolgan said it was time to
rest the night. More torches were lit, and the Duke said, "I hope we
have enough brands to last the journey. They burn quickly."
Dolgan said, "Give me a few men, and I will fetch some old timbers
for a fire. There are many lying about if you know where to find them
without bringing the ceiling down upon your head."
Gardan and two other men followed the dwarf into a side tunnel,
while the others unloaded the mules and staked them out. They were
given water from the waterskins and a small portion of grain carried for
the times when they could not graze.
Borric sat next to Kulgan. "I have had an ill feeling for the last few
hours. Is it my imagining, or does something about this place bode
evil?"
Kulgan nodded as Arutha joined them. "I have felt something also,
but it comes and goes. It is nothing I can put a name to."
Arutha hunkered down and used his dagger to draw aimlessly in the
dirt. "This place would give anyone a case of the jumping fits and starts.
Perhaps we all feel the same thing: dread at being where men do not
belong."
The Duke said, "I hope that is all it is. This would be a poor place to
fight"-he paused-"or flee from." The boys stood watch, but could
overhear the conversation, as could the other men, for no one else was
speaking in the cavern and the sound carried well. Pug said in a hushed
voice, "I will also be glad to be done with this mine."
Tomas grinned in the torchlight, his face set in an evil leer. "Afraid of
the dark, little boy?"
Pug snorted. "No more than you, should you but admit it. Do you
think you could find your way out?"
Tomas lost his smile. Further conversation was interrupted by the
return of Dolgan and the others. They carried a good supply of broken
timbers, used to shore up the passages in days gone by. A fire was
quickly made from the old, dry wood, and soon the cavern was brightly
lit.
The boys were relieved of guard duty and ate. As soon as they were
done eating, they spread their cloaks. Pug found the hard dirt floor
uncomfortable, but he was very tired, and sleep soon overtook him.
TheY LED the mules deeper into the mines, the animal's hooves clattering
on the stone, the sound echoing down the dark tunnels. They
had walked the entire day, taking only a short rest to eat at noon. Now
they were approaching the cavern where Dolgan said they were to spend
their second night. Pug felt a strange sensation, as if remembering a
cold chill. It had touched him several times over the last hour, and he
was worried. Each time he had turned to look behind him. This time
Gardan said, "I feel it too, boy, as if something is near."
They entered another large glory hole, and Dolgan stood with his
hand upraised. All movement ceased as the dwarf listened for something.
Pug and Tomas strained to hear as well, but no sounds came to
them. Finally the dwarf said, "For a time I thought I heard . . . but
then I guess not. We will camp here." They had carried spare timber
with them and used it to make a fire.
When Pug and Tomas left their watch, they found a subdued party
around the fire. Dolgan was saying, "This part of Mac Mordain Cadal is
closest to the deeper, ancient tunnels. The next cavern we come to will
have several that lead directly to the old mines. Once past that cavern,
we will have a speedy passage to the surface. We should be out of the
mine by midday tomorrow."
Borric looked around. "This place may suit your nature, dwarf, but I
will be glad to have it behind."
Dolgan laughed, the rich, hearty sound echoing off the cavern walls.
"It is not that the place suits my nature, Lord Borric, but rather that my
nature suits the place. I can travel easily under the mountains, and my
folk have ever been miners. But as to choice, I would rather spend my
time in the high pastures of Caldara tending my herd, or sit in the long
hall with my brethren, drinking ale and singing ballads."
Pug asked, "Do you spend much time singing ballads?"
Dolgan fixed him with a friendly smile, his eyes shining in the firelight.
"Aye. For winters are long and hard in the mountains. Once the
herds are safely in winter pasture, there is little to do, so we sing our
songs and drink autumn ale, and wait for spring. It is a good life."
Pug nodded. "I would like to see your village sometime, Dolgan."
Dolgan puffed on his ever-present pipe. "Perhaps you will someday,
laddie."
They turned in for the night, and Pug drifted off to sleep. Once in
the dead of night, when the fire had burned low, he awoke, feeling the
chilling sensation that had plagued him earlier. He sat up, cold sweat
dripping down his body, and looked around. He could see the guards who
were on duty, standing near their torches. Around him he saw the
forms of sleeping bodies. The feeling grew stronger for a moment, as if
something dreadful was approaching, and he was about to wake Tomas
when it passed, leaving him tired and wrung out. He lay back down and
soon was lost in dreamless sleep.
HE AWOKE COLo and stiff. The guards were readying the mules, and soon
they would all leave. Pug roused Tomas, who protested at being pulled
from his dream. "I was in the kitchen at home, and Mother was preparing
a large platter of sausages and corn cakes dripping with honey," he
said sleepily.
Pug threw a biscuit at him. "This will have to do until Bordon. Then
we shall eat."
They gathered together their meager provisions, loaded them on the
mules, and set off. As they made their way along, Pug began to experience
the icy feeling of the night before. Several times it came and went.
Hours passed, and they came to the last great cave. Here Dolgan
stopped them while he looked into the gloom. Pug could hear him
saying, "For a moment I thought . . ."
Suddenly the hairs on Pug's neck stood up, and the feeling of icy
terror swept over him, more horrible than before. "Dolgan, Lord Borric!"
he cried. "Something terrible is happening!"
Dolgan stood stock-still, listening. A faint moan echoed from down
another tunnel.
Kulgan shouted, "I feel something also."
Suddenly the sound repeated, closer, a chilling moan that echoed off
the vaulted ceiling, making its origins uncertain.
"By the gods!" shouted the dwarf. "'Tis a wraith! Hurry! Form a
circle, or it will be upon us and we'll be lost."
Gardan pushed the boys forward, and the guards moved the mules to
the center of the cavern. They quickly staked the two mules down and
formed a circle around the frantic animals. Weapons were drawn.
Gardan placed himself before the two boys, forcing them back near the
mules. Both had swords out, but held them uncertainly. Tomas could
feel his heart pound, and Pug was bathed in cold sweat. The terror that
gripped him had not increased since Dolgan had put a name to it, but it
had not lessened either.
They heard the sharp hiss of intaken breath and looked to the right.
Before the soldier who had made the sound, a figure loomed out of the
darkness: a shifting man-shape, darker blackness against the black, with
two glowing, red-coal lights where eyes should be.
Dolgan shouted, "Keep close, and guard your neighbor. You can't kill
it, but they like not the feel of cold iron. Don't let it touch you, for
it'll draw your life from your body. It is how they feed."
It approached them slowly, as if having no need to hurry. It stopped
for a moment, as if inspecting the defense before it.
The wraith let out another low, long moan, sounding like all the
terror and hopelessness of the world given voice. Suddenly one of the
guards struck downward, slashing at the wraith. A shrill moan erupted
from the creature when the sword hit, and cold blue fire danced along
the blade for a moment. The creature shrank away, then with sudden
speed struck out at the guard. An armlike shadow extended from its
body, and the guard shrieked as he crumpled to the ground.
The mules broke, pulling up stakes, terrified by the presence of the
wraith. Guards were knocked to the ground, and confusion reigned. Pug
lost sight of the wraith for a moment, being more concerned with flying
hooves. As the mules kicked, Pug found himself dodging through the
melee. He heard Kulgan's voice behind him and saw the magician
standing next to Prince Arutha. "Stand close, all of you," the magician
commanded. Obeying, Pug closed to Kulgan with the others as the
scream of another guard echoed through the gallery. Within a moment
a great cloud of white smoke began to appear around them, issuing
from Kulgan's body. .We must leave the mules," said the magician.
"The undead will not enter the smoke, but I cannot keep it together
long or walk far. We must escape now!"
Dolgan pointed to a tunnel, on the other side of the cavern from
where they had entered. "That's the way we must go." Keeping close
together, the group started toward the tunnel while a terrified bray
sounded. Bodies lay on the floor: the two mules as well as the fallen
guards. Dropped torches flickered, giving the scene a nightmarish quality,
as the black shape closed upon the party. Reaching the edge of the
smoke, it recoiled from its touch. It ranged about the edge, unable or
unwilling to enter the white smoke.
Pug looked past the creature, and the pit of his stomach churned.
Clearly standing in the light of a torch held in his hand was Tomas,
behind the creature. Tomas looked helplessly past the wraith at Pug and
the escaping party. "Tomas!" ripped from Pug's throat, followed by a
sob.
The party halted for a brief second, and Dolgan said, "We can't stop.
We'd all perish for the sake of the boy. We must press on." A firm hand
clutched at Pug's shoulder as he started forward to aid his friend. He
looked back and saw that it was Gardan holding him. "We must leave
him, Pug," he said, a grim expression on his ebony face. "Tomas is a
soldier. He understands." Pug was pulled along helplessly. He saw the
wraith follow along for a moment, then stop and turn toward Tomas.
Whether alerted by Pug's cries or by some evil sense, the undead
creature started toward Tomas, slowly stalking him. The boy hesitated,
then spun and ran to another tunnel. The wraith shrieked and started
after him. Pug saw the glow of Tomas's torch disappear down the tunnel,
then flicker into blackness.
ToMAs sAw the pained expression on Pug's face as Gardan pulled his
friend away. When the mules had broken, he had dodged away from the
others and now found himself separated from them. He looked for a
way to circle around the wraith, but it was too close to the passage his
companions were taking. As Kulgan and the others escaped up the tunnel,
Tomas saw the wraith turn toward him. It started to approach, and
he hesitated a moment, then ran toward a different tunnel.
Shadows and light danced madly on the walls as Tomas fled down the
passage, his footfalls echoing in the gloom. His torch was held tightly in
his left hand, the sword clutched in his right. He looked over his shoulder
and saw the two glowing red eyes pursuing him, though they
seemed not to be gaining. With grim determination he thought, if it
catches me, it will catch the fastest runner in all of Crydee. He lengthened
his strides into a long, easy lope, saving strength and wind. He
knew that if he had to turn and face the creature, he would surely die.
the initial fear lessened, and now he felt a cold clarity holding his
mind, the cunning reason of a prey knowing it is hopeless to fight. All
his ennergy was turned toward fleeing. He would try to lose the creature
any way possible.
He ducked into a side corridor and hurried along it, checking to see if
the wraith would follow. The glowing red eyes appeared at the entrance
to the tunnel he had turned into, following him. The distance between
them seemed to have increased. The thought that many might have
died at the thing's hand because they were too frightened to run crossed
his mind. The wraith's strength lay in the numbing terror it caused.
Another corridor and another turn. Still the wraith followed. Ahead
lay a large cavern, and Tomas found himself entering the same hall in
which the wraith had attacked the party. He had circled around and
entered through another tunnel. Racing across the floor, he saw the
bodies of mules and guards lying in his path. He paused long enough to
grab a fresh torch, for his was nearly spent, and transferred the flame.
He looked backward to see the undead creature closing on him and
started off again. Hope briefly flickered in his breast, for if he could
pick
the proper corridor, he might catch up to the others. Dolgan had said
that from this cavern it was a straight journey to the surface. He picked
what he thought was the proper one, though he was disoriented and
couldn't be sure.
The wraith let out a howl of rage at its prey's iluding it again, and
followed. Tomas felt terror bordering on elation as his long legs
stretched out, eating up the distance ahead of him. He gained his second
wind and set a steady pace for himself. Never had he run so well,
but then never had he possessed such a reason.
After what seemed an endless time of running, he found himself
coming to a series of side tunnels, set closely together. He felt hope die,
for this was not the straight path the dwarf had mentioned. Picking one
at random, he turned into a passage and found more tunnels close by.
Cutting through several more, he turned as quickly as possible, weaving
his way through a maze of passages. Ducking around a wall formed
between two such tunnels, he stopped briefly and caught his breath. He
listened for a moment and heard only the sound of his pounding heart.
He had been too busy to look behind and was unsure of the wraith's
whereabouts.
Suddenly a shriek of rage echoed faintly down the corridors, sounding
far off. Tomas sank to the floor of the tunnel and felt his body go limp.
Another shriek echoed more faintly, and Tomas felt certain that the
wraith had lost his trail and was moving off in another direction.
A sense of relief flooded through him, nearly causing him to laugh
giddily. It was closely followed by the sudden realization of his situation.
He sat up and took stock. If he could find his way back to the dead
animals, he would at least have food and water. But as he stood up, he
realized that he had no notion which way the cavern lay. Cursing himself
for not counting the turns as he had made them, he tried to remember
the general pattern he had followed. He had turned mostly to
the right, he reminded himself, so if he retraced his steps mostly to the
left, he should be able to find one of the many tunnels that led to the
glory hole. Looking cautiously around the first corner, Tomas set off,
searching his way through the maze of passages.
AFtER AN UNKNOWN time had passed, Tomas stopped and looked around
in the second large cavern he had come to since he had fled the wraith.
Like the first, this cavern was devoid of mules and men-and the
hoped-for food and water. Tomas opened his pouch and took out the small
biscuit he had hoarded to nibble while walking. It gave him little
relief from his hunger.
When he was done, he set off again, trying to find some clue to the
way out. He knew he had only a short time before his torch died, but he
refused to simply sit and wait for a nameless death in the dark.
After some time Tomas could hear the sound of water echoing
through the tunnel. Hurrying forward, his thirst spurring him on, he
entered a large cavern, the biggest yet, as far as he could tell. Far away
he could hear the faint roar of the Mac Mordain Cadal falls, but in
which direction he couldn't be sure. Somewhere high in the darkness
lay the path that they had taken two days earlier. Tomas felt his heart
sink, he had moved deeper into the earth than he had thought.
The tunnel widened to a landing of some sort and disappeared beneath
what appeared to be a large lake, constantly lapping against the
sides of the cavern, filling it with muted echoes. Quickly he fell to his
knees and drank. The water tasted rich with minerals, but was clear and
fresh.
Sitting back on his haunches, he looked about. The landing was
packed earth and sand and appeared to be fashioned rather than natural.
Tomas guessed the dwarves might have used boats to cross the
underground lake, but could only wonder what lay on the other side.
Then the thought hit him that perhaps someone other than the
dwarves had used boats to cross the lake, and he felt fear again.
To his left he spied a pile of wood, nestled against a junction of the
landing and the cavern wall. Crossing to it, he pulled out several pieces
and started a small fire. The wood was mostly timber pieces, used to
shore up the tunnels, but mixed in were several branches and twigs.
They must have been brought down by the falls from above, where the
river enters the mountain, he thought. Underneath the pile he found
some fibrous weeds growing. Wondering at the plants' ability to grow
without sunlight, the boy was nevertheless thankful, for after cutting
them with his sword, he was able to fashion some rude torches with the
weeds wrapped around some driftwood. He tied them in a bundle, using
his sword belt, forcing him to give up his scabbard. At least, he thought,
I'll have a little more light. Some extra time to see where he was going
was comforting.
He threw some bigger timber pieces on his small fire, and soon it was
roaring into brightness. Abruptly the cavern seemed to light up, and
Tomas spun around. The entire cavern was glowing with sparkling light,
as some sort of mineral, or crystal, caught the light and reflected it to
be caught and reflected again. It was a glittering, sparkling rainbow of
colors cascading over walls and ceiling, giving the entire cavern a
fairylike quality as far as the eye could follow.
Tomas stood in awe for a minute, drinking in the sight, for he knew
he would never be able to explain in words what he was seeing. The
thought struck him that he might be the only human ever to have
witnessed the display.
It was hard to tear his eyes from the glory of the vision, but Tomas
forced himself. He used the extra illumination to examine the area he
was in. There was nothing beyond the landing, but he did spy another
tunnel off to the left, leaving the cavern at the far end of the sand.
He gathered together his torches and walked along the landing. As he
reached the tunnel, his fire died down, the dry timber being quickly
consumed. Another glorious vision assaulted his senses, for the gemlike
walls and ceiling continued to glimmer and glow. Again he stood silently
watching the display. Slowly the sparkling dimmed, until the
cavern was again dark, except for his torch and the quickly dying fire's
red glow.
He had to stretch to reach the other tunnel, but made it without
dropping his sword or torches, or getting his boots wet. Turning away
from the cavern, he resumed his journey.
He made his way for hours, the torch burning lower. He lit one of the
new ones and found that it gave a satisfactory light. He was still
frightened,
but felt good about keeping his head under these conditions and
was sure Swordmaster Fannon would approve of his actions.
After walking for a while, he came to an intersection. He found the
bones of a creature in the dust, its fate unknowable. He spotted the
tracks of some other small creature leading away, but they were faint
with age. With no other notion than the need for a clear path, Tomas
followed them. Soon they also vanished in the dust.
He had no means to reckon time, but thought that it must be well
into night by now. There was a timeless feeling to these passages, and
he felt lost beyond recovery. Fighting down what he recognized as budding
panic, he continued to walk. He kept his mind on pleasant memories
of home, and dreams of the future. He would find a way out, and he
would become a great hero in the coming war. And most cherished
dream of all, he would journey to Elvandar and see the beautiful lady of
the elves again.
He followed the tunnel downward. This area seemed different from
the other caverns and tunnels, its manner of fashioning unlike the others.
He thought that Dolgan could tell if this was so, and who had done
the work.
He entered another cavern and looked around. Some of the tunnels
that entered the cavern were barely tall enough for a man to walk
through upright. Others were broad enough for a company of men to
walk through ten abreast, with long spears upon their shoulders. He
hoped this meant the dwarves had fashioned the smaller tunnels and he
could follow one upward, back to the surface.
Looking around, he spied a likely ledge to rest upon, within jumping
distance. He crossed to it and tossed up his sword and the bundle of
torches. He then gently tossed up his torch, so as not to put it out, and
pulled himself up. It was large enough to sleep upon without rolling off.
Four feet up the wall was a small hole, about three feet in diameter.
Looking down it, Tomas could see that it opened up quickly to a size
large enough to stand in and stretched away into blackness.
Satisfied that nothing lurked immediately above him, and that anything
coming from below would awaken him, Tomas pulled his cloak
around him, rested his head on his hand, and put out the torch. He was
frightened, but the exhaustion of the day lulled him quickly to sleep.
He lay in fitful dreams of red glowing eyes chasing him down endless
black corridors, terror washing over him. He ran until he came to a
green place where he could rest, feeling safe, under the gaze of a
beautiful woman with red-gold hair and pale blue eyes.
He started awake to some nameless call. He had no idea of how long
he had slept, but he felt as if it had been long enough for his body to
run again, if need be. He felt in the dark for' his torch and took flint and
steel from out of his pouch. He struck sparks into the wadding of the
torch and started a glow. Quickly bringing the torch close, he blew the
spark into flame. Looking about, he found the cavern unchanged. A
faint echoing of his own movements was all he heard.
He realized he could have a chance of survival only if he kept moving
and found a way up. He stood and was about to climb down from the
ledge when a faint noise sounded from the hole above.
He peered down it but could see nothing. Again there came a faint
sound, and Tomas strained to hear what it was. It was almost like the
tread of footfalls, but he could not be sure. He nearly shouted, but held
off, for there was no assurance it was his friends returned to find him.
His imagination provided many other possibilities, all of them unpleasant.
He thought for a moment, then decided. whatever was making the
noise might lead him out of the mines, even if only by providing a trail
to follow. With no other option appearing more attractive, he pulled
himself up through the small hole, entering the new tunnel.
10
arscnr
IT WAS A DISPIRffED GROUP THAT EMERGED FROM THE ruiNE.
The survivors sank to the ground, near exhaustion. Pug had fought
tears for hours after Tomas had fled, and now he lay on the wet ground
staring upward at the grey sky, feeling numb. Kulgan had fared worst of
all, being completely drained of energy by the spell used to repel the
wraith. He had been carried on the shoulders of the others most of the
way, and they showed the price of their burden. All fell into an exhausted
sleep, except Dolgan, who lit a fire and stood watch.
Pug awoke to the sound of voices and a clear, starry night. The smell
of food cooking greeted him. When Gardan and the three remaining
guards awakened, Dolgan had left them to watch over the others and
had snared a brace of rabbits. These were roasting over a fire. The others
awoke, except Kulgan, who snored deeply.
Arutha and the Duke saw the boy wake, and the Prince came to
where he sat. The younger son of the Duke, ignoring the snow, sat on
the ground next to Pug, who had his cloak wrapped around him. "How
do you feel, Pug?" Arutha asked, concern showing in his eyes.
This was the first time Pug had seen Arutha's gentler nature. Pug
tried to speak and found tears coming to his eyes. Tomas had been his
friend as long as he could remember, more a brother than a friend. As
he tried to speak, great racking sobs broke from his throat, and he felt
hot, salty tears run down into his mouth.
Arutha placed his arm around Pug, letting the boy cry on his shoulder.
When the initial flood of grief had passed, the Prince said, "There
is nothing shameful in mourning the loss of a friend, Pug. My father
and I share your pain."
Dolgan came to stand behind the Prince. "I also, Pug, for he was a
likable lad. We all share your loss." The dwarf seemed to consider something
and spoke to the Duke.
Kulgan had just awakened, sitting up like a bear waking from winter's
sleep. He regained his bearings and, seeing Arutha with Pug, quickly
forgot his own aching joints and joined them.
There was little they could say, but Pug found comfort in their closeness.
He finally regained his composure and pulled away from the
Prince. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said, sniffing. "I will be all
right.",
They joined Dolgan, Gardan, and the Duke near the fire. Borric was
shaking his head at something the dwarf had said. "I thank you for your
bravery, Dolgan, but I can't allow it."
Dolgan puffed on his pipe, a friendly smile splitting his beard. "And
how do you intend to stop mey Your Grace? Surely not by force?"
Borric shook his head. "No, of course not. But to go would be the
sheerest folly.'
Kulgan and Arutha exchanged questioning looks. Pug paid little attention,
being lost in a cold, numb world. In spite of having just awakened,
he felt ready for sleep again, welcoming its warm, soft relief.
Borric told them, "This mad dwarf means to return to the mines."
Before Kulgan and Arutha could voice a protest, Dolgan said, "I know
it is only a slim hope, but if the boy has eluded the foul spirit, he'll be
wandering lost and alone. There are tunnels down there that have never
known the tread of a dwarf's foot, let alone a boy's. Once down a
passage, I have no trouble making my way back, but Tomas has no such
natural sense. If I can find his trail, I can find him. If he is to have
any chance of escaping the mines, he'll be needing my guidance. I'll bring
home the boy if he lives, on this you have the word of Dolgan Tagarson,
chief of village Caldara. I could not rest in my long hall this winter if I
did not try."
Pug was roused from his lethargy by the dwarf's words. "Do you think
you can find him, Dolgan?"
.'If any can, I can," he said. He leaned close to Pug. "Do not get your
hopes too high, for it is unlikely that Tomas eluded the wraith. I would
do you a disservice if I said otherwise, boy." Seeing the tears brimming
in Pug's eyes again, he quickly added, "But if there is a way, I shall find
it.
Pug nodded, seeking a middle path between desolation and renewed
hope. He understood the admonition, but still could not give up the
faint flicker of comfort Dolgan's undertaking would provide.
Dolgan crossed over to where his shield and ax lay and picked them
up. "When the dawn comes, quickly follow the trail down the hills
through the woodlands. While not the Green Heart, this place has
menace aplenty for so small a band. If you lose your way, head due east.
You'll find your way to the road to Bordon. From there it is a matter of
three days' walk. May the gods protect you."
Borric nodded, and Kulgan walked over to where the dwarf made
ready to leave. He handed Dolgan a pouch. "I can get more tabac in the
town, friend dwarf. Please take this."
Dolgan took it and smiled at Kulgan. "Thank you, magician. I am in
your debt."
Borric came to stand before the dwarf and place a hand on his shoulder.
"It is we who are in your debt, Dolgan. If you come to Crydee, we
will have that meal you were promised. That, and more. May good
fortune go with you."
"Thank you, Your Lordship. I'll look forward to it." Without another
word, Dolgan walked into the blackness of Mac Mordain Cadal.
DoLcAN stoPPED by the dead mules, pausing only long enough to pick up
food, water, and a lantern. The dwarf needed no light to make his way
underground-his people had long ago adapted other senses for the
darkness. But, he thought, it will increase the chances of finding Tomas
if the boy can see the light, no matter the risk of attracting unwelcome
attention. Assuming he is still alive, he added grimly.
Entering the tunnel where he had last seen Tomas, Dolgan searched
about for signs of the boy's passing. The dust was thin, but here and
there he could make out a slight disturbance, perhaps a footprint.
Following,
the dwarf came to even dustier passages, where the boy's footfalls
were clearly marked. Hurrying, he followed them.
Dolgan came back to the same cavern, after a few minutes, and
cursed.
He felt little hope of finding the boy's tracks again among all the
disturbance caused by the fight with the wraith. Pausing briefly, he set
out to examine each tunnel leading out of' the cavern for signs. After an
hour he found a single footprint heading away from the cavern, through
a tunnel to the right of where he had entered the first time. Moving up
it, he found several more prints, set wide apart, and decided the boy
must have been running. Hurrying on, he saw more tracks, as the passage
became dustier.
Dolgan came to the cavern on the lake and nearly lost the trail again,
until he saw the tunnel near the edge of the landing. He slogged
through the water, pulling himself up into the passage, and saw Tomas's
tracks. His faint lantern light was insufficient to illuminate the crystals
in the cavern. But even if it had, he would not have paused to admire
the sight, so intent was he on finding the boy.
Downward he followed, never resting. He knew that Tomas had long
before outdistanced the wraith. There were signs that most of his journey
was at a slower pace: footprints in the dust showed he had been
walking, and the cold campfire showed he had stopped. But there were
other terrors besides the wraith down here, just as dreadful.
Dolgan again lost the trail in the last cavern, finding it only when he
spied the ledge above where the tracks ended. He had difficulty climbing
to it, but when he did, he saw the blackened spot where the boy had
snuffed out his torch. Here Tomas must have rested. Dolgan looked
around the empty cavern. The air did not move this deep below the
mountains. Even the dwarf, who was used to such things, found this an
unnerving place. He looked down at the black mark on the ledge. But
how long did Tomas stay, and where did he go?
Dolgan saw the hole in the wall and, since no tracks led away from
the ledge, decided that was the way Tomas must have gone. He climbed
through and followed the passage until it came to a larger one, heading
downward, into the bowels of the mountain.
Dolgan followed what seemed to be a group of tracks, as if a band of
men had come this way. Tomas's tracks were mixed in, and he was
worried, for the boy could have been along this way before or after the
others, or could have been with them. If the boy was held prisoner by
someone, then Dolgan knew every moment was critical.
The tunnel wound downward and soon changed into a hall fashioned
from great stone blocks fitted closely together and polished smooth. In
all his years he had never seen its like. The passage leveled out, and
Dolgan walked along quietly. The tracks had vanished, for the stone was
hard and free of dust. High overhead, Dolgan could make out the first
of several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling by chains. They
could be lowered by means of a pulley, so the candles might be lit. The
sound of his boots echoed hollowly off the high ceiling.
At the far end of the passage he spied large doors, fashioned from
wood, with bands of iron and a great lock. They were ajar, and light
could be seen coming through.
Without a sound, Dolgan crept close to the doors and peered in. He
gaped at what he saw, his shield and ax coming up instinctively.
Sitting on a pile of gold coins, and gems the size of a man's fist, was
Tomas, eating what looked to be a fish. Opposite him crouched a figure
that caused Dolgan to doubt his eyes.
A head the size of a small wagon rested on the floor. Shield-size scales
of a deep golden color covered it, and the long, supple neck led back to
a huge body extending into the gloom of the giant hall. Enormous
wings were folded across its back, their drooping tips touching the floor.
Two pointed ears sat atop its head, separated by a delicate-looking crest,
flecked with silver. Its long muzzle was set in a wolflike grin, showing
fangs as long as broadswords, and a long forked tongue flicked out for a
moment.
Dolgan fought down the overwhelming and rare urge to run, for Tomas
was sitting, and to all appearances sharing a meal, with the dwarven
folk's most feared hereditary enemy: a great dragon. He stepped forward,
and his boots clacked on the stone floor.
Tomas turned at the sound, and the dragon's great head came up.
Giant ruby eyes regarded the small intruder. Tomas jumped to his feet,
an expression of joy upon his face. "Dolgan!" He scrambled down from
the pile of wealth and rushed to the dwarf.
The dragon's voice rumbled through the great hall, echoing like thunder
through a valley. "Welcome, dwarf. Thy friend hath told me that
thou wouldst not forsake him."
Tomas stood before the dwarf, asking a dozen questions, while Dolgan's
senses reeled. Behind the boy, the Prince of all dragons sat quietly
observing the exchange, and the dwarf was having trouble maintaining
the equanimity that was normally his. Making little sense of Tomas's
questions, Dolgan gently pushed him to one side to better see the
dragon. "I came alone," he said softly to the boy. "The others were
loath to leave the search to me, but they had to press on, so vital was
the mission."
Tomas said, "I understand."
"What manner of wizardry is this?" asked Dolgan softly.
The dragon chuckled, and the room rumbled with the sound. "Come
into my home, dwarf, and I will tell thee." The great dragon's head
returned to the floor, his eyes still resting above Dolgan's head. The
dwarf approached slowly, shield and ax uDconsciously at the ready. The
dragon laughed, a deep, echoing sound, like water cascading down a
canyon. "Stay thy hand, small warrior, I'll not harm thee or thy friend."
Dolgan let his shield down and hung his ax on his belt. He looked
around and saw that they were standing in a vast hall, fashioned out of
the living rock of the mountain. On all its walls could be seen large
tapestries and banners, faded and torn; something about their look set
Dolgan's teeth on edge, for they were as alien as they were ancient-no
creature he knew of, human, elf, or goblin fashioned those pennants.
More of the giant crystal chandeliers hung from timbers across the
ceiling. At the far end of the hall, a throne could be seen on a dais, and
long tables with chairs for many diners stood before it. Upon the tables
were flagons of crystal and plates of gold. And all was covered with the
dust of ages.
Elsewhere in the hall lay piles of wealth: gold, gems, crowns, silver,
rich armor, bolts of rare cloth, and carved chests of precious woods,
fitted with inlaid enamels of great craft.
Dulgan sat upon a lifetime's riches of gold, absently moving it around
to make as comfortable a seat as was possible. Tomas sat next to him as
the dwarf pulled out his pipe. He didn't show it, but he felt the need to
calm himself, and his pipe always soothed his nerves. He lit a taper from
his lantern and struck it to his pipe. The dragon watched him, then
said, "Canst thou now breathe fire and smoke, dwarf? Art thou the new
dragon? Hath ever a dragon been so small?"
Dolgan shook his head. "'Tis but my pipe." He explained the use of
tabac.
The dragon said, "This is a strange thing, but thine are a strange folk,
in truth."
Dolgan cocked a brow at this but said nothing. "Tomas, how did you
come to this place?"
Tomas seemed unmindful of the dragon, and Dolgan found this reassuring.
If the great beast had wished to harm them, he could have done
so with little effort. Dragons were undisputedly the mightiest creatures
on Midkemia. And this was the mightiest dragon Dolgan had heard of,
half again the size of those he had fought in his youth.
Tomas finished the fish he had been eating and said, "I wandered for
a long time and came to a place where I could sleep."
"Aye, I found it."
"I awoke at the sound of something and found tracks that led here."
"Those I saw also. I was afraid you had been taken."
"I wasn't. It was a party of goblins and a few Dark Brothers, coming
to this place. They were very concerned about what was ahead and
didn't pay attention to what was behind, so I could follow fairly close."
"That was a dangerous thing to do."
"I know, but I was desperate for a way out. I thought they might lead
me to the surface, and I could wait while they went on ahead, then slip
out. If I could get out of the mines, I could have headed north toward
your village."
"A bold plan, Tomas," said Dolgan, an approving look in his eyes.
"They came to this place, and I followed."
"What happened to them?"
The dragon spoke. "I sent them far away, dwarf, for they were not
company I would choose."
"Sent them away? How?"
The dragon raised his head a little, and Dolgan could see that his
scales were faded and dull in places. The red eyes were filmed over
slightly, and suddenly Dolgan knew the dragon was blind.
'The dragons have long had magic, though it is unlike any other. It is
by my arts that I can see thee, dwarf, for the light hath long been
denied me. I took the foul creatures and sent them far to the north.They
do not know how they came to that place, nor remember this
place."
Dolgan puffed on his pipe, thinking of what he was hearing. "In the
tales of my people, there are legends of dragon magicians, though you
are the first I have seen."
The dragon lowered his head to the floor slowly, as if tired. "For I am
one of the last of the golden dragons, dwarf, and none of the lesser
dragons have the art of sorcery. I have sworn never to take a life, but I
would not have their kind invade my resting place."
Tomas spoke up. "Rhuagh has been kind to me, Dolgan. He let me
stay until you found me, for he knew that someone was coming."
Dolgan looked at the dragon, wondering at his foretelling.
Tomas continued, "He gave me some smoked fish to eat, and a place
to rest."
"Smoked fish?"
The dragon said, "The kobolds, those thou knowest as gnomes, worship
me as a god and bring me offerings, fish caught in the deep lake
and smoked, and treasure gleaned from deeper halls."
"Aye," said Dolgan, "gnomes have never been known for being overly
bright."
The dragon chuckled. "True. The kobolds are shy and harm only
those who trouble them in their deep tunnels. They are a simple folk,
and it pleaseth them to have a god. As I am not able to hunt, it is an
agreeable arrangement."
Dolgan considered his next question. "I mean no disrespect, Rhuagh,
but it has ever been my experience with dragons that you have little
love for others not your own kind. Why have you aided the boy?"
The dragon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again to
stare blankly toward the dwarf. "Know this, dwarf, that such was
not always the way of it. Thy people are old, but mine are the oldest
of all, save one. We were here before the elves and the moredhel. We
served those whose names may not be spoken, and were a happy
people."
"The Dragon Lords?"
"So your legends call them. They were our masters, and we were their
servants, as were the elves and the moredhel. When they left this land,
on a journey beyond imagining, we became the most powerful of the
free people, in a time before the dwarves or men came to these lands.
Ours was a dominion over the skies and all things, for we were mighty
beyond any other.
"Ages ago, men and dwarves came to our mountains, and for a time
we lived in peace. But ways change, and soon strife came. The elves
drove the moredhel from the forest now called Elvandar, and men and
dwarves warred with dragons.
"We were strong, but humans are like the trees of the forest, their
numbers uncountable. Slowly my people fled to the south, and I am the
last in these mountains. I have lived here for ages, for I would not
forsake my home.
"By magic I could turn away those who sought this treasure, and kill
those whose arts foiled my clouding of their minds. I sickened of the
killing and vowed to take no more lives, even those as hateful as the
moredhel. That is why I sent them far, and why I aided the boy, for he is
undeserving of harm."
Dolgan studied the dragon. "I thank you, Rhuagh."
"Thy thanks are welcome, Dolgan of the Grey Towers. I am glad of
thy coming also. It is only a little longer that I could shelter the boy,
for I summoned Tomas to my side by magic arts, so he might sit my
deathwatch."
"What?" exclaimed Tomas.
"It is given to dragons to know the hour of their death, Tomas, and
mine is close. I am old, even by the measure of my people, and have led
a full life. I am content for it to be so. It is our way."
Dolgan looked troubled. "Still, I find it strange to sit here hearing you
speak of this."
"Why, dwarf? Is it not true with thine own people that when one
dieth, it is accounted how well he lived, rather than how long?"
"You have the truth of that."
"Then why should it matter if the death hour is known or not? It is
still the same. I have had all that one of my kind could hope for: health,
mates, young, riches, and rest. These are all I have ever wanted, and I .
have had them."
"'Tis a wise thing to know what is wanted, and wiser still to know
when 'tis achieved," said Dolgan.
"True. And still wiser to know when it is unachievable, for then striving
is folly. It is the way of my people to sit the deathwatch, but there
are none of my kind near enough to call. I would ask thee to wait for my
passing before thy leaving. Wilt thou?"
Dolgan looked at Tomas, who bobbed his head in agreement. "Aye,
dragon, we will, though it is not a thing to gladden our hearts."
The dragon closed his eyes, Tomas and Dolgan could see they were
beginning to swell shut. "Thanks to thee, Dolgan, and to thee, Tomas."
The dragon lay there and spoke to them of his life, flying the skies of
Midkemia, of far lands where tigers lived in cities, and mountains where
eagles could speak. Tales of wonder and awe were told, long into the night.
When his voice began to falter, Rhuagh said, "Once a man came to
this place, a magician of mighty arts. He could not be turned from this
place by my magic, nor could I slay him. For three days we battled, his
arts against mine, and when done, he had bested me. I thought he
would slay me and carry off my riches, but instead he stayed, for his
only thought was to learn my magic, so that it would not be lost when I
passed."
Tomas sat in wonder, for as little as he knew about magic from Pug,
he thought this a marvelous thing. In his mind's eye he could see the
titanic struggle and the great powers working.
"With him he had a strange creature, much like a goblin, though
upright, and with features of finer aspect. For three years he stayed with
me, while his servant came and went. He learned all I could teach, for I
could deny him not. But he taught as well, and his wisdom gave me
great comfort. It was because of him that I learned to respect life, no
matter how mean of character, and vowed to spare any that came to
me. He also had suffered at the hands of others, as I had in the wars
with men, for much that I cherished was lost. This man had the art of
healing the wounds of the heart and mind, and when he left, I felt the
victor, not the vanquished." He paused and swallowed, and Tomas
could see that speech was coming to him with more difficulty. "If a
dragon could not have attended my deathwatch, I would as soon have
him sit here, for he was the first of thy kind, boy, that I would count a
friend."
"Who was he, Rhuagh?" Tomas asked.
"He was called Macros "
Dolgan looked thoughtful. "I've heard his name, a magician of most
puissant arts. He is nearly a myth, having lived somewhere to the east."
"A myth he is not, Dolgan," said Rhuagh, thickly. "Still, it may be
that he is dead, for he dwelt with me ages ago." The dragon paused.
"My time is now close, so I must finish. I would ask a boon of thee,
dwarf." He moved his head slightly and said, "In yon box is a gift from
the mage, to be used at this time. It is a rod fashioned of magic. Macros
left it so that when I die no bones will be left for scavengers to pick
over. Wilt thou bring it here?"
Dolgan went to the indicated chest. He opened it to discover a black
metal rod lying upon a blue velvet cloth. He picked up the rod and
found it surprisingly heavy for its size. He carried it over to the dragon.
The dragon spoke, his words nearly unintelligible, for his tongue was
swollen. "In a moment, touch the rod to me, Dolgan, for then will I
end."
"Aye," said Dolgan, "though it will give me scant pleasure to see your
end, dragon."
"Before that I have one last thing to tell. In a box next to the other is
a gift for thee, dwarf. Thou mayest take whatever else here pleaseth
thee, for I will have no use for any of it. But of all in this hall, that
in the
box is what I wish thee to have." He tried to move his head toward
Tomas, but could not. "Tomas, thanks to thee, for spending my last
with me. In the box with the dwarf's gift is one for you. Take whatever
else pleaseth thee, also, for thy heart is good." He drew a deep breath,
and Tomas could hear it rattle in his throat. "Now, Dolgan."
Dolgan extended the rod and lightly touched the dragon on the head
with it. At first nothing happened. Rhuagh said softly, "It was Macros's
last gift."
Suddenly a soft golden light began to form around the dragon. A
faint humming could be heard, as if the walls of the hall reverberated
with fey music. The sound increased as the light grew brighter and
began to pulse with energy. Tomas and Dolgan watched as the discolored
patches faded from Rhuagh's scales. His hide shone with golden
sparkle, and the film started to lift from his eyes. He slowly raised his
head, and they knew he could again see the hall around him. His crest
stood erect, and his wings lifted, showing the rich silver sheen underneath.
The yellowed teeth became brilliant white, and his faded black
claws shone like polished ebony as he stood upright, lifting his head
high.
Dolgan said softly, "'Tis the grandest sight I've ever beheld."
Slowly the light grew in intensity as Rhuagh returned to the image of
his youthful power. He pulled himself to his full, impressive height, his
crest dancing with silver lights. The dragon threw back his head, a
youthful, vigorous motion, and with a shout of joy sent a powerful blast
of flame up to the high vaulted ceiling. With a roar like a hundred
trumpets he shouted, "I thank thee, Macros. It is a princely gift indeed."
Then the strangely harmonic thrumming changed in tone, becoming
more insistent, louder. For a brief instant both Dolgan and Tomas
thought a voice could be heard among the pulsing tones, a deep, hollow
echo saying, "You are welcome, friend."
Tomas felt wetness on his face, and touched it. Tears of joy from the
dragon's sheer beauty were running down his cheeks. The dragon's great
golden wings unfolded, as if he were about to launch himself in flight.
The shimmering light became so bright, Tomas and Dolgan could
barely stand to look, though they could not pull their eyes from the
spectacle. The sound in the room grew to a pitch so loud, dust fell from
the ceiling upon their heads, and they could feel the floor shake. The
dragon launched himself upward, wings extended, then vanished in a
blinding flash of cold white light. Suddenly the room was as it had been
and the sound was gone.
The emptiness in the cavern felt oppressive after the dragon vanished,
and Tomas looked at the dwarf. "Let's leave, Dolgan. I have little
wish to stay."
Dolgan looked thoughtful. "Aye, Tomas, I also have little desire to
stay. Still, there is the matter of the dragon's gifts." He crossed over to
the box the dragon had identified and opened it.
Dolgan's eyes became round as he reached in and pulled out a
dwarven hammer. He held it out before himself and looked upon it with
reverence. The head was made from a silver metal that shone in the
lantern light with bluish highlights. Across the side were carved dwarven
symbols. The haft was carved oak, with scrollwork running the length. It
was polished, and the deep rich grain showed through the finish. Dolgan
said, faintly, "'Tis the Hammer of Tholin. Long removed from my
people. Its return will cause rejoicing in every dwarven long hall
throughout the West. It is the symbol of our last king, lost ages ago."
Tomas came over to watch and saw something else in the box. He
reached past Dolgan and pulled out a large bundle of white cloth. He
unrolled it and found that the cloth was a tabard of white, with a golden
dragon emblazoned on the front. Inside were a shield with the same
device and a golden helm. Most marvelous of all was a golden sword
with a white hilt. Its scabbard was fashioned from a smooth white
material like ivory, but stronger, like metal. Beneath the bundle lay a
coat of golden chain mail, which he removed with an "Oh!" of wonder.
Dolgan watched him and said, "Take them, boy. The dragon said it
was your gift."
"They are much too fine for me, Dolgan. They belong to a prince or a
king."
"I'm thinking the previous owner has scant use for them, laddie.
They were freely given, and you may do what you will, but I think that
there is something special to them, or else they wouldn't have been
placed in the box with the hammer. Tholin's hammer is a weapon of
power, forged in the ancient hearths of the Mac Cadman Alair, the
oldest mine in these mountains. In it rests magic unsurpassed in the
history of the dwarves. It is likely the gilded armor and sword are also
such. It may be there is a purpose in their coming to you."
Tomas thought for a moment, then quickly pulled off his great cloak.
His tunic was no gambeson, but the golden mail went over it easily
enough, being fashioned for someone of larger stature. He pulled the
tabard over it and put the helm upon his head. Picking up the sword
and shield, he stood before Dolgan. "Do I look foolish?"
The dwarf regarded him closely. "They are a bit large, but you'll grow
into them, no doubt." He thought he saw something in the way the boy
stood and held the sword in one hand and the shield in the other. "No,
Tomas, you do not look foolish. Perhaps not at ease, but not foolish.
They are grand, and you will come to wear them as they were meant to
be worn, I think."
Tomas nodded, picked up his cloak, and turned toward the door,
putting up his sword. The armor was surprisingly light, much lighter
than what he had worn at Crydee. The boy said, "I don't feel like taking
anything else, Dolgan. I suppose that sounds strange."
Dolgan walked over to him. "No, boy, for I also wish nothing of the
dragon's riches." With a backward glance at the hall, he added,
"Though there will be nights to come when I will wonder at the wisdom
of that. I may return someday, but I doubt it. Now let us find a way
home." They set off and soon were in tunnels Dolgan knew well, taking
them to the surface.
