Читать книгу The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 31

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. ‘Roguel. 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 yield!’

She laughed. ‘What were you daydreaming about, Roland?’

He gently pushed aside the tip of her sword. ‘I was remembering how distraught Lady Mama 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, advancing with 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 corps. 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, ill-timed 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 bandy-legged 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 halfway 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.