DoLcAN GRIPPED ToMAs's arm in silent warning. The boy knew enough
not to speak. He also felt the same alarm he had experienced just before
the wraith had attacked the day before. But this time it was almost
physically felt. The undead creature was near. Putting down the lantern,
Tomas shuttered it. His eyes widened in sudden astonishment, for instead
of the expected blackness, he saw faintly the figure of the dwarf
moving slowly forward. Without thought he said, "Dolgan-"
The dwarf turned, and suddenly a black form loomed up at his back.
"Behind you!" shouted Tomas.
Dolgan spun to confront the wraith, instinctively bringing up his
shield and Tholin's hammer. The undead creature struck at the dwarf,
and only Dolgan's battle-trained reflexes and dwarven ability to sense
movement in the inky darkness saved him, for, he took the contact on
his iron-bosked shield. The creature howled in rage at the contact with
iron. Then Dolgan lashed out with the legendary weapon of his ancestors,
and the creature screamed as the hammer struck its form. Bluegreen
light sprang about the head of the hammer, and the creature
retreated, wailing in agony.
"Stay behind me," shouted Dolgan. "If iron irritates it, then Tholin's
hammer pains it. I may be able to drive it off."
Tomas began to obey the dwarf, then found his right hand crossing to
pull the golden sword free of the scabbard on his left hip. Suddenly the
ill-fitting armor seemed to settle more comfortably around his shoulders,
and the shield balanced upon his arm as if he had carried it for years.
Without volition of his own, Tomas moved behind Dolgan, then stepped past,
bringing the golden sword to the ready.
The creature seemed to hesitate, then moved toward Tomas. Tomas
raised his sword, readying to strike. With a sound of utter terror, the
wraith turned and fled. Dolgan glanced at Tomas, and something he
saw made him hesitate as Tomas seemed to come to an awareness of
himself and put up his sword.
Dolgan returned to the lantern and said, "Why did you do that, lad?"
Tomas said, "I . .. . don't know." Feeling suddenly self-conscious at
having disobeyed the dwarf's instructions, he said, "But it worked. The
thing fleH."
"Aye, it worked," agreed Dolgan, removing the shutter from the lantern.
In the light he studied the boy.
Tomas said, "I think your ancestor's hammer was too much for
it."
Dolgan said nothing, but he knew that wasn't the case. The creature
had fled in fear from the sight of Tomas in his armor of white and gold.
Then another thought struck the dwarf. "Boy, how did you know to
warn me the creature was behind me?"
"I saw it."
Dolgan turned to look at Tomas with open astonishment. "You saw
it? How? You had shuttered the lantern."
"'I don't know how. I just did."
Dolgan closed the shutter on the lantern again and stood up. Moving
a few feet away, he said, "Where am I now, lad?"
Without hesitation Tomas came to stand before him, placing a hand
upon his shoulder. "Here."
"What-?" said the dwarf.
Tomas touched the helm, then the shield. "You said they were special."
"Aye, lad. But I didn't think they were that special."
"Should I take them off?" asked the worried boy.
"No, no." Leaving the lantern upon the floor, Dolgan said, "We can
move more quickly if I don't have to worry about what you can and
can't see." He forced a note of cheeriness into his voice. "And despite
there being no two finer warriors in the land, it's best if we don't
announce our presence with that light. The dragon's telling of the
moredhel being down in our mines gives me no comfort. If one band was
brave enough to risk my people's wrath, there may be others. Yon wraith
may be terrified of your golden sword and my ancient hammer, but twenty or
so moredhel might not be so easily impressed."
Tomas could find nothing to say, so they started moving off into the
darkness.
thReE TIMEs they stopped and hid while hurrying groups of goblins and
Dark Brothers passed near by. From their dark vantage point they could
see that many of those who passed harbored wounds or were aided by
their kinsmen as they limped along. After the last group was gone,
Dolgan turned to Tomas and said, "Never in history have the goblins
and moredhel dared to enter our mines in such numbers. Too much do
they fear my people to risk it."
Tomas said, "They look pretty beat up, Dolgan, and they have females
and young with them, and carry great bundles, too. They are
fleeing something."
The dwarf nodded. "They are all moving from the direction of the
northern valley in the Grey Towers, heading toward the Green Heart.
Something still drives them south."
"The Tsurani?"
Dolgan nodded. "My thought also. Come. We had best return to
Caldara as quickly as we can." They set off and soon were in tunnels
Dolgan knew well, taking them to the surface and home.
TheY WERE Both exhausted when they reached Caldara five days later.
The snows in the mountains were heavy, and the going was slow. As
they approached the village, they were sighted by guards, and soon the
entire village turned out to greet them.
They were taken to the village long hall, and Tomas was given a room.
He was so tired that he fell asleep at once, and even the stout dwarf was
fatigued. The dwarves agreed to call the village elders together the next
day in council and discuss the latest news to reach the valley.
Tomas awoke feeling ravenous. He stretched as he stood up and was
surprised to find no stiffness. He had fallen asleep in the golden mail
and should have wakened to protesting joints and muscles. Instead he
felt rested and well. He opened the door and stepped into a hall. He saw
no one until he came to the central room of the long hall. There were
several dwarves seated along the great table, with Dolgan at the head.
Tomas saw one was Weylin, Dolgan's son. Dolgan motioned the boy to
a chair and introduced him to the company.
The dwarves all greeted Tomas, who made polite responses. Mostly
he stared at the great feast of food on the table.
Dolgan laughed and said, "Help yourself, laddie, there is little cause
for you to be hungry with the board full." Tomas heaped a plate with
beef, cheese, and bread and took a flagon of ale, though he had little
head for it and it was early in the day. He quickly consumed what was
on the platter and helped himself to another portion, looking to see if
anyone disapproved. Most of the dwarves were involved in a complicated
discussion of an unknown nature to Tomas, having to do with the
allocation of winter stores to various villages in the area.
Dolgan called a halt to the discussion and said, "Now that Tomas is
with us, I think we had best speak of these Tsurani."
Tomas's ears pricked up at that, and he turned his attention fully to
what was being said. Dolgan continued, "Since I left on patrol, we have
had runners from Elvandar and Stone Mountain. There have been
many sightings of these aliens near the North Pass. They have made
camp in the hills south of Stone Mountain."
One of the dwarves said, "That is Stone Mountain's business, unless
they call us to arms."
Dolgan said, "True, Orwin, but there is also the news they have been
seen moving in and out of the valley just south of the pass. They have
intruded on lands traditionally ours, and that is the business of the Grey
Towers."
The dwarf addressed as Orwin nodded. "Indeed it is, but there is
naught we can do until spring."
Dolgan put his feet up on the table, lighting a pipe. "And that is true
also. But we can be thankful the Tsurani can do naught until spring, as
well."
Tomas put down a joint of beef he was holding. "Has the blizzard
struck?"
Dolgan looked at him. "Aye, laddie, the passes are all solid with snow,
for the first winter blizzard came upon us last night. There will be
nothing that can move out there, least of all an army."
Tomas looked at Dolgan. "Then . . ."
"Aye. You'll guest with us this winter, for not even our hardiest runner
could make his way out of these mountains to Crydee."
Tomas sat back, for in spite of the comforts of the dwarven long hall,
he wished for more familiar surroundings. Still, there was nothing that
could be done. He resigned himself to that and returned his attention
to his meal.
11
SOrcerer's Isle
thE WEARY GROUP TRUDGED INTo BoRDON.
Around them rode a company of Natalese Rangers, dressed in their
traditional grey tunics, trousers, and cloaks. They had been on patrol,
had encountered the travelers a mile out of town, and were now escorting
them. Borric was irritated that the rangers had not offered to let the
exhausted travelers ride double, but he hid it well. They had little reason
to recognize this group of ragamuffins as the Duke of Crydee and
his party, and even if he should have arrived in state, there was little
warmth between the Free Cities of Natal and the Kingdom.
Pug looked at Bordon with wonder. It was a small city by Kingdom
standards, little more than a seaport town, but far larger than Crydee.
Everywhere he looked, people were hurrying about on unknown tasks,
busy and preoccupied. Little attention was paid the travelers except for
an occasional glance from a shopkeeper or a woman at market. Never
had the boy seen so many people, horses, mules, and wagons all in one
place. It was a confusion of colors and sounds, overwhelming his senses.
Barking dogs ran behind the rangers' horses, nimbly avoiding kicks by
the irritated mounts. A few street boys shouted obscenities at the party,
all obviously outlanders from their look, and most likely prisoners from
the escort. Pug was vaguely troubled by this rudeness, but his attention
was quickly distracted by the newness of the city.
Bordon, like the other cities in the area, had no standing army, but
instead supported a garrison of Natalese Rangers, descendants of the
legendary Imperial Keshian Guides and counted among the best horse
soldiers and trackers in the west. They could provide ample warning of
approaching trouble and allow the local militia time to turn out. Nominally
independent, the rangers were free to dispose of outlaws and renegades
on the spot, but after hearing the Duke's story, and at mention of
the name Martin Longbow-whom they knew well-the leader of the
patrol decided this matter should be turned over to the local prefects.
They were taken to the office of the local prefect, located in a small
building near the city square. The rangers appeared pleased to be shed
of the prisoners and return to their patrol as they gave over custody to
the prefect.
The prefect was a short, swarthy man given to brightly colored sashes
about his ample girth and large golden rings upon his fingers. He
smoothed his dark, oiled beard as the ranger captain explained his
company's meeting with the Duke's party. As the rangers rode off, the
prefect greeted Borric coolly. When the Duke made it clear they were
expected by Talbott Kilrane, the largest ships' broker in the city and
Borric's trading agent in the Free Cities, the prefect's manner changed
abruptly. They were taken from the office to the prefect's private
quarters and offered hot, dark coffee. The prefect sent one of his
servants with a message to the house of Kilrane and waited quietly, only
occasionally making noncommittal small talk with the Duke.
Kulgan leaned over to Pug and said, "Our host is the sort who sees
which way the wind blows before making up his mind, he waits word
from the merchant before deciding if we're prisoners or guests." The
magician chuckled. "You'll find as you grow older that minor functionaries
are the same the world over."
An angry storm in the person of Meecham appeared suddenly in the
door of the prefect's home a short time later, one of Kilrane's senior
clerks at his elbow. The clerk quickly made it clear that this was indeed
the Duke of Crydee and, yes, he was expected by Talbott Kilrane. The
prefect was abjectly apologetic and hopeful the Duke would forgive the
inconvenience, but under the present conditions, in these troubled
times, he could understand? His manner was fawning and his smile
unctuous.
Borric indicated that, yes, he did understand, all too well. Without
any further delay, they left the prefect and went outside, where a group
of grooms waited with horses. Quickly they mounted up, and Meecham
and the clerk led them through the town, toward a hillside community
of large, imposing houses.
The house of Talbott Kilrane stood topmost upon the highest hill
overlooking the city. From the road Pug could see ships standing at
anchor. Dozens of them were sitting with masts removed, obviously out
of service during the harsh weather. A few coast-huggers bound for Ylith
in the north or the other Free Cities were making their way cautiously
in and out of the harbor, but for the most part the harbor was quiet.
They reached the house and entered an open gate in a low wall,
where servants ran to take their horses. As they dismounted, their host
came through the large entrance to the house.
"Welcome, Lord Borric, welcome," he said, a warm smile splitting his
gaunt face. Talbott Kilrane looked like a vulture reincarnated into human
form, with a balding head, sharp features, and small, dark eyes. His
expensive robes did little to hide his gauntness, but there was an ease to
his manner, and a concern in his eyes, that softened the unattractive
aspect.
In spite of the man's appearance, Pug found him likable. He shooed
servants off, to make ready rooms and hot meals for the party. He would
not listen as the Duke tried to explain the mission. Raising a hand, he
said, "Later, Your Grace. We can speak at length, after you have had
rest and food. I will expect you for dinner tonight, but for now there are
hot baths and clean beds for your party. I will have warm meals delivered
to your quarters. Good food, rest, and clean clothes, and you'll feel
like a new man. Then we can speak."
He clapped his hands, and a housecarl came to show them their
rooms. The Duke and his son were given separate quarters, while Pug
and Kulgan shared another. Gardan was shown to Meecham's room,
and the Duke's soldiers were taken to the servants' quarters.
Kulgan told Pug to take the first bath while the magician spoke with
his servant for a while. Meecham and Kulgan went off to the franklin's
room, and Pug stripped off his dirty clothes. In the center of the room
was a large metal tub, filled with scented water, hot and steaming. He
stepped into it and pulled his foot out quickly. After three days of
walking through snow, the water felt as if it were boiling. Gently he
placed his foot back in and, when he had become used to the heat,
slowly entered the water.
He sat back in the tub, the sloping back providing support. The
inside of the tub was enameled, and Pug found the slick, smooth feeling
strange after the wooden tubs of home. He lathered himself over with a
sweet soap and washed the dirt from his hair, then stood in the tub and
poured a bucket of cold water over his head to rinse off.
He dried himself and put on the clean nightshirt that had been left
for him. In spite of the early hour he fell into the warm bed. His last
thought was of the sandy-haired boy with the ready grin. As Pug slipped
into sleep, he wondered if Dolgan had found his friend.
He awoke once during the day, hearing a nameless tune being
hummed, while water was being splashed about with great zeal as Kulgan
soaped his large body. Pug closed his eyes and was quickly asleep
again.
He was hard asleep when Kulgan roused him for dinner. His tunic
and trousers had been cleaned and a small rent in the shirt mended. His
boots were polished and shone with a black gleam. As he stood inspecting
himself in a mirror, he noticed for the first time a soft black shadow
on his cheeks. He leaned closer and saw the early signs of a beard.
Kulgan watched him and said, "Well, Pug. Shall I have them fetch
you a razor so you can keep your chin bare like Prince Arutha? Or do you
wish to cultivate a magnificent beard?" He exaggeratedly brushed his
own grey beard.
Pug smiled for the first time since leaving Mac Mordain Cadal. "I
think I can leave off worrying about it for a time."
Kulgan laughed, glad to see the boy's spirits returning. The magician
had been troubled at the depth of Pug's mourning for Tomas and was
relieved to see the boy's resilient nature assert itself. Kulgan held the
door open. "Shall we?"
Pug inclined his head, imitating a courtly bow, and said, "Certes,
master magician. After you?" and broke into a laugh.
They made their way to the dining room, a large and well-lit hall,
though nothing as large as in the castle of Crydee. The Duke and Prince
Arutha were already seated, and Kulgan and Pug quickly took their
places at the table.
Borric was just finishing his account of the events at Crydee and in
the great forest when Pug and Kulgan sat. "So," he said, "I chose to
carry this news myself, so important I believe it to be."
The merchant leaned back in his chair as servants brought a wide
variety of dishes for the diners. "Lord Borric," said Talbott, "when your
man Meecham first approached me, his request on your behalf was
somewhat vague, due, I believe, to the manner in which the information
was transmitted." He referred to the magic employed by Kulgan to
contact Belgan, who had in turn sent the message to Meecham. "I never
expected your desire to reach Krondor would prove as vital to my own
people as I now see it to be." He paused, then continued, "I am, of
course, alarmed by the news you bear. I was willing to act as a broker to
find you a ship, but now I will undertake to send you in one of my own
vessels." He picked up a small bell that sat near his hand and rang. In a
moment a servant was standing at his shoulder. "Send word to Captain
Abram to ready the Storm Queen. He leaves on tomorrow's afternoon
tide for Krondor. I will send more detailed instructions later."
The servant bowed and left. The Duke said, "I thank you, Master
Kilrane. I had hoped that you would understand, but I did not expect to
find a ship so quickly."
The merchant looked directly at Borric. "Duke Borric, let me be
frank. There is little love lost between the Free Cities and the Kingdom.
And, to be franker still, less love for the name conDoin. It was your
grandfather who laid waste to Walinor and siege to Natal. He was
stopped only ten miles north of this very city, and that memory still
rankles many of us. We are Keshian by ancestry, but freemen by birth,
and have little affection for conquerors." Kilrane continued as the Duke
sat stiffly in his chair, "Still, we are forced to admit that your father
later, and yourself now, have been good neighbors, treating fairly with
the Free Cities, even generously at times. I believe you to be a man of
honor and realize these Tsurani people are likely all you say they are. You
are not the sort of man given to exaggeration, I think."
The Duke relaxed a little at this. Talbott took a sip of wine, then
resumed his conversation. "We would be foolish not to recognize that
our best interests lie with those of the Kingdom, for alone we are helpless.
When you have departed, I will summon a meeting of the Council
of Guilds and Merchants and will argue for support of the Kingdom in
this." He smiled, and all at the table could see that here was a man as
confident in his influence and authority as the Duke was in his. "I think
I will have little difficulty in making the council see the wisdom of this.
A brief mention of that Tsurani war galley and a little conjecture on how
our ships would fare against a fleet of such ships should convince
them."
Borric laughed and slapped his hand upon the table. "Master merchant,
I can see your wealth was not acquired by a lucky cast of fate's
knucklebones. Your shrewd mind is a match for my own Father Tully's.
As is your wisdom. I give you my thanks."
The Duke and the merchant continued to talk late into the night,
but Pug was still tired and returned to his bed. When Kulgan came in
hours later, he found the boy lying restfully, a peaceful expression on his
face.
THe STORm QueeN ran before the wind, her topgallants and sky sails
slamming her through the raging sea. The swirling, stinging icy rain
made the night so black that the tops of her tall masts were lost in hazy
darkness to those who stood on her decks.
On the quarterdeck, figures huddled under great fur-lined oilcloth
cloaks, trying to stay warm and dry in the bitterly cold wetness. Twice
during the last two weeks they had run through high seas, but this was
by far the worst weather they had encountered. A cry went up from the
rigging, and word was carried to the captain that two men had fallen
from the yards. Duke Borric shouted to Captain Abram, "Can nothing
be done?"
"Nay, my lord. They are dead men, and to search would be folly, even
if possible, which it is not," the captain shouted back, his voice carrying
over the storm's roar.
A full watch was above in the treacherous rigging, knocking away the
ice that was forming on the spars, threatening to crack them with
additional weight, disabling the ship. Captain Abram held the rail with
one hand, watching for signs of trouble, his whole body in tune with his
ship. Next to him stood the Duke and Kulgan, less sure of their footing on
the pitching deck. A loud groaning, cracking sound came from below, and
the captain swore.
Moments later a sailor appeared before them. "Captain, we've
cracked a timber and she's taking water."
The captain waved to one of his mates who stood on the main deck.
"Take a crew below and shore up the damage, then report."
The mate quickly picked four men to accompany him below. Kulgan
seemed to go into a trance for a minute before he said, "Captain, this
storm will blow another three days."
The captain cursed the luck the gods had sent him and said to the
Duke, "I can't run her before the storm for three days taking water. I
must find a place to heave to and repair the hull."
The Duke nodded, shouting over the storm, "Are you turning for
Queg?"
The captain shook his head, dislodging snow and water dripping from
his black beard. "I cannot turn her into the wind for Queg. We will have
to lie off Sorcerer's Isle."
Kulgan shook his head, though the gesture was not noticed by the
others. The magician asked, "Is there nowhere else we can put in?"
The captain looked at the magician and the Duke. "Not as close. We
would risk the loss of a mast. Then, if we didn't founder and sink, we'd
lose six days rather than three. The seas run higher, and I fear I may lose
more men." He shouted orders aloft and to the steersman, and they
took a more southerly course, heading for Sorcerer's Isle.
Kulgan went below with the Duke. The rocking, surging motion of
the ship made the ladder and narrow passageway difficult to negotiate,
and the stout magician was tossed from one side to the other as they
made their way to their cabins. The Duke went into his cabin, shared
with his son, and Kulgan entered his own. Gardan, Meecham, and Pug
were trying to rest on their respective bunks during the buffeting. The
boy was having a difficult time, for he had been sick the first two days.
He had gained sea legs of a sort, but still couldn't bring himself to eat
the salty pork and hardtack they were forced to consume. Because of the
rough seas, the ship's cook had been unable to perform his usual duties.
The ship's timbers groaned in protest at the pounding the waves were
giving, and from ahead they could hear the sound of hammers as the
work crew struggled to repair the breached hull.
Pug rolled over and looked at Kulgan. "What about the storm?"
Meecham came up on one elbow and looked at his master. Gardan
did likewise. Kulgan said, "It will blow three days longer. We will put in
to the lee of an island and hold there until it slackens."
"What island?" asked Pug.
"Sorcerer's Isle."
Meecham shot up out of his bunk, hitting his head on the low ceiling.
Cursing and rubbing his head, while Gardan stifled a laugh, he
exclaimed, "The island of Macros the Black?"
Kulgan nodded, while using one hand to steady himself as the ship
nosed over a high crest and forward into a deep trough. "The same. I
have little liking for the idea, but the captain fears for the ship." As if
to punctuate the point, the hull creaked and groaned alarmingly for a
moment.
"who is Macros?" asked Pug.
Kulgan looked thoughtful for a moment, as much from listening to
the work crew in the hold as from the boy's question, then said,
"Macros is a great sorcerer, Pug. Perhaps the greatest the world has ever
known."
"Aye," added Meecham, "and the spaun of some demon from the
deepest circle of hell. His arts are the blackest, and even the bloody
Priests of lims-Kragma fear to set foot on his island."
Gardan laughed. "I have yet to see a wizard who could cow the death
goddess's priests. He must be a powerful mage."
"Those are only stories, Pug," Kulgan said. "What we do know about
him is that when the persecution of magicians reached its height in the
Kingdom, Macros fled to this island. No one has since traveled to or
from it."
Pug sat up on his bunk, interested in what he was hearing, oblivious
to the terrible noise of the storm. He watched as Kulgan's face was
bathed in moving half lights and shadows by the crazily swinging lantern
that danced with every lurch of the ship.
"Macros is very old," Kulgan continued. "By what arts he keeps alive,
only he knows, but he has lived there over three hundred years."
Gardan scoffed, "Or several men by the same name have lived there."
Kulgan nodded. "Perhaps. In any event, there is nothing truly known
about him, except terrible tales told by sailors. I suspect that even if
Macros does practice the darker side of magic, his reputation is greatly '
inflated, perhaps as a means of securing privacy."
A loud cracking noise, as if another timber in the hull had split,
quieted them. The cabin rolled with the storm, and Meecham spoke all
their minds: ''And I'm hoping we'll all be able to stand upon Sorcerer's
Isle "
The ship limpED into the southern bay of the island. They would have to
wait until the storm subsided before they could put divers over the side
to inspect the damage to the hull.
Kulgan, Pug, Gardan, and Meecham came out on deck. The weather
was slightly kinder with the cliffs cutting the fury of the storm. Pug
walked to where the captain and Kulgan were standing. He followed
their gaze up to the top of the cliffs.
High above the bay sat a castle, its tall towers outlined against the sky
by the grey light of day. It was a strange place, with spires and turrets
pointing upward like some clawed hand. The castle was dark save for
one window in a high tower that shone with blue, pulsating light, as if
lightning had been captured and put to work by the inhabitant.
Pug heard Meecham say, "There, upon the bluff. Macros."
three: days later the divers broke the surface and yelled to the captain
their appraisal of the damage. Pug was on the main deck with
Meecham, Gardan, and Kulgan. Prince Arutha and his father stood near
the captain, awaiting the verdict on the ship's condition. Above, the
seabirds wheeled, looking for the scraps and garbage heralded by a ship
in these waters. The storms of winter did little to supplement the meager
feeding of the birds, and a ship was a welcome source of fare.
Arutha came down to the main deck where the others waited. "It will
take all of this day and half tomorrow to repair the damage, but the
captain thinks it will hold fair until we reach Krondor. We should have
little trouble from here."
Meecham and Gardan threw each other meaningful glances. Not
wanting to let the opportunity pass, Kulgan said, "Will we be able to
put ashore, Your Highness?"
Arutha rubbed his clean-shaven chin with a gloved hand. "Aye,
though not one sailor will put out a boat to carry us."
"Us?" asked the magician.
Arutha smiled his crooked smile. "I have had my fill of cabins, Kulgan.
I feel the need to stretch my legs on firm ground. Besides, without
supervision, you'd spend the day wandering about places where you've
no business." Pug looked up toward the castle, his glance noted by the
magician.
"we'll keep clear of that castle and the road up from the beach, to be
sure. The tales of this island only speak of ill coming to those who seek
to enter the sorcerer's halls."
Arutha signaled a seaman. A boat was readied, and the four men and
the boy got aboard. The boat was hauled over the side and lowered by a
crew sweating despite the cold wind that still blew after the storm. By
the glances they kept throwing toward the crest of the bluffs, Pug knew
they were not sweating because of work or weather.
As if reading his thoughts, Arutha said, "There may be a more superstitious
breed on Midkemia than sailors, but who they are I could not
tell you."
When the boat was in the water, Meecham and Gardan cast off the
lines that hung suspended from the davits. The two men awkwardly
took oars and began to row toward the beach. It was a broken, stuttering
rhythm at first, but with disapproving looks from the Prince, along with
several comments about how men could spend their lives in a sea town
and not know how to row, they finally got the boat moving in good
order.
They put in at a sandy stretch of beach, a little cove that broke the
bluffs of the bay. Upward toward the castle ran a path, which joined
another leading away across the island.
Pug leaped out of the boat and helped pull it ashore. When it was
fast aground, the others got out and stretched their legs.
Pug felt as if they were being watched, but each time he looked
around, there was nothing in sight but the rocks, and the few seabirds
that lived the winter in clefts of the cliff face.
Kulgan and the Prince studied the two paths up from the beach. The
magician looked at the other path, away from the sorcerer's castle, and
said, "There should be little harm in exploring the other trail. Shall
we?"
Days of boredom and confinement outweighed whatever anxiety they
felt. With a brusque nod, Arutha led the way up the trail.
";' Pug followed last, behind Meecham. The big-shouldered franklin was
armed with a broadsword, upon which his hand rested. Pug kept his
sling handy, for he still didn't feel comfortable with a sword, though
Meecham was giving him lessons when possible. The boy fingered the
sling absently, his eyes taking in the scene before them.
Along the trail they startled several colonies of turnstones and
plovers, which took flight when the party came near. The birds
squawked their protests and hovered near their roosts until the hikers
"jpsed, then returned to the scant comfort of the hillside.
They crested the first of a series of hills, and the path away from the
castle could be seen to dip behind another crest. Kulgan said, "It must
lead somewhere. Shall we continue?" Arutha nodded, and the others
. said nothing. They continued their journey until they came to a small
valley, little more than a dell, between two ranges of low hills. On the
floor of the valley sat some buildings.
Arutha said softly, "What do you think, Kulgan? Are they inhabited?"
Kullgan studied them for a moment, then turned to Meecham, who
stepped forward. The franklin inspected the vista below, his gaze traveling
from the floor of the vale to the hills around. "I think not. There is
no sign of smoke from cook fires, nor sound of people working."
Arutha resumed his march down toward the floor of the valley, and
the others followed. Meecham turned to watch Pug for a moment, then
noticed the boy was unarmed except for his sling. The franklin pulled a
~ hunting knife from his belt and handed it to the boy without
comment. Pug bobbed his head once in acknowledgment and took the
knife in silence.
They reached a plateau above the buildings, and Pug could see an
alien-looking house, the central building circled by a large court and
several outbuildings. The entire property was surrounded by a low wall,
no more than four feet tall.
They worked their way dowm the hillside to a gate in the wall. There
were several barren fruit trees in the courtyard, and a garden area
overgrown with weeds. Near the front of the central building a fountain
stood, topped with a statue of three dolphins. They approached the
fountain and saw that the interior of the low pool surrounding the statue
was covered in blue tiles, faded and discolored with age. Kulgan examined
the construction of the fountain. "This is fashioned in a clever manner. I
believe that water should issue from the mouths of the dolphins."
Arutha agreed. "I have seen the King's fountains in Rillanon, and
they are similar, though lacking the grace of this."
There was little snow on the ground, for it seemed the sheltered
valley and the entire island received little even in the most severe
winters.
But it was still cold. Pug wandered a little way off and studied the
house. It had a single story, with windows every ten feet along the wall.
There was but one opening for a double door in the wall he stood
facing, though the doors were long off their hinges.
"Whoever lived here expected no trouble."
Pug turned to see Gardan standing behind him, staring at the house
as well. "There is no tower for lookout," continued the Sergeant. "And
the low wall seems more likely to keep livestock out of the gardens than
for defense."
Meecham joined them, hearing Gardan's last remark. "Aye, there is
little concern for defense here. This is the lowest spot on the island,
save for that small stream you could see behind the house when we
came down the hill." He turned to stare up at the castle, the highest
spires of which could still be seen from the valley. "There is where you
build for trouble. This place," he said, indicating the low buildings with
a sweep of his hand, "was fashioned by those who knew little of strife."
Pug nodded as he moved away. Gardan and Meecham headed in a
different direction, toward an abandoned stable.
Pug moved around to the back of the house and found several smaller
buildings. He clutched his knife in his right hand and entered the closest.
It was open to the sky, for the roof had collapsed. Red roof tiles,
shattered and faded,. lay about the floor, in what seemed to be a storeroom,
with large wooden shelves along three walls. Pug investigated the
other rooms in the building, finding them to be of similar configuration.
The entire building was some sort of storage area.
He moved to the next building and found a large kitchen. A stone
stove stood against one wall, big enough for several kettles to cook upon
it simultaneously, while a spit hung over a back opening above the fire
was large enough for a beef side or whole lamb. A mammoth butcher's
block stood in the center of the room, scarred from countless blows of
cleaver and knife.
Pug examined a strange-looking bronze pot in the corner, overlaid
with dust and cobwebs. He turned it over and found a wooden spoon.
As he looked up, he thought he saw a glimPse of someone outside the
door of the cookhouse.
"Meecham? Gardan?" he asked, as he slowly approached the door.
When he stepped outside, there was no one in sight, but he did catch
another glimpse of movement at the rear door of the main house.
He hurried toward that door, assuming his companions had already
entered the building. As he entered the main house, he caught a hint of
movement down a side corridor. He stopped for a moment to survey
this strange house.
The door before him stood open, a sliding door fallen from railings
that had once held it in place. Through the door he could see a large
central courtyard, open to the sky above. The house was actually a
hollow square, with pillars holding up the interior of the partial roof.
Another fountain and a small garden occupied the very center of the
courtyard. Like the one outside, the fountain was in disrepair, and this
garden was also choked with weeds.
Pug turned toward the hall down which he had seen movement. He
passed through a low side door into a shadowy corridor. In places the
roof had lost several tiles, so that occasionally light shone down from
above, making it easy for the boy to find his way. He passed two empty
rooms; he suspected they might be sleeping quarters.
He turned a corner to find himself before the door of an odd-looking
room and entered. The walls were tile mosaics, of sea creatures sporting
in the foam with scantily dressed men and women. The style of art was
new to Pug. The few tapestries and fewer paintings on display in the
Duke's halls were all very lifelike, with muted colors and detailed
execution
in the finish. These mosaics were suggestive of people and animals
without capturing details.
In the floor was a large depression, like a pool, with steps leading
down before him. Out of the wall opposite obtruded a brass fish
head, hanging over the pool. The nature of the room was beyond
Pug.
As if someone had read his thoughts, a voice from behind said, "It is
a tepidarium."
Pug turned and saw a man standing behind him. He was of average
height, with a high forehead and deep-set black eyes. There were streaks
of grey at the temples of his dark hair, but his beard was black as night.
He wore a brown robe of simple material, a whipcord belt around the
waist. In his left hand he held a sturdy oak staff. Pug came on guard,
holding the long hunting knife before him.
"Nay, lad. Put up your scramasax, I mean you no harm." He smiled in
a way that made Pug relax.
Pug lowered his knife and said, "What did you call this room?"
"A tepidarium," he said, entering the room. "Here warm water was
piped into the pool, and bathers would remove their clothing and place
them on those shelves." He pointed to some shelves against the rear
wall.
"Servants would clean and dry the clothing of dinner guests while
they bathed here."
Pug thought the idea of dinner guests bathing at someone's home in
a group a novel one, but he said nothing. The man continued,
"Through that door"-he pointed to a door next to the pool-"was
another pool with very hot water, in a room called a calidarium. Beyond
was another pool with cold water in a room called a frigidarium. There
was a fourth room called the unctorium, where servants would rub
down the bathers with scented oils. And they scraped their skins with
wooden sticks. They didn't use soap then."
Pug was confused by all the different bathing rooms. "That sounds
like a lot of time spent getting clean. This is all very odd."
The man leaned on his staff. "So it must seem to you, Pug. Still, I
expect those that built this house would consider your keep halls
strange as well." Pug
started. "How did you know my name?"
The man smiled again. "I heard the tall soldier call you by name as
you approached the building. I was watching you, keeping out of sight
until I was sure you were not pirates come to seek ancient loot. Few
pirates come so young, so I thought it would be safe to talk to you."
Pug studied the man. There was something about him that suggested
hidden meanings in his words. "Why would you speak with me?"
The man sat on the edge of the empty pool. The hem of his robe was
pulled back, revealing cross-gartered sandals of sturdy construction. "I
am alone mostly, and the chance to speak with strangers is a rare thing.
So I thought to see if you would visit with me awhile, for a few moments
at least, until you return to your ship."
Pug sat down also, but kept a comfortable distance between himself
and the stranger. "Do you live here?"
The man looked around the room. "No, though I once did, long ago."
There was a contemplative note in his voice, as if the admission were
calling up long-buried memories.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled again, and Pug felt his nervousness vanish. There
was something reassuring about his manner, and Pug could see that he
intended no harm. "Mostly I am called the traveler, for many lands have
I seen. Here I am sometimes known as the hermit, for so I live. You may
call me what you like. It is all the same."
Pug looked at him closely. "Have you no proper name?"
"Many, so many that I have forgotten a few. At the time of my birth I
was given a name, as you were, but among those of my tribe it is a name
known only to the father and the mage-priest."
Pug considered this. "It is all very strange, much like this house. Who
are your people?"
The man called the traveler laughed, a good-natured chuckle. "You
have a curious mind, Pug, full of questions. That is good." He paused
for a moment, then said, "Where are you and your companions from?
The ship in the bay flies the Natalese banner of Bordon, but your accent
and dress are of the Kingdom."
Pug said, "We are of Crydee," and gave the man a brief description of
the journey. The man asked a few simple questions, and without being
aware of it, Pug found that soon he had given a full accounting of the
events that had brought them to the island, and the plans for the rest of
the journey.
When he had finished, the traveler said, "That is a wondrous story
indeed. I should think there will be many more wonders before this
strange meeting of worlds is finished."
Pug questioned him with a look. "I don't understand."
The traveler shook his head. "I don't expect you to, Pug. Let us say
that things are occurring that can be understood only by examination
-after the fact, with a distance of time separating the participants from
the participating."
Pug scratched his knee. "You sound like Kulgan, trying to explain how
magic works."
The traveler nodded. "An apt comparison. Though sometimes the
only way to understand the workings of magic is to work magic."
Pug brightened. "Are you also a magician?"
The traveler stroked his long black beard. "Some have thought me
one, but I doubt that Kulgan and I share the same understanding of
such things."
Pug's expression showed he considered this an unsatisfactory explanation
even if he didn't say so. The traveler leaned forward. "I can effect a
spell or two, if that answers your question, young Pug."
Pug heard his name shouted from the courtyard. "Come," said the
traveler. "Your friends call. We had best go and reassure them that you
are all right."
They left the bathing room and crossed the open court of the inner
garden. A large anteroom separated the garden from the front of the
house, and they passed through to the outside. When the others saw
Pug in the company of the traveler, they looked around quickly, their ~
weapons drawn. Kulgan and the Prince crossed the court to stand before
them. The traveler put up his hands in the universal sign that he was
unarmed.
The Prince was the first to speak. "Who is your companion, Pug?"
Pug introduced the traveler. "He means no harm. He hid until he
could see that we were not pirates." He handed the knife to Meecham.
If the explanation was unsatisfactory, Arutha gave no sign. "What is
your business here?"
The traveler spread his hands, with the staff in the crook of his left
arm. "I abide here, Prince of Crydee. I should think that the question
better serves me."
The Prince stiffened at being addressed so, but after a tense moment
relaxed. "If that is so, then you are correct, for we are the intruders. We
came seeking relief from the solitary confines of the ship. Nothing
more."
The traveler nodded. "Then you are welcome at Villa Beata."
Kulgan said, "What is Villa Beata?"
The traveler made a sweeping motion with his right hand. "This
home is Villa Beata. In the language of the builders, it means 'blessed
home,'
and so it was for many years. As you can see, it has known better
days."
Everyone was relaxing with the traveler, for they also felt a reassurance
in his easy manner and friendly smile. Kulgan said, "what of those
who built this strange place?"
"Dead . . . or gone. They thought this the Insula Beata, or Blessed
Isle, when they first came here. They fled a terrible war, which changed
the history of their world." His dark eyes misted over, as if the pain of
remembering was great. "A great king died . . . or is thought to have
died, for some say he may return. It was a terrible and sad time. Here
they sought to live in peace."
"What happened to them?" asked Pug.
The traveler shrugged. "Pirates, or goblins? Sickness, or madness?
Who can tell? I saw this home as you see it now, and those who lived
here were gone."
Arutha said, "You speak of strange things, friend traveler. I know little
of such, but it seems that this place has been deserted for ages. How is
it you knew those who lived here?"
The traveler smiled. "It is not so long ago as you would imagine,
Prince of Crydee. And I am older than I look. It comes from eating well
and bathing regularly."
Meecham had been studying the stranger the entire time, for of all
those who had come ashore, his was the most suspicious nature. "And
what of the Black One? Does he not trouble you?"
The traveler looked over his shoulder at the top of the castle.
"Macros the Black? The magician and I have little cause to be at odds.
He suffers me the run of the island, as long as I don't interfere with his
work."
A suspicion crossed Pug's mind, but he said nothing, as the traveler
continued. "Such a powerful and terrible sorcerer has little to fear from
a simple hermit, I'm sure you'll agree." He leaned forward and added in
conspiratorial tones, "Besides, I think much of his reputation is inflated
and overboasted, to keep intruders away. I doubt he is capable of the
feats attributed to him."
Arutha said, "Then perhaps we should visit this sorcerer."
The hermit looked at the Prince. "I don't think you would find a
welcome at the castle. The sorcerer is oftentimes preoccupied with his
work and suffers interruption with poor grace. He may not be the mythical
author of all the world's ills that some imagine him to be, but he
could still cause more trouble than it is worth to visit him. On the
whole he is often poor company." There was a faint, wry hint of humor
in his words.
Arutha looked around and said, "I think we have seen all of interest
we are likely to. Perhaps we should return to the ship."
When none disagreed, the Prince said, "What of you, friend traveler?"
The stranger spread his hands in a general gesture. "I continue my
habit of solitude, Your Highness. I have enjoyed this small visit, and the
boy's news of the occurrences of the world outside, but I doubt that you
would find me tomorrow if you were to seek me."
It was evident he was unlikely to provide any more information, and
Arutha found himself growing irritated with the man's obscure answers.
"Then we bid you farewell, traveler. May the gods watch over you."
"And you as well, Prince of Crydee."
As they turned to leave, Pug felt something trip his ankle, and he fell
hard against Kulgan. Both went down in a tangle of bodies, and the
traveler helped the boy up. hdeecham and Gardan assisted the stout
mage to his feet. Kulgan put weight upon his foot and started to fall.
Arutha and Meecham grabbed him. The traveler said, "It appears your
ankle is turned, friend magician. Here." He held out his staff. "My staff
is stout oak and will bear your weight as you return to the ship."
Kulgan took the offered staff and put his weight on it. He took an
experimental step and found that he could negotiate the path with the
aid of the staff. "Thank you, but what of yourself?"
The stranger shrugged. "A simple staff, easily replaced, friend magician.
Perhaps I shall have the opportunity of reclaiming it someday."
"I will keep it against that day."
The traveler turned away, saying, "Good. Then until that day, again
farewell."
They watched as he walked back into the building, and then turned
to face each other, expressions of wonder upon their faces. Arutha was
the first to speak. "A strange man, this traveler."
Kulgan nodded. "More strange than you know, Prince. At his leaving I
feel the lifting of some enchantment, as if he carries a spell about him,
one that makes all near him trusting."
Pug turned to Kulgan. "I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I
didn't seem to be able to make myself."
Meecham said, "Aye, I felt that also."
Gardan said, "There is a thought in my mind. I think we have been
speaking to the sorcerer himself."
Pug said, "That is my thought."
Kulgan leaned on the staff and said, "Perhaps. If it is so, then he has
his own reasons for masking his identity." They talked about this as
they walked slowly up the path from the villa.
As they reached the cove where the boat was beached, Pug felt something
brush against his chest. He reached inside his tunic and found a
small folded piece of parchment. He withdrew it, startled by his find.
He had not picked it up, as well as he could remember. The traveler
must have slipped it inside his shirt when he had helped Pug to his feet.
Kulgan looked back as he started for the boat and, seeing Pug's expression,
said, "What have you there?"
Pug handed the parchment over, while the others gathered around
the magician. Kulgan unfolded the parchment. He read it, and a surprised
expression crossed his face. He read it again, aloud. "I welcome
those who come with no malice in their hearts. You will know in days to
come that our meeting was not by chance. Until we meet again, keep
the hermit's staff as a sign of friendship and goodwill. Seek me not until
the appointed time, for that too is foreordained. Macros."
Kulgan handed the message back to Pug, who read it. "Then the
hermit was Macros!"
Meecham rubbed his beard. "This is something beyond my understanding."
Kulgan looked up to the castle, where the lights still flashed in the
single window. "As it is beyond mine, old friend. But whatever it means,
I think the sorcerer wishes us well, and I find that a good thing."
They returned to the ship and retired to their cabins. After a night of
rest, they found the ship ready to leave on the midday tide. As they
raised sail, they were greeted with unseasonably light breezes, blowing
them directly for Krondor.
12
COUNCILS
Puc wAS RESTLESS.
He sat looking out a window of the Prince's palace in Krondor. Outside,
the snow was falling, as it had been for the last three days. The
Duke and Arutha had been meeting with the Prince of Krondor daily.
On the first day Pug had told his story about finding the Tsurani ship,
then had been dismissed. He remembered that awkward interview.
He had been surprised to find the Prince to be young, in his thirties,
if not a vigorous and well man. Pug had been startled during their
interview when the Prince's remarks were interrupted by a violent attack
of coughing. His pale face, drenched with sweat, showed him to be in
worse health than his manner indicated.
He had waved off Pug's suggestion that he should leave and come
back when more convenient for him. Erland of Krondor was a reflective
person, who listened patiently to Pug's narration, lessening the boy's
discomfort at being before the heir apparent to the throne of the Kingdom.
His eyes regarded Pug with reassurance and understanding, as if it
were a common thing to have awkward boys standing before him. After
listening to Pug's narration, he had spent a short time talking with Pug
about small things, such as his studies and his fortuitous rise to the
nobility, as if these were important matters to his realm.
Pug decided he liked Prince Erland. The second most powerful man
in the Kingdom, and the single most powerful man in the West, was
warm and friendly and cared for the comfort of his least-important
guest.
Pug looked around the room, still not used to the splendor of the
palace. Even this small room was richly appointed, with a canopied bed
instead of a sleeping pallet. It was the first time Pug had ever slept in
one, and he found it difficult to get comfortable' on the deep, soft,
feather-stuffed mattress. In the corner of the room stood a closet with
more clothing in it than he thought he could wear in his lifetime, all of
costly weave and fine cut, and all seemingly in his size. Kulgan had said
it was a gift from the Prince.
The quiet of his room reminded Pug how little he had seen of Kulgan
and the others. Gardan and his soldiers had left that morning with a
bundle of dispatches for Prince Lyam from his father, and Meecham
was housed with the palace guard. Kulgan was invited in the meetings
as often as not, so Pug had a lot of time to himself. He wished he had
his books with him, for then at least the time could be put to some
good use. Since his arrival in Krondor there had been little for him to
do.
More than once Pug had thought of how much Tomas would have
loved the newness of this place-seemingly fashioned from glass and
magic more than stone-and the people in it. He thought about his lost
friend, hoping Dolgan had somehow found him, but not believing he
had. The pain of loss was now a dull ache, but still tender. Even after
the last month, he would find himself turning, expecting to see Tomas
close by.
Not wishing to sit idle any longer, Pug opened the door and looked
down the hallway that ran the length of the east wing of the Prince's
palace. He hurried down the hall, looking for any familiar face to break
the monotony.
A guard passed him by, going the other way, and saluted. Pug still
couldn't get used to the idea of being saluted every time a guard passed,
but as a member of the Duke's party he was given full honors due his
Squire's rank by the household staff.
Reaching a smaller hallway, he decided to explore. One way was the
same as another, he thought. The Prince had personally told him he
had the run of the palace, but Pug had been shy about overstepping
himself. Now boredom drove him to adventuring, or at least as much
adventuring as possible under the circumstances.
Pug found a small alcove with a window, providing a different view of
the palace grounds. Pug sat upon the window seat. Beyond the palace
walls he could see the port of Krondor lying below like a white-shrouded
toy village. Smoke was coming from many of the buildings, the only
sign of life in the city. The ships in the harbor looked like miniatures,
lying at anchor, waiting for more propitious conditions under which to
sail.
A small voice behind him brought Pug out of his reverie. "Are you
Prince Arutha?"
A girl was standing behind him, about six or seven years old, with big
green eyes and dark reddish brown hair done up in silver netting. Her
dress was simple but fine looking, of red cloth with white lace at the
sleeves. Her face was pretty, but was set in an expression of deep
concentration that gave it a comic gravity.
Pug hesitated for a moment, then said, "No, I'm Pug. I came with the
Prince."
The girl made no attempt to hide her disappointment. With a shrug
she came over and sat next to Pug. She looked up at him with the same
grave expression and said, "I was so hoping that you might be the
Prince, for I wanted to catch a glimpse of him before you leave for
Salador."
"Salador," Pug said flatly. He had hoped the journey would end with
the visit to the Prince. Lately he had been thinking of Carline.
"Yes. Father says you are all to leave at once for Salador, then take a
ship for Rillanon to see the King."
"Who's your father?"
"The Prince, silly. Don't you know anything?"
"I guess not." Pug looked at the girl, seeing another Carline in the
making. "You must be Princess Anita."
"Of course. And I'm a real princess too. Not the daughter of a duke,
but the daughter of a prince. My father would have been King if he had
wanted, but he didn't want to. If he had, I would be Queen someday.
But I won't be. What do you do?"
The question, coming so suddenly without preamble, caught Pug off
guard. The child's prattling wasn't very irksome, and he wasn't following
closely, being more intent on the scene through the window.
He hesitated, then said, "I'm apprenticed to the Duke's magician."
The Princess's eyes grew round, and she said, "A real magician?"
"Real enough."
Her little face lit up with delight. Can he turn people into toads?
Mummy said magicians turn people into toads if they are bad."
"I don't know. I'll ask him when I see him-if I see him again," he
added under his breath.
"Oh, would you? I would so very much like to know." She seemed
utterly fascinated by the prospect of finding out if the tale was true.
"And could you please tell me where I might see Prince Arutha?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen him myself in two days. What do you
want to see him for?"
"Mummy says I may marry him someday. I want to see if he is a nice
man."
The prospect of this tiny child's being married to the Duke's younger
son confounded Pug for a moment. It was not an uncommon practice
for nobles to pledge their children in marriage years before their coming
of age. In ten years she would be a woman, and the Prince would still be
a young man, the Earl of some minor keep in the Kingdom. Still, Pug
found the prospect fascinating.
"Do you think you would like living with an earl?" Pug asked, realizing
at once it was a stupid question. The Princess confirmed the opinion
with a glance that would have done Father Tully credit.
She said, "Silly! How could I possibly know that when I don't even
know who Mummy and Father will have me marry?" The
child jumped up. '"Well, I must go back. I'm not supposed to be
here. If they find me out of my rooms, I'll be punished. I hope you have
a nice journey to Salador and Rillanon."
"Thank you."
With a sudden expression of worry, she said, "You won't tell anyone
that I was here, will you"
Pug gave her a conspiratorial smile. "No. Your secret's safe." With a
look of relief, she smiled and peeked both ways down the hallway. As
she started to leave, Pug said, "He's a nice man."
The Princess stopped. "Who?"
"The Prince. He's a nice man. Given to brooding and moods, but on
the whole a nice person."
The Princess frowned for a moment as she digested the information.
Then, with a bright smile, she said, "That's good. I'd not want to marry
a man who's not nice." With a giggle she turned the corner and was
gone.
Pug sat awhile longer, watching the snow fall, musing over the fact of
children being concerned about matters of state, and over a child with '
big, serious green eyes. '
ThAT NIGhT the entire party was feasted by the Prince. The whole population
of nobles at court and most of the rich commoners of Krondor were
attending the gala. Over four hundred people sat to dine, and Pug
found himself at a table with strangers who, out of respect for the
quality of his clothing and the simple fact of his being there in the first
place, politely ignored him. The Duke and Prince Arutha were seated at
the head table with Prince Erland and his wife, Princess Alicia, along
with Duke Dulanic, Chancellor of the Principality and Knight-Marshal
of Krondor. Owing to Erland's ill health, the business of running
Krondor's military fell to Dulanic and the man he was deep in conversation
with, Lord Barry, Erland's Lord-Admiral of the Krondorian fleet.
Other royal ministers were seated nearby, while the rest of the guests
were at smaller tables. Pug was seated at the one farthest removed from
the royal table.
Servants were bustling in and out of the hall, carrying large platters of
food and decanters of wine. Jongleurs strolled the hall, singing the newest
ballads and ditties. Jugglers and acrobats performed between the
tables, mostly ignored by the dinner guests, but giving their best, for the
Master of Ceremony would not call them back again should he judge
their efforts lacking.
The walls were covered with giant banners and rich tapestries. The
banners were of every major household in the Kingdom, from the gold
and brown of Crydee in the far west, to the white and green of far Ran,
in the east. Behind the royal table hung the banner of the Kingdom, a
golden lion rampant holding a sword, with a crown above his head,
upon a field of purple, the ancient crest of the conDoin kings. Next to it
hung Krondor's banner, an eagle flying above a mountain peak, silver
upon the royal purple. Only the Prince, and the King in Rillanon, could
wear the royal color. Borric and Arutha wore red mantles over their
tunics, signifying they were princes of the realm, related to the royal
family. It was the first time Pug had ever seen the two wearing the
formal marks of their station.
Everywhere were sights and sounds of gaiety, but even from across
the room Pug could tell that the talk at the Prince's table was subdued.
Borric and Erland spent most of the dinner with their heads close together,
speaking privately.
Pug was startled by a touch on his shoulder and turned to see a dolllike
face peering through the large curtains not two feet behind him.
Princess Anita put her finger to her lips and beckoned for him to step
through. Pug saw the others at the table were looking at the great and
near-great in the room and would scarcely notice the departure of a
nameless boy. He rose and moved through the curtain, finding himself
in a small servants' alcove. Before him was another curtain, leading to
the kitchen, Pug supposed, through which peeked the tiny fugitive from
bed. Pug moved to where Anita waited, discovering it was, indeed, a
long connecting corridor between the kitchen and the great hall. A
lengthy table covered with dishware and goblets ran along the wall.
Pug said, "What are you doing here?"
"Shush!" she said in a loud whisper. "I'm not supposed to be here."
Pug smiled at the child. "I don't think you have to worry about being
heard, there's too much noise for that."
"I came to see the Prince. Which one is he?"
Pug motioned for her to step into the small alcove, then drew aside
the curtain a little. Pointing at the head table, he said, "He's two
removed from your father, in the black-and-silver tunic and red mantle."
The child stretched up on tiptoe and said, "I can't see."
Pug held the girl up for a moment. She smiled at him. "I am in your
debt."
"Not at all," Pug intoned with mock gravity. They both giggled.
The Princess started as a voice spoke close to the curtain. "I must
fly!" She darted through the alcove, passed through the second curtain,
and disappeared from sight heading toward the kitchen and her getaway.
The curtain into the banquet hall parted, and a startled servant
stared at Pug. Uncertain what to say, the servingman nodded. The boy
by rights shouldn't be there, but by his dress he was certainly someone.
Pug looked about and, without much conviction, finally said, "I was
looking for the way to my room. I must be going the wrong way."
"The guest wing is through the first door on the left in the dining
hall, young sir. Ah . . . this way lies the kitchen. Would you care to
have me show you the way?" The servant obviously didn't care to do so,
and Pug was equally lacking any desire for a guide. "No, thank you, I
can find it," he said.
Pug rejoined his table, unnoticed by the other guests. The balance of
the meal passed without incident, except for an occasional strange
glance by a servingman.
Puc PASSed the time after dinner talking with the son of a merchant.
The two young men found each other in the crowded room where the
Prince's after-dinner reception was being held. They spent a fitful hour
being polite to one another, before the boy's father came and took him
in tow. Pug stood around being ignored by the Prince's other dinner
guests for a while, then decided he could slip back to his own quarters
without affronting anyone-he wouldn't be missed. Besides he hadn't
seen the Prince, Lord Borric, or Kulgan since they left the dinner table.
Most of the reception seemed under the supervision of a score of household
officials and Princess Alicia, a charming woman who had spoken
politely with Pug for a moment as he passed through the reception line.
Pug found Kulgan waiting for him in his room when he returned.
Kulgan said, without preamble, "We leave at first light, Pug. Prince
Erland is sending us on to Rillanon to see the King."
Pug said, "Why is the Prince sending us?" His tone was cross, for he
was deeply homesick.
Before Kulgan could answer, the door flew open and Prince Arutha
came storming in. Pug was surprised by Arutha's expression of unconfined
anger.
"Kulgan! There you are," Arutha said, slamming the door. "Do you
know what our royal cousin is doing about the Tsurani invasion?"
Before Kulgan could speak, the Prince supplied the answer. "Nothing!
He won't lift a finger to send aid to Crydee until Father has seen the
King. That will take another two months at least."
Kulgan raised his hand. Instead of an adviser to the Duke, Arutha saw
one of his boyhood instructors. Kulgan, like Tully, could still command
both sons of the Duke when the need arose. "Quietly, Arutha."
Arutha shook his head as he pulled over a chair. "I am sorry, Kulgan. I
should have mastered my temper." He noticed Pug's confusion. "I apologize
to you also, Pug. There is much involved here that you don't know
of. Perhaps . . ." He looked questioningly at Kulgan.
Kulgan took out his pipe. "You might as well tell him, he's going
along for the journey. He'll find out soon enough."
Arutha drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment,
then sitting forward, said, "My father and Erland have been conferring
for days on the best way to meet these outworlders should they come.
The Prince even agrees it is likely they will come." He paused. "But he
will do nothing to call the Armies of the West together. until he has
been given permission by the King."
"I don't understand," said Pug. "Aren't the Armies of the West the
Prince's to command as he sees fit?"
"No longer," said Arutha with a near-grimace. "The King sent word,
less than a year ago, that the armies may not be mustered without his
permission." Arutha sat back in his chair as Kulgan blew a cloud of
smoke. "It is in violation of tradition. Never have the Armies of the
West had another commander than the Prince of Krondor, as the Armies
of the East are the King's."
Pug was still unclear about the significance of all this. Kulgan said,
"The Prince is the King's Lord-Marshal in the West, the only man
besides the King who may command Duke Borric and the other KnightGenerals.
Should he call, every Duke from Malac's Cross to Crydee
would respond, with their garrisons and levies. King Rodric, for his own
reasons, has decided that none may gather the armies without his authority.
Arutha said, "Father would come to the Prince's call, regardless, as
would the other Dukes."
Kulgan nodded. "That may be what the King fears, for the Armies of
the West have long been more the Prince's armies than the King's. If
your father called, most would gather, for they revere him nearly as
much as they revere Erland. And if the King should say not . . ." He
let the sentence slip away.
Arutha nodded. "Strife within the Kingdom."
Kulgan looked at his pipe. "Even to civil war, perhaps."
Pug was troubled by the discussion. He was a keep boy, in spite of his
newly acquired title. "Even if it is in defense of the Kingdom?"
Kulgan shook his head slowly. "Even then. For some men, kings also,
there is as much importance in the manner in which things are done as
the doing." Kulgan paused. "Duke Borric will not speak of it, but there
has long been trouble between himself and certain eastern dukes, especially
his cousin, Guy du Bas-Tyra. This trouble between the Prince and
the King will only add to the strain between West and East."
Pug sat back. He knew that this was somehow more important than
what he was understanding, but there were blank places in his picturings
of the way things were. How could the King resent the Prince's
summoning the armies in defense of the Kingdom? It didn't make sense
to him, in spite of Kulgan's explanation. And what sort of trouble in the
East was Duke Borric unwilling to speak of?
The magician stood. "We have an early day tomorrow, so we had best
get some sleep. It will be a long ride to Salador, then another long
passage by ship to Rillanon. By the time we reach the King, the first
thaw will have come to Crydee."
PRINCE ERLaND BADE the party a good journey as they sat upon their
horses in the courtyard of the palace. He looked pale and deeply troubled
as he wished them well.
The little Princess stood at an upstairs window and waved at Pug with
a tiny handkerchief. Pug was reminded of another Princess and wondered
if Anita would grow to be like Carline or be more even-tempered.
They rode out of the courtyard, where an escort of Royal Krondorian
Lancers stood ready to accompany them to Salador. It would be a three
weeks' ride over the mountains and past the marshes of Darkmoor, past
Malac's Cross-the dividing point between the western and eastern
realms-and on to Salador. There they would take ship, and after another
two weeks they would reach Rillanon.
The lancers were shrouded in heavy cloaks of grey, but the purple-and-silver
tabards of Krondor's Prince could be seen underneath, and
their shields bore the device of the royal Krondorian household. The
Duke was being honored by an escort of the Prince's own household
guard, rather than a detachment from the city garrison.
As they left the city, the snow began to fall once more, and Pug
wondered if he would ever see spring in Crydee again. He sat quietly on
his horse as it plodded along the road east, trying to sort out the
impressions of the last few weeks, then gave up, resigning himself to
whatever was to happen.
THE riDE to Salador took four weeks instead of three, for there had been
a storm of unusual intensity in the mountains west of Darkmoor. They
had been forced to take lodging at an inn outside the village that took
its name from the marshes. It had been a small inn, and they had all
been forced to crowd together regardless of rank for several days. The
food had been simple and the ale indifferent, and by the time the storm
passed, they were all glad to leave Darkmoor behind.
Another day had been lost when they chanced upon a village being
troubled by bandits. The sight of approaching cavalry had driven the
brigands away, but the Duke had ordered a sweep of the area to insure
that they didn't return as soon as the soldiers rode off. The villagers had
opened their doors to the Duke's party, welcoming them and offering
their best food and warmest beds. Poor offerings by the Duke's standards,
yet he received their hospitality with graciousness, for he knew it
was all they had. Pug enjoyed the simple food and company, the closest
yet to home since he had left Crydee.
when they were a half day's ride short of Salador they encountered a
patrol of city guards. The guard captain rode forward. Pulling up his
horse, he shouted, "What business brings the Prince's guard to the
lands of Salador?" There was little love lost between the two cities, and
the Krondorians rode without a heraldic banner. His tone left no doubt
that he regarded their presence as an infringement upon his territory.
Duke Borric threw back his cloak, revealing his tabard. "Carry word to
your master that Borric, Duke of Crydee, approaches the city and would
avail himself of Lord Kerus's hospitality."
The guard captain was taken aback. He stammered, "My apologies,
Your Grace. I had no idea . . . there was no banner. . . ."
Arutha said dryly, "We mislaid it in a forest sometime back."
The captain looked confused. "My lord?"
Borric said, "Never mind, Captain. Just send word to your master."
The captain saluted. "At once, Your Grace." He wheeled his horse
and signaled for a rider to come forward. He gave him instructions, and
the soldier spurred his horse toward the city and soon galloped out of
sight.
The captain returned to the Duke. "If Your Grace will permit, my
men are at your disposal."
The Duke looked at the travel-weary Krondorians, all of whom
seemed to be enjoying the captain's discomfort. "I think thirty men-atarms
are sufficient, Captain. The Salador city guard is renowned for
keeping the environs near the city free of brigands."
The captain, not realizing he was being made sport of, seemed to puff
up at this. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The Duke said, "You and your men may continue your patrol."
The captain saluted again and returned to his men. He shouted the
order to move out, and the guard column moved past the Duke's party.
As they passed the captain ordered a salute, and lances were dipped
toward the Duke. Borric returned the salute with a lazy wave of his
hand, then when the guards had passed, said, "Enough of this foolishness,
let us to Salador."
Arutha laughed and said, "Father, we have need of men like that in
the West."
Borric turned and said, "Oh? How so?"
As the horses moved forward, Arutha said, "To polish shields and
boots."
The Duke smiled and the Krondorians laughed. The western soldiers
held those of the East in low regard. The East had been pacified long
before the West had been opened to Kingdom expansion, and there was
little trouble in the Eastern Realm requiring real skill in warcraft. The
Prince of Krondor's guards were battle-proved veterans, while those of
Salador were considered by the guardsmen from the West to do their
best soldiering on the parade ground.
Soon they saw signs that they were nearing the city: cultivated farmland,
villages, roadside taverns, and wagons laden with trade goods. By
sundown they could see the walls of distant Salador.
As they entered the city, a full company of Duke Kerus's own household
guards lined the streets to the palace. As in Krondor, there was no
castle, for the need for a small, easily defensible keep had passed as the
lands around became civilized.
Riding through the city, Pug realized how much of a frontier town
Crydee was. In spite of Lord Borric's political power, he was still Lord of
a frontier province.
Along the streets, citizens stood gawking at the western Duke from
the wild frontier of the Far Coast. Some cheered, for it seemed like a
parade, but most stood quietly, disappointed that the Duke and his
party looked like other men, rather than blood-drenched barbarians.
When they reached the courtyard of the palace, household servants
ran to take their horses. A household guard showed the soldiers from
Krondor to the soldiers' commons, where they would rest before returning
to the Prince's city. Another, with a captain's badge of rank on
his tunic, led Borric's party up the steps of the building.
Pug looked with wonder, for this palace was even larger than the
Prince's in Krondor. They walked through several outer rooms, then
reached an inner courtyard. Here fountains and trees decorated a garden,
beyond which stood the central palace. Pug realized that the building
they had passed through was simply one of the buildings surrounding
the Duke's living quarters. He wondered what use Lord Kerus could
possibly have for so many buildings and such a large staff.
They crossed the garden courtyard and mounted another series of
steps toward a reception committee that stood in the door of the central
palace. Once this building might have been a citadel, protecting the
surrounding town, but Pug couldn't bring himself to imagine it as it
might have been ages ago, for numerous renovations over the years had
transformed an ancient keep into a glittering thing of glass and marble.
Duke Kerus's chamberlain, an old dried-up stick of a man with a
quick eye, knew every noble worth noting-from the borders of Kesh in
the south to Tyr-Sog in the north-by sight. His memory for faces and
facts had often saved Duke Kerus from embarrassment. By the time
Borric had made his way up the broad stairway from the courtyard, the
chamberlain had provided Kerus with a few personal facts and a quick
evaluation of the right amount of flattery required.
Duke Kerus took Borric's hand. "Ah, Lord Borric, you do me great
honor by this unexpected visit. If you had only sent word of your arrival,
I would have prepared a more fitting welcome."
They entered the antechamber of the palace, the Dukes in front.
Borric said, "I am sorry to put you to any trouble Lord Kerus, but I am
afraid our mission is dependent on speed, and that the formal courtesies
will have to be put aside. I bear messages for the King and must put
to sea for Rillanon as soon as is possible."
"Of course, Lord Borric, but you will surely be able to stay for a short
while, say a week or two?"
"I regret not. I would put to sea tonight if I could."
"That is indeed sorry news. I so hoped that you could guest with us
for a time."
The party reached the Duke's audience hall, where the chamberlain
gave instructions to a company of household servants, who jumped to
the task of readying rooms for the guests. Entering the vast hall, with its
high vaulted ceiling, gigantic chandeliers, and great arched glass windows,
Pug felt dwarfed. The room was the largest he had ever seen,
greater than the hall of the Prince of Krondor.
A huge table was set with fruits and wine, and the travelers fell to
with vigor. Pug sat down with little grace, his. whole body one mass of
aches. He was turning into a skilled horseman simply from long hours in
the saddle, but that fact didn't ease his tired muscles.
Lord Kerus pressed the Duke for the cause of his hurried journey, and
between mouthfuls of fruit and drinks of wine, Borric filled him in on
the events of the last three months. After he was done, Kerus looked
distressed. "This is grave news indeed, Lord Borric. Things are unsettled
in the Kingdom. I am sure the Prince has told you of some of the
trouble that has occurred since last you came to the East."
"Yes, he did. But reluctantly and in only the most cursory manner. Remember,
it has been thirteen years since I journeyed to the capital, at
Rodric's coronation when I came to renew my vassalage. He seemed a
bright enough young man then, able enough to learn to govern. But
from what I've heard in Krondor, there seems to have been a change."
Kerus glanced around the room, then waved away his servants. Looking
pointedly at Borric's companions, he raised one eyebrow questioningly.
Lord Borric said, "These have my trust and will not betray a confidence."
Kerus nodded. Loudly he said, "If you would like to stretch your legs
before retiring, perhaps you'd care to see my garden?"
Borric frowned and was about to speak when Arutha put his hand
upon his father's arm, nodding agreement.
Borric said, "That sounds interesting. Despite the cold I could use a
short walk."
The Duke motioned for Kulgan, Meecham, and Gardan to remain,
but Lord Kerus indicated Pug should join them. Borric looked surprised,
but nodded agreement. They left through a small set of doors to the
garden, and once outside, Kerus whispered, "It will look less suspicious
if the boy comes with us. I can't even trust my own servants anymore.
The King has agents everywhere."
Borric seemed infuriated. "The King has placed agents in your household"
"Yes, Lord Borric, there has been a great change in our King. I know
Erland has not told you the entire story, but it is one you must know."
The Duke and his companions watched Duke Kerus, who looked
uncomfortable. He cleared his throat as he glanced around the snowcovered
garden. Between the light from the palace windows and the
large moon above, the garden was a winterscape of white and blue
crystals, undisturbed by footprints.
Kerus pointed to a set of tracks in the snow and said, "I made those
this afternoon when I came here to think about what I could safely tell
you." He glanced around one more time, seeing if anyone could overhear
the conversation, then continued. "When Rodric the Third died,
everyone expected Erland would take the crown. After the official
mourning, the Priests of Ishap called all the possible heirs forward to
present their claims. You were expected to be one of them."
Borric nodded. "I know the custom. I was late getting to the city. I
would have renounced the claim in any event, so there was no importance
in my absence."
Kerus nodded. "History might have been different had you been here,
Borric." He lowered his voice. "I risk my neck by saying this, but many,
even those of us here in the East would have urged you to take the
crown."
Borric's expression showed he did not like hearing this, but Kerus
pressed on. "By the time you got here, all the back-hallway politics had
been done-with most lords content to give the crown to Erland-but
it was a tense day and a half while the issue was in doubt. Why the
elder Rodric didn't name an heir I don't know. But when the priests had
chased away all the distant kin with no real claim, three men stood
before them, Erland, young Rodric, and Guy du Bas-Tyra. The priests
asked for their declarations, and each gave them in turn. Rodric and
Erland both had solid claims, while Guy was there as a matter of form,
as you would have been had you arrived in time."
Arutha interjected dryly, "The time of mourning ensures no western
Lord will be King."
Borric threw a disapproving glance at his son, but Kerus said, "Not
entirely. If there had been any doubt to the rights of succession, the
priest would have held off the ceremony until your father arrived,
Arutha. It has been done before."
He looked at Borric and lowered his voice. "As I said, it was expected
Erland would take the crown. But when the crown was presented to
him, he refused, conceding the claim to Rodric. No one at that time
knew of Erland's ill health, so most lords judged the decision a generous
approbation of Rodric's claim, as the only son of the King. With Guy du
Bas-Tyra's backing the boy, the assembled Congress of Lords ratified his
succession. Then the real infighting began, until at last your late wife's
uncle was named as King's Regent."
Borric nodded. He remembered the battle over who would be named
the then boy King's Regent. His despised cousin Guy had nearly won
the position, but Borric's timely arrival and his support of Caldric of
Rillanon, along with the support of Duke Brucal of Yabon and Prince
Erland, had swung the majority of votes in the congress away from Guy.
"For the next five years there was only an occasional border clash with
Kesh. Things were quiet. Eight years ago"-Kerus paused to glance
around again-"Rodric embarked upon a program of public improvements,
as he calls them, upgrading roads and bridges, building dams,
and the like. At first they were of little burden, but the taxes have been
increased yearly until now the peasants and freemen, even the minor
nobles, are being bled white. The King has expanded his programs until
now he is rebuilding the entire capital, to make it the greatest city
known in the history of man, he says.
"Two years ago a small delegation of nobles came to the King and
asked him to abjure this excessive spending and ease the burden upon
the people. The King flew into a rage, accused the nobles of being
traitors, and had them summarily executed."
Borric's eyes widened. The snow under his boot crunched dryly as he
turned suddenly. "We've heard nothing of this in the West!"
"When Erland heard the news, he went immediately to the King and
demanded reparation for the families of the nobles who were executed,
and a lessening of the taxes. The King-or so it is rumored-was ready
to seize his uncle, but was restrained by the few counselors he still
trusted. They advised His Majesty that such an act, unheard of in the
history of the Kingdom, would surely cause the western lords to rise up
against the King."
Borric's expression' darkened. "They were right. Had that boy hanged
Erland, the Kingdom would have been irretrievably split."
"Since that time the Prince has not set foot in Rillanon, and the
business of the Kingdom is handled by aides, for the two men will not
speak to one another."
The Duke looked skyward, and his voice became troubled. "This is
much worse than I had heard. Erland told me of the taxes and his
refusal to impose them in the West. He said that the King was agreed,
for he understood the need of maintaining the garrisons of the North
and West."
Kerus slowly shook his head no. "The King agreed only when his aides
painted pictures of goblin armies pouring down from the Northlands
and plundering the cities of his Kingdom."
"Erland spoke of the strain between himself and his nephew, but
even in light of the news I carry, said nothing about His Majesty's
actions."
Kerus drew a deep breath and started walking once more. "Borric, I
spend so much time with the sycophants of the King's court, I forget
that you of the West are given to plain speech." Kerus was silent a
moment, then said, "Our King is not the man he once was. Sometimes
he seems his old self, laughing and open, filled with grand plans for the
Kingdom, other times he is . . . someone else, as if a dark spirit has
taken possession of his heart.
"Take care, Borric, for only Erland stands closer to the throne than
yourself. Our King is well aware of that fact~even if you never think of
it-and sees daggers and poison where none exists."
Silence descended over the group, and Pug saw Borric look openly
troubled. Kerus continued. "Rodric fears others covet his crown. That
may be, but not those the King suspects. There are only four conDoin
males besides the King, all of whom are men of honor." Borric inclined
his head at the compliment. "But there are perhaps a dozen more who
can claim ties to the throne, through the King's mother and her people.
All are eastern lords, and many would not flinch from the opportunity
to press their claim to the throne before the Congress of Lords."
Borric looked incensed. "You speak of treason."
"Treason in men's hearts, if not in deeds . . . yet."
"Have things come to such a pass in the East, without us of the West
knowing?"
Kerus nodded as they reached the far end of the garden. "Erland is an
honorable man, and as such would keep unfounded rumors from his
subjects, even yourself. As you have said, it is thirteen years since you
last were at Rillanon. All warrants and missives from the King still pass
through the Prince's court. How would you know?
"I fear it is only a matter of time before one or other of the King's
advisers positions himself over the fallen heads of those of us who hold
to our beliefs that the nobility are wardens of the nation's welfare."
Borric said, "Then you risk much with your frank speech."
Duke Kerus shrugged, indicating they should begin their return to
the palace. "I have not always been a man to speak my mind, Lord
Borric, but these are difficult times. Should anyone else have passed
through, there would have been only polite conversation. You are
unique, for with the Prince estranged from his nephew, you are the only
man in the Kingdom with the strength and rank to possibly influence
the King. I do not envy your weighty position, my friend.
"When Rodric the Third was king, I was among the most powerful
nobles in the East, but I might as well be a landless freebooter for all
the influence I now hold in Rodric the Fourth's court." Kerus paused. "Your
black-hearted cousin Guy is now closest to the King, and the Duke of
Bas-Tyra and I have little love between us. Our reasons for disliking one
another are not as personal as yours. But as his star rises, mine falls
even more."
Kerus slapped his hands as the cold was beginning to bite. "But one
bit of good news. Guy is wintering at his estate near Pointer's Head, so
the King is free of his plotting for the present." Kerus gripped Borric's
arm. "Use whatever influence you can muster to stem the King's impulsive
nature, Lord Borric, for with this invasion you bring word of, we
need to stand united. A lengthy war would drain us of what little
reserves we possess, and should the Kingdom be put to the test, I do not
know whether it would endure."
Borric said nothing, for even his worst fears since leaving the Prince
were surpassed by Kerus's remarks. The Duke of Salador said, "One last
thing, Borric. With Erland having refused the crown thirteen years ago,
and the rumors of his health failing, many of the Congress of Lords will be
looking to you for guidance. where you lead, many will follow, even
some of us in the East."
Borric said coldly, "Are you speaking of civil war?"
Kerus waved a hand, a pained expression crossing his face. His eyes
seemed moist, as if near tears. "I am ever loyal to the crown, Borric, but
if it comes to the right of things, the Kingdom must prevail. No one
man is more important than the Kingdom."
Borric said through clenched jaws, "The King is the Kingdom."
Kerus said, "You would not be the man you are and say otherwise. I
hope you are able to direct the King's energies toward this trouble in the
West, for should the Kingdom be imperiled, others will not hold to such
lofty beliefs."
Borric's tone softened a little as they walked up the steps leading
from the garden. "I know you mean well, Lord Kerus, and there is only
love of the realm in your heart. Have faith and pray, for I will do
whatever I can to ensure the survival of the Kingdom."
Kerus stood before the door back into the palace. "I fear we will all be
in deep water soon, my lord Borric. I pray that this invasion you speak of
will not be the wave that drowns us. In whatever way I can aid you, I
will." He turned toward the door, which was opened by a servant.
Loudly he said, "I will bid you a good night, for I can see you're all
tired."
The tension in the room was heavy as Borric, Arutha, and Pug reentered,
and the Duke's mood one of dark reflection. Servants came to
show the guests to their rooms, and Pug followed a boy near his own
age, dressed in the Duke's livery. Pug looked over his shoulder as they
left the hall to see the Duke and his son standing together, speaking
quietly to Kulgan.
Pug was shown to a small but elegant room and, ignoring the richness
of the bed covers, fell across them still fully clothed. The servant boy
said, "Do you need aid in undressing, Squire?"
Pug sat up and looked at the boy with such a frank expression of
wonder that the servant backed away a step. "If that will be all, Squire?"
he asked, obviously uncomfortable.
Pug just laughed. The boy stood uncertainly for an instant, then
bowed and hurriedly left the room. Pug pulled off his clothing, wondering
at the eastern nobles and servants who had to help them undress.
He was too tired to fold his garments, simply letting them fall to the
floor in a heap.
After blowing out the bedside candle, Pug lay for a time in the darkness,
troubled by the evening's discussion. He knew little of court intrigue,
but knew that Kerus must have been deeply worried to speak as
he did before strangers, in spite of Borric's reputation as a man of high
honor.
Pug thought of all the things that had taken place in the last months
and knew that his dreams of the King answering the call of Crydee with
banners flying were another boyish fancy shattered upon the hard rock
of reality.
13
RILLANON
ThE SHIP SAILED into THE harbor.
The climate of the Kingdom Sea was more clement than that of the
Bitter Sea, and the journey from Salador had proven uneventful. They'd
had to beat a tack much of the way against a steady northeast wind, so
three weeks had passed instead of two.
Pug stood on the foredeck of the ship, his cloak pulled tightly around
him. The winter wind's bitterness had given way to a softer cool, as if
spring were but a few days in coming.
Rillanon was called the jewel of the Kingdom, and Pug judged the
name richly deserved. Unlike the squat cities of the West, Rillanon
stood a mass of tall spires, gracefully arched bridges, and gently twisting
roadways, scattered atop rolling hills in delightful confusion. Upon heroic
towers, banners and pennons fluttered in the wind, as if the city
celebrated the simple fact of its own existence. To Pug, even the ferrymen
who worked the barges going to and from the ships at anchor in
the harbor were more colorful for being within the enchantment of
Rillanon.
The Duke of Salador had ordered a ducal banner sewn for Borric, and
it now flew from the top of the ship's mainmast, informing the officials
of the royal city that the Duke of Crydee had arrived. Borric's ship was
given priority in docking by the city's harbor pilot, and quickly the ship
was being secured at the royal quay. The party disembarked and were
met by a company of the Royal Household Guard. At the head of the
guards was an old, grey-haired, but still erect man, who greeted Borric
warmly.
The two men embraced, and the older man, dressed in the royal
purple and gold of the guard but with a ducal signet over his heart, said,
"Borric, it is good to see you once more. What has it been? Ten . . .
eleven years?"
"Caldric, old friend. It has been thirteen." Borric regarded him
fondly. He had clear blue eyes and a short salt-and-pepper beard.
The man shook his head and smiled. "It has been much too long."
He looked at the others. Spying Pug, he said, "Is this your younger
boy?"
Borric laughed. "No, though he would be no shame to me if he
were." He pointed out the lanky figure of Arutha. "This is my son.
Arutha, come and greet your great-uncle."
Arutha stepped forward, and the two embraced. Duke Caldric, Lord
of Rillanon, Knight-General of the King's Royal Household Guard, and
Royal Chancellor, pushed Arutha back and regarded him at arm's
length. "You were but a boy when I last saw you. I should have known
you, for though you have some of your father's looks, you also resemble
my dear brother-your mother's father-greatly. You do honor to my
family."
Borric said, "Well, old war-horse, how is your city?"
Caldric said, "There is much to speak of, but not here. We shall bring
you to the King's palace and quarter you in comfort. We shall have
much time to visit. What brings you here to Rillanon?" .
"I have pressing business with His Majesty, but it is not something to
be spoken of in the streets. Let us go to the palace."
The Duke and his party were given mounts, and the escort cleared
away the crowds as they rode through the city. If Krondor and Salador
had impressed Pug with their splendor, Rillanon left him speechless.
The island city was built upon many hills, with several small rivers
running down to the sea. It seemed to be a city of bridges and canals, as
much as towers and spires. Many of the buildings seemed new, and Pug
thought that this must be part of the King's plan for rebuilding the city.
At several points along the way he saw workers removing old stones
from a building, or erecting new walls and roofs. The newer buildings
were faced with colorful stonework, many of marble and quartz, giving
them a soft white, blue, or pink color. The cobblestones in the streets
were clean, and gutters ran free of the clogs and debris Pug had seen in
the other cities. Whatever else he might be doing, the boy thought, the
King is maintaining a marvelous city.
A river ran before the palace, so that entrance was made over a high
bridge that arched across the water into the main courtyard. The palace
was a collection of great buildings connected by long halls that sprawled
atop a hillside in the center of the city. It was faced with many-colored
stone, giving it a rainbow aspect.
As they entered the courtyard, trumpets sounded from the walls, and
guards stood to attention. Porters stepped forward to take the mounts,
while a collection of palace nobles and officials stood near the palace
entrance in welcome.
Approaching, Pug noticed that the greeting given by these men was
formal and lacked the personal warmth of Duke Caldric's welcome. As
he stood behind Kulgan and Meecham, he could hear Caldric's voice.
"My lord Borric, Duke of Crydee, may I present Baron Gray, His Majesty's
Steward of the Royal Household." This was a short, plump man in
a tight-fitting tunic of red silk, and pale grey hose that bagged at the
knees. "Earl Selvee, First Lord of the Royal Navies." A tall, gaunt man
with a thin, waxed mustache bowed stiffly. And so on through the
entire company. Each made a short statement of pleasure at Lord Borric's
arrival, but Pug felt there was little sincerity in their remarks.
They were taken to their quarters. Kulgan had to raise a fuss to have
Meecham near him, for Baron Gray had wanted to send him to the
distant servants' wing of the palace, but he relented when Caldric asserted
himself as Royal Chancellor.
The room that Pug was shown to far surpassed in splendor anything
he had yet seen. The floors were polished marble, and the walls were
made from the same material but flecked with what looked to be gold.
A great mirror hung in a small room to one side of the sleeping quarters,
where a large, gilded bathing tub sat. A steward put his few belongings
what they had picked up along the way since their own baggage had
-been lost in the forest-in a gigantic closet that could have held a
dozen times all that Pug owned. After the man had finished, he inquired,
"Shall I ready your bath, sir?"
Pug nodded, for three weeks aboard ship had made his clothes feel as
if they were sticking to him. When the bath was ready, the steward said,
"Lord Caldric will expect the Duke's party for dinner in four hours'
time, sir. Shall I return then?"
Pug said yes, impressed with the man's diplomacy. He knew only that
Pug had arrived with the Duke, and left it to Pug to decide whether or
not he was included in the dinner invitation.
As he slipped into the warm water, Pug let out a long sigh of relief.
He had never been one for baths when he had been a keep boy, preferring
to wash away dirt in the sea and the streams near the castle. Now
he could learn to enjoy them. He mused about what Tomas would have
thought of that. He drifted off in a warm haze of memories, one very
pleasant, of a dark-haired, lovely princess, and one sad, of a sandy-haired
boy.
THE DINNER of the night before had been an informal occasion, with
Duke Caldric hosting Lord Borric's party. Now they stood in the royal
throne room waiting to be presented to the King. The hall was vast, a
high vaulted affair, with the entire southern wall fashioned of
floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Hundreds of nobles stood
around as the Duke's party was led down a central aisle between the
onlookers.
Pug had not thought it possible to consider Duke Borric poorly
dressed, for he had always worn the finest clothing in Crydee, as had his
children. But among the finery in evidence around the room, Borric
looked like a raven amid a flock of peacocks. Here a pearl-studded doublet,
there a gold-thread-embroidered tunic~each noble seemed to be
outdoing the next. Every lady wore the costliest silks and brocades, but
only slightly outshone the men.
They halted before the throne, and Caldric announced the Duke.
The King smiled, and Pug was struck by a faint resemblance to Arutha,
though the King's manner was more relaxed. He leaned forward on his
throne and said, "Welcome to our city, cousin. It is good to see Crydee
in this hall after so many years."
Borric stepped forward and knelt before Rodric the Fourth, King of
the Kingdom of the Isles. "I am gladdened to see Your Majesty well."
A brief shadow passed over the monarch's face, then he smiled again.
"Present to us your companions."
The Duke presented his son, and the King said, "Well, it is true that
one of the conDoin line carries the blood of our mother's kin besides
ourself." Arutha bowed and backed away. Kulgan was next as one of the
Duke's advisers. Meecham, who had no rank in the Duke's court, had
stayed in his room. The King said something polite, and Pug was introduced.
"Squire Pug of Crydee, Your Majesty, Master of Forest Deep,
and member of my court."
The King clapped his hands together and laughed. "The boy who kills
trolls. How wonderful. Travelers have carried the tale from the far shores
of Crydee, and we would hear it spoken by the author of the brave deed.
We must meet later so that you may tell us of this marvel."
Pug bowed awkwardly, feeling a thousand eyes upon him. There had
been times before when he had wished the troll story had not been
spread, but never so much as now.
He backed away, and the King said, "Tonight we will hold a ball to
honor the arrival of our cousin Borric."
He stood, arranging his purple robes around him, and pulled his
golden chain of office over his head. A page placed the chain on a
purple velvet cushion. The King then lifted his golden crown from his
black-tressed head and handed it to another page.
The crowd bowed as he stepped down from his throne. "Come,
cousin," he said to Borric, "let us retire to my private balcony, where we
can speak without all the rigors of office. I grow weary of the pomp."
Borric nodded and fell in next to the King, motioning Pug and the
others to wait. Duke Caldric announced that the day's audience was at
an end, and that those with petitions for the King should return the
next day.
Slowly the crowd moved out the two great doors at the end of the
hall, while Arutha, Kulgan, and Pug stood by. Caldric approached and said,
"I will show you to a room where you may wait. It would be well
for you to stay close, should His Majesty call for your attendance."
A steward of the court took them through a small door near the one
the King had escorted Borric through. They entered a large, comfortable
room with a long table in the center laden with fruit, cheese, bread, and
wine. At the table were many chairs, and around the edge of the room
were several divans, with plump cushions piled upon them.
Arutha crossed over to large glass doors and peered through them. "I
can see Father and the King sitting on the royal balcony."
Kulgan and Pug joined him and looked to where Arutha indicated.
The two men were .at a table, overlooking the city and the sea beyond.
The King was speaking with expansive gestures, and Borric nodded as
he listened.
pug said, "I had not expected that His Majesty would look like you,
Your Highness."
Arutha replied with a wry smile, "It is not so surprising when you
consider that, as my father was cousin to his father, so my mother was
cousin to his mother."
Kulgan put his hand on Pug's shoulder. "Many of the noble families
have more than one tie between them Pug. Cousins who are four and
five times removed will marry for reasons of politics and bring the
families closer again. I doubt there is one noble family in the East that
can't claim some relationship to the crown though it may be distant and
follow along a twisted route."
They returned to the table, and Pug nibbled at a piece of cheese.
"The King seems in good humor," he said, cautiously approaching the
subject all had on their minds.
Kulgan looked pleased at the circumspect manner of the boy's comment,
for after leaving Salador, Borric had cautioned them all regarding
Duke Kerus's remarks. He had ended his admonition with the old adage,
"In the halls of power, there are no secrets, and even the deaf can
hear."
Arutha said, "Our monarch is a man of moods; let us hope he stays in
a good one after he hears Father's tidings."
The afternoon slowly passed as they awaited word from the Duke.
When the shadows outside had grown long, Borric suddenly appeared at
a door. He crossed over to stand before them, a- troubled expression on
his face. "His Majesty spent most of the afternoon explaining his plans
for the rebirth of the Kingdom."
Arutha said, "Did you tell him of the Tsurani?"
The Duke nodded. "He listened and then calmly informed me that
he would consider the matter. We will speak again in a day or so was all
he said."
Kulgan said, "At least he seemed in good humor."
Borric regarded his old adviser. "I fear too good. I expected some sign
of alarm. I do not ride across the Kingdom for minor cause, but he
seemed unmoved by what I had to tell him."
Kulgan looked worried. "We are overlong on this journey as it is. Let
us hope that His Majesty will not take long in deciding upon a course of
action."
Borric sat heavily in a chair and reached for a glass of wine. "Let us
hope."
Pug wALKED ThROUGH the door to the King's private quarters, his mouth
dry with anticipation. He was to have his interview with King Rodric in
a few minutes, and he was unsettled to be alone with the ruler of the
Kingdom. Each time he had been close to other powerful nobles, he
had hidden in the shadow of the Duke or his son, coming forward to tell
briefly what he knew of the Tsurani, then able to disappear quickly back
into the background. Now he was to be the only guest of the most
powerful man north of the Empire of Great Kesh.
A house steward showed him through the door to the King's private
balcony. Several servants stood around the edge of the large open veranda,
and the King occupied the lone table, a carved marble affair
under a large canopy.
The day was clear. Spring was coming early, as winter had before it,
and there was a hint of warmth in the gusting air. Below the balcony,
past the hedges and stone walls that marked its edge, Pug could see the
city of Rillanon and the sea beyond. The colorful rooftops shone
brightly in the midday sun, as the last snows had melted completely
over the last four days. Ships sailed in and out of the harbor, and the
streets teemed with citizens. The faint cries of merchants and hawkers,
shouting over the noise of the streets, floated up to become a soft
buzzing where the King took his midday meal.
As Pug approached the table, a servant pulled out a chair. The King
turned and said, "Ah! Squire Pug, please take a seat." Pug began a bow,
and the King said, "Enough. I don't stand on formality when I dine
with a friend."
Pug hesitated, then said, "Your Majesty honors me," as he sat.
Rodric waved the comment away. "I remember what it is to be a boy
in the company of men. When I was but a little older than you, I took
the crown. Until then I was only my father's son." His eyes got a distant
look for a moment. "The Prince, it's true, but still only a boy. My opinion
counted for nothing, and I never seemed to satisfy my father's
expectations, in hunting, riding, sailing, or swordplay. I took many a
hiding from my tutors, Caldric among them. That all changed when I
became King, but I still remember what it was like." He turned toward
Pug, and the distant expression vanished as he smiled. "And I do wish
us to be friends." He glanced away and again his expression turned
distant. "One can't have too many friends, now, can one? And since I'm
the King, there are so many who claim to be my friend, but aren't." He
was silent a moment, then again came out of his revery. "What do you
think of my city?"
Pug said, "I have never seen anything like it, Majesty. It's wonderful."
Rodric looked out across the vista before them. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"
He waved a hand, and a servant poured wine into crystal goblets. Pug
sipped at his, he still hadn't developed a taste for wine, but found this
very good, light and fruity with a hint of spices. Rodric said, "I have
tried very hard to make Rillanon a wonderful place for those who live
here. I would have the day come when all the cities of the Kingdom are
as fine as this, where everywhere the eye travels, there is beauty. It
would take a hundred lifetimes to do that, so I can only set the pattern,
building an example for those who follow to imitate. But where I find
brick, I leave marble. And those who see it will know it for what it is-my
legacy."
The King seemed to ramble a bit, and Pug wasn't sure of all that he
was saying as he continued to talk about buildings and gardens and
removing ugliness from view. Abruptly the King changed topics. "Tell
me how you killed the trolls."
Pug told him, and the King seemed to hang on every word. When the
boy had finished, the King said, "That is a wonderful tale. It is better
than the versions that have reached the court, for while it is not half so
heroic, it is twice as impressive for being true. You have a stout heart,
Squire Pug."
Pug said, "Thank you, Majesty."
Rodric said, "In your tale you mentioned the Princess Carline."
'"yes, Majesty?"
"I have not seen her since she was a baby in her mother's arms. What
sort of woman has she become?"
Pug found the shift in topic surprising, but said, "She has become a
beautiful woman, Majesty, much like her mother. She is bright and
quick, if given to a little temper."
The King nodded. "Her mother was a beautiful woman. If the daughter
is half as lovely, she is lovely indeed. Can she reason?"
Pug looked confused. "Majesty?"
"Has she a good head for reason, logic? Can she argue?"
Pug nodded vigorously. "Yes, Your Majesty. The Princess is very good
at that."
The King rubbed his hands together. "Good. I must have Borric send
her for a visit. Most of these eastern ladies are vapid, without substance.
I was hoping Borric gave the girl an education. I would like to meet a
young woman who knew logic and philosophy, and could argue and
declaim."
Pug suddenly realized what the King had meant by arguing wasn't
what he had thought. He decided it best not to mention the discrepancy.
The King continued. "My ministers dun me to seek a wife and give
the Kingdom an heir. I have been busy, and frankly, have found little to
interest me in the court ladies-oh, they're fine for a moonlight walk
and . . . other things. But as the mother of my heirs? I hardly think so.
But I should become serious in my search for a queen. Perhaps the only
conDoin daughter would be the logical place to start."
Pug began to mention another conDoin daughter, then stifled the
impulse, remembering the tension between the King and Anita's father.
Besides, the girl was only seven.
The King shifted topics again. "For four days cousin Borric has
regaled me with tales of these aliens, these Tsurani. What do you think
of all this business?"
Pug looked startled. He had not thought the King might ask him for
an opinion on anything, let alone a matter as important as the security
of the Kingdom. He thought for a long moment, trying to frame his
answer as best he could, then said, "From everything I have seen and
heard, Your Majesty, I think these Tsurani people not only are planning
to invade, but are already here."
The King raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I would like to hear your reasoning."
Pug considered his words carefully. "If there have been as many sightings
as we are aware of, Majesty, considering the stealth these people are
employing, wouldn't it be logical that there are many more occurrences
of their coming and going than we know of?"
The King nodded. "A good proposition. Continue."
"Then might it also not be true that once the snows have fallen, we
are less likely to find signs of them, as they are holding to remote areas?"
Rodric nodded and Pug continued. "If they are as warlike as the Duke
and the others have said them to be, I think they have mapped out the
West to find a good place to bring their soldiers in during the winter so
they can launch their offensive this spring." The
King slapped the table with his hand. "A good exercise in logic,
Pug." Motioning for the servants to bring food, he said, "Now, let us
eat."
Food of an amazing variety and amount for just the two of them was
produced, and Pug picked small amounts of many things, so as not to
appear indifferent to the King's generosity. Rodric asked him a few
questions as they dined, and Pug answered as well as he could.
As Pug was finishing his meal, the King put his elbow on the table
and stroked his beardless chin. He stared out into space for a long time,
and Pug began to feel self-conscious, not knowing the proper courtesy
toward a king who is lost in thought. He elected to sit quietly.
After a time Rodric came out of his revery. There was a troubled note
in his voice as he looked at Pug and said, "Why do these people come
to plague us now? There is so much to be done. I can't have war disrupting
my plans." He stood and paced around the balcony for a while,
leaving Pug standing, for he had risen when the King had. Rodric
turned to Pug. "I must send for Duke Guy. He will advise me. He has a
good head for such things."
The King paced, looking at the city for a few minutes more, while
Pug stood by his chair. He heard the monarch mutter to himself about
the great works that must not be interrupted, then felt a tug on his
sleeve. He turned and saw a palace steward standing quietly at his side.
With a smile and a gesture toward the door, the steward indicated the
interview was at an end. Pug followed the man to the door, wondering
at the staff's ability to recognize the moods of the King.
Pug was shown the way back to his room, and he asked the servant to
carry word to Lord Borric that Pug wished to see him if he was not busy.
He went into his room and sat down to think. A short time later he was
brought out of his musing by a knock at the door. He gave permission
for the caller to enter, and the same steward who had carried the message
to the Duke entered, with the message that Borric would see Pug at
once.
Pug followed the man from his room and sent him away, saying he
could find the Duke's room without guidance. He walked slowly, thinking
of what he was going to tell the Duke. Two things were abundantly
clear to the boy: the King was not pleased to hear that the Tsurani were
a potential threat to his kingdom, and Lord Borric would be equally
displeased to hear that Guy du Bas-Tyra was being called to Rillanon.
As with EVERY dinner over the last few days, there was a hushed mood at
the table. The five men of Crydee sat eating in the Duke's quarters,
with palace servants, all wearing the King's purple-and-gold badge on
their dark tunics, hovering nearby.
The Duke was chafing to leave Rillanon for the West. Nearly four
months had passed since they left Crydee: the entire winter. Spring was
upon them, and if the Tsurani were going to attack, as they all believed,
it was only a matter of days now. Arutha's restlessness matched his
father's. Even Kulgan showed signs that the waiting was telling upon
him. Only Meecham, who revealed nothing of his feelings, seemed content
to wait.
Pug also longed for home. He had grown bored in the palace. He
wished to be back in his tower with his studies. He also wished to see
Carline again, though he didn't speak of this to anyone. Lately he found
himself remembering her in a softer light, forgiving those qualities that
had once irritated him. He also knew, with mixed feelings of anticipation,
that he might discover the fate of Tomas. Dolgan should soon
send word to Crydee, if the thaw came early to the mountains.
Borric had endured several more meetings with the King over the last
week, each ending unsatisfactorily as far as he was concerned. The last
had been hours ago, but he would say nothing about it until the room
was emptied of servants.
As the last dishes were being cleared away, and the servants were
pouring the King's finest Keshian brandy, a knock came at the door and
Duke Caldric entered, waving the servants outside. When the room was
cleared, he turned to the Duke.
"Borric, I am sorry to interrupt your dining, but I have news."
Borric stood, as did the others. "Please join us. Here, take a glass."
Caldric took the offered brandy and sat in Pug's chair, while the boy
pulled another over. The Duke of Rillanon sipped his brandy and said,
"Messengers arrived less than an hour ago from the Duke of Bas-Tyra.
Guy expresses alarm over the possibility that the King might be 'unduly'
distressed by these 'rumors' of trouble in the West."
Borric stood and threw his glass across the room, shattering it. Amber
fluid dripped down the wall as the Duke of Crydee nearly roared with
anger. "What game does Guy play at? What is this talk of rumors and
undue distress!"
Caldric raised a hand and Borric calmed a little, sitting again. The old
Duke said, "I myself penned the King's call to Guy. Everything you had
told, every piece of information and every surmise, was included. I can
only think Guy is ensuring that the King reaches no decision until he
arrives at the palace."
Borric drummed his fingers on the table and looked at Caldric with
anger flashing in his eyes. "what is Bas-Tyra doing? If war comes, it
comes to Crydee and Yabon. My people will suffer. My lands will be
ravaged."
Caldric shook his head slowly. "I will speak plainly, old friend. Since
the estrangement between the King and his uncle, Erland, Guy plays to
advance his own banner to primacy in the Kingdom. I think that,
should Erland's health fail, Guy sees himself wearing the purple of
Krondor."
Through clenched teeth Borric said, "Then hear me clearly, Caldric. I
would not put that burden on myself or mine for any but the highest
purpose. But if Erland is as ill as I think, in spite of his claims
otherwise, it will be Anita who sits the throne in Krondor, not Black Guy.
If I have to march the Armies of the West into Krondor and assume the
regency myself, that is what shall be, even should Rodric wish it
otherwise. Only if the King has issue will another take the western
throne."
Caldric looked at Borric calmly. "And will you be branded traitor to
the crown?"
Borric slapped the table with his hand. "Curse the day that villain
was born. I regret that I must acknowledge him kinsman."
Caldric waited for a minute until Borric calmed down, then said, "I
know you better than you know yourself, Borric. You would not raise the
war banner of the West against the King, though you might happily
strangle your cousin Guy. It was always a sad thing for me that the
Kingdom's two finest generals could hate each other so."
"Aye, and with cause. Every time there is a call to aid the West, it is
cousin Guy who opposes. Every time there is intrigue and a title is lost,
it is one of Guy's favorites who gains. How can you not see? It was only
because you, Brucal of Yabon, and I myself held firm that the congress
did not name Guy regent for Rodric's first three years. He stood before
every Duke in the Kingdom and called you a tired old man who was not
fit to rule in the King's name. How can you forget?"
Caldric did look tired and old as he sat in the chair, one hand shading
his eyes, as if the room light were too bright. Softly he said, "I do see,
and I haven't forgotten. But he also is my kinsman by marriage, and if I
were not here, how much more influence do you think he would have
with Rodric? As a boy the King idolized him, seeing in him a dashing
hero, a fighter of the first rank, a defender of the Kingdom."
Borric leaned back in his chair. "I am sorry, Caldric," he said, his
voice losing its harsh edge. "I know you act for the good of us all. And
Guy did play the hero, rolling the Keshian Army back at Deep Taunton,
all those years ago. I should not speak of things I have not seen
firsthand."
Arutha sat passively through all this, but his eyes showed he felt the
same anger as his father. He moved forward in his chair, and the dukes
looked at him. Borric said, "You have something to say, my son?"
Arutha spread his hands wide before him. "In all this the thought has
bothered me: should the Tsurani come, how would it profit Guy to see
the King hesitate?"
Borric drummed his fingers on the table. "That is the puzzle, for in
spite of his scheming, Guy would not peril the Kingdom, not to spite
me.'
"Would it not serve him," said Arutha, "to let the West suffer a little,
until the issue was in doubt then to come at the head of the Armies of
the East, the conquering hero, as he was at Deep Taunton?"
Caldric considered this. "Even Guy could not think so little of these
aliens, I would hope."
Arutha paced the room. "But consider what he knows. The ramblings
of a dying man. Surmise on the nature of a ship that only Pug, here, has
seen, and I caught but a glimpse of as it slid into the sea. Conjecture by
a priest and a magician, both callings Guy holds in little regard. Some
migrating Dark Brothers. He might discount such news."
"But it is all there for the seeing," protested Borric.
Caldric watched the young Prince pace the room. "Perhaps you are
right. What may be lacking is the urgency of your words, an urgency
lacking in the dry message of ink and parchment. When he arrives, we
must convince him."
Borric nearly spat his words. "It is for the King to decide, not Guy!"
Caldric said, "But the King has given much weight to Guy's counsel.
If you are to gain command of the Armies of the West, it is Guy who
must be convinced."
Borric looked shocked. "I? I do not want the banner of the armies. I
only wish for Erland to be free to aid me, should there be need."
Caldric placed both hands upon the table. "Borric, for all your wisdom,
you are much the rustic noble. Erland cannot lead the armies. He
is not well. Even if he could, the King would not allow it. Nor would he
give leave for Erland's Marshal, Dulanic. You have seen Rodric at his
best, of late. When the black moods are upon him, he fears for his life.
None dare say it, but the King suspects his uncle of plotting for the
crown."
"Ridiculous!" exclaimed Borric. "The crown was Erland's for the asking
thirteen years ago. There was no clear succession. Rodric's father
had not yet named him heir apparent, and Erland's claim was as clear as
the King's, perhaps more so. Only Guy and those who sought to use the
boy pressed Rodric's claim. Most of the congress would have sustained
Erland as King."
"I know, but times are different, and the boy is a boy no longer. He is
now a frightened young man who is sick from fear. Whether it is due to
Guy's and the others' influence or from some illness of the mind, I do
not know. The King does not think as other men do. No king does, and
Rodric less than most. Ridiculous as it may seem, he will not give the
Armies of the West to his uncle. I am also afraid that once Guy has his
ear, he will not give them to you either."
Borric opened his mouth to say something, but Kulgan interrupted.
"Excuse me, Your Graces, but may I suggest something?"
Caldric looked at Borric, who nodded. Kulgan cleared his throat and
said, "Would the King give the Armies of the West to Duke Brucal of
Yabon?"
Comprehension slowly dawned on Borric's and Caldric's faces, until
the Duke of Crydee threw back his head and laughed. Slamming his fist
on the table, he nearly shouted, "Kulgan! If you had not served me well
in all the years I have known you, tonight you have." He turned to
Caldric. "What do you think?"
Caldric smiled for the first time since entering the room. "Brucal?
That old war dog? There is no more honest man in the Kingdom. And
he is not in the line of succession. He would be beyond even Guy's
attempts to discredit. Should he receive the command of the armies
Arutha finished the thought. "He would call Father to be his chief
adviser. He knows Father is the finest commander in the West."
Caldric sat up straight in his chair, excitement on his face. "You
would even have command of the armies of Yabon."
"Yes," said Arutha, "and LaMut, ZUn, Ylith, and the rest."
Caldric stood. "I think it will work. Say nothing to the King tomorrow.
I will find the proper time to make the 'suggestion.' Pray that His
Majesty approves."
Caldric took his leave, and Pug could see that for the first time there
was hope for a good ending to this journey. Even Arutha, who had
fumed like black thunder all week, looked nearly happy.
Pug wAS AWAKENED by a pounding on his door. He sleepily called out for
whoever was out there to enter, and the door opened. A royal steward
Walked in. "Sir, the King commands all in the Duke's party to join him
in the throne room. At once." He held a lantern for Pug's convenience.
Pug said he would come straight away and hurriedly got dressed.
Outside it was still dark, and he felt anxious about what had caused this
surprise summons. The hopeful feeling of the night before, after Caldric
had left, was replaced by a gnawing worry that the unpredictable
King had somehow learned of the plan to circumvent the arrival of the
Duke of Bas-Tyra.
He was still buckling his belt about his tunic when he left his room.
He hurried down the hall, with the steward beside him holding a lantern
against the dark, as the torches and candles usually lit in the evening
had all been extinguished.
When they reached the throne room, the Duke, Arutha, and Kulgan
were arriving, all looking apprehensively toward Rodric, who paced by
his throne, still in his night-robes. Duke Caldric stood to one side, a
grave expression on his face. The room was dark, save for the .lanterns
carried by the stewards.
As soon as they were gathered before the throne, Rodric flew into a
rage. "Cousin! Do you know what I have here?" he screamed, holding
out a sheaf of parchment.
Borric said he didn't. Rodric's voice lowered only a little. "It is a
message from Yabon! That old fool Brucal has let those Tsurani aliens
attack and destroy one of his garrisons. Look at these!" he nearly
shrieked, throwing the parchments toward Borric. Kulgan picked them
up and handed them to the Duke. "Never mind," said the King, his
voice returning to near-normalcy. "I'll tell you what they say.
"These invaders have attacked into the Free Cities, near Walinor.
They have attacked into the elven forests. They have attacked Stone
Mountain. They have attacked Crydee."
Without thinking, Borric said, "What news from Crydee?"
The King stopped his pacing. He looked at Borric, and for a moment
Pug saw madness in his eyes. He closed them briefly, then opened
them, and Pug could see the King was himself again. He shook his head
slightly and raised his hand to his temple. "I have only secondhand
news from Brucal. When those messages left six weeks ago, there had
only been one attack at Crydee. Your son Lyam reports the victory was
total, driving the aliens deep into the forest."
Caldric stepped forward. "All reports say the same thing. Heavily
armed companies of foot soldiers attacked during the night, before the
snows had melted, taking the garrisons by surprise. Little is known save
that a garrison of LaMutians near Stone Mountain was overrun. All
other attacks seem to have been driven back." He looked at Borric
meaningfully. "There is no word of the Tsurani's using cavalry."
Borric said, "Then perhaps Tully was right, and they have no horses."
The King seemed to be dizzy, for he took a staggering step backward
and sat on his throne. Again he placed a hand to his temple, then said,
"what is this talk of horses? My Kingdom is invaded. These creatures
dare to attack my soldiers."
Borric looked at the King. "What would Your Majesty have me do?"
The King's voice rose. "Do? I was going to wait for my loyal Duke of
Bas-Tyra to arrive before I made any decision. But now I must act."
He paused, and his face took on a vulpine look, as his dark eyes
gleamed in the lantern light. "I was considering giving the Armies of the
West to Brucal, but the doddering old fool can't even protect his own
garrisons."
Borric was about to protest on Brucal's behalf, but Arutha, knowing
his father, gripped his arm, and the Duke remained silent.
The King said, "Borric, you must leave Crydee to your son. He is
capable enough, I should think. He's given us our only victory so far."
His eyes wandered and he giggled. He shook his head for a moment,
and his voice lost its frantic edge. "Oh, gods, these pains. I think my
head will burst." He closed his eyes briefly. "Borric, leave Crydee to
Lyam and Arutha; I'm giving you the banner of the Armies of the West;
go to Yabon. Brucal is sorely pressed, for most of the alien army strikes
toward LaMut and ZUn. When you are there, request what you need.
These invaders must be driven from our lands."
The King's face was pale, and perspiration gleamed on his forehead.
"This is a poor hour to start, but I have sent word to the harbor to ready
a ship. You must leave at once. Go now."
The Duke bowed and turned. Caldric said, "I will see His Majesty to
his room. I will accompany you to the docks when you are ready."
The old Chancellor helped the King from the throne, and the Duke's
party left the hall. They rushed back to their rooms to find stewards
already packing their belongings. Pug stood around excitedly, for at last
he was returning to his home.
ThEY stOOD at dockside, bidding farewell to Caldric. Pug and Meecham
waited, and the tall franklin said, "Well, lad. It will be some time before
we see home again, now that war is joined."
Pug looked up into the scarred face of the man who had found him in
the storm, so long ago. "Why? Aren't we going home?"
Meecham shook his head. "The Prince will ship from Krondor
through the Straits of Darkness to join his brother, but the Duke will
ship for Ylith then to Brucal's camp somewhere near LaMut. Where
Lord Borric goes, Kulgan goes. And where my master goes, I go. And
you?"
Pug felt a sinking in his stomach. What the franklin said was true. He
belonged with Kulgan, not with the folk at Crydee, though he knew if
he asked, he would be allowed to go home with the Prince. He resigned
himself to another sign that his boyhood was ending. "Where Kulgan
goes, I go."
Meecham clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well, at least I can
teach you to use that bloody sword you swing like a fishwife's broom."
Feeling little cheer at the prospect, Pug smiled weakly. They soon
boarded the ship and were under way toward Salador, and the first leg of
the long journey west.
14
INVASION
ThE SPRING RAINS WERE HEAvy THAT yeaR.
The business of war was hampered by the ever-present mud. It would
stay wet and cold for nearly another month before the brief, hot summer
came.
Duke Brucal of Yabon and Lord Borric stood looking over a table
laden with maps. The rain hammered on the roof of the tent, the
central part of the commander's pavilion. On either side of the tent two
others were attached, providing sleeping quarters for the two nobles.
The tent was filled with smoke, from lanterns and from Kulgan's pipe.
The magician had proven an able adviser to the dukes, and his magical
aid helpful. He could detect trends in the weather, and his wizard's
sight could detect some of the Tsurani's troop movements, though not
often. And over the years his reading of every book he encountered,
including narratives of warfare, had made him a fair student of tactics
and strategy.
Brucal pointed to the newest map on the table. "They have taken this
point here, and another here. They hold this point"-he indicated another
spot on the map-"in spite of our every effort to dislodge them.
They also seem to be moving along a line from here, to here." His finger
swept down a line along the eastern face of the Grey Towers. "There is a
coordinated pattern here, but I'm damned if I can anticipate where it's
going next." The old Duke looked weary. The fighting had been going
on sporadically for over two months now, and no distinct advantage
could be seen on either side.
Borric studied the map. Red spots marked known Tsurani strongholds:
hand-dug, earthen breastworks, with a minimum of two hundred
men defending. There were also suspected reinforcement companies,
their approximate location indicated with yellow spots. It was known
that any position attacked was quick to get reinforcements, sometimes
in a matter of minutes. Blue spots indicated the location of Kingdom
pickets, though most of Brucal's forces were billeted around the hill
upon which the commander's tent sat.
Until the heavy foot soldiers and engineers from Ylith and Tyr-Sog
arrived to man and create permanent fortifications, the Kingdom was
fighting a principally mobile war, for most of the troops assembled were
cavalry. The Duke of Crydee agreed with the other man's assessment.
"It seems their tactics remain the same: bring in a small force, dig in,
and hold. They prevent our troops from entering, but refuse to follow
when we withdraw. There is a pattern. But for the life of me, I can't see
it either."
A guard entered. "My lords, an elf stands without, seeking entrance."
Brucal said, "Show him in."
The guard held aside the tent flap, and an elf entered. His red-brown
hair was plastered to his head, and his cloak dripped water on the floor
of the tent. He made a slight bow to the dukes. .
"What news from Elvandar?" Borric asked.
"My queen sends you greetings." He quickly turned to the map. He
pointed at the pass between the Grey Towers on the south and Stone
Mountain on the north, the same pass Borric's forces now bottled up at
its east end. "The outworlders move many soldiers through this pass.
They have advanced to the edge of the elven forests, but seek not to
enter. They have made it difficult to get through." He grinned. "I led
several a merry chase for half a day. They run nearly as well as the
dwarves. But they could not keep up in the forest." He returned his
attention to the map. "There is word from Crydee that skirmishes
have been fought by outriding patrols but nothing close to the castle
itself. There is no word of activity from the Grey Towers, Carse,
or Tulan. They seem content to dig in along this pass. Your forces to
the west will not be able to join you, for they could not break through
now."
"How strong do the aliens appear to be?" asked Brucal.
"It is not known, but I saw several thousand along this route." His
finger indicated a route along the northern edge of the pass, from the
elven forests to the Kingdom camp. "The dwarves of Stone Mountain
are left alone, so long as they do not venture south. The outworlders
deny them the pass also."
Borric asked the elf, "Has there been any report of the Tsurani's
having cavalry?"
"None. Every report refers only to infantry.'
Kulgan said, "Father Tully's speculation on their being horseless
seems to be borne out."
Brucal took brush and ink in hand and entered the information on
the map. Kulgan stood looking over his shoulder.
Borric said to the elf, "After you've rested, carry my greetings to your
mistress, and my wish for her good health and prosperity. If you should
send runners to the west, please carry the same message to my sons."
The elf bowed. "As my lord wishes. I shall return to Elvandar at
once." He turned and left the tent.
Kulgan said, "I think I see it." He pointed to the new red spots on the map.
They formed a rough half circle, through the pass. "The Tsurani
are trying to hold this area here. That valley is the center of the circle.
I would guess they are attempting to keep anyone from getting close."
Both the dukes looked puzzled. Borric said, "But to what purpose?
There is nothing there of any value militarily. It is as if they are
inviting us to bottle them up in that valley."
Suddenly Brucal gasped. "It's a bridgehead. Think of it in terms of
crossing a river. They have a foothold on this side of the rift, as the
magician calls it. They have only as many supplies as their men can
carry through. They don't have enough control of the area for foraging,
so they need to expand the area under their control and build up supplies
before they launch an offensive."
Brucal turned to the magician. "Kulgan, what do you think? This is
more in your province."
The magician looked at the map as if trying to divine information
hidden in it. "We know nothing of the magic involved. We don't know
how fast they can pass supplies and men through, for no one has ever
witnessed an appearance. They may require a large area, which this
valley provides them. Or they may have some limit on the amount of
time available to pass troops through."
Duke Borric considered this. "Then there is only one thing to do. We
must send a party into the valley to see what they are doing."
Kulgan smiled. "I will go too, if Your Grace permits. Your soldiers
might not have the faintest idea of what they are seeing if it involves
magic."
Brucal started to object, his gaze taking in the magician's ample size.
Borric cut him off. "Don't let his look fool you. He rides like a trooper."
He turned to Kulgan. "You had best take Pug, for if one should fall, then
the other can carry the news."
Kulgan looked unhappy at that, but saw the wisdom in it. The Duke
of Yabon said, "If we strike at the North Pass, then into this valley and
draw their forces there, a small, fast company might break through
here." He pointed at a small pass that entered the south end of the
valley from the east.
Borric said, "It is a bold enough plan. We have danced with the
Tsurani so long, holding a stable front, I doubt they will expect it." The
magician suggested they retire for the rest of the evening, for it would
be a long day on the morrow. He closed his eyes briefly, then informed
the two leaders that the rain would stop and the next day would be
fine.
Puc LAY WRAPPED in a blanket, trying to nap, when Kulgan entered their
tent. Meecham sat before the cook fire, preparing the evening meal and
attempting to keep it from the greedy maw of Fantus. The firedrake had
sought out his master a week before, eliciting startled cries from the
soldiers as he swooped over the tents. Only Meecham's commanding
shouts had kept a bowman from putting a cloth-yard arrow into the
playful drake. Kulgan had been pleased to see his pet, but at a loss to
explain how the creature had found them. The drake had moved right
into the magician's tent, content to sleep next to Pug and steal food
from under Meecham's watchful eye.
Pug sat up as the magician pulled off his sopping cloak. "There is an
expedition going deep within Tsurani-held territory, to break the circle
they've thrown up around a small valley and find out what they are up
to. You and Meecham will be going with me on this trip, I would have
friends at my back and side."
Pug felt excited by the news. Meecham had spent long hours schooling
him in use of sword and shield, and the old dream of soldiering had
returned. "I have kept my blade sharp, Kulgan."
Meecham gave forth a snort that passed for laughter, and the magician
threw him a black look. "Good, Pug. But with any luck we'll not be
fighting. We are to go in a smaller force attached to a larger one that
will draw off the Tsurani. We will drive quickly into their territory and
discover what they are hiding. We will then ride as fast as possible to
bring back the news. I thank the gods they are without horses, or we
could never hope to accomplish so bold a stroke. We shall ride through
them before they know we have struck."
"Perhaps we may take a prisoner," the boy said hopefully.
"It would be a change," said Meecham. The Tsurani had proved to be
fierce fighters, preferring to die rather than be captured.
"Maybe then we'd discover why they've come to Midkemia," ventured
Pug.
Kulgan looked thoughtful. "There is little we understand about these
Tsurani. Where is this place they come from? How do they cross between
their world and ours? And as you've pointed out, the most vexing
question of all, why do they come? Why invade our lands?"
"Metal."
Kulgan and Pug looked over at Meecham, who was spooning up stew,
keeping one eye on Fantus. "They don't have any metal and they want
ours." When Kulgan and Pug regarded him with blank expressions, he
shook his head. "I'd thought you puzzled it out by now, so I didn't
think to bring it up." He put aside the bowls of stew, reached behind
himself, and drew a bright red arrow out from under his bedding. "Souvenir,"
he said, holding it out for inspection. "Look at the head. It's the
same stuff their swords are made from, some kind of wood, hardened
like steel. I picked over a lot of things fetched in by the soldiers, and I
haven't seen one thing these Tsurani make with any metal in it."
Kulgan looked flabbergasted. "Of course! It's all so simple. They
found a way to pass between their world and ours, sent through scouts,
and found a land rich in metals they lack. So they sent in an invading
army. It also explains why they marshal in a high valley of the mountains,
rather than in the lower forests. It gives them free access to . . .
the dwarven mines!" He jumped up. "I'd better inform the dukes at
once. We must send word to the dwarves to be alert for incursions into
the mines."
Pug sat thoughtfully as Kulgan vanished through the tent entrance.
After a moment he said, "Meecham, why didn't they try trading?"
Meecham shook his head. "The Tsurani? From what I've seen, boy,
it's a good bet trading never entered their minds. They are one very
warlike bunch. Those bastards fight like six hundred kinds of demons. If
they had cavalry, they would have chased this whole lot back to LaMut,
then probably burned the city down around them. But if we can wear
them down, like a bulldog does just keep hanging on until they tire, we
might settle this after a time. Look what happened to Kesh. Lost half of
Bosania to the Kingdom in the north 'cause the Confederacy just plain
wore the Empire out with one rebellion after another in the south."
After a time, Pug gave up on Kulgan's returning soon, ate supper
alone, and made ready for bed. Meecham quit trying to keep the magician's
meal away from the drake, and also turned in.
In the dark, Pug lay staring up at the tent roof, listening to the sound
of the rain and the drake's joyous chewing. Soon he drifted off into
sleep, where he dreamed of a dark tunnel and a flickering light vanishing
down it.
THE trEEs were thick and the air hung heavy with mist as the column moved
slowly through the forest. Outriders came and went every few minutes,
checking for signs that the Tsurani were preparing an ambush. The sun was
lost high in the trees overhead, and the entire scene had a greyish-green
quality to it, making it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead. At
the head of the column rode a young captain of the LaMutian army, Vandros,
son of the old Earl of LaMut. He was also one of the more level-headed and
capable young officers in Brucal's army. They rode in pairs, with Pug
sitting next to a soldier, behind Kulgan and Meecham. The order to halt
came down the line, and Pug reined in his horse and dismounted. Over a
light gambeson, he wore a well-oiled suit of chain mail. Over that was a
tabard of the LaMutian forces, with the grey wolf's head on a circle of
blue in the center. Heavy woolen trousers were tucked into his high boots.
He had a shield on his left ' arm, and his sword hung from his belt, he
felt truly a soldier. The only discordant note was his helm, which was a
little too large and gave him a slightly comic appearance. Captain Vandros
came back to where Kulgan stood waiting, and dismounted. "The scouts have
spotted a camp about half a mile ahead. They think they were not seen by
the guards." The captain pulled out a map. "We are about here. I will lead
my men and attack the enemy position. Cavalry from Zun will support us on
either side. Lieutenant Garth will command the column you will ride with.
You will pass the enemy camp and continue on toward the mountains. We will
try to follow if we can, but if we haven't rejoined you by sundown, you
must continue alone. "Keep moving, if only at a slow walk. Push the horses,
but try to keep them alive. On horseback you can always outrun these
aliens, but on foot I wouldn't give you much chance of getting back. They
run like demons. "Once in the mountains, move through the pass. Ride into
the valley one hour after sunrise. The North Pass will be attacked at dawn,
so if you get safely into the valley you should, I hope, find little
between you and the North Pass. Once in the valley, don't stop for
anything. If a man falls, he is to be left. The mission is to get
information back to the commanders. Now try to rest. It may be your last
chance for some time. We attack in an hour." He walked his horse back to
the head of the line. Kulgan, Meecham, and Pug sat without speaking. The
magician wore no armor because he claimed it would interfere with his
magic. Pug was more inclined to believe it would interfere with his
considerable girth. Meecham had a sword at his side, like the others, but
held a horse bow. He preferred archery to close fighting, though Pug knew,
from long hours of instruction at his hands, that he was no stranger to the
blade. The hour passed slowly, and Pug felt mounting excitement, for he was
still possessed by boyish notions of glory. He had forgotten the terror of
the fighting with the Dark Brothers before they reached the Grey Towers.
Word was passed and they remounted. They rode slowly at first, until the
Tsurani were in sight. As the trees thinned, they picked up speed, and when
they reached the clearing, they galloped the horses. Large breastworks of
earth had been thrown up as a defense against the charge of horsemen. Pug
could see the brightly colored helmets of the Tsurani rushing to defend
their camp. As the riders charged, the sounds of fighting could be heard
echoing through the trees as the Zunese troops engaged other Tsurani camps.
The ground shook under the horses as they rode straight at the camp,
sounding like a rolling wave of thunder. The Tsurani soldiers stayed behind
the earthworks, shooting arrows, most of which fell short. As the first
element of the column hit the earthworks, the second element turned to the
left, riding off at an angle past the camp. A few Tsurani soldiers were
outside the breastworks here, and were ridden down like wheat before a
scythe. Two came close to hitting the riders with the great two-handed
swords they wielded, but their blows went wide. Meecham, guiding his horse
with his legs, dropped both with two quick arrows. Pug heard a horse scream
among the sounds of the fighting behind, then suddenly found himself
crashing through the brush as they entered the forest. They rode as hard as
possible, cutting through the trees, ducking under low branches, the scene
a passing kaleidoscope of greens and browns. The column rode for nearly a
half hour, then slackened pace as the horses began to tire. Kulgan called
to Lieutenant Garth, and they halted to check their position against the
map. If they moved slowly for the balance of the day and night, they would
reach the mouth of the pass near daybreak. "' Meecham peered over the heads
of the lieutenant and Kulgan as they -knelt on the ground. "I know this
place. I hunted it as a boy, when I lived near %Hnsh." Pug was startled.
This was the first time Meecham had ever mentioned anything about his past.
Pug had supposed that Meecham was from Crydee, and was surprised to find he
had been a youth in the Free Cities. But then he found it difficult to
imagine Meecham as a boy. The franklin continued. "There is a way over the
crest of the mountains, a path that leads between two smaller peaks. It is
little more than a goat trail, but if we led the horses all night, we could
be in the valley by sunrise. This way is difficult to find on this side if
you don't know where to seek it. From the valley side, it is nearly
impossible. I would bet the Tsurani know nothing about it." The lieutenant
regarded Kulgan with a question in his eyes. The magician looked at
Meecham, then said, "It might be worth a try. We can mark our trail for
Vandros. If we move slowly, he might catch up before we reach the valley."
"All right," said the lieutenant, "our biggest advantage is mobility, so
let's keep moving. Meecham, where will we come out?" The large man leaned
over the lieutenant's shoulder to point at a spot on the map near the south
end of the valley. "Here. If we come out straight west for a half mile or
so, then swing north, we can cut down the heart of the valley." He motioned
with his finger as he spoke. "This valley's mostly woods at the north and
south end, with a big meadow in the middle. That's where they'd be if they
have a big camp. It's mostly open there, so if the aliens haven't come up
with anything surprising, we should be able to ride right by them afore
they can organize to stop us. The dicey part will be getting through the
northern woods if they've garrisoned soldiers there. But if we get through
them, we'll be free to the North Pass."
"All agreed?" asked the lieutenant.
When no one said anything, he gave orders for the men to walk their horses,
and Meecham took the lead as guide. They reached the entrance to the pass,
or what Pug thought Meecham had correctly called a goat trail, an hour
before sundown. The lieutenant posted guards and ordered the horses
unsaddled. Pug rubbed down his horse with handfuls of long grass, then
staked it out. The thirty soldiers were busy tending to their horses and
armor. Pug could feel the tension in the air. The run around the Tsurani
camp had set the soldiers on edge, and they were anxious for a fight.
Meecham showed Pug how to muffle his sword and shield with rags torn from
the soldiers' blankets. "We're not going to be using these bed rolls this
night, and nothing will ring through the hills like the sound of metal
striking metal, boy. Except maybe the clopping of hooves on the rock." Pug
watched as he muffled the horses' hooves with leather stockings designed
for just this purpose and carried in the saddlebags. Pug rested as the sun
began to set. Through the short spring twilight, he waited until he heard
the order to resaddle. The soldiers were beginning to pull their horses
into a line when he finished. Meecham and the lieutenant were walking down
the line repeating instructions to the men. They would move in single file,
Meecham taking the lead, the lieutenant second, down the line to the last
soldier. They tied a series of ropes through the left stirrup of each
horse, and each man gripped it tightly as he led his own horse. After
everyone was in position, Meecham started off. The path rose steeply and
the horses had to scramble in places. In the darkness they moved slowly,
taking great care not to stray from the path. Occasionally Meecham stopped
the line, to check ahead. After several such stops, the trail crested
through a deep, narrow pass and started downward. An hour later it widened,
and they stopped to rest. Two soldiers were sent ahead with Meecham to
scout the way, while the rest of the tired line dropped to the ground to
ease cramped legs. Pug realized the fatigue was as much the result of the
tension created by the silent passage as of the climbing, but it didn't
make his legs feel any better. After what seemed to be much too short a
rest they were moving again. Pug stumbled along, fatigue numbing his mind
to the point where the world became an endless series of picking up one
foot and placing it before the other. Several times the horse before him
was literally towing him as he grasped the rope tied to its stirrup.
Suddenly Pug was aware that the line had stopped and that they were
standing in a gap between two small hills, looking down at the valley
floor. From here it would take only a few minutes to ride down the slope.
Kulgan walked back to where the boy stood next to his animal. The stout
wizard seemed little troubled by the climb, and Pug wondered at the muscle
that must lie hidden beneath the layers of fat. "How are you feeling, Pug?"
"I'll live, I expect, but I think next time I'll ride, if it's all the same
to you." They were keeping their voices low, but the magician gave out with
a soft chuckle anyway. "I understand completely. We'll be staying here
until first light. That will be slightly less than two hours. I suggest you
get some sleep, for we have a great deal of hard riding ahead." Pug nodded
and lay down without a word. He used his shield for a pillow and, before
the magician had taken a step away, was fast asleep. He never stirred as
Meecham came and removed the leather muffles from his horse.
A gENtlE shAKINg brought Pug awake. He felt as if he had just closed his
eyes a moment before. Meecham was squatting before him, holding
something out. "Here, boy. Eat this."
Pug took the offered food. It was soft bread, with a nutty flavor. After
two bites he began to feel better.
Meecham said, "Eat quickly, we're off in a few minutes." He moved
forward to where the lieutenant and the magician stood by their horses.
Pug finished the bread and remounted. The soreness had left his legs,
and by the time he was astride his mount, he felt anxious to be off.
The lieutenant turned his horse and faced the men. "We will ride
west-then, on my command, north. Fight only if attacked. Our mission
is to return with information about the Tsurani. If any man falls,
we cannot stop. If you are separated from the others, get back as best
you can. Remember as much of what you see as possible, for you may be
the only one to carry the news to the dukes. May the gods protect us
all.
Several of the soldiers uttered quick prayers to various deities, chiefly
Tith, the war god, then they were off. The column came down the
hillside and reached the flat of the valley. The sun was cresting the hills
behind, and a rosy glow bathed the landscape. At the foot of the hills
they crossed a small creek and entered a plain of tall grass. Far ahead
was a stand of trees, and another could be seen off to the north. At the
north end of the valley the haze of campfire smoke hung in the air. The
enemy was there all right, thought Pug, and from the volume of smoke
there must be a large concentration of them. He hoped Meecham was
right and they were all garrisoned out in the open, where the Kingdom
soldiers stood a fair chance of outrunning them.
After a while the lieutenant passed the word, and the column turned
north. They trotted along, saving the horses for when they would be
sure to need the speed.
Pug thought he saw glimpses of color in the trees ahead, as they
descended into the southern woods of the valley, but couldn't be sure.
As they reached the woods, a shout went up from within the trees. The
lieutenant cried, "All right, they've seen us. Ride hard and stay close."
He spurred his horse forward, and soon the entire company was thundering
through the woods. Pug saw the horses in front bear to the left
and turned his to follow, seeing a clearing in the trees. The sound of
voices grew louder as the first trees went flying past, and his eyes tried
to adjust to the darkness of the woods. He hoped his horse could see more
clearly than he could, or he might find himself inside a tree.
The horse, battle trained and quick, darted between the trunks, and
Pug could begin to see flashes of color among the branches. Tsurani
soldiers were rushing to intercept the horsemen, but were forced to
weave through the trees, making it impossible. They were speeding
through the woods faster than the Tsurani could pass the word and
react. Pug knew that this advantage of surprise couldn't last much
longer, they were making too great a commotion for the enemy not to
realize what was happening.
After a mad dash through the trees, they broke into another clear area
where a few Tsurani soldiers stood waiting for them. The horsemen
charged, and most of the defenders scattered to avoid being run down. One,
however, stood his ground, in spite of the terror written on his
face, and swung the blue two-handed sword he carried. A horse
screamed, and the rider was thrown as the blade cut the horse's right leg
from under him. Pug lost sight of the fight as he sped quickly past.
An arrow shot over Pug's shoulder, buzzing like an angry bee. He
hunched over the withers of his mount, trying to give the archers behind
him as small a target as possible. Ahead, a soldier fell backward out
of his saddle, a red arrow through his neck.
Soon they were out of bow range and riding toward a breastwork
thrown across an old road from the mines in the south. Hundreds of
brightly colored figures scurried behind it. The lieutenant signaled for
the riders to pass around it, to the west.
As soon as it was apparent they would pass the earthwork and not
charge it, several Tsurani bowmen came tumbling over the top of the
redoubt and ran to intercept the riders. As soon as they came within
bowshot, the air filled with red and blue shafts. Pug heard a horse
scream, but he couldn't see the stricken animal or its rider.
Riding quickly beyond the range of the bowmen, they entered another
thick stand of trees. The lieutenant pulled up his mount for a
moment and yelled, "From here on, make straight north. We're almost
to the meadow, so there'll be no cover, and speed is your only ally. Then
once you're in the woods to the north, keep moving. Our forces should
have broken through up there, and if we can get past those woods, we
should be all right." Meecham had described the woods as being about
two or three miles across. From there it was three miles of open ground
until the North Pass through the hills began.
They slowed to a walk, trying to rest the horses as much as possible.
They could see the tiny figures of the Tsurani coming from behind, but
they would never catch up before the horses were running again. Ahead
Pug could see the trees of the forest, looming larger with each passing
minute. He could feel the eyes that must be there, watching them,
waiting.
"As soon as we are within bowshot, ride as fast as you can," shouted
the lieutenant. Pug saw the soldiers pull their swords and bows out, and
drew his own sword. Feeling uncomfortable with the weapon clutched
in his right hand, he rode at a trot toward the trees.
Suddenly the air was filled with arrows. Pug felt one glance off his
helm, but it still snapped his head back and brought tears to his eyes.
He urged his horse ahead blindly, trying to blink his eyes clear. He had
the shield in his left hand and a sword in his right, so that by the time
he blinked enough to be able to see clearly he found himself in the
woods. His war-horse responded to leg pressure as he moved into the
forest.
A yellow-garbed soldier burst from behind a tree and aimed a swing
at the boy. He caught the sword blow on his shield, which sent a numbing
shock up his left arm. He swung overhand and down at the soldier,
who leaped away, and the blow missed. Pug spurred his horse on, before
the soldier could get in position to swing again. All around, the forest
rang with the sounds of battle. He could barely make out the other
horsemen among the trees.
Several times he rode down Tsurani soldiers as they tried to block his
passage. Once one tried to grab at the reins of the horse, but Pug sent
him reeling with a blow on the potlike helmet. To Pug it seemed as if
they were all engaged in some mad game of hide-and-go-seek, with foot
soldiers jumping out from behind every other tree.
A sharp pain stung Pug on the right cheek. Feeling with the back of
his sword hand as he bounded through the wood, he felt a wetness, and
when he pulled his hand away, he could see blood on his knuckles. He
felt a detached curiosity. He hadn't even heard the arrow that had stung
him.
Twice more he rode down soldiers, the war-horse knocking them
aside. Suddenly he burst out of the forest and was assaulted by a
kaleidoscope of images. He pulled up for a moment and let the scene
register.
Less than a hundred yards to the west of where he exited the
woodlands, a great device, some hundred feet in length, with
twenty-foot-high poles at each end, stood. Around it were clustered several
men, the first Tsurani Pug had seen who weren't wearing armor. These men
wore long black robes and were completely unarmed. Between the poles a
shimmering grey haze like the one they had seen in Kulgan's room filled the
air, blocking out the view of the area directly behind.
From out of the haze a wagon was being pulled by two grey, squat,
six-legged beasts, who were prodded by two soldiers in red armor. Several
more wagons were standing beyond the machines, and a few of the strange
beasts could be seen grazing beyond the wagons.
Beyond the strange device, a mighty camp sprawled across the
meadow, with more tents than Pug could count. Banners of strange
design and gaudy colors fluttered in the wind above them, and the
rising smoke of the campfires stung his nose with acrid pungency as it
was carried off in the breeze.
More riders were coming through the trees, and Pug spurred his horse
forward, angling away from the strange device. The six-legged beasts
raised their heads and ambled away from the oncoming horses, seeming
to move with little more than the minimum effort required to take
them out of the path of the riders.
One of the black-robed men ran toward the riders. He stopped and
stood off to one side as they sped past. Pug got a glimpse of his face,
clean shaven, his lips moving and eyes fixed on something behind the
boy. Pug heard a yell and, looking back, saw a rider on the ground, his
horse rooted in place, like a statue. Several guards were rushing over to
subdue the man when the boy turned away. Once beyond the strange
device, he could see a series of large, brightly colored tents off to the
left. Ahead, the way was clear.
Pug caught sight of Kulgan and reined his horse to bring himself
closer to the magician. Thirty yards to the right, Pug could see other
riders. As they dashed away, Kulgan shouted something at the boy that
he couldn't make out. The magician pointed at the side of his face,
then at Pug, who realized the mage was asking if he was all right. Pug
waved his sword and smiled, and the magician smiled back.
Suddenly, about a hundred yards in front, a loud buzzing noise filled
the air, and a black-robed man appeared, as if from thin air. Kulgan's
horse bore straight for him, but the man had a queer-looking device in
his hand that he pointed at the magician.
The air sizzled with energy. Kulgan's horse screamed and fell as if
poleaxed. The fat magician was tossed over the horse's head and tucked
his shoulder under as he hit the ground. With an amazing display of
agility he rolled up onto his feet and bowled over the black-robed man.
Pug pulled up in spite of the order to keep going. He reined his horse
around and charged back to find the magician sitting astride the chest
of the smaller man, each grasping the left wrist of the other with his
right hand. Pug could see that they were locked eye to eye in a contest
of wills. Kulgan had explained this strange mental power to Pug before.
It was a way in which a magician could bend the will of another to his
own. It took great concentration and was very dangerous. Pug leaped
from his own mount and rushed over to where the two men were locked
in struggle. With the flat of his sword, he struck the black-robed figure
on the temple. The man slumped unconscious.
Kulgan staggered to his feet. "Thank you, Pug. I don't think I could
have bettered him. I've never encountered such mental strength." Kulgan
looked to where his horse lay quivering on the ground. "It's useless."
Turning to Pug, he said, "Listen well, for you'll have to carry word
to Lord Borric. From the speed that wagon was coming through the rift,
I estimate they can bring in several hundred men a day, perhaps a great
deal more. Tell the Duke it would be suicide to try to take the machine.
Their magicians are too powerful. I don't think we can destroy the
machine they use to hold the rift open. If I had time to study it . . .
He must call for reinforcements from Krondor, perhaps from the East."
Pug grabbed Kulgan by the arm. "I can't remember all that. We'll ride
double."
Kulgan began to protest but was too weak to prevent the boy's pulling
him to where his horse stood. Ignoring Kulgan's objections, he bullied
his master up into the saddle. Pug hesitated a moment, noting the
animal's fatigue, then came to a decision. "With both of us to carry,
he'll never make it, Kulgan," he shouted as he struck the animal on the
flank. "I'll find another."
Pug scanned the area as the horse bearing Kulgan sped away. A riderless
mount was wandering about, less than twenty feet away, but as he
approached, the animal bolted. Cursing, Pug turned and was confronted
by the sight of the black-robed Tsurani regaining his feet. The
man appeared confused and weak, and Pug charged him. Only one
thought was in Pug's mind: to capture a prisoner, and, from his appearance,
a Tsurani magician in the bargain. Pug took the magician by
surprise, knocking him down.
The man scrambled backward in alarm as Pug raised his sword threateningly.
The man put forth his hand in what Pug took as a sign of
submission, and the boy hesitated. Suddenly a wave of pain passed
through him, and he had to fight to keep his feet. He staggered about
and through the agony saw a familiar figure riding toward him, shouting
his name.
Pug shook his head, and suddenly the pain vanished. Meecham sped
toward him, and Pug knew the franklin could carry the Tsurani to the
Duke's camp if Pug could keep him from fleeing. So he spun, all pain
forgotten, and closed upon the still-supine Tsurani. A look of shock
crossed the magician's face when he saw the boy again advancing on
him. Pug heard Meecham's voice calling his name from behind but
didn't take his eyes from the Tsurani.
Several Tsurani soldiers ran across the meadow, seeking to aid their
fallen magician, but Pug stood only a few feet away, and Meecham
would reach them in a few more moments.
The magician jumped to his feet and reached into his robe. He pulled
out a small device and activated it. A loud humming came from the
object. Pug rushed the man, determined to knock the device from his
hand, whatever it might be. The device hummed louder, and Pug could
hear Meecham again shouting his name as he struck the magician,
burying his shoulder in the man's stomach.
Suddenly the world exploded with white and blue lights, and Pug felt
himself falling through a rainbow of colors into a pit of darkness.
Puc oPENED his eyes. For a moment he struggled to bring them into
focus, for everything in his field of vision seemed to be flickering. He
then came fully awake and realized it was still night and the flickering
came from campfires a short distance from where he lay. He tried to sit
up and found his hands tied behind him. A groan sounded next to him.
In the dim light he could make out the features of a LaMutian horse
soldier lying a few feet away. He was also bound. His face was drawn,
and there was a nasty-looking cut running down from his hairline to his
cheekbone, all crusted over with dried blood.
Pug's attention was distracted by the sound of voices speaking low,
behind him. He rolled over and saw two Tsurani guards in blue armor
standing watch. Several more tied prisoners lay about between the boy
and the two aliens, who were speaking together in their strange, musical
-sounding language. One noticed Pug's movement and said something
to the other, who nodded and quickly hurried off.
In a moment he was back with another soldier, this one in red-and-yellow
armor, with a large crest on his helm, who ordered the two guards
to stand Pug up. He was pulled roughly to his feet, and the newcomer
stood before him and took stock. This man was dark-haired and had the
uptilted, wide-set eyes that Pug had seen before in the field among the
Tsurani dead. His cheekbones were flat, and he had a broad brow,
topped by thick dark hair. In the dim firelight, his skin looked nearly
golden in color.
Except for their short stature, most of the Tsurani soldiers could pass
for citizens of many of the nations of Midkemia, but these golden men,
as Pug thought of them, resembled some Keshian traders Pug had seen
in Crydee years before, from the distant trading city of Shing Lai.
The officer inspected the boy's clothing. Next he knelt and inspected
the boots on Pug's feet. He stood and barked an order at the soldier who
had fetched him, who saluted and turned to Pug. He seized the bound
boy and led him away, on a winding course through the Tsurani camp.
At the center of the camp, large banners hung from the cross pieces
of standards, all set in a circle around a large tent. All bore strange
designs, creatures of outlandish configuration, depicted in bold colors.
Several had glyphs of an unknown language on them. It was to this
place Pug was half pulled, half dragged, through the hundreds of
Tsurani soldiers who sat quietly polishing their leather armor and making
repairs on weapons. Several watched as he passed, but the camp was
free of the usual noise and bustle Pug was used to in the camp of his
own army. There was more than just the strange and colorful banners to
give this place an otherworld feeling. Pug tried to note the details, so if
he could escape and report, he could tell Duke Borric something useful,
but he found his senses betrayed by so many unfamiliar images. He
didn't know what was important in all he saw.
At the entrance of the large tent, the guard who pulled Pug along was
challenged by two others, wearing black-and-orange armor. A quick exchange
of words resulted in the tent flap being held aside while Pug was
thrust through. He fell forward onto a thick pile of furs and woven mats.
From where he lay, Pug could see more banners hanging on the tent
walls. The tent was richly fashioned, with silklike hangings and thick
rugs and pillows.
Hands roughly pulled him upright, and he could see several men
regarding him. All stood dressed in the gaudy armor and crested helms
of the Tsurani officers except for two. They sat upon a raised dais covered
with cushions. The first wore a simple black robe with cowl pulled
back, revealing a thin, pale face and bald pate: a Tsurani magician. The
other wore a rich-looking robe of orange with black trim cut below
knees and elbows, so that it gave the look of something worn for comfort.
From his wiry, muscled appearance and several visible scars, Pug
assumed that this man was a warrior who had put aside his armor for
the night.
The man in black said something in a high-pitched, singsong language
to the others. None of the other men said anything, but the one
in the orange robe nodded. The great tent was lit by a single brazier
near where the two robed men sat. The lean, black-robed one sat forward,
and the light from the brazier cast upward on his face, giving him
a decidedly demonic look. His words came haltingly, and thick with
accent.
"I know only . . . little . . . of your speech. You understand?"
Pug nodded, his heart pounding while his mind worked furiously.
Kulgan's training was coming into play. First he calmed himself, clearing
the fog that had gripped his mind. Then he extended every sense,
automatically, taking in every scrap of information available, seeking
any useful bit of knowledge that might improve his chances of survival.
The soldier nearest the door seemed to be relaxing, his left arm behind
his head as he lay back on a pile of cushions, his attention only half
focused on the captive. But Pug noticed that his other hand was never
more than an inch from the hilt of a wicked-looking dagger at his belt. A
brief gleam of light on lacquer revealed the presence of another dagger
hilt, half protruding from a pillow at the right elbow of the man in
orange.
The man in black said slowly, "Listen, for I tell you something. Then
you asked questions. If you lie, you die. Slowly. Understand?" Pug nodded.
There was no doubt in his mind.
"This man," said the black-robed one, pointing to the man in the
short orange robe, "is a . . . great man. He is . . . high man. He
is . .' ." The man used a word Pug didn't understand. When Pug shook
his head, the magician said, "He family great . . . Minwanabi. He second
to . . ." He fumbled for a term, then moved his hand in a circle, as
if indicating all the men in the tent, officers from their proud plumes.
man who lead."
Pug nodded and softly said, "Your lord?"
The magician's eyes narrowed, as if he were about to object to Pug's
speaking out of turn, but instead he paused, then said, "Yes. Lord of
War. It is that one's will that we are here. This one is second to Lord of
War." He pointed to the man in orange, who looked on impassively.
"You are nothing to this man." It was obvious the man was feeling
frustration in his inability to convey what he wished. It was plain this
lord was something special by the lights of his own people, and the man
translating was trying to impress this upon Pug.
The lord cut the translator off and said several things, then nodded
toward Pug. The bald magician bobbed his head in agreement, then
turned his attention toward Pug. "You are lord?"
Pug looked startled, then stammered out a negative. The magician
nodded, translated, and was given instruction by the lord. He turned
back to Pug. "You wear cloth like lord, true?"
Pug nodded. His tunic was of a finer fabric than the homespun of the
common soldiers. He tried to explain his position as a member in the
Duke's court. After several attempts he resigned himself to the presumption
they made of his being some sort of highly placed servant.
The magician picked up a small device and held it out to Pug. Hesitating
for a moment, the boy reached out and took it. It was a cube of
some crystallike material, with veins of pink running throughout. After
a moment in his hand, it took on a glow softly pink. The man in orange
gave an order, and the magician translated. "This lord says, how many
men along pass to . . ." He faltered and pointed.
Pug had no idea of where he was, or what direction was being pointed
to. "I don't know where I am," he said. "I was unconscious when I was
brought here."
The magician sat in thought for a moment, then stood. "That way,"
he said, pointing at a right angle to the direction he had just indicated,
"is tall mountain, larger than others. That way," he moved his hand a
little, "in sky, is five fires, like so." His hands traced a pattern. After
a moment Pug understood. The man had pointed to where Stone Mountain lay
and where the constellation called the Five Jewels hung in the sky. He was
in the valley they had raided. The pass indicated was the one used as an
escape route.
"I . . . really, I don't know how many."
The magician looked closely at the cube in Pug's hand. It continued
to glow in soft pink tones. "Good, you tell truth."
Pug then understood that he held some sort of device that would
inform his captives if he tried to deceive them. He felt black despair
wash over him. He knew that any survival hopes he entertained were
going to involve some manner of betraying his homeland.
The magician asked several questions about the nature of the force
outside the valley. when most went unanswered, for Pug had not been
privy to meetings on strategy matters, the question changed to a more
general nature, about common things in Midkemia, but which seemed
to hold a fascination for the Tsurani.
The interview continued for several hours. Pug began to feel faint on
several occasions as the pressure of the situation combined with his
general exhaustion. He was given a strong drink one of these times,
which restored his energy for a while but left him light-headed.
He answered every question. Several times he got around the truth
device by telling only some of the information requested, not volunteering
anything. On several of these occasions, he could tell both the lord
and magician were nettled by their inability to deal with answers that
were incomplete or complex. Finally the lord indicated the interview
was over, and Pug was dragged outside. The magician followed.
Outside the tent the magician stood before Pug. "My lord says, 'I
think this servant"'-he pointed at Pug's chest-" 'he is . . ."' He
groped for a word. " 'He is clever.' My lord does not mind clever servants,
for they work well. But he thinks you are too clever. He says to
tell you to be careful, for you are now slave. Clever slave may live long
time. Too clever slave, dies quickly if . . ." Again the pause. Then a
broad smile crossed the magician's face. "If he is fortun . . . fortunate.
Yes . . . that is the word." He rolled the word around his mouth one
more time, as if savoring the taste of it. "Fortunate."
Pug was led back to the holding area and left with his own thoughts.
He looked around and saw that a few other captives were awake. Most
looked confused and dispirited. One openly wept. Pug turned his eyes
skyward and saw the pink edge along the mountains in the east, heralding
the coming dawn.
15
CONFLICtS
The RAIN WAS UNCEASING.
Huddled near the mouth of the cave, a group of dwarves sat around a
small cook fire, the gloom of the day reflected upon their faces. Dolgan
puffed upon his pipe, and the others were working on their armor,
repairing cuts and breaks in leather, cleaning and oiling metal. A pot of
stew simmered on the fire.
Tomas sat at the back of the cave, his sword set across his knees. He
looked blankly past the others, his eyes focused on some point far beyond
them.
Seven times the dwarves of the Grey Towers had ventured out against
the invaders, and seven times they had inflicted heavy losses. But each
time it was clear that the Tsurani's numbers were undiminished. Many
dwarves were missing now, their lives bought at a dear price to the
enemy, but dearer to the families of the Grey Towers. The long-lived
dwarves had fewer children, years further apart, than did humans. Each
loss diminished dwarvenkind at a much more damaging cost than could
have been imagined by the humans.
Each time the dwarves had gathered and attacked through the mines
into the valley, Tomas had been in the van. His golden helm would be a
signal beacon for the dwarves. His golden broadsword would arc above
the fray, then swing down to take its toll from the enemy. In battle the
keep boy was transformed into a figure of power, a fighting hero whose
presence on the field struck awe and fear into the Tsurani. Had he
possessed any doubt about the magical nature of his arms and armor
after driving off the wraith, they were dispelled the first time he wore
them into battle.
They had gathered thirty fighting dwarves from Caldara and ventured
through the mines to an entrance in the south portion of the captured
valley. They surprised a Tsurani patrol not far from the mines and slew
them. But during the course of the fighting, Tomas had been cut off
from the dwarves by three Tsurani warriors. As they bore down on him,
their swords raised high overhead, he felt something take hold of him.
Darting between two of them, like some maddened acrobat, he had
slain both with a single stroke from one side to the other. The third had
been taken quickly from behind before he could recover from the sudden
move.
After the fray, Tomas had been filled with an elation new to him, and
somehow frightening as well. All the way back from the battle, he had
felt suffused with an unknown energy.
Each subsequent battle had gained him the same power and skill of
arms. But the elation had become something more urgent, and the last
two times the visions had begun. Now for the first time the visions were
coming unbidden. They were transparent, like an image laid upon another.
He could see the dwarves through it, as well as the forest beyond. But
upon them played a scene of people long dead and places vanished from
the memories of the living. Halls decked with golden trappings were lit
with torches that threw dancing light from crystal set upon tables. Goblets
that never knew human touch were raised to lips that curved in
unfamiliar smiles. Great lords of some long-dead race supped at banquet
before his eyes. Strange they were, yet also familiar. Humanlike,
but with elven ears and eyes. Tall like the elvenfolk, but broader of
shoulder and thicker of arm. The women were beautiful, but in alien
ways.
The dream took shape and substance, more vivid than any he had
experienced so far. Tomas strained to hear the faint laughter, the sound
of alien music, and the spoken words of these people.
He was ripped from his reverie by Dolgan's voice. "Will you take
some food, laddie?" He could answer with only a part of his awareness,
as he rose and crossed the space between~them to take the offered bowl
of meat stew. When his hand touched the bowl, the vision vanished,
and he shook his head to clear it.
"Are you all right, Tomas?"
Slowly sitting, Tomas looked at his friend for a moment. "I'm not
sure," he said hesitantly. "There is something. I . . . I'm not really
sure. Just tired, I guess."
Dolgan looked at the boy. The ravages of battle were showing on his
young face. Already he looked less the boy and more the man. But
beyond the normal hardening of character expected from battle, something
else was occurring in Tomas. Dolgan had not as yet decided if the
change was fully for good or ill-or if it could even be considered in
those terms. Six months of watching Tomas was not long enough to
come to any sort of conclusion.
Since donning the dragon's gift armor, Tomas had become a fighter
of legendary capabilities. And the boy . . . no, the young man, was
taking on weight, even though food was often scarce. It was as if something
were acting to bring him to a growth sufficient to fit the cut of the
armor. And his features were gaining a strange cast. His nose had taken
on a slightly more angular shape, more finely chiseled than before. His
brows had become more arched, his eyes deeper set. He was still Tomas,
but Tomas with a slight change in appearance, as if wearing someone
else's expression.
Dolgan pulled long on his pipe and looked at the white tabard Tomas
wore. Seven times in battle, and free from stain. Dirt, blood, and all
other manner of contamination were refused purchase in its fabric. And
the device of the golden dragon gleamed as brightly as when they had
first found it. So it was also with the shield he wore in battle. Many
times struck, still it was free of any scar. The dwarves were circumspect
in this matter, for their race had long ago used magic in the fashioning
of weapons of power. But this was something else. They would wait and
see what it brought before they would judge.
As they finished their meager meal, one of the guards on the edge of
camp came into the clearing before the cave. "Someone comes."
The dwarves quickly armed themselves and stood ready. Instead of
the strangely armored Tsurani soldiers, a single man dressed in the dark
grey cloak and tunic of a Natalese Ranger appeared. He walked directly
into the center of the clearing and announced in a voice hoarse from
days running through wet forests, "Hail, Dolgan of the Grey Towers."
Dolgan stepped forward. "Hail, Grimsworth of Natal."
The rangers were serving as scouts and runners since the invaders had
taken the Free City of Walinor. The man walked into the cave mouth
and sat down. He was given a bowl of stew, and Dolgan asked, "What
news?"
"None good, I'm afraid," he said, between mouthfuls of stew. "The
invaders hold a hard front from out of the valley, northeast toward
LaMut. Walinor has been reinforced with fresh troops from their homeland
and stands like a knife between the Free Cities and the Kingdom.
They had thrice raided the main camp of the Kingdom's host when I
left two weeks ago, probably again since. They harry patrols from
Crydee. I am to tell you that it is believed they will start a drive into
your area soon."
Dolgan looked perplexed. "Why do the dukes think that? Our lookouts
have seen no increase in the aliens' activity in these parts. Every
patrol they send out we attack. If anything, they seem to be leaving us
alone. "
"I am not sure. I heard that the magician Kulgan thinks the Tsurani
seek metals from your mines, though why I do not know. In any event,
this is what the dukes have said. They think there will be an assault on
the mine entrances in the valley. I am to tell you that new Tsurani
troops may be coming into the southern end of the valley, for there has
been no new major assault in the north, only the small raids.
"Now you must do what you think is best." So saying, he turned his
full attention to the stew.
Dolgan thought. "Tell me, Grimsworth, what news of the elvenfolk?"
"Little. Since the aliens have invaded the southern part of the elven
forests, we are cut off. The last elven runner came through over a week
before I left. At last word, they had stopped the barbarians at the fords
of the river Crydee where it passes through the forest.
"There are also rumors of alien creatures fighting with the invaders.
But as far as I know, only a few burned-out village folk have seen these
creatures, so I wouldn't place too much stock in what they say.
"There is one .interesting piece of news, though. It seems a patrol
from Yabon made an unusually broad sweep to the edge of the Lake of
the Sky. On the shore they found what was left of some Tsurani and a
band of goblins raiding south from the Northlands. At least we don't
have to worry about the northern borders. Perhaps we could arrange for
them to battle each other for a while and leave us alone."
"Or take up common cause against us," said Dolgan. "Still, I think
that unlikely, as the goblins tend to kill first and negotiate later."
Grimsworth chuckled deeply. "It is somehow meet that these two
bloody-handed folk should run across one another."
Dolgan nodded. He hoped Grimsworth correct, but was disquieted by
the thought of the Nations of the North-as the dwarves thought of the
Northlands-joining the fray.
Grimsworth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I will stay
this night only, for if I am to pass safely through their lines, I must
move quickly. They step up their patrols to the coast, cutting off
Crydee for days at a time. I will spend some time there, then start the
long run for the dukes' camp."
"Will you return?" asked Dolgan.
The ranger smiled, his grin showing up brightly against his dark skin.
"perhaps, if the gods are obliging. If not I, then one of my brothers. It
might be that you'll see Long Leon, for he was sent to Elvandar and, if
he is a'right, may be bound here with missives from the Lady Aglaranna.
It would be good to know how the elvenfolk fare." Tomas's head came
up from his musing at the mention of the Elf Queen's name.
Dolgan puffed on his pipe and nodded. Grimsworth turned to Tomas
and spoke directly to him for the first time. "I bring you a message from
Lord Borric, Tomas." It had been Grimsworth who carried the first
messages from the dwarves along with the news that Tomas was alive
and well. Tomas had wanted to return to the Kingdom forces with
Grimsworth, but the Natalese Ranger had refused to have him along,
citing his need to travel fast and quietly. Grimsworth continued his
message. "The Duke rejoices at your good fortune and your good
health. But he sends grave news as well. Your friend Pug fell in the first
raid into the Tsurani camp and was taken by them. Lord Borric shares
your loss."
Tomas stood without a word and moved deep into the cave. He sat in
the rear, for a few moments as still as the rock around him, then a faint
trembling started in his shoulders. It grew in severity until he shook
violently, teeth chattering as if from bitter cold. Then tears came
unbidden to his cheeks, and he felt a hot pain rush up from his bowels to
his throat, constricting his chest. Without a sound he gasped for breath,
and great silent sobs shook him. As the pain grew near-un' bearable, a
seed of cold fury formed in the center of his being, pushing upward,
displacing the hot pain of grief.
Dolgan, Grimsworth, and the rest looked up when Tomas reentered
the light of the fire. "Would you please tell the Duke that I thank him
for thinking of me?" he asked the ranger.
Grimsworth nodded. "Yes, I will, lad. I think it would be a'right for
you to make the run to Crydee, if you wish to return home. I'm sure
Prince Lyam could use your sword."
Tomas thought. It would be good to see home again, but at the keep
he would be just another apprentice, even if he did bear arms. They
would let him fight if the keep was attacked, but they certainly wouldn't
let him participate in raids.
"Thank you, Grimsworth, but I will remain. There is much yet to be
done here, and I would be a part of it. I would ask you to give word to
my mother and father that I am well enough and think of them."
Sitting down, he added, "If it is my destiny to return to Crydee, I shall."
Grimsworth looked hard at Tomas, seemed about to speak, then noticed
a slight shake of Dolgan's head. More than any other humans in
the West, the Rangers of Natal were sensitive to the ways of the elves
and dwarves. Something was occurring here that Dolgan thought best
left unexplored for the time being, and Grimsworth would bow before
the dwarven chief's wisdom.
As soon as the meal was finished, guards were posted, and the rest
made ready for sleep. As the fire died down, Tomas could hear the faint
sounds of inhuman music and again saw the shadows dance. Before
sleep claimed him, he plainly saw one figure stand apart from the rest, a
tall warrior, fine of face and powerful in countenance, dressed in a
white tabard emblazoned with a golden dragon.
tomas sTOOD with his back pressed against the wall of the passage. He
smiled, a cruel and terrible smile. His eyes were wide, whites vivid
around pale blue irises. His body was nearly rigid as he stood motionless.
His fingers clenched and unclenched on the hilt of his sword of
white and gold.
Images shimmered before his eyes: tall, graceful people who rode on
the backs of dragons and lived in halls deep in the earth. Music could be
faintly heard in his mind's ear, and strange tongues. The long-dead race
called to him, a mighty race who had fashioned this armor, never meant
for human use.
More and more the visions came. He could keep his mind free of
them most times, but when he felt the battle lust rise, as it did now, the
images took on dimension, color, and sound. He would strain to hear
the words. They came faintly, and he could almost understand them.
He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He looked
around the dark passage, no longer surprised at his ability to see in the
dark. He signaled across the intersecting tunnel to Dolgan, who stood
quietly waiting in position with his men forty feet away and acknowledged
him with a wave. On each side of the large tunnel sixty dwarves
waited to spring the trap. They waited for the handful of dwarves who
were running before a Tsurani force, leading the enemy into the trap.
The sound of footfalls pounding down the tunnel alerted them. In a
moment it was joined by the sounds of clashing arms. Tomas tensed.
Several dwarves came into view, moving backward as they fought a
rearward action. Passing the side tunnels, the fighting dwarves gave no
indication they were aware of their brethren waiting on either side.
As soon as the first Tsurani warriors were past, Tomas cried, "Now!"
and leaped forward. Suddenly the tunnel was filled with turning, slashing
bodies. The Tsurani were mostly armed with broadswords, ill fitted
for close quarters, and the dwarves wielded hand axes and hammers
with expertise. Tomas laid about himself, and several bodies fell. The
flickering Tsurani torches threw mad, dancing shadows high on the passage
walls, creating confusion for the eye.
A shout from the rear of the Tsurani force sounded, and the aliens
began to back down the tunnel. Those with shields came to the fore,
forming a wall over which the swordsmen could strike. The dwarves
were unable to reach far enough to do any damage. Each time a dwarf
attacked, the shield wall would stand, and the attacker would be answered
by sword blows from behind the shield. In short spurts the enemy
backed away.
Tomas moved to the fore, since his reach was long enough to strike at
the shield holders. He felled two, but as quickly as each dropped, another
took his place. Still the dwarves pressed them and they retreated.
They reached a glory hole, entering it at the lowest level, and the
Tsurani rapidly took position in the center of the great cavern, forming a
rough circle of shields. The dwarves paused for a moment, then charged
the position.
A faint flicker of movement caught Tomas's eye, and he looked up to
one of the ledges above. In the darkness of the mine it was impossible
to see anything clearly, but a sudden feeling alerted him. "Look to the
rear!" he shouted.
Most of the dwarves had broken through the shield wall and were too
busy to heed him, but a few close by stopped their attack and looked
up. One standing next to Tomas cried, "From above!"
Black shapes came pouring from above, seeming to crawl down the
face of the rock. Other, human, shapes came running down the paths
from the higher levels. Lights appeared above as Tsurani warriors on the
upper levels opened shuttered lamps and lit torches.
Tomas stopped in shock. Directly behind the few surviving Tsurani in
the center of the cavern he could see creatures entering from every
opening above, like a herd of ants, which they closely resembled. Unlike
ants, though, they were upright from the center of their bodies, with
humanlike arms bearing weapons. Their faces, insectlike, had large
multifaceted eyes but very humanlike mouths. They moved with incredible
speed, dodging forward to strike at the dwarves, who, surprised though
they were, responded without hesitation, and the battle was joined.
The fray increased in intensity, and several times Tomas faced two
opponents, Tsurani, or monster, or both. The creatures were obviously
intelligent, for they fought in an organized manner, and their inhuman
voices could be heard crying out in the Tsurani tongue.
Tomas looked up after dispatching one of the creatures and saw a new
influx of warriors from above. "To me! To me!" he shouted, and the
dwarves started fighting toward him. When most were close by, Dolgan
could be heard shouting, "Back, fall back! They are too many."
The dwarves slowly began to move toward the tunnel they had entered
from, with its relative safety. There they could face a smaller
number of creatures and Tsurani and, they hoped, lose them in the
mines. Seeing the dwarves moving back, the Tsurani and their allies
pressed the attack. Tomas saw a large number of the creatures interpose
themselves between the dwarves and the escape route. He sprang forward
and heard a strange war cry escape from his lips, words he didn't
understand. His golden sword flashed, and with a shriek one of the
strange creatures fell. Another wielded a broadsword at him, and he caught
it on his shield. A lesser being's arm would have been broken,
but the blow rang out on the white shield and the creature backed away,
then struck again.
Again he blocked it, and with a looping overhand swing struck
through its neck, severing head from body. It stiffened for a moment,
then collapsed at his feet. He leaped over its fallen body and landed
before three startled Tsurani warriors. One held two lanterns and the
others were armed. Before the man with the lanterns could drop them,
Tomas jumped forward and struck down the other two men. The third
died trying to draw his sword.
Letting his shield hang on his arm, Tomas reached down and grabbed
a lantern. He turned and saw the dwarves scrambling over the bodies of
the fallen creatures he had killed. Several carried wounded comrades. A
handful of dwarves, with Dolgan at their head, held their enemies at
bay while the others made good their escape. The dwarves who carried
wounded hurried past Tomas.
One, who had stayed behind in the tunnel during the fighting, hastened
forward when his comrades were obviously in retreat. Instead of
weapons he carried two bulging skins filled with liquid.
The rear guard was pressed back toward the escape tunnel, and twice
soldiers tried to circle to cut them off. Both times Tomas struck out,
and they fell. When Dolgan and his fighters stood atop the bodies of
the fallen monsters, Tomas yelled, "Be ready to jump."
He took the two heavy skins from the dwarf. "Now!" he shouted.
Dolgan and the others leaped back, and the Tsurani were left standing
on the other side of the corpses. Without hesitation, the dwarves sped
up the tunnel while Tomas threw the skins at the bodies. They had
been carried carefully, for they were fashioned to rupture on impact.
Both contained naphtha, which the dwarves had gathered from deep
black pools under the mountain. It would burn without a wick, as oil
would not.
Tomas raised the lantern and smashed it in the midst of the pools of
volatile liquid. The Tsurani, hesitating only briefly were moving forward
as the lantern burst. White heat exploded in the tunnel as the naphtha
burst into flame. The dwarves, blinded, could hear the screams of the
Tsurani who had been caught. When their vision recovered, they could
see a single figure striding down the tunnel. Tomas appeared black,
outlined against the near-white flames.
When he reached them, Dolgan said, "They'll be upon us when the
flames die."
They quickly made their way through a series of tunnels and headed
back toward the exit on the western side of the mountains. After they
had traveled a short distance, Dolgan halted the party. He and several
others stood still, listening to the silence in the tunnels. One dropped to
the floor and placed his ear on the ground, but immediately jumped to
his feet. "They come! By the sound, hundreds of them, and the creatures
too. They must be mounting a major offensive."
Dolgan took stock. Of the hundred and fifty dwarves who had begun
the ambush, only seventy or so stood here, and of these, twelve were
injured. It could be hoped that others had escaped through other passages,
but for the moment they were all in danger.
Dolgan acted quickly. "We must make for the forest." He started to
trot along with the others following behind.
Tomas ran easily, but his mind reeled with images. In the heat of
battle they assaulted him, more vivid and clear than before. He could
see the bodies of his fallen enemies, yet they looked nothing like the
Tsurani. He could taste the blood of the fallen, the magic energies that
came with him as he drank from their open wounds in the ceremony of
victory. He shook his head to clear the images. What ceremony? he
wondered.
Dolgan spoke, and Tomas forced his attention to the dwarf's words.
"We must find another stronghold," he said as they ran. "Perhaps it
would be best to try for Stone Mountain. Our villages here are safe, but
we have no base to fight from, for I think the Tsurani will have control
of these mines soon. Those creatures of theirs fight well in the dark, and ~
if they have many of them, they can ferret us out of the deeper passages."
Tomas nodded, unable to speak. He was burning inside, a cold fire of
hatred for these Tsurani. They had savaged his homeland and taken his
brother in all but name, and now many dwarven friends lay dead under
the mountain because of them. His face was grim as he made a silent
vow to destroy these invaders, whatever the cost.
THEY mOVED CAWtiOUSLY through the trees, watching for signs of the
Tsurani. Three times in six days they had skirmished, and now the
dwarves numbered fifty-two. The more seriously wounded had been
carried to the relative safety of the high villages, where the Tsurani were
unlikely to follow.
Now they approached the southern part of the elven forests. At first
they had tried to turn eastward toward the pass, seeking a way toward
Stone Mountain. The route was thick with Tsurani camps and patrols,
and they had been constantly turned northward. Finally it had been
decided to try for Elvandar, where they could find rest from the constant
flight.
A scout returned from his position twenty yards ahead and said softly,
"A camp, at the ford."
Dolgan considered. The dwarves were not swimmers, and they would
need to cross at a ford. It was likely the Tsurani would hold all the fords
on this side. They would have to find a place free of guards, if one
existed.
Tomas looked around. It was nearly nightfall, and if they were to
sneak across the river this close to the Tsurani lines, it would best be
done in the dark. Tomas whispered this to Dolgan, who nodded. He
signaled the guard to head off to the west of the espied camp, to find a
likely looking place to hole up.
After a short wait the guide returned with word of a thicket facing a
hollowed rock where they could wait for nightfall. They hurried to the
place and found a boulder of granite extruding from the ground, twelve
feet tall, and broadening to a base twenty-five or thirty feet across.
When they pulled back the brush, they found a hollow in which they
could tightly fit. It was only twenty feet across, but it reached back
under the rock shelf for over forty feet, angling down. When they were
all safely tucked in, Dolgan observed, "This must have been under the
river at one time-see how it is worn smooth on the underside. It is
cramped, but we should be safe for a bit."
Tomas barely heard, for he was once again fighting his battle against
the images, the waking dreams, as he thought of them. He closed his
eyes, and again the visions came, and the faint music.
THE VICtORY had been swift, but Ashen-Shugar brooded. Something troubled
the Ruler of the Eagles' Reaches. The blood of Algon-Kokoon, of Wind
Valley, was still salty upon his lips, and his consorts were now
Ashen-Shugar's. Still there was something lacking.
He studied the moredhel dancers, moving in perfect time with the
music for his amusement. That was as it should be. No, the lack was felt
deep within Ashen-Shugar.
Alengwan, one whom the elves called their Princess, and his latest
favorite, sat on the floor beside his throne, awaiting his pleasure. He
barely noticed her lovely face and her supple body, clothed in silken
garments that served to accent her beauty rather than conceal it.
"Art thou troubled, master?" she asked faintly, her terror of him as
thinly veiled as her body.
He glanced away. She had glimpsed his uncertainty, that earned her
death, but he would kill her later. Appetites of the flesh had fled lately,
both the pleasure of the bed and that of killing. Now he thought upon
his nameless feeling, that phantom emotion so strange within. Ashen-Shugar
raised his hand, and the dancers were on the floor, foreheads
pressed to the stone. The musicians had ceased playing in midnote, it
seemed, and the cavern was silent. With a flickering of his hand he
dismissed them, and they fled out of the great hall, past the mighty
golden dragon, Shuruga, who patiently awaited his master. . .
"ToMAS," CAmE the voice.
Tomas's eyes opened with a snap. Dolgan had his hand upon the
young man's arm. "It is time. Night has fallen. You've been asleep,
laddie."
Tomas shook his head to clear it, and the lingering images fled. He
felt a churning in his stomach as the last flickering vision of a warrior
in white and gold standing over the bloody body of an elven princess
vanished.
With the others, he crawled out from under the overhanging rock,
and they set out once more toward the river. The forest was silent,
even the night birds seemingly cautious about revealing their whereabouts.
They reached the river without incident, save that they had to lie
hidden while a patrol of Tsurani passed. They followed the river, with a
scout in front. After a few minutes, the scout returned. "A sandbar
crosses the river."
Dolgan nodded, the dwarves moved quietly forward and entered the
water in single file. Tomas waited with Dolgan while the others crossed.
When the last dwarf entered the water, an inquiring shout sounded
from farther up the bank. The dwarves froze. Tomas moved quickly
forward and surprised a Tsurani guard who was trying to peer through
the gloom. The man cried out as he was killed, and shouting erupted a
short way off.
Tomas saw lantern light rapidly approaching him, turned, and ran. He
found Dolgan waiting on the bank and shouted, "fly! They are upon
US.,
Several dwarves stood indecisively as Tomas and Dolgan splashed
into the river. The water was cold, moving rapidly over the sandbar.
Tomas had to steady himself as he waded through. The water was only
waist deep for him, but the dwarves were covered nearly to their chins.
They would never be able to fight in the river.
As the first Tsurani guards leaped into the water, Tomas turned to
hold them off while the dwarves made good their escape. Two Tsurani
attacked, and he struck them both down. Several more jumped into the
river, and he had only a brief moment to see to the dwarves. They were
almost at the opposite bank, and he caught sight of Dolgan, helpless
frustration clearly marked on his face in the Tsurani lamplight.
Tomas struck out again at the Tsurani soldiers. Four or five were
trying to surround him, and the best he could manage was to keep them
at bay. Each time he tried for a kill, he would leave himself open from a
different quarter.
The sound of new voices told him it was only a matter of moments
before he would be overwhelmed. He vowed to make them pay dearly
and lashed out at one man, splitting his shield and breaking his arm.
The man went down with a cry.
Tomas barely caught an answering blow on his shield when a
whistling sound sped past his ear, and a Tsurani guard fell screaming, a
long arrow protruding from his chest. The air was at once full of arrows.
Several more Tsurani fell, and the rest pulled back. Every soldier in the
water died before he could reach the shore.
A voice called out, "Quickly, man. They will answer in kind." As if to
demonstrate the truth of the warning, an arrow sped past Tomas's face
from the other direction. He hurried toward the safety of the opposite
bank. A Tsurani arrow struck him in the helm, and he stumbled. As he
righted himself, another took him in the leg. He pitched forward and
felt the sandy soil of the riverbank below him. Hands reached down and
pulled him unceremoniously along.
A dizzy, swimming sensation swept over him, and he heard a voice
say, "They poison their arrows. We must . . ." The rest trailed away
into blackness.
ToMAs oPENED his eyes. For a moment he had no idea of where he was.
He felt light-headed and his mouth was dry. A face loomed over him,
and a hand lifted his head as water was placed at his lips. He drank
deeply, feeling better afterward. He turned his head a little and saw two
men sitting close by. For a moment he feared he had been captured, but
then he saw that these men wore dark green leather tunics.
"You have been very ill," said the one who had given him water.
Tomas then realized these men were elves.
"Dolgan?" he croaked.
"The dwarves have been taken to council with our mistress. We could
not chance moving you, for fear of the poison. The outworlders have a
venom unknown to us, which kills rapidly. We treat it as best we can,
but those wounded die as often as not."
He felt his strength returning slowly. "How long?"
"Three days. You have hovered near death since we fished you from
the river. We carried you as far as we dared."
Tomas looked around and saw that he had been undressed and was
lying under a shelter fashioned from tree branches, a blanket over him.
He smelled food cooking over a fire and saw the pot the savory aroma
came from. His host noticed and signaled for a bowl to be brought over.
Tomas sat up, and his head swam for a moment. He was given a large
piece of bread and used it in place of a spoon. The food was delicious,
and every bite seemed to fill him with increasing strength. As he ate, he
took stock of the others sitting nearby. The two silent elves regarded
him with blank expressions. Only the speaker showed any signs of
hospitality.
Tomas looked at him and said, "What of the enemy?"
The elf smiled. "The outworlders still fear to cross the river. Here our
magic is stronger, and they find themselves lost and confused. No
outworlder has reached our shore and returned to the other side."
Tomas nodded. When he finished eating, he felt surprisingly well. He
tried to stand and found he was only a little shaky. After a few steps, he
could feel the strength returning to his limbs, and that his leg was
already healed. He spent a few minutes stretching and working out the
stiffness of three days sleeping on the ground, then dressed.
"You're Prince Calin. I remember you from the Duke's court."
Calin smiled in return. "And I you, Tomas of Crydee, though you
have changed much in a year's time. These others are Galain and AIgavins.
If you feel up to it, we can rejoin your friends at the court of the
Queen.''
Tomas smiled. "Let's go."
They broke camp and set out. At first they moved slowly, giving
Tomas plenty of time to gain his wind, but after a while it was evident
he was remarkably fit in light of his recent brush with death.
Soon the four figures were running through the trees. Tomas, in spite
of his armor, kept pace. His hosts glanced questioningly at each other.
They ran most of the afternoon before stopping. Tomas looked
around the forest and said, "What a wonderful place."
Galain said, "Most of your race would disagree, man. They find the
forest frightening, full of strange shapes and fearful sounds."
Tomas laughed. "Most men lack imagination, or possess too much.
The forest is quiet and peaceful. It is the most peaceful place I think I
have known."
The elves said nothing, but a look of mild surprise crossed Calin's
face. "We had best continue, if we are to reach Elvandar before
dark."
As night fell, they reached a giant clearing. Tomas stopped and stood
rooted by the sight before him. Across the clearing a huge city of trees
rose upward. Gigantic trees, dwarfing any oaks imagined, stood together.
They were linked by gracefully arching bridges of branches, flat
across the tops, on which elves could be seen crossing from bole to bole.
Tomas looked up and saw the trunks rise until they were lost in a sea of
leaves and branches. The leaves were deep green, but here and there a
tree with golden, silver, or even white foliage could be seen, sparkling
with lights. A soft glow permeated the entire area, and Tomas wondered
if it ever became truly dark here.
Calin placed his hand on Tomas's shoulder and simply said, "Elvandar."
They hurried
across the clearing, and Tomas could see the elven tree
city was even larger than he had first imagined. It spread away on all
sides and must have been over a mile across. Tomas felt a thrill of
wonder at this magic place, a singular exaltation.
They reached a stairway, carved into the side of a tree, that wound its
way upward, into the branches. They started up the steps, and Tomas
again felt a sensation of joy, as if the mad frenzy that filled him during a
battle had a harmonious aspect of gentler nature.
Upward they climbed, and as they passed the large branches that
served as roadways for the elves, Tomas could see elven men and
women on all sides. Many of the men wore fighting leather like his
guides, but many others wore long, graceful robes or tunics of bright
and rich colors. The women were all beautiful, with their hair worn long
and down, unlike the ladies of the Duke's court. Many had jewels woven
into their tresses that sparkled when they passed. All were tall and
graceful.
They reached a gigantic branch and left the stairs. Calin began to
warn him about not looking down, for he knew humans had difficulty
on the high pathways, but Tomas stood near the edge, looking down
with no sign of discomfort or vertigo.
"This is a marvelous place," he said. The three elves exchanged questioning
glances, but no words were spoken.
They set off again, and when they came to an intersection of
branches, the two elves turned off the path, leaving Tomas and Calin to
travel alone. Deeper and deeper they moved, Tomas as surefooted on
the branch road as the elf, until they reached a large opening. Here a
circle of trees formed a central court for the Elf Queen. A hundred
branches met and merged into a huge platform. Aglaranna was sitting
upon a wooden throne, surrounded by her court. A single human, in the
grey of a Natalese Ranger, stood near the Queen, his black skin gleaming
in the night glow. He was the tallest man Tomas had ever seen, and
the young man from Crydee knew this must be Long Leon, the ranger
Grimsworth had spoken of.
Calin led Tomas into the center of the clearing and presented him to
queen Aglaranna. She showed slight surprise as she saw the figure of
the young man in white and gold, but quickly composed her features. In
her rich voice she welcomed Tomas to Elvandar, and bade him stay as
long as he wished.
The court adjourned, and Dolgan came to where Tomas stood. "Well,
laddie, I am glad to see you recovered. It was an undecided issue when
we left you. I hated to do so, but I think you understand. I was in need
of getting word on the fighting near Stone Mountain."
Tomas nodded. "I understand. What news?"
Dolgan shook his head. "Bad, I fear. We are cut off from our brethren.
I think we will be staying with the elvenfolk for a while, and I have
little love for these heights."
Tomas broke into open laughter at that. Dolgan smiled, for it was the
first time since the boy had donned the dragon's armor he had heard
the sound.
16
rAId
WagoNs gROANED UNDER heavy LOADS.
Whips cracked and wheels creaked as lumbering oxen pulled their
burdens down the road toward the beach. Arutha, Fannon, and Lyam
rode before soldiers protecting the wagons traveling between the castle
and the shore. Behind the wagons a ragged crowd of townspeople followed.
Many carried bundles or pulled carts, following the Duke's sons
toward the waiting ships.
They turned down the road that split off from the town road, and
Arutha's gaze swept over the signs of destruction. The once-thriving
town of Crydee was now covered in an acrid blue haze. The sounds of
hammering and sawing rang through the morning air as workmen labored
to repair what they could of the damage.
The Tsurani had raided at sundown two days before, racing through
the town, overwhelming the few guards at their posts before an alarm
was raised by terrified women, old men, and children. The aliens had
run riot through the town, not pausing until they reached dockside,
where they had fired three ships, heavily damaging' two. The damaged
ships were already limping toward Carse, while the undamaged ships in
the harbor had moved down the coast to their present location, north of
Sailor's Grief.
The Tsurani had put most of the buildings near the quay to the
torch, but while heavily damaged, they were reparable. The fire had
spread into the heart of town, resulting in the heaviest loss there. The
Hall of the Craftmasters, the two inns, and dozens of lesser buildings
were now only smoldering ruins. Blackened timbers, cracked roof tiles,
and scorched stones marked their locations. Fully one third of Crydee
had burned before the fire had been brought under control.
Arutha had stood on the wall, watching the hellish glow reflected on
the clouds above the town as the flames spread. Then at first light he
had led the garrison out, finding the Tsurani already vanished into the
forests.
Arutha still chafed at the memory. Fannon had advised Lyam not to
allow the garrison out until dawn-fearing it was a ruse to get the castle
gates open or to lure the garrison into the woods where a larger force
waited in ambush-and Lyam had acceded to the old Swordmaster's
request. Arutha was sure he could have prevented much of the damage
had he been allowed to rout the Tsurani at once.
As he rode down the coast road, Arutha was lost in thought. Orders
arrived the day before instructing Lyam to leave Crydee. The Duke's
aide-de-camp had been killed, and with the war beginning its third year
this spring, he wished Lyam to join him at his camp in Yabon. For
reasons Arutha didn't understand, Duke Borric had not given command
to him as expected; instead Borric had named the Swordmaster garrison
commander. But, thought the younger Prince, at least Fannon will be
less ready to order me about without Lyam's backing. He shook his head
slightly in an attempt to dislodge his irritation. He loved his brother,
but wished Lyam had shown more willingness to assert himself. Since
the beginning of the war, Lyam had commanded in Crydee, but it had
been Fannon making all the decisions. Now Fannon had the office as
well as the influence.
"Thoughtful, brother?"
Lyam had pulled his own horse up and was now beside Arutha, who
shook his head and smiled faintly. "Just envious of you."
Lyam smiled his warmest at his younger brother. "I know you wish to
be going, but Father's orders were clear. You're needed here."
"How needed can I be where every suggestion I make has been ignored?"
Lyam's expression was conciliatory. "You're still disturbed by Father's
decision to name Fannon commander of the garrison."
Arutha looked hard at his brother. "I am now the age you were when
Father named you commander at Crydee. Father was full commander
and second Knight-General in the West at my age, only four years shy
of being named King's Warden of the West. Grandfather trusted him
enough to give him full command."
"Father's not Grandfather, Arutha. Remember, Grandfather grew up
in a time when we were still warring in Crydee, pacifying newly conquered
lands. He grew up in war. Father did not. He learned all his
warcraft down in the Vale of Dreams, against Kesh, not defending his
own home as Grandfather had. Times change."
"How they change, brother," Arutha said dryly. "Grandfather, like his
father before him, would not have sat behind safe walls. In the two years
since the war began, we have not mounted one major offensive against
the Tsurani. We cannot continue letting them dictate the course of the
war, or surely they will prevail."
Lyam regarded his brother with concern mirrored in his eyes.
"Arutha, I know you are restless to harry the enemy but Fannon is right
in saying we dare not risk the garrison. We must hold here and protect
what we have."
Arutha cast a quick glance at the ragged townspeople behind. "I'll tell
those who follow how well they're protected."
Lyam saw the bitterness in Arutha. "I know you blame me, brother.
Had I taken your advice, rather than Fannon's . . ."
Arutha lost his harsh manner. "It is not your doing," he conceded.
"Old Fannon is simply cautious. He also is of the opinion a soldier's
worth is measured by the grey in his beard. I am still only the Duke's
boy. I fear my opinions from now on will receive short shrift."
"Curb thy impatience, youngster," he said in mock seriousness. "Perhaps
between your boldness and Fannon's caution, a safe middle course
will be followed." Lyam laughed.
Arutha had always found his brother's laughter infectious and
couldn't repress a grin. "Perhaps, Lyam," he said with a laugh.
They came to the beach where longboats waited to haul the refugees
out to the ships anchored offshore. The captains would not return to
the quayside until they were assured their ships would not again come
under attack, so the fleeing townspeople were forced to walk through
the surf to board the boats. Men and women began to wade to the
boats, bundles of belongings and small children held safely overhead.
Older children swam playfully, turning the event into sport. There were
many tearful partings, for most of the townsmen were remaining to
rebuild their burned homes and serve as levies in the dukes' army. The
women, children, and old men who were leaving would be carried down
the coast to Tulan, the southernmost town in the Duchy, as yet untroubled
by either the Tsurani or the rampaging Dark Brothers in the
Green Heart.
Lyam and Arutha dismounted, and a soldier took their horses. The
brothers watched as soldiers carefully loaded crates of messenger pigeons
onto the sole longboat pulled up on shore. The birds would be
shipped through the Straits of Darkness to the dukes' camp. Pigeons
trained to fly to the camp were now on their way to Crydee, and with
their arrival some of the responsibility for carrying information to and
from the dukes' camp would be lifted from Martin Longbow's trackers
and the Natalese Rangers. This was the first year mature pigeons raised
in the camp~necessary for them to develop the homing instinct-were
available.
Soon the baggage and refugees were loaded, and it was time for Lyam
to depart. Fannon bid him a stiff and formal farewell, but it was apparent
from his controlled manner that the old Swordmaster felt concern
for the Duke's older son. With no family of his own, Fannon had been
something of an uncle to the boys when they were growing, personally
instructing them in swordsmanship, the maintenance of armor, and the
theories of warcraft. He maintained his formal pose, but both brothers
could see the genuine affection there.
When Fannon left, the brothers embraced. Lyam said, "Take care of
Fannon." Arutha looked surprised. Lyam grinned and said, "I'd not care
to think what would happen here should Father pass you over once
more and name Algon commander of the garrison."
Arutha groaned, then laughed with his brother. As Horsemaster, Algon
was technically second-in-command behind Fannon. All in the castle
shared genuine affection for the man, and deep respect for his vast
knowledge of horses, but everyone conceded his general lack of knowledge
about anything besides horses. After two years of warfare, he still
resisted the idea the invaders came from another world, an attitude that
caused Tully no end of irritation.
Lyam moved into the water, where two sailors held the longboat for
him. Over his shoulder he shouted, "And take care of our sister,
Arutha."
Arutha said he would. Lyam leaped into the longboat, next to the
precious pigeons, and the boat was pushed away from shore. Arutha
watched as the boat dwindled into the distance.
Arutha walked slowly back to where a soldier held his mount. He
paused to stare down the beach. To the south, the high bluffs reared,
dominated by Sailor's Grief, which stood upthrust against the morning
sky. Arutha silently cursed the day the Tsurani ship crashed against
those rocks.
CARLINE sTOOD ATOP the southern tower of the keep, watching the horizon,
gathering her cloak around her against the sea breeze. She had
stayed at the castle, bidding Lyam good-bye earlier, not wishing to ride
to the beach. She preferred that her fears not becloud Lyam's happiness
at joining their father in the dukes' camp. Many times over the last two
years she had chided herself over such feelings. Her men were soldiers,
all trained since boyhood for war. But since word had reached Crydee of
Pug's capture, she had remained afraid for them.
A feminine clearing of the throat made Carline turn. Lady Glynis, the
Princess's companion for the last four years, smiled slightly and indicated
with a nod of her head the newcomer who appeared at the trapdoor
leading down into the tower.
Roland emerged from the doorway in the floor. The last two years
had added to his growth, and now he stood as tall as Arutha. He was
still thin but his boyish features were resolving into those of a man.
He bowed and said, "Highness."
Carline acknowledged the greeting with a nod and gestured that Lady
Glynis should leave them alone. Glynis fled down the stairway into the
tower.
Softly Carline said, "You did not ride to the beach with Lyam?"
"No, Highness."
"You spoke with him before he left?"
Roland turned his gaze to the far horizon. "Yes, Highness, though I
must confess to a foul humor at his going."
Carline nodded understanding. "Because you have to stay."
He spoke with bitterness, "Yes, Highness."
Carline said gently, "Why so formal, Roland?"
Roland looked at the Princess, seventeen years old just this last
Midsummer's
Day. No longer a petulant little girl given to outbursts of
temper, she was changing into a beautiful young woman of thoughtful
introspection. Few in the castle were unaware of the many nights' sobbing
that issued from Carline's suite after news of Pug had reached the
castle. After nearly a week of solitude, Carline had emerged a changed
person more subdued, less wilful. There was little outward to show
how Carline felt, but Roland knew she carried a scar.
After a moment of silence, Roland said, "Highness, Then . . ." He
halted, then said, "It is of no consequence."
Carline placed her hand upon his arm. "Roland, whatever else, we
have always been friends."
"It pleases me to think that is true."
"Then tell me, why has a wall grown between us?"
Roland sighed, and there was none of his usual roguish humor in his
answer. "If there has, Carline, it is not of my fashioning."
A spark of the girl's former self sprang into being, and with a
temperamental edge to her voice she said, "Am I, then, the architect of
this estrangement?"
Anger erupted in Roland's voice. "Aye, Carline!" He ran his hand
through his wavy brown hair and said, "Do you remember the day I
fought with Pug? The very day before he left."
At the mention of Pug's name she tensed. Stiffly she said, "Yes, I
remember."
"Well, it was a silly thing, a boys' thing, that fight. I told him should
he ever cause you any hurt, I'd thrash him. Did he tell you that?"
Moisture came unbidden to her eyes. Softly she said, "No, he never
mentioned it."
Roland looked at the beautiful face he had loved for years and said,
"At least then I knew my rival." He lowered his voice, the anger slipping
away. "I like to think then, near the end, he and I were fast friends.
Still,
I vowed I'd never stop my attempts to change your heart."
Shivering, Carline drew her cloak about her, though the day was not
that cold. She felt conflicting emotions within, confusing emotions.
Trembling, she said, "Why did you stop, Roland?"
Sudden harsh anger burst within Roland. For the first time he lost his
mask of wit and manners before the Princess. "Because I can't contend
with a memory, Carline." Her eyes opened wide, and tears welled up
and ran down her cheeks. "Another man of flesh I can face, but this
shade from the past I cannot grapple with." Hot anger exploded into
words. "He's dead, Carline. I wish it were not so, he was my friend and I
miss him, but I've let him go. Pug is dead. Until you grant that this is
true, you are living with a false hope."
She put her hand to her mouth, palm outward, her eyes regarding
him in wordless denial. Abruptly she turned and fled down the stairs.
Alone, Roland leaned his elbows on the cold stones of the tower wall.
Holding his head in his hands, he said, "Oh, what a fool I have become!"
"PATROL!" shoutED the guard from the wall of the castle. Arutha and
Roland turned from where they watched soldiers giving instructions to
levies from the outlying villages.
They reached the gate, and the patrol came riding slowly in, a dozen
dirty, weary riders, with Martin Longbow and two other trackers walking
beside. Arutha greeted the Huntmaster and then said, "What have you
there?"
He indicated the three men in short grey robes who stood between
the line of horsemen. "Prisoners Highness," answered the hunter, leaning
on his bow.
Arutha dismissed the tired riders as other guards came to take position
around the prisoners. Arutha walked to where they waited, and
when he came within touching distance, all three fell to their knees,
putting their foreheads to the dirt.
Arutha raised his eyebrows in surprise at the display. "I have never
seen such as these."
Longbow nodded in agreement. "They wear no armor, and they
didn't give fight or run when we found them in the woods. They did as
you see now, only then they babbled like fishwives."
Arutha said to Roland, "Fetch Father Tully. He may be able to make
something of their tongue." Roland hurried off to find the priest. Longbow
dismissed his two trackers, who headed for the kitchen. A guard
was dispatched to find Swordmaster Fannon and inform him of the
captives.
A few minutes later Roland returned with Father Tully. The old priest
of Astalon was dressed in a deep blue, nearly black, robe, and upon
catching a glimpse of him, the three prisoners set up a babble of whispers.
When Tully glanced in their direction, they fell completely silent.
Arutha looked at Longbow in surprise.
Tully said, "What have we here?"
"Prisoners," said Arutha. "As you are the only man here to have had
some dealings with their language, I thought you might get something
out of them."
"I remember little from my mind contact with the Tsurani Xomich,
but I can try." The priest spoke a few halting words, which resulted in a
confusion as all three prisoners spoke at once. The centermost snapped
at his companions, who fell silent. He was short, as were the others, but
powerfully built. His hair was brown, and his skin swarthy, but his eyes
were a startling green. He spoke slowly to Tully, his manner somehow
less deferential than his companions'.
Tully shook his head. "I can't be certain, but I think he wishes to
know if I am a Great One of this world."
"Great One?" asked Arutha.
"The dying soldier was in awe of the man aboard ship he called
'Great One.' I think it was a title rather than a specific individual.
perhaps Kulgan was correct in his suspicion these people hold their
magicians or priests in awe."
"Who are these men?" asked the Prince.
Tully spoke to them again in halting words. The man in the center
spoke slowly, but after a moment Tully cut him off with a wave of his
hand. To Arutha he said, "These are slaves."
"Slaves?" Until now there had been no contact with any Tsurani
except warriors. It was something of a revelation to find they practiced
slavery. While not unknown in the Kingdom, slavery was not widespread
and was limited to convicted felons. Along the Far Coast, it was
nearly nonexistent. Arutha found the idea strange and repugnant. Men
might be born to low station, but even the lowliest serf had rights the
nobility were obligated to respect and protect. Slaves were property.
With a sudden disgust, Arutha said, "Tell them to get up, for mercy's
sake."
Tully spoke and the men slowly rose, the two on the flanks looking
about like frightened children. The other stood calmly, eyes only slightly
downcast. Again Tully questioned the man, finding his understanding of
their language returning.
The centermost man spoke at length, and when he was done Tully
said, "They were assigned to work in the enclaves near the river. They
say their camp was overrun by the forest people-he refers to the elves,
I think-and the short ones."
"Dwarves, no doubt," added Longbow with a grin.
Tully threw him a withering look. The rangy forester simply continued
to smile. Martin was one of the few young men of the castle never
intimidated by the old cleric, even before becoming one of the Duke's
staff.
"As I was saying," continued the priest, "the elves and dwarves overran
their camp. They fled, fearing they would be killed. They wandered
in the woods for days until the patrol picked them up this morning."
Arutha said, "This fellow in the center seems a bit different from the
others. Ask why this is so."
Tully spoke slowly to the man, who answered with little inflection in
his tones. When he was done, Tully spoke with some surprise. "He says
his name is Tchakachakalla. He was once a Tsurani officer!"
Arutha said, "This may prove most fortunate. If he'll cooperate, we
may finally learn some things about the enemy."
Swordmaster Fannon appeared from the keep and hurried to where
Arutha was questioning the prisoners. The commander of the Crydee
garrison said, "What have you here?"
Arutha explained as much as he knew about the prisoners, and when
he was finished, Fannon said, "Good, continue with the questioning."
Arutha said to Tully, "Ask him how he came to be a slave."
Without sign of embarrassment, Tchakachakalla told his story. When
he was done, Tully stood shaking his head. "He was a Strike Leader. It
may take some time to puzzle out what his rank was equivalent to in
our armies, but I gather he was at least a Knight-Lieutenant. He says his
men broke in one of the early battles and his 'house' lost much honor.
He wasn't given permission to take his own life by someone he calls the
Warchief. Instead he was made a slave to expiate the shame of his
command."
Roland whistled low. "His men fled and he was held responsible."
Longbow said, "There's been more than one earl who's bollixed a
command and found himself ordered by his Duke to serve with one of
the Border Barons along the Northern Marches."
Tully shot Martin and Roland a black look. "If you are finished?" He
addressed Arutha and Fannon: ''From what he said, it is clear he was
stripped of everything. He may prove of use to us."
Fannon said, "This may be some trick. I don't like his looks."
The man's head came up, and he fixed Fannon with a narrow gaze.
Martin's mouth fell open. "By Kilian! I think he understands what you
said."
Fannon stood directly before Tchakachakalla. "Do you understand
me?"
"'Little, master." His accent was thick, and he spoke with a slow
singsong tone alien to the King's Tongue. "Many Kingdom slaves on
Kelewan. Know little King's Tongue."
Fannon said, "Why didn't you speak before?"
Again without any show of emotion, he answered, "Not ordered.
Slave obey. Not . . ." He turned to Tully and spoke a few words.
Tully said, "He says it isn't a slave's place to show initiative."
Arutha said, "Tully, do you think he can be trusted?"
"I don't know. His story is strange, but they are a strange people by
our standards. My mind contact with the dying soldier showed me
much I still don't understand." Tully spoke to the man.
To Arutha the Tsurani said, "Tchakachakalla tell." Fighting for words,
he said, "I Wedewayo. My house, family. My clan Hunzan. Old, much
honor. Now slave. No house, no clan, no Tsuranuanni. No honor. Slave
obey."
Arutha said, "I think I understand. If you go back to the Tsurani,
what would happen to you?"
Tchakachakalla said, "Be slave, maybe. Be killed, maybe. All same."
"And if you stay here?"
"Be slave, be killed?" He shrugged, showing little concern.
Arutha said, slowly, "We keep no slaves. What would you do if we set
you free?"
A flicker of some emotion passed over the slave's face, and he turned
to Tully and spoke rapidly. Tully translated. "He says such a thing is not
possible on his world. He asks if you can do such a thing."
Arutha nodded. Tchakachakalla pointed to his companions. They
work. They always slaves."
"And you?" said Arutha.
Tchakachakalla looked hard at the Prince and spoke to Tully, never
taking his eyes from Arutha. Tully said, "He's recounting his lineage. He
says he is Tchakachakalla, Strike Leader of the Wedewayo, of the
Hunzan Clan. His father was a Force Leader, and his great-grandfather
Warchief of the Hunzan Clan. He has fought honorably, and only once
has he failed in his duty. Now he is only a slave, with no family, no clan,
no nation, and no honor. He asks if you mean to give him back his
honor."
Arutha said, "If the Tsurani come, what will you do?'
Tchakachakalla indicated his companions. "These men slaves.
Tsurani come, they do nothing. Wait. Go with . . ." He and Tully
exchanged brief remarks and Tully supplied him with the word he
wished. ". . . victors. They go with victors." He looked at Arutha, and
his eyes came alive. "You make Tchakachakalla free. Tchakachakalla be
your man, lord. Your honor is Tchakachakalla's honor. Give life if you
say. Fight Tsurani if you say."
Fannon spoke. "Likely story that. More's the odds he's a spy.'
The barrel-chested Tsurani looked hard at Fannon, then with a sudden
motion stepped before the Swordmaster, and before anyone could
react, pulled Fannon's knife from his belt.
Longbow had his own knife out an instant later, as Arutha's sword
was clearing its scabbard. Roland and the other soldiers were only a
moment behind. The Tsurani made no threatening gesture, but simply
flipped the knife, reversing it and handing it to Fannon hilt first.
"Master think Tchakachakalla enemy? Master kill. Give warrior's death,
return honor."
Arutha returned his sword to his scabbard and took the knife from
Tchakachakalla's hand. Returning the knife to Fannon, he said, "No, we
will not kill you." To Tully he said, "I think this man may prove useful.
For now, my inclination is to believe him."
Fannon looked less than pleased. "He may be a very clever spy, but
you're right. There's no harm if we keep a close watch on him. Father
Tully, why don't you take these men to soldiers' commons and see what
you can learn from them. I'll be along shortly."
Tully spoke to the three slaves and indicated they should follow. The
two timid slaves moved at once, but Tchakachakalla bent his knee before
Arutha. He spoke rapidly in the Tsurani tongue; Tully translated.
"He's just demanded you either kill him or make him your man. He
asked how a man can be free with no house, clan, or honor. On his
world such men are called grey warriors and have no honor."
Arutha said, "Our ways are not your ways. Here a man can be free
with no family or clan and still have honor."
Tchakachakalla bent his head slightly while listening, then nodded.
He rose and said, "Chakachakalla understand." Then with a grin he
added, "Soon, I be your man. Good lord need good warrior.
Tchakachakalla good warrior."
"Tully, take them along, and find out how much Tchak . . .
Tchakal . . ." Arutha laughed. "I can't pronounce that mouthful." To
the slave he said, "If you're to serve here, you need a Kingdom name."
The slave looked about and then gave a curt nod.
Longbow said, "Call him Charles. It's as close a name as I can imagine."
Arutha said, "As good a name as any. From now on, you will be called
Charles."
The newly named slave said, "Tcharles?" He shrugged and nodded.
Without another word he fell in beside Father Tully, who led the slaves
toward the soldiers' commons.
Roland said, "What do you make of that?" as the three slaves vanished
around the corner.
Fannon said, "Time will tell if we've been duped."
Longbow laughed. "I'll keep an eye on Charles, Swordmaster. He's a
tough little fellow. He traveled at a good pace when we brought them
in. Maybe I'll turn him into a tracker."
Arutha interrupted. "It will be some time before I'll be comfortable
letting him outside the castle walls."
Fannon let the matter drop. To Longbow he said, "Where did you
find them?"
"To the north, along the Clearbrook branch of the river. We were
following the signs of a large party of warriors heading for the coast."
Fannon considered this. "Gardan leads another patrol near there.
Perhaps he'll catch sight of them and we'll find out what the bastards
are up to this year." Without another word he walked back toward the
keep.
Martin laughed, Arutha was surprised to hear him. "What in this
strikes you as funny, Huntmaster?"
Martin shook his head. "A little thing, Highness. It's the
Swordmaster himself. He'll not speak of it to anyone, but I wager he
would give all he owns to have your father back in command. He's a
good soldier, but he dislikes the responsibility."
Arutha regarded the retreating back of the Swordmaster, then said, "I
-think you are right, Martin." His voice carried a thoughtful note.
"I've been at odds with Fannon so much of late, I lost sight of the fact
that he never requested this commission."
Lowering his voice, Martin said, "A suggestion, Arutha."
Arutha nodded. Martin pointed to Fannon. "Should anything happen
to Fannon, name another Swordmaster quickly do not wait for your
father's consent. For if you wait, Algon will assume command, and he is
a fool."
Arutha stiffened at the Huntmaster's presumption, while Roland
tried too silence Martin with a warning look. Arutha coldly said, "I
"thought you a friend of the Horsemaster."
Martin smiled, his eyes hinting at strange humor. "Aye, I am, as are
all in the castle. But anyone you ask will tell you the same: take his
'"horses away, and Algon is an indifferent thinker."
Nettled by Martin's manner, Arutha said, "And who should take his
place? The Huntmaster?"
Martin laughed, a sound of such open, clear amusement at the
'' thought Arutha found himself less angry at his suggestion.
"I?" said the Huntmaster. "Heaven forfend, Highness. I am a simple
hunter, no more. No, should the need come, name Gardan. He is by far
the most able soldier in Crydee."
Arutha knew Martin was correct, but gave in to impatience. "Enough.
Fannon is well, and I trust will remain so."
Martin nodded. "May the gods preserve him . . . and us all. Please
excuse me, it was but a passing concern. Now, with Your Highness's
leave, I've not had a hot meal in a week."
Arutha indicated he could leave, and Martin walked away toward the
kitchen. Roland said, "He is wrong on one account, Arutha."
Arutha stood with his arms folded across his chest, watching Longbow
as he vanished around the corner. "What is that, Roland?"
"That man is much more than the simple hunter he pretends."
Arutha was silent for a moment. "He is. Something about Martin
Longbow has always made me uneasy, though I have never found fault
with him."
Roland laughed, and Arutha said, "Now something strikes you as
fUnny, Roland?"
Roland shrugged. "Only that many think you and he are much alike."
Arutha turned a black gaze upon Roland, who shook his head. "It's
often said we take offense most in what we see of ourselves in others.
It's true, Arutha. You both have that same cutting edge to your humor,
almost mocking, and neither of you suffers foolishness." Roland's voice
became serious. "There's no mystery to it, I should think. You're a great
deal like your father, and with Martin having no family, it follows he
would pattern himself after the Duke."
Arutha became thoughtful. "Perhaps you're right. But something else
troubles me about that man." He left the thought unfinished and
turned toward the keep.
Roland fell into step beside the thoughtful Prince and wondered if he
had overstepped himself.
The NIGHT THUNDERED. Ragged bolts of lightning shattered the darkness
as clouds rolled in from the west. Roland stood on the southern tower
watching the display. Since dinner his mood had been as dark as the
western sky. The day had not gone well. First he had felt troubled by his
conversation with Arutha by the gate. Then Carline had treated him at
dinner with the same stony silence he had endured since their meeting
on this very tower two weeks earlier. Carline had seemed more subdued
than usual, but Roland felt a stab of anger at himself each time he
chanced a glance in her direction. Roland could still see the pain in the
Princess's eyes. "What a witless fool I am," he said aloud.
"Not a fool, Roland."
Carline was standing a few paces away, looking toward the coming
storm. She clutched a shawl around her shoulders, though the air was
temperate. The thunder had masked her footfalls, and Roland said, "It
is a poor night to be upon the tower, my lady."
She came to stand beside him and said, "Will it rain? These hot .
nights bring thunder and lightning, but usually little rain."
"It will rain. Where are your ladies?"
She indicated the tower door. "Upon the stairs. They fear the lightning,
and besides, I wished to speak with you alone."
Roland said nothing, and Carline remained silent for a time. The
night was sundered with violent displays of energy tearing across the
heavens, followed by cracking booms of thunder. "When I was young,"
she said at last, "Father used to say on nights such as this the gods were
sporting in the sky."
Roland looked at her face, illuminated by the single lantern hanging
on the wall. "My father told me they made war."
She smiled. "Roland, you spoke rightly on the day Lyam left. I have
been lost in my own grief, unable to see the truth. Pug would have been
the first to tell me that nothing is forever. That living in the past is
foolish and robs us of the future." She lowered her head a little. "Perhaps
it has something to do with Father. When Mother died, he never
fUlly recovered. I was very young, but I can still remember how he was.
He used to laugh a great deal before she died. He was more like Lyam
then. After . . . well, he became more like Arutha. He'd laugh, but
there'd be a hard edge to it, a bitterness."
"As if somehow mocking?"
She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, mocking. Why did you say that?"
"Something I noticed . . . something I pointed out to your brother
today. About Martin Longbow.'"
She sighed. "Yes, I understand. Longbow is also like that."
Softly Roland said, "Nevertheless, you did not come to speak of your
brother or Martin."
"No, I came to tell you how sorry I am for the way I've acted. I've
been angry with you for two weeks, but I'd no right. You only said what
was true. I've treated you badly."
Roland was surprised. "You've not treated me badly, Carline. I acted
the boor."
"No, you have done nothing but be a friend to me, Roland. You told
me the truth, not what I wanted to hear. It must have been hard . . .
considering how you feel." She looked out at the approaching
storm. "When I first heard of Pug's capture, I thought the world
ended."
Trying to be understanding, Roland quoted, " 'The first love is the
difficult love."'
Carline smiled at the aphorism. "That is what they say. And with
you?"
Roland mustered a carefree stance. "So it seems, Princess."
She placed her hand upon his arm. "Neither of us is free to feel other
than as we do, Roland."
His smile became sadder. "That is the truth, Carline."
"Will you always be my good friend?"
There was a genuine note of concern in her voice that touched the
young Squire. She was trying to put matters right between them, but
without the guile she'd used when younger. Her honest attempt turned
aside any frustration he felt at her not returning his affections fully. "I
will, Carline. I'll always be your good friend."
She came into his arms and he held her close, her head against his
chest. Softly she said, "Father Tully says that some loves come unbidden
like winds from the sea, and others grow from the seeds of friendship."
"I will hope for such a harvest, Carline. But should it not come, still I
will remain your good friend."
They stood quietly together for a time, comforting each other for
different causes, but sharing a tenderness each had been denied for two
years. Each of them was lost in the comfort of the other's nearness, and
neither saw what the lightning flashes revealed for brief instants. On the
horizon, beating for the harbor, came a ship.
THE WINDs wHIPPED the banners on the palisades of the castle walls as
rain began to fall. As water gathered in small pools, the lanterns cast
yellow reflections upward off the puddles to give an otherworldly look to
the two men standing on the wall.
A flash of lightning illuminated the sea, and a soldier said, "There!
Highness, did you see? Three points south of the Guardian Rocks." He
extended his arm, pointing the way.
Arutha peered into the gloom, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I
can see nothing in this darkness. It's blacker than a Guts-wan priest's
soul out there." The soldier absently made a protective sign at the
mention of the killer god. "Any signal from the beacon tower?"
"None, Highness. Not by beacon, nor by messenger."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the night, and Arutha saw the
ship outlined in the distance. He swore. "It will need the beacon at
Longpoint to reach the harbor safely." Without another word, he ran
down the stairs leading to the courtyard. Near the gate he instructed a
soldier to get his horse and two riders to accompany him. As he stood
there waiting, the rain passed, leaving the night with a clean but warm,
moist feeling. A few minutes later, Fannon appeared from the direction
of the soldiers' commons. "What's this? Riding?"
Arutha said, "A ship makes for the harbor, and there is no beacon at
Longpoint."
As a groom brought Arutha's horse, followed by two mounted
soldiers, Fannon said, "You'd best be off, then. And tell those stonecrowned
layabouts at the lighthouse I'll have words for them when they
finish duty."
Arutha had expected an argument from Fannon and felt relieved
there would be none. He mounted and the gates were opened. They
rode through and headed down the road toward town.
The brief rain had made the night rich with fresh odors: the flowers
along the road, and the scent of salt from the sea, soon masked by the
' acrid odor of burned wood from the charred remnants of gutted buildings
as they neared town.
They sped past the quiet town, taking the road along the harbor. A
pair of guards stationed by the quayside hastily saluted when they saw
the Prince fly past. The shuttered buildings near the docks bore mute
testimony to those who had fled after the raid.
They left the town and rode out to the lighthouse, following a bend
in the road. Beyond the town they gained their first glimpse of the
lighthouse, upon a natural island of rock joined to the mainland by a
long causeway of stone, topped by a compacted dirt road. The horses'
hooves beat a dull tattoo upon the dirt as they approached the tall
tower. A lightning flash lit up the sky, and the three riders could see the
ship running under fUll sail toward the harbor.
Shouting to the others, Arutha said, "They'll pile upon the rocks
without a beacon."
One of the guards shouted back, "Look, Highness. Someone signals!"
They reined in and saw figures near the base of the tower. A man
dressed in black stood swinging a shuttered lantern back and forth. It
could be clearly seen by those on the ship, but not by anyone upon the
castle walls. In the dim light, Arutha saw the still forms of Crydee
soldiers lying on the ground. Four men, also attired in black with head
coverings that masked their faces, ran toward the horsemen. Three drew
long swords from back scabbards, while the fourth aimed a bow. The
soldier to Arutha's right cried out as an arrow struck him in the chest.
Arutha charged his horse among the three who closed, knocking over
two while his sword slashed out, taking the third across the face. The
man fell without a sound.
The Prince wheeled around and saw his other companion also engaged,
hacking downward at the bowman. More men in black dashed
from within the tower, rushing forward silently.
Arutha's horse screamed. He could see an arrow protruding from its
neck. As it collapsed beneath him, he freed his feet from the stirrups
and lifted his left leg over the dying animal's neck, jumping free as it
struck the ground. He hit and rolled, coming to his feet before a short
figure in black with a long sword held high overhead with both hands.
The long blade flashed down, and Arutha jumped to his left, thrusting
with his own sword. He took the man in the chest, then yanked his
sword free. Like the others before, the man in black fell without uttering
a cry.
Another flash of lightning showed men rushing toward Arutha from
the tower. Arutha turned to order the remaining rider back to warn the
castle, but the shouted command died aborning when he saw the man
pulled from his saddle by swarming figures in black. Arutha dodged a
blow from the first man to reach him and ran past three startled figures.
He smashed at the face of a fourth man with his sword hilt, trying to
knock the man aside. His only thought was to open a pathway so he
might flee to warn the castle. The struck man reeled back, and Arutha
attempted to jump past him. The falling man reached out with one
hand, catching Arutha's leg as he sprang.
Arutha struck hard stone and felt hands frantically grab at his right
foot. He kicked backward with his left and took the man in the throat
with his boot. The sound of the man's windpipe being crushed was
followed by a convulsion of movement.
Arutha came to his feet as another attacker reached him, others only
a step behind. Arutha sprang backward trying to gain some distance.
His boot heel caught on a rock, and suddenly the world tilted crazily.
He found himself suspended in space for an instant, then his shoulders
met rock as he bounced down the side of the causeway. He hit several
more rocks and icy water closed over him.
The shock of the water kept him from passing into unconsciousness.
Dazed, he reflexively held his breath, but had little wind. Without
thinking, he pushed upward and broke the surface with a loud, ragged
gasp. Still groggy, he nevertheless possessed enough wits to duck below
the surface when arrows struck the water near him. He couldn't see a
thing in the murky darkness of the harbor but clung to the rocks,
pulling himself along more than swimming. He moved back toward the
tower end of the causeway, hoping the raiders would think him headed
in the other direction.
He quietly surfaced and blinked the salt water from his eyes. Peering
around the shelter of a large rock, he saw black figures searching the
darkness of the water. Arutha moved quietly, nestling himself into the
rocks. Bruised muscles and joints made him wince as he moved, but
nothing seemed broken.
Another flash of lightning lit the harbor. Arutha could see the ship
speeding safely into Crydee harbor. It was a trader, but rigged for speed
and outfitted for war. Whoever piloted the ship was a mad genius, for
he cleared the rocks by a scant margin, heading straight for the quayside
around the bend of the causeway. Arutha could see men in the rigging,
frantically reefing in sails. Upon the deck a company of black-clad
warriors stood with weapons ready.
Arutha turned his attention to the men on the causeway and saw one
motion silently to the others. They ran off in the direction of the town.
Ignoring the pain in his body, Arutha pulled himself up, negotiating the
slippery rocks to regain the dirt road of the causeway. Staggering a bit,
he came to his feet and looked off toward the town. There was still no
sign of trouble, but he knew it would erupt shortly.
Arutha half staggered, half ran to the lighthouse tower and forced
himself to climb the stairs. Twice he came close to blacking out, but he
reached the top of the tower. He saw the lookout lying dead near the
signal fire. The oil-soaked wood was protected from the elements by a
hood that hung suspended over it. The cold wind blew through the
open windows on all sides of the building.
Arutha found the dead sentry's pouch and removed flint, steel, and
tinder. He opened the small door in the side of the metal hood, using
his body to shield the wood from the wind. The second spark he fired
caught in the wood, and a small flame sprang into existence. It quickly
spread, and when it was burning fully, Arutha pulled on the chain hoist
that elevated the hood. With an audible whoosh, the flames sprang
fully to the ceiling as the wind struck the fire.
Against one wall stood a jar of powder mixed by Kulgan against such
an emergency. Arutha fought down dizziness as he bent again to pull
the knife from the dead sentry's belt. He used it to pry the lid off the
jar and then tossed the entire contents into the fire.
Instantly the flames turned bright crimson, a warning beacon none
could confuse with a normal light. Arutha turned toward the castle,
standing away from the window so as not to block the light. Brighter
and brighter the flames burned as Arutha found his mind going vague
again. For a long moment there was silence in the night, then suddenly
an alarm sounded from the castle. Arutha felt relief. The red beacon was
the signal for reavers in the harbor, and the castle garrison had been well
drilled to meet such raids. Fannon might be cautious with chasing
Tsurani raiders into the woods at night, but a pirate ship in his harbor
was something he would not hesitate to answer.
Arutha staggered down the stairs, stopping to support himself at the
door. His entire body hurt, and he was nearly overcome by dizziness. He
drew a deep breath and headed for the town. When he came to where
his dead horse lay, he looked about for his sword, then remembered he
had carried it with him into the harbor. He stumbled to where one of
his riders lay, next to a black-clad bowman. Arutha bent down to pick
up the fallen soldier's sword nearly blacking out as he stood. He held
himself erect for a moment, fearing he might lose consciousness if he
moved, and waited as the ringing in his head subsided. He slowly
reached up and touched his head. One particularly sore spot, with an
angry lump forming, told him he had struck his head hard at least once
as he fell down the causeway. His fingers came away sticky with clotting ~
blood.
Arutha began to walk to town, and as he moved, the ringing in his
head resumed. For a time he staggered, then he tried to force himself to
run but after only three wobbly strides he resumed his clumsy walk. He
hurried as much as he could rounding the bend in the road to come in
sight of town. He heard faint sounds of fighting. In the distance he
could see the red light of fires springing heavenward as buildings were
put to the torch. Screams of men and women sounded strangely remote
and muted to Arutha's ears.
He forced himself into a trot, and as he closed upon the town, anticipation
of fighting forced away much of the fog clouding his mind. He
turned along the harborside, with the dockside buildings burning, it was
bright as day but no one was in sight. Against the quayside the raiders'
ship rested, a gangway leading down to the dock. Arutha approached
quietly, fearing guards had been left to protect it. When he reached the
gangway, all was quiet. The sounds of fighting were distant, as if all the
raiders had attacked deeply into the town.
As he began to move away, a voice cried out from the ship, "Gods of
mercy! Is anyone there?" The voice was deep and powerful, but with a
controlled note of terror.
Arutha hurried up the gangway, sword ready. He stopped when he
reached the top. From the forward hatch cover he could see fire glowing
brightly belowdecks. He looked about: everywhere his eyes traveled he
saw seamen lying dead in their own blood. From the rear of the ship the
voice cried out, "You, man. If you're a godsfearing man of the Kingdom,
come help me."
Arutha made his way amid the carnage and found a man sitting
against the starboard rail. He was large, broad-shouldered, and
barrelchested.
He could have been any age between twenty and forty. He held
the side of an ample stomach with his right hand blood seeping
through his fingers. Curly dark hair swept back from a receding hairline,
and he wore his black beard cut short. He managed a weak smile as he
pointed to a black-clothed figure lying nearby. "The bastards killed my
crew and fired my ship. That one made the mistake of not killing me
with the first blow." He pointed at the section of a fallen yard pinning
his legs. "I can't manage to budge that damned yard and hold my guts
in at the same time. If you'd lift it a bit, I think I can pull myself
free."
Arutha saw the problem: the man was pinned down at the short end
of the yard, tangled in a mass of ropes and blocks. He gripped the long
end and heaved upward, moving it only a few inches, but enough. With
a half grunt, half groan, the wounded man pulled his legs out. "I don't
think my legs are broken, lad. Give me a hand up and we'll see."
Arutha gave him a hand and nearly lost his footing pulling the bulky
seaman to his feet. "Here, now," said the wounded man. "You're not in
much of a fighting trim yourself, are you?"
"I'll be all right" said Arutha steadying the man while fighting off an
attack of nausea.
The seaman leaned upon Arutha. "We'd better hurry, then. The fire
is spreading." With Arutha's help, he negotiated the gangway. When
they reached the quayside, gasping for breath, the heat was becoming
intense. The wounded seaman gasped "Keep going!"
Arutha nodded and slung the man's arm over his shoulder. They set
off down the quay, staggering like a pair of drunken sailors on the town.
Suddenly there came a roar, and both men were slammed to the
ground. Arutha shook his dazed head and turned over. Behind him a
great tower of flames leaped skyward. The ship was a faintly seen black
silhouette in the heart of the blinding yellow-and-white column of fire.
Waves of heat washed over them, as if they were standing at the door of
a giant oven.
Arutha managed to croak "What was that?"
His companion gave out with an equally feeble reply: ''Two hundred
barrels of Quegan fire oil."
Arutha spoke in disbelief. "You didn't say anything about fire oil back
aboard ship."
"I didn't want you getting excited. You looked half-gone already. I
figured we'd either get clear or we wouldn't."
Arutha tried to rise, but fell back. Suddenly he felt very comfortable
resting on the cool stone of the quay. He saw the fire begin to dim
before his eyes, then all went dark.
AruthA OPENED his eyes and saw blurred shapes over him. He blinked
and the images cleared. Carline hovered over his sleeping pallet, looking
anxiously on as Father Tully examined him. Behind Carline, Fannon
watched, and next to him stood an unfamiliar man. Then Arutha remembered
him. "The man from the ship."
The man grinned. "Amos Trask, lately master of the Sidonie until
those bast-begging the Princess's pardon-those cursed land rats put
her to the torch. Standing here thanks to Your Highness."
Tully interrupted. "How do you feel?"
Arutha sat up, finding his body a mass of dull aches. Carline placed
cushions behind her brother. "Battered, but I'll survive." His head swam
a little. "I'm a bit dizzy." ,
Tully looked down his nose at Arutha's head. "Small wonder. You
took a nasty crack. You may find yourself occasionally dizzy for a few
days, but I don't think it is serious."
Arutha looked at the Swordmaster. "How long?"
Fannon said, 'A patrol brought you in last night. It's morning."
"The raid?"
Fannon shook his head sadly. 'The town's gutted. We managed to
kill them all, but there's not a whole building left standing in Crydee.
The fishing village at the south end of the harbor is untouched, but
otherwise everything was lost."
Carline fussed around near Arutha, tucking in covers and fluffing his
cushions. 'you should rest."
He said, "Right now, I'm hungry.
She brought over a bowl of hot broth. He submitted to the light
broth in place of solid food, but refused to let her spoon-feed him.
Between mouthfuls he said, "Tell me what happened."
Fannon looked disturbed. "It was the Tsurani."
Arutha's hand stopped, his spoon poised halfway between bowl and mouth.
"Tsurani? I thought they were reavers, from the Sunset Islands."
"At first so did we, but after talking to Captain Trask here, and the
Tsurani slaves who are with us, we've pieced together a picture of what's
happened."
Tully picked up the narrative. "From the slaves' story, these men were
specially chosen. They called it a death raid. They were selected to enter
the town, destroy as much as possible, then die without fleeing. They
burned the ship as much as a symbol of their commitment as to deny it
to us. I gather from what they say it's considered something of a great
honor."
Arutha looked at Amos Trask. "How is it they managed to seize your
ship, Captain?"
"Ah, that is a bitter story, Highness. He leaned to his right a little,
and Arutha remembered his wound.
"How is your side?"
Trask grinned, his dark eyes merry. "A messy wound but not a serious
one. The good father put it right as new, Highness."
Tully made a derisive sound."That man should be in bed. He is more
seriously injured than you. He would not leave until he saw you were all
right."
Trask ignored the comment. "I've had worse. We once had a fight
with a Quegan war galley turned rogue pirate and-well, that's another
story. You asked about my ship." He limped over closer to Arutha's
pallet. "We were outward bound from hlanque with a load of weapons
and fire oil. Considering the situation here, I thought to find a ready
market. We braved the straits early in the season, stealing the march on
other ships, or so we hoped.
"But while we made the passage early, we paid the price. A monstrous
storm blew up from the south, and we were driven for a week. When it
was over, we headed east, striking for the coast. I thought we'd have no
trouble plotting our position from landmarks. When we sighted land,
not one aboard recognized a single feature. As none of us had ever been
north of Crydee, we judged rightly we had gone farther than we had
thought.
"We coasted by day, heaving to at night for I'd not risk unknown
shoals and reefs. On the third night the Tsurani came swimming out
from shore like a pod of dolphins. Dived right under the ship, and came
up on both sides. By the time I was awake from the commotion on
deck, there was a full half dozen of the bast-begging the Princess's
pardon-them Tsurani swarming over me. It took them only minutes to
take my ship." His shoulders sagged a bit. "It's a hard thing to lose one's
ship, Highness."
He grimaced and Tully stood, making Trask sit on the stool next to
Arutha. Trask continued his story. "We couldn't understand what they
said, their tongue is more suited for monkeys than men-I myself speak
five civilized languages and can do 'talk-see' in a dozen more. But as I
was saying, we couldn't understand their gibberish, but they made their
intentions clear enough.
"They pored over my charts." He grimaced in remembering. "I purchased
them legal and aboveboard from a retired captain down in
Durbin. Fifty years of experience in those charts, there were, from here
in Crydee to the farthest eastern shores of the Keshian Confederacy,
and they were tossing them around my cabin like so much old canvas
until they found the ones they wanted. They had some sailors among
them for as soon as they recognized the charts, they made their plans
known to me.
"Curse me for a freshwater fisherman, but we had heaved to only a
few miles north of the headlands above your lighthouse. If we'd sailed a
little longer, we would have been safely in Crydee harbor two days ago."
Arutha and the others said nothing. Trask continued, "They went
through my cargo holds and started tossing things overboard, no matter
what. Over five hundred fine Quegan broadswords, over the side. Pikes,
lances, longbows, everything-I guess to keep any of it from reaching
Crydee somehow. They didn't know what to do with the Quegan fire oil
the barrels would've needed a dock hoist to get them out of the hold ~
so they left it alone. But they made sure there wasn't a weapon
-aboard that wasn't in their hands. Then some of the little land rats got
dressed up in those black rags, swam ashore, and started down the coast
toward the lighthouse. While they were going, the rest were praying, on
their knees rocking back and forth, except for a few with bows watching
my crew. Then all of a sudden, about three hours after sundown, they're
up and kicking my men around, pointing to the harbor on the map.
"We set sail and headed down the coast. The rest you know. I guess
they judged you would not expect an attack from seaward."
Fannon said, "They judged correctly. Since their last raid we've patrolled
the forests heavily. They couldn't get within a day's march of
Crydee without our knowing. This way they caught us unawares." The
old Swordmaster sounded tired and bitter. "Now the town is destroyed,
and we've a courtyard filled with terrified townsmen."
Trask also sounded bitter. "They put most of their men ashore
quickly, but left two dozen to slaughter my men." An expression of pain
crossed his face. "They were a hard lot, my lads, but on the whole good
enough men. We didn't know what was happening until the first of my
boys began to fall from the spars with Tsurani arrows in them, waving
like little flags as they hit the water. We thought they were going to
have us take them out again. My boys put up a struggle then, you can
bet. But they didn't start soon enough. Marlinspikes and belayin' pins
can't stand up to men with swords and bows."
Trask sighed deeply, the pain on his face as much from his story as
from his injury. "Thirty-five men. Dock rats, cutthroats, and murderers
all, but they were my crew. I was the only one allowed to go killing
them. I cracked the skull of the first Tsurani who came at me, took his
sword, and killed another. But the third one knocked it from my hand
and ran me through." He barked a short, harsh-sounding laugh. "I broke
his neck. I passed out for a time. They must have thought me dead. The
next I knew, the fires were going and I started yelling. Then I saw you
come up the gangway."
Arutha said, "You're a bold man, Amos Trask."
A look of deep pain crossed the large man's face. "Not bold enough to
keep my ship, Highness. Now I'm nothing more than another beached
sailor."
Tully said, "Enough for now. Arutha, you need rest." He put his hand
on Amos Trask's shoulder. "Captain, you'd do well to follow his example.
Your wound is more serious than you admit. I'll take you to a room
where you can rest."
The captain rose, and Arutha said, "Captain Trask.'
"Yes, Highness?"
"We have need of good men here in Crydee."
A glimmer of humor crossed the seaman's face. "I thank you, Highness.
Without a ship, though, I don't know what use I could be."
Arutha said, "Between Fannon and myself, we'll find enough to keep
you busy."
The man bowed slightly, restricted by his wounded side. He left with
Tully. Carline kissed Arutha on the cheek, saying, "Rest now." She took
away the broth and was escorted from the room by Fannon. Arutha was
asleep before the door closed.
17
Attack
Carline lunged She thrust the point of her sword in a low line, aiming a
killing blow for the stomach. Roland barely avoided the
thrust by a strong beat of his blade, knocking hers out of
line. He sprang back and for a moment was off balance.
, Carline saw the hesitation and lunged forward again.
Roland laughed as he suddenly leaped away, knocking
her blade aside once more, then stepping outside her
guard. Quickly tossing his sword from right hand to left
he reached out and caught her sword arm at the wrist
' pulling her, in turn, off balance. He swung her about
stePPing behind her. He wrapped his left arm around her
waist, being careful of his sword edge, and pulled her
tightly to him. She struggled against his superior strength
but while he was
behind her, she could inflict no more
than angry curses on him. "it was a trick! A loathsome
trick,' she spat. She kicked helplessly as he laughed. 'Don't overextend
yourself that way, even when it looks like a clean kill.
You've good speed, but you press too much. Learn patience.
Wait for a clear opening, then attack. You overbalance
that much and you're dead.' He gave her a quick
kiss on the cheek and pushed her unceremoniously away.
Carline stumbled forward, regained her balance, and
turned. "Rogue! Make free with the royal person, will
you?' She advanced on him, sword at the ready, slowly
circling to the left. With her father away, Carline had
pestered Arutha into allowing Roland to teach her swordplay. Her
final argument had been, "What do I do if the Tsurani enter the castle?
Attack them with embroidery needles?" Arutha had relented more from
tiring of the constant nagging than from any conviction she would have
to use the weapon.
Suddenly Carline launched a furious attack in high line, forcing Roland
to retreat across the small court behind the keep. He found himself
backed against a low wall and waited. She lunged again, and he nimbly
stepped aside, the padded point of her rapier striking the wall an instant
after he vacated the spot. He jumped past her, playfully swatting her
across the rump with the flat of his blade as he took up position behind
her. "And don't lose your temper, or you'll lose your head as well."
"Oh!" she cried, spinning to face him. Her expression was caught
halfway between anger and amusement. "You monster!"
Roland stood ready, a look of mock contrition on his face. She measured
the distance between them and began to advance slowly. She was
wearing tight-fitting men's trousers-to the despair of Lady Marna-and
a man's tunic cinched at the waist by her sword belt. In the last year
her figure had filled out, and the snug costume bordered on the scandalous.
Now eighteen years of age, there was nothing about Carline that
was girlish. The specially crafted boots she wore, black, ankle-high,
carefully beat upon the ground as she stepped the distance between them,
and her long, lustrous dark hair was tied into a single braid that swung
freely about her shoulders.
Roland welcomed these sessions with her. They had rediscovered
much of their former playful fun in them, and Roland held the guarded
hope her feelings for him might be developing into something more
than friendship. In the year since Lyam's departure they had practiced
together, or had gone riding when it was considered safe, near the castle.
The time with her had nourished a sense of companionship between
them he had previously been unable to bring about. While more
serious than before, she had regained her spark and sense of humor.
Roland stood lost in reflection a moment. The little-girl Princess,
spoiled and indulged, was gone. The child grown petulant and demanding
from the boredom of her role was now a thing of the past. In her
stead was a young woman of strong mind and will, tempered by harsh
lessons.
Roland blinked and found himself with her sword's point at his
throat. He playfully threw down his own weapon and said, "Lady, I
yeild!"
She laughed. "What were you daydreaming about, Roland?"
He gently pushed aside the tip of her sword. "I was remembering how
distraught Lady Marna became when you first went riding in those
clothes and came back all dirty and very unladylike."
Carline smiled at the memory. "I thought she would stay abed for a
week." She put up her sword. "I wish I could find reasons to wear these
clothes more often. They are so comfortable."
Roland nodded, grinning widely. "And very fetching." He made a
display of leering at the way they hugged Carline's curvaceous body.
"Though I expect that is due to the wearer."
She tilted her nose upward in a show of disapproval. "You are a rogue
and a flatterer, sir. And a lecher."
With a chuckle, he picked up his sword. "I think that is enough for
today, Carline. I could endure only one defeat this afternoon. Another,
and I shall have to quit the castle in shame."
Her eyes widened as she drew her weapon, and he saw the dig had
struck home. "Oh! Shamed by a mere girl, is it?" she said, advancingwith
her sword ready.
Laughing, he brought his own to the ready, backing away. "Now,
Lady. This is most unseemly."
Leveling her sword, she fixed him with an angry gaze. "I have Lady
Marna to be concerned with my manners, Roland. I don't need a buffoon
like you to instruct me."
"Buffoon!" he cried, leaping forward. She caught his blade and riposted,
nearly striking. He took the thrust on his blade, sliding his own
along hers until they stood corps a corpB. He seized her sword wrist with
his free hand and smiled. "You never want to find yourself in this
position."
She struggled to free herself, but he held her fast. "Unless the
Tsurani start sending their women after us, most anyone you fight will
prove stronger than yourself, and from here have his way with you." So
saying, he jerked her closer and kissed her.
She pulled back, an expression of surprise on her face. Suddenly the
sword fell from her fingers and she grabbed him. Pulling him with
surprising force, she kissed him with a passion that answered his.
When he pulled back, she regarded him with a look of surprise mixed
with longing. A smile spread on her face, as her eyes sparkled. Quietly
she said, "Roland, I-"
Alarm sounded throughout the castle, and the shout of "Attack!"
could be heard from the walls on the other side of the keep.
Roland swore softly and stepped back. "Of all the gods-cursed, illtimed
luck." He headed into the hall that led to the main courtyard.
With a grin he turned and said, "Remember what you were going to
say, Lady." His humor vanished when he saw her following after, sword
in hand. "Where are you going?" he asked, all lightness absent from his
voice.
Defiantly she said, "To the walls. I'm not going to sit in the cellars
any longer."
Firmly he said, "No. You've never experienced true fighting. As a
sport, you do well enough with a sword, but I'll not risk your freezing
the first time you smell blood. You'll go to the cellars with the other
ladies and lock yourself safely in."
Roland had never spoken to her in this manner before, and she was
amazed. Always before he had been the teasing rogue, or the gentle
friend. Now he was suddenly a different man. She began to protest, but
he cut her off. Taking her by the arm, half leading, half dragging her, he
walked in the direction of the cellar doors. "Roland!" she cried. "Let me
go! "
Quietly he said, "You'll go where you were ordered. And I'll go where
I'm ordered. There will be no argument."
She pulled against his hold, but the grip was unyielding. "Roland!
Take your hand from me this instant!" she commanded.
He continued to ignore her protests and dragged her along the hall.
At the cellar door a startled guard watched the approaching pair. Roland
came to a stop and propelled Carline toward the door with a less than
gentle shove. Her eyes wide in outrage, Carline turned to the guard.
"Arrest him! At once! He"-anger elevated her voice to a most unladylike
volume-"laid hands on me!"
The guard hesitated, looking from one to another, then tentatively
began to step toward the Squire. Roland raised a warning finger and
pointed it at the guard, less than an inch from his nose. "You will see
Her Highness to her appointed place of safety. You will ignore her
objections, and should she try to leave, you will restrain her. Do you
understand?"
His voice left no doubt he was deadly serious.
The guard nodded, but still was reluctant to place hands upon the
Princess. Without taking his eyes from the soldier's face, Roland pushed
Carline gently toward the door and said, "If I find she has left the cellar
before the signal that all is safe has sounded, I will ensure that the
Prince and the Swordmaster are' informed you allowed the Princess to
step in harm's way."
That was enough for the guard. He might not understand who had
right of rank between Princess and Squire during attacks, but there was
no doubt at all in his mind of what the Swordmaster would do to him
under such circumstances. He turned to the cellar door before Carline
could return and said, "Highness, this way," forcing her down the steps.
Carline backed down the stairs, fuming. Roland closed the door behind
them. She turned after another backward step, then haughtily
walked down. When they reached the room set aside for the women of
the castle and town in time of attack, Carline found the other women
waiting, huddled together, terrified.
The guard hazarded an apologetic salute and said, "Begging the Princess's
pardon, but the Squire seemed most determined."
Suddenly Carline's scowl vanished, and in its place a small smile
appeared. She said, "Yes, he did, didn't he?"
RiDErs sPED into the courtyard, the massive gates swinging shut behind.
Arutha watched from the walls and turned to Fannon.
Fannon said, "Of all the worst possible luck."
Arutha said, "Luck has nothing to do with it. The Tsurani would
certainly not be attacking when the advantage is ours." Everything
looked peaceful, except the burned town standing as a constant reminder
of the war. But he also knew that beyond the town, in the
forests to the north and northeast, an army was gathering. And by all
reports as many as two thousand more Tsurani were on the march toward
Crydee.
"Get back inside, you rat-bitten, motherless dog."
Arutha looked downward into the courtyard and saw Amos Trask
kicking at the panic-stricken figure of a fisherman, who dashed back
into one of the many rude huts erected inside the wall of the castle to
house the last of the displaced townsfolk who had not gone south. Most
of the townspeople had shipped for Carse after the death raid, but a few
had stayed the winter. Except for some fishermen who were to stay to
help feed the garrison, the rest were due to be shipped south to Carse
and Tulan this spring. But the first ships of the coming season were not
due in for weeks. Amos had been put in charge of these folk since his
ship had been burned the year before, keeping them from getting underfoot
and from causing too much disruption in the castle. The former
sea captain had proved a gift during the first weeks after the burning of
the town. Amos had the necessary talent for command and kept the
tough, ill-mannered, and individualistic fisherfolk in line. Arutha judged
him a braggart, a liar, and most probably, a pirate, but generally likable.
Gardan came up the stairs from the court, Roland following. Gardan
saluted the Prince and Swordmaster, and said, "That's the last patrol,
sir."
"Then we must only wait for Longbow," said Fannon.
Gardan shook his head. "Not one patrol caught sight of him, sir."
"That's because Longbow is undoubtedly closer to the Tsurani than
any soldier of sound judgment is likely to get," ventured Arutha. "How
soon, do you think, before the rest of the Tsurani arrive?"
Pointing to the northeast, Gardan said, "Less than an hour, if they
push straight through." He looked skyward. "They have less than four
hours of light. We might expect one attack before nightfall. Most likely
they'll take position, rest their men, and attack at first light."
Arutha glanced at Roland. "Are the women safe?"
Roland grinned. "All, though your sister might have a few harsh
words about me when this is over."
Arutha returned the grin. "When this is over, I'll deal with it." He
looked around. "Now we wait."
Swordmaster Fannon's eyes swept the deceptively peaceful scene before
them. There was a note of worry mixed with determination in his
voice as he said "Yes, now we wait."
Martin RaISED His hand. His three trackers stopped moving. The woods
were quiet as far as they could tell, but the three knew Martin possessed
more acute senses than they. After a moment he moved along, scouting
ahead.
For ten hours, since before dawn, they had been marking the Tsurani
line of march. As well as he could judge, the Tsurani had been repulsed
once more from elvandar at the fords along the river Crydee and were
now turning their attention to the castle at Crydee. For three years the
Tsurani had been occupied along four fronts: against the Duke's armies
in the east, the elves and dwarves along the north, the hold at Crydee in
the west, and the Brotherhood of the Dark path and the goblins in the
south.
The trackers had stayed close to the Tsurani trailbreakers, occasionally
too close. Twice they had been forced to run from attackers, Tsurani
warriors tenaciously willing to follow the Huntmaster of Crydee and his
men. Once they had been overtaken, and Martin had lost one of his
men in the fighting.
Martin gave the raucous caw of a crow, and in a few minutes his three
remaining trackers joined him. One, a long-faced young man named
Garret, said "They move far west of where I thought they would turn."
Longbow considered. "Aye, it seems they may be planning to encircle
all of the lands around the castle. Or they may simply wish to strike
from an unexpected quarter." Then with a wry grin he said, "But most
likely, they simply sweep the area before the attack begins, ensuring
they have no harrying forces at their backs."
Another tracker said, "Surely they know we mark their passing."
Longbow's crooked grin widened. "No doubt. I judge them
unconcerned with our comings and goings." He shook his head.
"These Tsurani are an arrogant crew." Pointing, he said, "Garret will
come with me. You two will make straight for the castle. Inform the
Swordmaster some two thousand more Tsurani march on Crydee."
Without a word the two men set off at a brisk pace toward the
castle.
To his remaining companion he spoke lightly. "Come, let us return to
the advancing enemy and see what he is about now."
Garret shook his head. "Your cheerful manner does little to ease my
worrisome mind, Huntmaster."
Turning back the way they had come, Longbow said, "One time is
much like another to death. She comes when she will. So why give over
your mind to worry?"
"Aye," said Garret, his long face showing he was unconvinced. "Why,
indeed? It's not death arriving when she will that worries me; it's your
inviting her to visit that gets me shivering."
Martin laughed softly. He motioned for Garret to follow. They set off
at a trot, covering ground with long, loose strides. The forest was bright
with sunlight, but between the thick boles were many dark places
wherein a watchful enemy could lurk. Garret left it to Longbow's able
judgment whether these hiding places were safe to pass. Then, as one,
both men stopped in their tracks at the sound of movement ahead.
Noiselessly they melted into a shadowy thicket. A minute passed slowly
with neither man speaking. Then a faint whispering came to them, the
words unclear.
Into their field of vision came two figures, moving cautiously along a
north-south path that intersected the one Martin followed. Both were
dressed in dark grey cloaks, with bows held ready. They stopped, and
one kneeled down to study the signs left by Longbow and his trackers.
He pointed down the trail and spoke to his companion, who nodded
and returned the way they had come.
Longbow heard Garret hiss as he drew in his breath. Peering around
the area was a tracker of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. After a
moment of searching he followed his companion.
Garret began to stir and Martin gripped his arm. "Not yet," Longbow
whispered.
Garret whispered back, "What are they doing this far north"
Martin shook his head. "They've slipped in behind our patrols along
the foothills. We've grown lax in the south, Garret. We never thought
they'd move north this far west of the mountains." He waited silently
for a moment, then whispered, "Perhaps they tire of the Green Heart
and are trying for the Northlands to join their brothers."
Garret started to speak, but stopped when another Dark Brother entered
the spot vacated by the others a moment before. He looked
around, then raised his hand in signal. Other figures appeared along the
trail intersecting the one Martin's men had traveled. In ones, twos, and
threes, Dark Brothers crossed the path, disappearing into the trees.
Garret sat holding his breath. He could hear Martin counting faintly
as the figures crossed their field of vision: ". . . ten, twelve, fifteen,
sixteen, eighteen . . ."
The stream of dark-cloaked figures continued, seemingly unending to
Garret. ". . . thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-four . . ."
As the crossing continued, larger numbers of Brothers appeared, and
after a time Martin whispered, "There are more than a hundred."
Still they came, some now carrying bundles on their backs and shoulders.
Many wore the dark grey mountain cloaks, but others were dressed
in green, brown or black clothing. Garret leaned close to Martin and
whispered, "You are right. It is a migration north. I mark over two
hundred "
Martin nodded. "And still they come."
For many more minutes the Dark Brothers crossed the trail, until the
flood of warriors was replaced by ragged-looking females and young.
When they had passed, a company of twenty fighters crossed the trail,
and then the area was quiet.
They waited a moment in silence. Garret said "They are elven-kin to
move so large a number through the forest undetected so long."
Martin smiled. "I'd advise you not mention that fact to the next elf
you encounter." He stood slowly, unbending cramped muscles from the
long sitting in the brush. A faint sound echoed from the east, and
Martin got a thoughtful look on his face. "How far along the trail do
you judge the Dark Brothers' march?"
Garret said, "At their rear, a hundred yards, at the van, perhaps a
quarter mile or less. Why?"
Martin grinned, and Garret became discomforted by the mocking
humor in his eyes. "Come, I think I know where we can have some
fun."
Garret groaned softly, "Ah, Huntmaster, my skin gets a poxy feeling
when you mention fun."
Martin struck the man a friendly blow to the chest with the back of
his hand. "Come, stout fellow." The Huntmaster broke trail, with Garret
behind. They loped along through the woods, easily avoiding obstacles
that would have hindered less experienced woodsmen.
They came to a break in the trail, and both men halted. just down
the trail, at the edge of their vision in the gloom of the forest, came a
company of Tsurani trailbreakers. Martin and Garret faded into the
trees, and the Huntmaster said, "The main column is close behind.
When they reach the crossing where the Dark Brothers passed, they
might chance to follow."
Garret shook his head. "Or they might not, so we will make certain
they do." Taking a deep breath, he added, "Oh well," then made a short
silent prayer to Kilian, the Singer of Green Silences, Goddess of Foresters,
as they unshouldered their bows.
Martin stepped out onto the trail and took aim and Garret followed
his example. The Tsurani trailbreakers came into view, cutting away the
thick underbrush along the trail so the main body could more easily
follow. Martin waited until the Tsurani were uncomfortably close, then
he let fly, just as the first trailbreaker took notice of them. The first
two
men fell, and before they hit the ground, two more arrows were loosed.
Martin and Garret pulled arrows from back quivers in fluid motions, set
arrow to bowstring, and let fly with uncommon quickness and accuracy.
It was not from any act of kindness Martin had selected Garret five
years before. In the eye of the storm, he would stand calmly, do as
ordered, and do it with skill.
Ten stunned Tsurani fell before they could raise an alarm. Calmly
Martin and Garret shouldered their bows and waited. Then along the
trail appeared a veritable wall of colored armor. The Tsurani officers in
the van stopped in shocked silence as they regarded the dead trailbreakers.
Then they saw the two foresters standing quietly down the
trail and shouted something. The entire front of the column sprang
forward, weapons drawn.
Martin leaped into the thicket on the north side of the trail, Garret a
step behind. They dashed through the trees, the Tsurani in close pursuit.
Martin's voice filled the forest with a wild hunter's call. Garret
shouted as much from some nameless, crazy exhilaration as from fear.
The noise behind was tremendous as a horde of Tsurani pursued them
through the trees.
Martin led them northward, paralleling the course taken by the Dark
Brotherhood. After a time he stopped and between gasping breaths said,
"Slowly, we don't want to lose them."
Garret looked back and saw the Tsurani were out of sight. They
leaned against a tree and waited. A moment later the first Tsurani came
into view, hurrying along on a course that angled off to the northwest.
With a disgusted look, Martin said, "We must have killed the only
skilled trackers on their whole bloody world." He took his hunter's horn
from his belt and let forth with such a loud blast the Tsurani soldier
froze, an expression of shock'clearly evident on his face even from where
Martin and Garret stood.
The Tsurani looked around and caught sight of the two huntsmen.
Martin waved for the man to follow, and he and Garret were off again.
The Tsurani shouted for those behind and gave chase. For a quarter
mile they led the Tsurani through the woods, then they angled westward.
Garret shouted, between heaving breaths, "The Dark Brothers
they'll know . . . we come."
Martin shouted back, "Unless they've . . . suddenly all . . . gone
deaf." He managed a smile. "The Tsurani . . . hold a six-to-one . . .
advantage. I . . . think it . . . only fair to let . . . the Brotherhood
have the . . . ambush."
Garret spared enough breath for a low groan and continued to follow
his master's lead. They crashed out of a thicket and Martin stopped,
grabbing Garret by the tunic. He cocked his head and said, "They're up
ahead."
Garret said, "I don't know . . . how you can hear a thing with . . .
all that cursed racket behind." It sounded as if most of the Tsurani
column had followed, though the forest amplified the noise and confused
its source.
Martin said, "Do you still wear that . . . ridiculous red undertunic?"
"Yes, why?"
"Tear off a strip." Garret pulled his knife without question and lifted
up his green forester's tunic. Underneath was a garish red cotton
undertunic.
He cut a long strip off the bottom, then hastily tucked the undertunic
in. While Garret ordered himself, Martin tied the strip to an
arrow. He looked back to where the Tsurani thrashed in the brush. "It
must be those stubby legs. They may be able to run all day, but they
can't keep up in the woods." He handed the arrow to Garret. "See that
large elm across that small clearing?"
Garret nodded. "See the small birch behind, off to the left?" Again
Garret nodded. "Think you can hit it with that rag dragging at your
arrow?"
Garret grinned as he unslung his bow, notched the arrow, and let fly.
The arrow sped true, striking the tree. Martin said, "When our bandylegged
friends get here, they'll see that flicker of color over there and go
charging across. Unless I'm sadly mistaken, the Brothers are about fifty
feet the other side of your arrow." He pulled his horn as Garret shouldered
his bow again. "Once more we're off" he said, blowing a long,
loud call.
Like hornets the Tsurani descended, but Longbow and Garret were
off to the southwest before the note from the hunter's horn had died in
the air. They dashed to be gone before the Tsurani caught sight of
them, aborting the hoax. Suddenly they broke through a thicket and ran
into a group of women and children milling about. One young woman
of the Brotherhood was placing a bundle upon the ground. She stopped
at the sight of the two men. Garret had to slide to a halt to keep from
bowling her over.
Her large brown eyes studied him for an instant as he stepped sideways
to get around her. Without thinking, Garret said, "Excuse me,
ma'am," and raised his hand to his forelock. Then he was off after
the Huntmaster as shouts of surprise and anger erupted behind
them.
Martin called a halt after they had covered another quarter mile and
listened. To the northeast came the sounds of battle, shouts and
screams, and the ring of weapons. Martin grinned. "They'll both be
busy for a while."
Garret sank wearily to the ground and said, "Next time send me to
the castle, will you, Huntmaster?"
Martin kneeled beside the tracker. "That should prevent the Tsurani
from reaching Crydee until sundown or after. They won't be able to
mount an attack until tomorrow. Four hundred Dark Brothers are not
something they can safely leave at their rear. We'll rest a bit, then make
for Crydee."
Garret leaned back against a tree. "Welcome news." He let out a long
sigh of relief, "That was a close thing, Huntmaster."
Martin smiled enigmatically. "All life is a close thing, Garret."
Garret shook his head slowly. "Did you see that girl?"
Martin nodded. "What of her?"
Garret looked perplexed. "She was pretty . . . no, closer to being
beautiful, in a strange sort of way, I mean. But she had long black hair,
and her eyes were the color of otter's fur. And she had a pouty mouth
and pert look. Enough to warrant a second glance from most men. It's
not what I would have expected from the Brotherhood."
Martin nodded. "The moredhel are a pretty people, in truth, as are
the elves. But remember, Garret," he said with a smile, "should you
chance to find yourself exchanging pleasantries with a moredhel woman
again, she'd as soon cut your heart out as kiss you."
They rested for a while as cries and shouts echoed from the northeast.
Then slowly they stood and began the return to Crydee.
SiNCE THE START of the war, the Tsurani had confined their activities to
those areas immediately adjacent the valley in the Grey Towers. Reports
from the dwarves and the elves revealed mining activities were taking
place in the Grey Towers. Enclaves had been thrown up outside the
valley, from which they raided Kingdom positions. Once or twice during
the year they would mount an offensive against the Dukes' Armies of '
the West, the elves in Elvandar, or Crydee, but for the most part they
were content to hold what they had already taken.
And each year they would expand their holdings, building more enclaves,
expanding the area under their control, and gaining themselves a
stronger position from which to conduct the next year's campaign.
Since the fall of Walinor, the expected thrust toward the coast of the
Bitter Sea had not materialized, nor had the Tsurani again tried for the
LaMutian fortresses near Stone Mountain. Walinor and Crydee town
were sacked and abandoned, more to deny them to the Kingdom and
Free Cities than for any Tsurani gain. By the spring of the third year of
the war, the leaders of the Kingdom forces despaired of a major attack,
one that might break the stalemate. Now it came. And it came at the
logical place, the allies' weakest front, the garrison at Crydee.
Arutha looked out over the walls at the Tsurani army. He stood next
to Gardan and Fannon, with Martin Longbow behind. "How many?" he
asked, not taking his eyes from the gathering host.
Martin spoke. "Fifteen hundred, two thousand, it is hard to judge.
There were two thousand more coming yesterday, less whatever the
Dark Brotherhood took with them."
From the distant woods the sounds of workmen felling trees rang out.
The Swordmaster and Huntmaster judged the Tsurani were cutting
trees to build scaling ladders.
Martin said, "I'd never thought to hear myself say such, but I wish
there'd been four thousand Dark Brothers in the forest yesterday."
Gardan spat over the wall. "Still, you did well, Huntmaster. It is only
fitting they should run afoul of each other."
Martin chuckled humorlessly. "It is also a good thing the Dark Brothers
kill on sight. Though I am sure they do it out of no love for us, they
do guard our southern flank."
Arutha said, "Unless yesterday's band was not an isolated case. If the
Brotherhood is abandoning the Green Heart, we may soon have to fear
for Tulan, Jonril, and Carse."
"I'm glad they've not parleyed," said Fannon. "If they should
truce .
Martin shook his head. "The moredhel will traffic only with weapons
runners and renegades who will serve them for gold. Otherwise they
have no use for us. And by all evidence, the Tsurani are bent on conquest.
The moredhel are no more spared their ambition than we are."
Fannon looked back at the mounting Tsurani force. Brightly colored
standards with symbols and designs strange to behold were placed at
various positions along the leading edge of the army. Hundreds of warriors
in different-colored armor stood in groups under each banner.
A horn sounded, and the Tsurani soldiers faced the walls. Each standard
was brought forward a dozen paces and planted in the ground. A
handful of soldiers wearing the high-crested helmets that the Kingdom
forces took to denote officers walked forward and stood halfw~ay between
the army and the standard-bearers. One, wearing bright blue
armor, called something and pointed at the castle. A shout went up
from the assembled Tsurani host, and then another officer, this one in
bright red armor, began to walk slowly up to the castle.
Arutha and the others watched in silence while the man crossed the distance
to the gate. He looked neither right nor left, nor up at the
people on the walls, but marched with eyes straight ahead until he
reached the gate. There he took out a large hand ax and banged three
times upon it with the haft.
"What is he doing?"' asked Roland, just come up the stairs.
Again the Tsurani pounded on the gates of the castle. "I think," said
Longbow, "he's ordering us to open up and quit the castle."
Then the Tsurani reached back and slammed his ax into the gate,
leaving it quivering in the wood. Without hurrying, he turned and began
walking away to cheers from the watching Tsurani.
"What now?"' asked Fannon.
"I think I know," said Martin, unshouldering his bow. He drew out an
arrow and fitted it to the bowstring. With a sudden pull, he let fly. The
shaft struck the ground between the Tsurani officer's legs and the man
halted.
"The Hadati hillmen of Yabon have rituals like this," said Martin.
"They put great store by showing bravery in the face of an enemy. To
touch one and live is more honorable than killing him." He pointed
toward the officer who stood motionless. "If I kill him, I have no honor,
because he's showing us all how brave he is. But we can show we know
how to play this game."
The Tsurani officer turned and picked up the arrow and snapped it in
two. He faced the castle, holding the broken arrow high as he shouted
defiance at those on the walls. Longbow sighted another arrow and let
fly. The second arrow sped down and sliced the plume from the officer's
helmet. The Tsurani fell silent as feathers began drifting down around
his face.
Roland whooped at the shot, and then the walls of the castle erupted
with cheers. The Tsurani slowly removed his helm.
Martin said, "Now he's inviting one of us either to kill him, showing
we are without honor, or to come out of the castle and dare to face
him."
Fannon said, "I will not allow the gates open over some childish
contest!"
Longbow grinned as he said, "Then we'll change the rules." He
leaned over the edge of the walkway and shouted down to the courtyard
below. "Garret, fowling blunt!"
Garret, in the court below, drew a fowling arrow from his quiver and
tossed it up to Longbow. Martin showed the others the heavy iron ball
that served as the tip, used to stun game birds where a sharp arrow
would destroy them, and then fitted it to his bow. Sighting the officer,
he let fly.
The arrow took the Tsurani officer in the stomach, knocking him
backward. All on the wall could imagine the sound made as the man
had his breath knocked from him. The Tsurani soldiers shouted in outrage
then quieted as the man stood up, obviously stunned but otherwise
showing no injury. Then he doubled over, his hands on his knees,
and vomited.
Arutha said dryly, "So much for an officer's dignity."
"Well," said Fannon, "I think it is time to give them another lesson
in Kingdom warfare." He raised his arm high above his head. "Catapults!"
he cried.
Answering flags waved from the tops of the towers.along the walls
and atop the keep. He dropped his arm and the mighty engines were
fired. On the smaller towers, ballistae, looking like giant crossbows,
shot spearlike missiles, while atop the keep, huge mangonels flung
buckets of heavy stones. The rain of stones and missiles landed
amid the Tsurani, crushing heads and limbs, tearing ragged holes
in their lines. The screams of wounded men could be heard by the
defenders, while the catapult crew quickly rewound and loaded their
deadly engines.
The Tsurani milled about in confusion and, when the second flight of
stones and missiles struck, broke and ran. A cheer went up from the
defenders on the wall, then died when the Tsurani regrouped beyond
the range of the engines.
Gardan said, "Swordmaster, I think they mean to wait us out."
"I think you're wrong," said Arutha, pointing.
The other looked: a
large number of Tsurani detached themselves from the main body, moving
forward to stop just outside missile range.
"They look to be readying an attack," said Fannon, "but why with
only a part of their force?"
A soldier appeared and said, "Highness, there are no signs of Tsurani
along any of the other positions."
Arutha looked to Fannon. "And why attack only one wall?" After a
few minutes, Arutha said, "I'd judge a thousand."
"More likely twelve hundred," said Fannon. He saw scaling ladders
appearing at the rear of the attackers, moving forward. "Anytime now."
A thousand defenders waited inside the walls. Other men of Crydee
still manned outlying garrisons and lookout positions, but the bulk of
the Duchy's strength was here. Fannon said, "We can withstand this
force as long as the walls remain unbreached. Less than a ten-to-one
advantage we can deal with."
More messengers came from the other walls. "They still mount nothing
along the east, north, and south, Swordmaster," one reported.
"They seem determined to do this the hard way." Fannon looked
thoughtful for a moment. "Little of what we've seen is understandable.
Death raids, marshaling within catapult range, wasting time with games
of honor. Still, they are not without skill, and we can take nothing for
granted." To the guard he said, "Pass the word to keep alert on the other
walls, and be ready to move to defend should this prove a feint."
The messengers left, and the waiting continued. The sun moved
across the sky, until an hour before sunset, when it sat at the backs of
the attackers. Suddenly horns blew and drums beat, and in a rush the
Tsurani broke toward the walls. The catapults sang, and great holes
appeared in the lines of attackers. Still they came, until they moved
within bow range of the patiently waiting defenders. A storm of arrows
fell upon the attackers, and to a man the front rank collapsed, but those
behind came on, large brightly colored shields held overhead as they
rushed the walls. A half-dozen times men fell, dropping scaling ladders,
only to have others grab them up and continue.
Tsurani bowmen answered the bowmen from the walls with their own
shower of arrows, and men of Crydee fell from the battlements. Arutha
ducked behind the walls of the castle as the arrows sped overhead, then
he risked a glance between the merlons of the wall. A horde of attackers
filled his field of vision, and a ladder top suddenly appeared before him.
A soldier near the Prince grabbed the ladder top and pushed it away,
aided by a second using a pole arm. Arutha could hear the screams of
the Tsurani as they fell from the ladder. The first soldier to the ladder
then fell backward, a Tsurani arrow protruding from his eye, and disappeared
into the courtyard.
A sudden shout went up from below, and Arutha sprang to his feet,
risking a bowshaft by looking down. All along the base of the wall,
Tsurani warriors were withdrawing, running back to the safety of their
own lines.
"What are they doing?" wondered Fannon.
The Tsurani ran until they were safe from the catapults, then
stopped, turned, and formed up ranks. Officers were walking up and
down before the men, exhorting them. After a moment the assembled
Tsurani cheered.
"Damn me!" came from Arutha's left, and he glimpsed Amos Trask
at his shoulder, a seaman's cutlass in his hand. "The maniacs are
congratulating themselves on getting slaughtered."
The scene below was grisly. Tsurani soldiers lay scattered around like
toys thrown by a careless giant child. A few moved feebly and moaned,
but most were dead.
Fannon said, "I'd wager they lost a hundred or more. This makes no
sense." He said to Roland and Martin, "Check the other walls." They
both hurried off. "What are they doing now?" he said as he watched
the Tsurani. In the red glow of sunset, he could see them still in lines,
while men lit torches and passed them around. "Surely they don't
intend to attack after sunset? They'll fall over themselves in the
dark."
"Who knows what they plan?" said Arutha. "I've never heard of an
attack being staged this badly."
Amos said, "Beggin' the Prince's pardon, but I know a thing or two
about warcraft-from my younger days-and I've also never heard of
this like before. Even the Keshians, who'll throw away dog soldiers like a
drunken seaman throws away his money, even they wouldn't try a frontal
assault like this. I'd keep a weather eye out for trickery."
"Yes," answered Arutha. "But of what sort?"
ThROUGHOut THE Night the Tsurani attacked, rushing headlong against
the walls, to die at the base. Once a few made the top of the walls, but
they were quickly killed and the ladders thrown back. With dawn the
Tsurani withdrew.
Arutha, Fannon, and Gardan watched as the Tsurani reached the
safety of their own lines, beyond catapult and bow range. With the
sunrise a sea of colorful tents appeared, and the Tsurani retired to their
campsites. The defenders were astonished at the number of Tsurani
dead along the base of the castle walls.
After a few hours the stink of the dead became overpowering. Fannon
consulted with an exhausted Arutha as the Prince was readying for an
overdue sleep. "The Tsurani have made no attempt to reclaim their
fallen."
Arutha said, "We have no common language in which to parley,
unless you mean to send Tully out under a flag of truce."
Fannon said, "He'd go, of course, but I'd not risk him. Still, the
bodies could be trouble in a day or two. Besides the stink and flies, with
unburied dead comes disease. It's the gods' way of showing their
displeasure over not honoring the dead."
"Then," said Arutha, pulling on the boot he had just taken off, "we
had best see what can be done."
He returned to the gate and found Gardan already making plans to
remove the bodies. A dozen volunteers were waiting by the gate to go
and gather the dead for a funeral pyre.
Arutha and Fannon reached the walls as Gardan led the men through
the gate. Archers lined the walls to cover the retreat of the men outside
the walls if necessary, but it soon became evident the Tsurani were not
going to trouble the party. Several came to the edge of their lines, to sit
and watch the Kingdom soldiers working.
After a half hour it was clear the men of Crydee would not be able to
complete the work before they were exhausted. Arutha considered sending
more men outside, but Fannon refused thinking it what the Tsurani
were waiting for. "If we have to move a large party back through the
gate, it might prove disastrous. If we close the gate, we lose men outside,
and if we leave it open too long, the Tsurani breach the castle."
Arutha was forced to agree, and they settled down to watch Gardan's
men working in the hot morning.
Then, near midday, a dozen Tsurani warriors, unarmed, walked casually
across their lines and approached the work party. Those on the wall
watched tensely, but when the Tsurani reached the spot where Crydee
men worked, they silently began picking up bodies and carrying them to
where the pyre was being erected.
With the help of the Tsurani, the bodies were stacked upon the huge
pyre. Torches were set, and soon the bodies of the slain were consumed
in fire. The Tsurani who had helped place the bodies upon the pyre
watched as the soldier who led the volunteers stood away from the
mounting flames. Then one Tsurani soldier spoke a word, and he and
his companions bowed in respect to those upon the fire. The soldier
who led the Crydee soldiers said, "Honors to the dead!" The twelve
men of Crydee assumed a posture of attention and saluted. Then the
Tsurani turned to face the Kingdom soldiers and again they bowed. The
commanding soldier called out, "Return salute!" and the twelve men of
Crydee saluted the Tsurani.
Arutha shook his head, watching men who had tried to kill one another
working side by side as if it were the most natural thing in the
world, then saluting one another. "Father used to say that, among
man's strange undertakings, war stood clearly forth as the strangest."
AT suNDOWN they came again, wave after wave of attackers, rushing the
west wall, to die at the base. Four times during the night they struck,
and four times they were repulsed.
Now they came again, and Arutha shrugged off his fatigue to fight
once more. They could see more Tsurani joining those before the castle,
long snakes of torchlight coming from the forest to the north. After the
last assault, it was clear the situation was shifting to the Tsurani's
favor.
The defenders were exhausted from two nights of fighting, and the
Tsurani were still throwing fresh troops into the fray.
"They mean to grind us down, no matter what the cost," said a
fatigued Fannon. He began to say something to a guard when a strange
expression crossed his face. He closed his eyes and collapsed. Arutha
caught him. An arrow protruded from his back. A panicky-looking soldier
kneeling on the other side looked at Arutha, clearly asking: What
do we do?
Arutha shouted, "Get him into the keep, to Father Tully," and the
man and another soldier picked up the unconscious Swordmaster and
carried him down. A third soldier asked, "What orders, Highness?"
Arutha spun around, seeing the worried faces of Crydee's soldiers
nearby, and said, "As before. Defend the wall."
The fighting went hard. A half-dozen times Arutha found himself
dueling with Tsurani warriors who topped the wall. Then, after a timeless
battling, the Tsurani withdrew.
Arutha stood panting, his clothing drenched with perspiration beneath
his chest armor. He shouted for water, and a castle porter arrived
with a bucket. He drank, as did the others around, and turned to watch
the Tsurani host.
Again they stood just beyond catapult range, and their torchlights
seemed undiminished. "Prince Arutha" came a voice behind. He spun
around. Horsemaster Algon was standing before him. "I just heard of
Fannon's wound."
Arutha said, "How is he?"
"A close thing. The wound is serious, but not yet fatal. Tully thinks
should he live another day, he will recover. But he will not be able to
command for weeks, perhaps longer."
Arutha knew Algon was waiting for a decision from him. The Prince
was Knight-Captain of the King's army and, without Fannon, the commander
of the garrison. He was also untried and could turn over command
to the Horsemaster. Arutha looked around. "Where is Gardan?"
"Here, Highness," came a shout from a short way down the wall.
Arutha was surprised at the sergeant's appearance. His dark skin was
nearly grey from the dust that stuck to it, held fast by the sheen of
perspiration. His tunic and tabard were soaked with blood, which also
covered his arms to the elbows.
Arutha looked down at his own hands and arms and found them
likewise covered. He shouted, "More water!" and said to Algon,
"Gardan will act as my second commander. Should anything happen to
me, he will take command of the garrison. Gardan is acting
Swordmaster."
Algon hesitated as if about to say something, then a look of relief
crossed his face. "Yes, Highness. Orders?" Arutha
looked back toward the Tsurani lines, then to the east. The
first light of the false dawn was coming, and the sun would rise over the
mountains in less than two hours. He seemed to weigh facts for a time,
as he washed away the blood on his arms and face. Finally he said, "Get
Longbow."
The Huntmaster was called for and arrived a few minutes later, followed
by Amos Trask, who wore a wide grin. "Damn me, but they can
fight," said the seaman.
Arutha ignored the comment. "It is clear to me they plan to keep
constant pressure upon us. With as little regard as they show for their
own lives, they can wear us down in a few weeks. This is one thing we
didn't count upon, this willingness of their men to go to certain death. I
want the north, south, and east walls stripped. Leave enough men to
keep watch, and hold any attackers until reinforcements can arrive.
Bring the men from the other walls here and order those here to stand
down. I want six-hour watches rotated throughout the rest of the day.
Martin, has there been any more word of Dark Brother migration?"
Longbow shrugged. "We've been a little busy, Highness. My men
have all been in the north woods the last few weeks."
Arutha said, "Could you slip a few trackers over the walls before first
light?"
Longbow considered. "If they leave at once, and if the Tsurani aren't
watching the east wall too closely, yes.:'
"Do so. The Dark Brothers aren't foolish enough to attack this force,
but if you could find a few bands the size of the one you spotted three
days ago and repeat your trap . . ."
Martin grinned. "I'll lead them out myself. We'd best leave now,
before it gets much lighter." Arutha dismissed him, and Martin ran
down the stairs. "Garret!" he shouted. "Come on, lad. We're off for
some fun." A groan could be heard by those on the wall as Martin
gathered his trackers around him.
Arutha said to Gardan, "I want messages sent to Carse and Tulan.
Use five pigeons for each. Order Barons Bellamy and Tolburt to strip
their garrisons and take ship for Crydee at once."
Gardan said, "Highness, that will leave those garrisons nearly undefended."
Algon joined in the objection. "If the Dark Brotherhood moves toward
the Northlands, the Tsurani will have an open path to the southern
keeps next year."
Arutha said, "If the Dark Brothers are moving en masse, which they
may not be, and if the Tsurani learn they have abandoned the Green
Heart, which they may not. I am concerned by this known threat, not a
possible one next year. If they keep this constant pressure upon us, how
long can we withstand?"
Gardan said, "A few weeks, perhaps a month. No longer."
Arutha once more studied the Tsurani camp. "They boldly pitch their
tents near the edge of town. They range through our forests, building
ladders and siege engines no doubt. They know we cannot sally forth in
strength. But with eighteen hundred fresh soldiers from the southern
keeps attacking up the coast road from the beaches and the garrison
sallying forth, we can rout them from Crydee. Once the siege is broken,
they will have to withdraw to their eastern enclaves. We can harry them
continuously with horsemen, keep them from regrouping. Then we can
return those forces to the southern keeps, and they'll be ready for any
Tsurani attacks against Carse or Tulan next spring."
Gardan said, "A bold enough plan, Highness." He saluted and left
the wall, followed by Algon.
Amos Trask said, "Your commanders are cautious men, Highness."
Arutha' said, "You agree with my plan?"
"Should Crydee fall, what matters when Carse or Tulan falls? If not
this year, then next for certain. It might as well be in one fight as two
or three. As the sergeant said, it is a bold plan. Still, a ship was never
taken without getting close enough to board. You have the makings of a fine
corsair should you ever grow tired of being a Prince, Highness."
Arutha regarded Amos Trask with a skeptical smile. "Corsair, is it? I
thought you claimed to be an honest trader."
Amos looked slightly discomposed. Then he broke
out in a hearty
laugh. "I only said I had a cargo for Crydee, Highness. I never said how I
came by it."
"Well, we have no time for your piratical past now."
Amos looked stung. "No pirate, Sire. The Sidonie was carrying letters
of marque from Great Kesh, given by the governor of Durbin."
Arutha laughed. "Of course! And everyone knows there is no finer,
more law-abiding group upon the high seas than the captains of the
Durbin coast."
Amos shrugged. "They tend to be a crusty lot, it's true. And they
sometimes make free with the concept of free passage on the high seas,
but we prefer the term privateer. "
Horns blew and drums beat, and with shrieking war cries the Tsurani
came. The defenders waited, then as the attacking host crossed the
invisible line marking the outer range of the castle's war engines, death
rained down upon the Tsurani. Still they came.
The Tsurani crossed the second invisible line marking the outer range
of the castle's bowmen, and scores more died. Still they came.
The attackers reached the walls, and defenders dropped stones and
pushed over scaling ladders, dealing out death to those below. Still they
came.
Arutha quickly ordered a redeployment of his reserves, directing them
to be ready near the points of heaviest attack. Men hurried to carry out
his orders.
Standing atop the west wall, in the thick of the fight, Arutha answered
attack with attack, repulsing warrior after warrior as they reached
the top of the wall. Even in the midst of battle, Arutha was aware of the
scene around him, shouting orders, hearing replies, catching glimpses of
what others were doing. He saw Amos Trask, disarmed, strike a Tsurani
full in the face with his fist, knocking the man from the wall. Trask then
carefully bent down and picked up his cutlass as if he had simply
dropped it while strolling along the wall. Gardan moved among the
men, exhorting the defenders, bolstering sagging spirits, and driving the
men beyond the point where they would normally have given in to
exhaustion.
Arutha helped two soldiers push away another scaling ladder, then
stared in momentary confusion as one of the men slowly turned and sat
at his feet, surprise on his face as he looked down at the Tsurani bowshaft
in his chest. The man leaned back against the wall and closed his
eyes as if deciding to sleep for a time.
Arutha heard someone shout his name. Gardan stood a few feet away,
pointing to the north section of the west wall. "They've crested the
wall."
Arutha ran past Gardan, shouting, "Order the reserves to follow!" He
raced along the wall until he reached the breach in the defenses. A
dozen Tsurani held each end of a section of the wall, pushing forward to
clear room for their comrades to follow. Arutha hurled himself into the
front rank, past weary and surprised guards who were being forced back
along the battlement. Arutha thrust over the first Tsurani shield, taking
the man in the throat. The Tsurani's face registered shock, then he
keeled over and fell into the courtyard below. Arutha attacked the man
next to the first and shouted, "For Crydee! For the Kingdom!"
Then Gardan was among them, like a towering black giant, dealing
blows to all who stood before. Suddenly the men of Crydee pressed
forward, a wave of flesh and steel along the narrow rampart. The Tsurani
stood their ground, refusing to yield the hard-won breach, and to a man
were killed.
Arutha struck a Tsurani warrior with the bell guard of his rapier,
knocking him to the ground below, and turned to find the wall once
more in the possession of the defenders. Horns blew from the Tsurani
lines, and the attackers withdrew.
Arutha became aware the sun had cleared the mountains to the east.
The morning had finally come. He surveyed the scene below and felt
suddenly more fatigued than he could ever remember. Turning slowly,
he saw every man on the wall was watching him. Then one of the
soldiers shouted, "Hail, Arutha! Hail, Prince of Crydee!"
Suddenly the castle was ringing with shouts as men chanted,
"Arutha! Arutha!"
To Gardan, Arutha asked, "Why?"
With a satisfied look the sergeant replied "They saw you personally
take the fight to the Tsurani, Highness, or heard from':others. They are
soldiers and expect certain things from a commander. They are now
truly your men, Highness."
Arutha stood quietly as the cheers filled the castle. Then he raised his
hand and the courtyard fell silent. "You have done well. Crydee is served
aright by her soldiers." He spoke to Gardan. "Change the watch upon
the walls. We may have little time to enjoy the victory."
As if his words were an omen, a shout came from a guard atop the
nearest tower. "Highness, 'ware the field."
Arutha saw the Tsurani lines had been re-formed. Wearily he said,
"Have they no limit?"
Instead of the expected attack, a single man walked from the Tsurani
line, apparently an officer by his crested helm. He pointed to the walls,
and the entire Tsurani line erupted in cheers. He walked farther, within
bow range, stopping several times to point at the wall. His blue armor
glinted in the morning sun as the attackers cheered with his gestures
toward the castle.
"A challenge?" said Gardan, watching the strange display as the man
showed his back, unmindful of personal danger, and walked back to his
own lines.
"No," said Amos Trask, who came to stand next to Gardan. "I think
they salute a brave enemy." Amos shook his head slightly. "A strange
people. "
Arutha said, "Shall we ever understand such men?"
Gardan put his hand upon Arutha's shoulder. "I doubt it. Look, they
quit the field."
The Tsurani were marching back toward their tents before the remains
of Crydee town. A few watchmen were left to observe the castle,
but it was clear the main force was being ordered to stand down again.
Gardan said, "I would have ordered another assault." His voice betrayed
his disbelief. "They have to know we are near exhaustion. Why not
press the attack?" Amos
said, "Who can say. Perhaps they, too, are tired."
Arutha said, "This attacking through the night has some meaning I
do not understand." He shook his head. "In time we will know what
they plot. Leave a watch upon the walls, but have the men retire to the
courtyard. It is becoming clear they prefer not to attack during the day.
Order food brought from the kitchen, and water to bathe with." Orders
were passed, and men left their posts, some sitting on the walks below
the wall, too tired to trudge down the steps. Others reached the courtyard
and tossed aside their weapons, sitting in the shade of the battlements
while castle porters hurried among them with buckets of fresh
water. Arutha leaned against the wall. He spoke silently to himself.
"They'll be back."
They came again that night.
18
SIEGE
WouNDED MEN GROANED AT SUNRISE.
For the twelfth straight night the Tsurani had assaulted the castle,
only to retire at dawn. Gardan could not see any clear reason for the
dangerous night attacks. As he watched the Tsurani gathering up their
dead, then returning to their tents he said "They are strange. Their
archers cannot fire at the walls once the ladders are up for fear of hitting
their own men. We have no such problem, knowing everyone below is
the enemy. I don't understand these men."
Arutha sat numbly washing the blood and dirt from his face, oblivious
to the scene about him. He was too tired even to answer Gardan.
"Here," a voice nearby said, and he pulled the damp cloth from his face
to see a proffered drinking cup. He took the cup and drained it in one
long pull, savoring the taste of strong wine.
Carline stood before him, wearing tunic and trousers, her sword
hanging at her side. "What are you doing here?" Arutha asked, fatigue
making his voice sound harsh in his own ears.
Carline's manner was brisk. "Someone must carry water and food. .
With every man on the walls all night long, who do you think is fit for
duty in the morning? Not that pitiful handful of porters who are too old
for fighting, that is certain."
Arutha looked about and saw other women, ladies of the castle as well
as servants and fishwives, walking among the men, who thankfully took
the offered food and drink. He smiled his crooked smile. "How fare
you?"
"Well enough. Still, sitting in the cellar is as difficult in its own way
as being on the wall, I judge. Each sound of battle that reaches us brings
one or another of the ladies to tears." Her voice carried a tone of mild
disapproval. "They huddle like rabbits. Oh, it is so tiresome." She stood
quietly for a moment, then asked, "Have you seen Roland?"
He looked about. "Last night for a time." He covered his face in the
soothing wetness of the cloth. Pulling it away after a moment, he added,
"Or perhaps it was two nights past. I've lost track." He pointed toward
the wall nearest the keep. "He should be over there somewhere. I put
him in charge of the off watch. He is responsible for guarding against a
flank attack."
Carline smiled. She knew Roland would be chafing to get into the
fight, but with his responsibilities it would be unlikely unless the
Tsurani attacked on all sides. "Thank you, Arutha."
Arutha feigned ignorance. "For what?"
She kneeled and kissed his wet cheek. "For knowing me better than I
know myself sometimes." She stood and walked away.
RoLAND WALKED ALoNg the battlements, watching the distant forest beyond
the broad clearing that ran along the eastern wall of the castle. He
approached a guard standing next to an alarm bell and said, "Anything?" '
"Nothing, Squire."
Roland nodded. "Keep a watchful eye. This is the narrowest open
area before the wall. If they come against a second flank, this is where I
would expect the assault."
The soldier said, "In truth, Squire. Why do they come only against
one wall, and why the strongest?"
Roland shrugged. "I don't pretend to know. Perhaps to show contempt,
or bravery. Or for some alien reason."
The guard came to attention and saluted. Carline had come silently
up behind them. Roland took her by the arm and hurried her along.
"What do you think you're doing up here?" he said in ungentle tones.
Her look of relief at finding him alive and unhurt turned to one of
anger. "I came to see if you were all right," she said defiantly.
Guiding her down the stairs to the courtyard below, he answered,
"We're not so far removed from the forest a Tsurani bowman could not
reduce the Duke's household by one. I'll not explain to your father and
brothers what my reasons were for allowing you up there."
"Oh! Is that your only reason? You don't want to face Father."
He smiled and his voice softened. "No. Of course not."
She returned the smile. "I was worried."
Roland sat upon the lower steps and plucked at some weeds growing
near the base of the stones, pulling them out and tossing them aside.
"Little reason for that. Arutha has seen I'll not risk much."
Placatingly, Carline said, "Still, this is an important post. If they
attack here, you'll have to hold with a small number until reinforcements
come."
"If they attack. Gardan came by yesterday, and he thinks they may
tire of this soon and dig in for a long siege, waiting for us to starve."
She said, "More's their hard luck, then. We've stores through the
winter, and they'll find little to forage out there once the snows come."
Playfully mocking, he said, "What have we here? A student of tactics?"
She regarded him like an overtaxed teacher confronted with a particularly
slow student. "I listen, and I have my wits about me. Do you
think I do nothing but sit around waiting for you men to tell me what is
occurring? If I did, I'd know nothing."
He put up his hands in sign of supplication. "I'm sorry, Carline. You
are most definitely no one's fool." He stood and took her hand. "But
you have made me your fool."
She squeezed his hand. "No, Roland, I have been the fool. It has
taken me almost three years to understand just how good a man you
are. And how good a friend." She leaned over and kissed him lightly. He
returned the kiss with tenderness. "And more," she added quietly.
"When this is over . . ." he began.
She placed her free hand over his lips. "Not now, Roland. Not now."
He smiled his understanding. "I'd best be back to the walls, Carline."
She' kissed him again and left for the main courtyard and the work to
be done. He climbed back to the wall and resumed his vigil.
IT WAS LATE afternoon when a guard shouted, "Squire! In the forest!"
Roland looked in the indicated direction and saw two figures sprinting
across the open ground. From the trees the shouts of men came, and .
the clamor of battle.
Crydee bowmen raised their weapons, then Roland shouted, "Hold!
It's Longbow!" To the guard next to him he said, "Bring ropes, quickly."'
Longbow and Garret reached the wall as the ropes were being lowered
and, as soon as they were secured, scrambled upward. When they were
safely over the walls, they sank exhaustedly behind the battlements.
Waterskins were handed the two foresters, who drank deeply.
"What now?" asked Roland.
Longbow gave him a lopsided smile. "We found another band of
travelers heading northward about thirty miles southeast of here and '
arranged for them to visit with the Tsurani."
Garret looked up at Roland with eyes darkly circled from fatigue. "A
band he calls it. Damn near five hundred moredhel moving in strength.
Must have been a full hundred chasing us through the woods the last
two days."
Roland said, "Arutha will be pleased. The Tsurani have hit us each
night since you left. We could do with a little diverting of their
attentions."
Longbow nodded. "Where's the Prince?"
"At the west wall, where all the fighting's been."
Longbow stood and pulled the exhausted Garret to his feet. "Come
along. We'd better report."
Roland instructed the guards to keep a sharp watch and followed the
two huntsmen. They found Arutha supervising the distribution of
weapons to those in need of replacing broken or dulled ones. Gardell,
the smith, and his apprentices gathered up those that were reparable
and dumped them into a cart, heading for the forge to begin work.
Longbow said, "Highness, another band of moredhel have come
north. I led them here, so the Tsurani could be too busy to attack
tonight."
Arutha said, "That is welcome news. Come, we'll have a cup of wine,
and you can tell of what you saw."
Longbow sent Garret off to the kitchen and followed Arutha and
Roland into the keep. The Prince sent word asking Gardan to join them
in the council room and, when they were all there, asked Longbow to
recount his travels.
Longbow drank deeply from the wine cup placed before him. "It was
touch and go for a while. The woods are thick with both Tsurani and
moredhel. And there are many signs they have little affection for one
another. We counted at least a hundred dead on both sides."
Arutha looked at the other three men. "We know little of their ways,
but it seems foolish for them to travel so close to Crydee."
Longbow shook his head. "They have little choice, Highness. The
Green Heart must be foraged clean, and they cannot return to their
mountains because of the Tsurani. The moredhel are making for the
Northlands and won't risk passing near Elvandar. With the rest of the
way blocked by the Tsurani strength, their only path is through the
forests nearby, then westward along the river toward the coast. Once
they reach the sea, they can turn northward again. They must gain the
Great Northern Mountains before winter to reach their brothers in the
Northlands safely."
He drank the rest of his cup and waited while a servant refilled it.
"From all signs, nearly every moredhel in the south is making for the
Northlands. It looks as if over a thousand have already safely been by
here. How many more will come this way through the summer and fall,
we cannot guess." He drank again. "The Tsurani will have to watch their
eastern flank and would do well to watch the south as well. The
moredhel are starved and might chance a raid into the Tsurani camp
while the bulk of the army is thrown against the walls of the castle.
Should a three-way fight occur, it could get messy."
"For the Tsurani," said Gardan.
Martin hoisted his cup in salute. "For the Tsurani."
Arutha said, "You've done well, Huntmaster."
"Thank you, Highness." He laughed. "I'd never thought to see the
day I'd welcome sight of the Dark Brotherhood in the forests of
Crydee."
Arutha drummed his fingers upon the table. "It will be another two
to three weeks before we can expect the armies from Tulan and Carse. If
the Dark Brothers harry the Tsurani enough, we might have some respite."
He looked at Martin. "What occurs to the east?"
Longbow spread his hands upon the table. "We couldn't get close
enough to see much as we hurried past, but they are up to something.
They've a good number of men scattered throughout the woods from
the edge of the clearing back about a half mile. If it hadn't been for the
moredhel hot on our heels, Garret and I might not have made it back to
the walls."
"I wish I knew what they were doing out there," said Arutha. "This
attacking only at night, it surely masks some trickery."
Gardan said, "We'll know soon enough, I fear."
Arutha stood, and the others rose as well. "We have much to do in
any event. But if they do not come this night, we should all take advantage
of the rest. Order watches posted, and send the men back to the
commons for sleep. If I'm needed, I'll be in my room."
The others followed him from the council hall, and Arutha walked
slowly to his room, his fatigued mind trying to grasp what he knew were
important matters, but failing. He threw off only his armor and fell fully
clothed across his pallet. He was quickly asleep, but it was a troubled,
dream-filled slumber.
For a week no attacks came, as the Tsurani were cautious of the
migrating Brotherhood of the Dark Path. As Martin had foretold, the
moredhel were emboldened by hunger and had twice struck into the
heart of the Tsurani camp.
On the eighth afternoon after the first moredhel attack, the Tsurani
were again gathering on the field before the castle their ranks once
more swelled by reinforcements from the east. Messages carried by pigeon
between Arutha and his father told of increased fighting along the
eastern front as well. Lord Borric speculated Crydee was being attacked
by troops fresh from the Tsurani homeworld, as there had been no
reports of any troop movements along his front. Other messages arrived
with word of relief from Carse and Tulan. Baron Tolburt's soldiers had
departed Tulan within two days of receiving Arutha's message, and his
fleet would join with Baron Bellamy's at Carse. Depending upon the
prevailing winds, it would be from one to two weeks before the relief
fleet arrived.
Arutha stood at his usual place upon the west wall, Martin Longbow
at his side. They watched the Tsurani taking position as the sun sank in
the west, a red beacon bathing the landscape in crimson.
"It seems," said Arutha, "they mount a full attack tonight."
Longbow said, "They've cleared the area of troublesome neighbors by
all appearances, at least for a time. The moredhel gained us a little time,
Highness, but no more."
"I wonder how many will reach the Northlands?'
Longbow shrugged. "One in five perhaps. From the Green Heart to
the Northlands is a long, difficult journey under the best of circumstances.
Now . . ." He let his words trail off.
Gardan came up the stairs from the courtyard. "Highness, the tower
watch reports the Tsurani are in formation."
As he spoke, the Tsurani sounded their battle calls and began to
advance. Arutha drew his sword and gave the order for the catapults to
fire. Bowmen followed, unleashing a storm of arrows upon the attackers,
but still the Tsurani came.
Through the night, wave after wave of brightly armored aliens threw
themselves at the west wall of Castle Crydee. Most died on the field
before the wall, or at its base, but a few managed to crest the battlements.
They, too, died. Still, more came.
Six times the Tsurani wave had broken upon the defenses of Crydee,
and now they prepared for a seventh assault. Arutha, covered in dirt and
blood, directed the disposition of rested troops along the wall. Gardan
looked to the east. "If we hold one more time, the dawn will be here.
Then we should have some respite," he said, his voice thick with fatigue.
"We will hold," answered Arutha, his own voice sounding just as tired
in his ears as Gardan's.
"Arutha?"
Arutha saw Roland and Amos coming up the stairs, with another man
behind. "What now?" asked the Prince.
Roland said,'We can see no activity on the other walls, but there is
something here you should see."
Arutha recognized the other man, Lewis, the castle's Rathunter. It
was his responsibility to keep vermin from the keep. He tenderly held
something in his hands.
Arutha looked closely: it was a ferret, twitching slightly in the firelight.
"Highness," said Lewis, his voice thick with emotion, 'it's-''
"What, man?" said Arutha impatiently. With attack about to begin,
he had little time to mourn a lost pet.
Roland spoke, for Lewis was obviously overcome at the loss of his
ferret. "The Rathunter's ferrets didn't return two days ago. This one
crawled into the storage room behind the kitchen sometime since.
Lewis found it there a few minutes ago."
In choked tones, Lewis said, '~They're all well trained, sire. If they
didn't come back, it's because something kept them from returning .
This poor lad's been stepped on. His back's broken. He must've crawled
for hours to get back."
Arutha said, "I fail to see the significance of this."
Roland gripped the Prince's arm. "Arutha, he hunts them in the rat
tunnels under the castle. "
Comprehension dawned upon Arutha. He turned to Gardan and said,
"Sappers! The Tsurani must be digging under the east wall."
Gardan said, "That would explain the constant attacks upon the west
wall-to draw us away."
Arutha said, "Gardan, take command of the walls. Amos, Roland,
come with me."
Arutha ran down the steps and through the courtyard. He shouted for
a group of soldiers to follow and bring shovels. They reached the small
courtyard behind the keep, and Arutha said, "We've got to find that
tunnel and collapse it."
Amos said, "Your walls are slanted outward at the plinth. They'll
recognize they can't fire the timbers of the tunnels to bring it down to
make a breach. They'll be trying to get a force inside the castle grounds
or into the keep."
Roland looked alarmed. "Carline! She and the other ladies are in the
cellars."
Arutha said, "Take some men and go to the cellars." Roland ran off.
Arutha fell to his knees and placed his ear on the ground. The others
followed his example, moving around, listening for sounds of digging
from below.
CARLINE SAT NERVOUSLY next to the Lady Marna. The fat former governess
made a show of calmly attending to her needlepoint despite the rustling
and stirring of the other women in the cellar. The sounds of battle from
the walls came to them as faint, distant echoes, muted by the thick
walls of the keep. Now there was an equally unnerving quiet.
"Oh! To be sitting here like a caged bird," said Carline.
"The walls are no place for a lady," came the retort from Lady Marna.
Carline stood. As she paced the room, she said, "I can tie bandages
and carry water. All of us could."
The other ladies of the court looked at one another as if the Princess
had been bereft of her senses. None of them could imagine subjecting
herself to such a trial.
"Highness, please," said Lady Marna, "you should wait quietly. There
will be much to do when the battle's over. Now you should rest."
Carline began a retort, then stopped. She held up her hand. "Do you
hear something?"
The others stopped their movement, and all listened. From the floor
came a faint tapping sound. Carline knelt upon the flagstone. "My lady,
this is most unseemly," began the Lady Marna.
Carline stopped the complaint with an imperious wave of her hand.
. Quiet!" She placed her ear upon the flagstones. "There is something . . ."
lady Glynis shuddered. "Probably rats scurrying about. There are
hundreds of them down here." Her expression showed this revelation
was about as unpleasant a fact as imaginable.
"Be quiet!" ordered Carline.
There came a cracking sound from the floor and Carline leaped to
her feet. Her sword came out of its scabbard as a fracture appeared in
the stones of the floor. A chisel point broke through the flagstone, and
suddenly the upturned stone was pushed up and outward.
ladies screamed as a hole appeared in the floor. A startled face
popped into the light, then a Tsurani warrior, hair filthy from the dirt of
the tunnel, tried to scramble upward. Carline's sword took him in the
throat as she shouted, "Get out! Call the guards!"
Most of the women sat frozen in terror, refusing to move. Lady
Marna heaved her massive bulk from the bench upon which she sat and
gave a shrieking town girl a backhanded slap. The girl looked at lady
Marna with wide-eyed fright for an instant, then broke toward the steps.
As if at a signal, the others ran after, screaming for help.
Carline watched as the Tsurani slowly fell back, blocking the hole in
the floor. Other cracks appeared around the hole, and hands pulled
pieces of flagstone downward into the ever-widening entrance. Lady
Marna was halfw~ay to the steps when she saw Carline standing her
ground. "Princess" she shrieked.
Another man came scrambling upward, and Carline delivered a death
blow to him. She was then forced back as the stones near her feet
collapsed. The Tsurani had terminated their tunnel in a wide hole and
were now broadening the entrance, pulling down stones so that they
could swarm out, overwhelming any defenders.
A man fought upward, pushing Carline to one side, allowing another
to start his climb upward. Lady Marna ran back to her former ward and
grabbed up a large piece of loose stone, which she brought crashing
down on the unhelmeted skull of the second man. Grunts and strange-sounding
words came from the tunnel mouth as the man fell back upon
those behind.
Carline ran the other man through and kicked another in the face.
"Princess!" cried Lady Marna. "We must flee!"
Carline didn't answer. She dodged a blow at her feet delivered by a
Tsurani who then sprang nimbly out of the hole. Carline thrust and the
man dodged. Another came scrambling out of the hole, and the Lady
Marna shrieked.
The first man turned reflexively at the sound, and Carline drove her
sword into his side. The second man raised a serrated sword to strike
Lady Marna, and Carline sprang for him, thrusting her sword point into
his neck. The man shuddered and fell, his fingers releasing their grip on
the sword. Carline grabbed Lady Marna's arm and propelled her toward
the steps.
Tsurani came swarming out of the hole, and Carline turned at the
bottom of the stairs. Lady Marna stood behind her beloved Princess,
not willing to leave. The Tsurani approached warily. The girl had killed '
enough of their companions to warrant their respect and caution.
Suddenly a body crashed past the girl as Roland charged into the
Tsurani, soldiers of the keep hurrying behind. The young Squire was in a
frenzy to protect the Princess, and he bowled over three Tsurani in his
rush. They tumbled backward, disappearing into the hole, Roland with
them.
As the Squire vanished from view, Carline screamed, "Roland!"
Other guards leaped past the Princess to engage the Tsurani who still
stood in the cellar, and more jumped boldly into the hole. Grunts and
cries, shouts and oaths rang from the tunnel.
A guard took Carline by the arm and began to drag her up the stairs.
She followed, helpless in the man's strong grip, crying, "Roland!"
GRUNts of EXERTION filled the dark tunnel as the soldiers from Crydee
dug furriously. Arutha had found the Tsurani tunnel and had ordered a
shaft sunk near it. They were now digging a countertunnel to intercept
the Tsurani, near the wall. Amos had agreed with Arutha's judgment
that they needed to force the Tsurani back beyond the wall before
collapsing the tunnel denying them any access to the castle.
A shovel broke through, and men began frantically clearing away
enough dirt to allow passage into the Tsurani tunnel. Boards were hastily
jammed into place, jerry-rigged supports, preventing the earth above
from caving in on them.
The men from Crydee surged into the low tunnel and entered a
frantic, terrible melee. Tsurani warriors and Roland's squad of soldiers
were locked in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle in the dark. Men
fought and died in the gloom under the earth. It was impossible to
bring order to the fray, with the fighting in such confinement. An
overturned
lantern flickered faintly, providing little illumination.
Arutha said to a soldier behind, "Get more men!"
"At once, Highness!" answered the soldier, turning toward the shaft.
Arutha entered the Tsurani tunnel. It was only five feet high, so he
moved stooped over. It was fairly wide, with enough room for three men
to negotiate closely. Arutha stepped on something soft, which groaned
in pain. He continued past the dying man, toward the sound of fighting.
It was a scene from his worst nightmare, faintly lit by widely spaced
torches. With little room only the first three men could engage the
enemy at any one point. Arutha called out, "Knives!" and dropped his
rapier. In close quarters the shorter weapons would prove more effective.
He came upon two men struggling in the darkness and grabbed at
one. His hand closed on chitinous armor, and he plunged his knife into
the man's exposed neck. Jerking the now lifeless body off the other
man, he saw a jam of bodies a few feet away, where Crydee and Tsurani
soldiers pressed against one another. Curses and cries filled the tunnel,
and the damp earth smell was mixed with the odor of blood and excrement.
Arutha fought madly, blindly, lashing out at barely seen foes. His own
fear kept threatening to overcome him as primitive awareness cried for
him to quit the tunnel and the threatening earth above. He forced his .
panic down and continued to lead the attack on the sappers.
A familiar voice grunted and cursed at his side and Arutha knew
Amos Trask was near. "Another thirty feet, lad!" he shouted.
Arutha took the man at his word, having lost all sense of distance.
The men of Crydee pressed onward, and many died killing the resisting
Tsurani. Time became a blur and the fight a dim montage of images.
Abruptly Amos shouted, "Straw!" and bundles of dry straw were
passed forward. "Torches!" he cried, and flaming torches were passed
up. He piled the straw near a latticework of timbers and drove the torch
into the pile. Flames burst upward, and he yelled, "Clear the tunnel!"
The fighting stopped. Every man, whether of Crydee or Tsurani,
turned and fled the flames. The sappers knew the tunnel was lost without
means to quench the flames and scrambled for their lives.
Choking smoke filled the tunnel and men began to cough as they
cleared the cramped quarters. Arutha followed Amos, and they missed
the turn to the countertunnel, coming out in the cellar. Guardsmen,
dirty and bloody, were collapsing on the stones of the cellar, gasping for
air. A dull rumble sounded, and with a crash, a blast of air and smoke
blew out of the hole. Amos grinned, his face streaked with dirt. "The
timbers collapsed. The tunnel's sealed."
Arutha nodded dumbly, exhausted and still reeling from the smoke.
A cup of water was handed to him, and he drank deeply, soothing his
burning throat.
Carline appeared before him. "Are you all right?" she asked, concern
clear on her face. He nodded. She looked around. "Where's Roland?"
Arutha shook his head. "It was impossible to see down there. Was he
in the tunnel?"
She bit her lower lip. Tears welled up in her blue eyes as she nodded.
Arutha said, "He might have cleared the tunnel and come up in the
courtyard. Let us see."
He got to his feet, and Amos and Carline followed him up the stairs.
They left the keep, and a soldier informed him the attack on the wall ~
had been repulsed. Arutha acknowledged the report and continued
around the keep until they came to the shaft he had ordered dug.
Soldiers lay on the grass of the yard, coughing and spitting, trying to
clear their lungs of the burning smoke. The air hung heavy with an acrid
haze as fumes from the fire continued to billow from the shaft. Another
rumble sounded, and Arutha could feel it through the soles of his boots.
Near the wall a depression had appeared where the tunnel had fallen
below. "Squire Roland!" Arutha shouted.
"Here, Highness," came an answering shout from a soldier.
Carline dashed past Arutha and reached Roland before the Prince.
The Squire lay upon the ground, tended by the soldier who answered.
His eyes were closed and his skin pale, and blood seeped from his side.
The soldier said, "I had to drag him along the last few yards, Highness.
He was out on his feet. I thought it might be smoke until I saw the
wound."
Carline cradled Roland's head, while Arutha first cut the binding
straps of Roland's breastplate, then tore away the undertunic. After a
moment Arutha sat back upon his heels. "It's a shallow wound. He'll be
all right."
"Oh, Roland," Carline said softly.
Roland's eyes opened and he grinned weakly. His voice was tired, but
he forced a cheery note. "What's this? You'd think I'd been killed."
Carline said, "You heartless monster." She gently shook him but
didn't release her hold as she smiled down at him. "Playing tricks at a
time like this!"
He winced as he tried to move. "Ooh, that hurts." She placed a
restraining hand upon his shoulder.
"Don't try to move. We must bind the wound," she said, caught
between relief and anger.
Nestling his head into her lap, he smiled. "I'd not move for half your
father's Duchy."
She looked at him in irritation. "What were you doing throwing
yourself upon the enemy like that?"
Roland looked genuinely embarrassed. "In truth, I tripped coming
down the steps and couldn't stop myself."
She placed her cheek against his forehead as Arutha and Amos
laughed. "You are a liar. And I do love you," she said softly.
Arutha stood and took Amos in tow leaving Roland and Carline to
each other. Reaching the corner, they encountered the former Tsurani
slave, Charles, carrying water for the wounded. Arutha halted the
man.
He stood with a yoke across his shoulders holding two large water
buckets. He was bleeding from several small wounds and was covered
with mire. Arutha said, "What happened to you?"
With a broad smile, Charles said, "Good fight. Jump in hole. Charles
good warrior."
The former Tsurani slave was pale and weaved a little as he stood
there. Arutha remained speechless, then indicated he should continue
his work. Happily Charles hurried along. Arutha said to Amos, "What
do you make of that?"
Amos chuckled. "I've had many dealings with rogues and scoundrels,
Highness. I know little of these Tsurani, but I think that's a man to
count on."
Arutha watched as Charles dispensed water to the other soldiers,
ignoring his own wounds and fatigue. "That was no mean thing, jumping
into the shaft without orders. I'll have to consider Longbow's offer
to put that man in service."
They continued on their way, Arutha supervising the care of the
wounded, while Amos was put in charge of the final destruction of the
tunnel.
When dawn came, the courtyard was still, and only a patch of raw
earth, where the shaft had been filled in, and a long depression running
from the keep to the outer wall showed anything unusual had occurred
in the night.
FANNON HOBBLED ALONg the wall, favoring his right side. The wound to his
back was almost healed, but he was still unable to walk without aid.
Father Tully supported the Swordmaster as they came to where the
others waited.
Arutha gave the Swordmaster a smile and gently took him by the
other arm, helping Tully hold him. Gardan, Amos Trask, Martin Longbow,
and a group of soldiers stood nearby.
"What's this?" asked Fannon, his display of gruff anger a welcome
sight to those on the wall. "Have you so little wits among you that you
must haul me from my rest to take charge?"
Arutha pointed out to sea. On the horizon dozens of small flecks
could be seen against the blue of sea and sky, flashes of brilliant white
glinting as the morning sun was caught and reflected back to them.
"The fleet from Carse and Tulan approaches the south beaches."
He indicated the Tsurani camp in the distance, bustling with activity.
"Today we'll drive them out. By this time tomorrow we'll clear this
entire area of the aliens. We'll harry them eastward, allowing them no
respite. It will be a long time before they'll come in strength again." ~
quietly Fannon said, "I trust you are right, Arutha." He stood without
speaking for a time, then said, "I have heard reports of your command,
Arutha. You've done well. You are a credit to your father, and to
Crydee."
Finding himself moved by the Swordmaster's praise, Arutha tried to
make light, but Fannon interrupted. "No, you have done all that was
needed, and more. You were right. With these people we must not be
cautious. We must carry the struggle to them." He sighed. "I am an old
man, Arutha. It is time I retired and left warfare to the young."
Tully made a derisive noise. "You're not old. I was already a priest
when you were still in swaddling."
Fannon laughed with the others at the obvious untruth of the statement,
and Arutha said, "You must know, if I've done well, it is because
of your teachings."
Tully gripped Fannon's elbow. "You may not be an old man, but you
are a sick one. Back to the keep with you. You've had enough gadding
about. You can begin walking regularly tomorrow. In a few weeks you'll
be charging about, shouting orders at everyone like your old self."
Fannon managed a slight smile and allowed Tully to lead him backdown
the stairs. When he was gone, Gardan said, "The Swordmaster's
right, Highness. You've done your father proud."
Arutha watched the approaching ships, his angular features fixed in
an expression of quiet reflection. Softly he said, "If I have done well, it
is because I have had the aid of good men, many no longer with us." He
took a deep breath, then continued, "You have played a great part in our
withstanding this siege, Gardan, and you, Martin."
Both men smiled and voiced their thanks. "And you, pirate." Arutha
grinned. "You've also played a great part. We are deeply in your debt."
Amos Trask tried to look modest and failed. "Well, Highness, I was
merely protecting my own skin as well as everyone else's." He then
returned Arutha's grin. "It was a rousing good fight."
Arutha looked toward the sea once more. "Let us hope we can soon
be done with rousing good fights." He left the walls and started down
the stairs. "Give orders to prepare for the attack."
CARLINE sTOOD ATOP the south tower of the keep, her arm around Roland's
waist. The Squire was pale from his wound, but otherwise in hale
spirits. "We'll be done with the siege, now the fleet's arrived," he said,
clinging tightly to the Princess.
"It has been a nightmare."
He smiled down at her, gazing into her blue eyes. "Not entirely.
There has been some compensation."
Softly she said, "You are a rogue," then kissed him. When they separated,
she said, "I wonder if your foolish bravery was nothing more than
a ploy to gain my sympathies."
Feigning a wince, he said, "Lady, I am wounded."
She clung to him. "I was so worried about you, not knowing if you lay
dead in the tunnel. I . . ." Her voice dropped off as her gaze strayed to
the north tower of the keep, opposite the one upon which they stood.
She could see the window upon the second floor, the window to Pug's
room. The funny little metal chimney, which would constantly belch
smoke when he was at his studies, was now only a mute reminder of just
how empty the tower stood.
Roland followed her gaze. "I know," he said. "I miss him, too. And
Tomas as well."
She sighed. "That seems such a long time ago, Roland. I was a girl
then, a girl with a girl's notion of what life and love were about." Softly
she said, "Some love comes like a wind off the sea, while others grow
slowly from the seeds of friendship and kindness. Someone once told
me that."
"Father Tully. He was right." He squeezed her waist. "Either way, as
long as you feel, you live."
She watched as the soldiers of the garrison prepared for the coming
sortie. "Will this end it?"
"No, they will come again. This war is fated to last a long time."
They stood together, taking comfort in the simple fact of each other's
existence.
KASUMI OF THE Shinzawai, Force Leader of the Armies of the Kanazawai
Clan, of the Blue Wheel Party, watched the enemy upon the castle wall.
He could barely make out the figures walking along the battlements,
but he knew them well. He could not put names to any, but they were
each as familiar to him as his own men. The slender youth who commanded,
who fought like a demon, who brought order to the fray when
needed, he was there. The black giant would not be too far from his
side the one who stood like a bulwark against every attack upon the
walls. And the green-clad one, who could race through the woods like an
apparition, taunting KASUMI's men by the freedom with which he
passed their lines, he would be there as well. No doubt the broadshouldered
one was nearby, the laughing man with the curved sword
and maniacal grin. KASUMI quietly saluted them all as valiant foemen,
even if only barbarians. '
Chingari of the Omechkel, the Senior Strike Leader, came to stand at
Kasumi's side. "Force Leader, the barbarian fleet is nearing. They will
land their men within the hour."
Kasumi regarded the scroll he held in his hand. It had been read a
dozen times since arriving at dawn. He glanced at it one more time,
again studying the chop at the bottom, the crest of his father, Kamatsu,
Lord of the Shinzawai. Silently accepting his personal fate, Kasumi said,
"Order for march. Break camp at once and begin assembling the warriors.
We are commanded to return to Kelewan. Send the trailbreakers
ahead."
Chingari's voice betrayed his bitterness. "Now the tunnel is destroyed,
do we quit so meekly?"
"There is no shame, Chingari. Our clan has withdrawn itself from the
Alliance for War, as have the other clans of the Blue Wheel Party. The
War Party is once more alone in the conduct of this invasion."
With a sigh Chingari said, "Again politics interferes with conquest. It
would have been a glorious victory to take such a fine castle."
Kasumi laughed. "True." He watched the activities of the castle.
"They are the best we have ever faced. We already learn much from
them. Castle walls slanted outward at the plinth, preventing sappers
from collapsing them, this is a new and clever thing. And those beasts
they ride. Ayee, how they move, like Thun racing across the tundras of
home. I will somehow gain some of those animals. Yes, these people are
more than simple barbarians."
After a moment's more reflection, he said, "Have our scouts and
trailbreakers keep alert for signs of the forest devils."
Chingari spat. "The foul ones move in great number northward once
more. They're as much a dagger in our side as the barbarians."
Kasumi said, "When this world is conquered, we shall have to see to
these creatures. The barbarians make strong slaves. Some may even
prove valuable enough to make free vassals who will swear loyalty to our
houses, but those foul ones, they must be obliterated." Kasumi fell
silent for a while. Then he said, "Let the barbarians think we flee in
terror from their fleet. This place is now a matter for the clans remaining
in the War Party. Let Tasio of the Minwanabi worry about a garrison
at his rear should he move eastward. Until the Kanazawai once more
realign themselves in the High Council, we are done with this war.
Order the march."
Chingari saluted his commander and left, and Kasumi considered the
implications of the message from his father. He knew the withdrawal of
all the forces of the Blue Wheel Party would prove a major setback for
the Warlord and his party. The repercussions of such a move would be
felt throughout the Empire for some years to come. There would be no
smashing victories for the Warlord now, for with the departure of those
forces loyal to the Kanazawai lords and the other clans of the Blue
Wheel, other clans would reconsider before joining in an all-out push.
No, thought Kasumi, it was a bold but dangerous move by his father
and the other lords. This war would now be prolonged. The Warlord was
robbed of a spectacular conquest; he was now overextended with too
few men holding too much land. Without new allies he would remain
unable to press forward with the war. His choices were now down to
two: withdraw from Midkemia and risk humiliation before the High
Council, or sit and wait, hoping for another shift in politics at home.
It was a stunning move on behalf of the Blue Wheel. But the risk was
great. And the risk from the next series of moves in the Game of the
Council would be even more dangerous. Silently he said: O my father,
we are now firmly committed to the Great Game. We risk much: our
family, our clan, our honor, and perhaps even the Empire itself.
Crumbling the scroll, he tossed it into a nearby brazier, and when it
was totally consumed by flame, he put aside thoughts of risk and walked
back toward his tent.
--
------Silver The Harper
One Scout Of SMTH Fantasy Broad(202.112.58.200:23)
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