Part 52 (2/2)

”They aren't like other soldiers, you know. Takes time to train a man tonot want to go blazing out with a sword, but take the measure as he's taught, and tell it to others, and let them fight.

”Prob'ly takes longer than to build a cavalryman.”

He drank.

”Wonder why that b.a.s.t.a.r.d did it to me.”

'Tenedos?”

”He's the only b.a.s.t.a.r.d I can think of. Told me what to do, and I did it. Did it without arguin', knowing what'd happen.

”d.a.m.n the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”

”What would you have done?” I said, trying to be diplomatic. Yonge, in a mood like this, was looking for a fight, and I knew the Men of the Hills seldom used fists to settle their differences. Even drunk, I had no confidence I could defeat his knife. ”He said he was using you as a feint, to cover the dragoons.”

”You believe that?”

”I do.”

Yonge stared at me very hard.

”You remember, a long time ago, I said I wanted to study honor from you?”

”I do. But I think you're now a better one for me to study,” I said.

”s.h.i.+t on that. I still think you tell the truth. You don't think there was any better way to start the battle?

You don't think my men were thrown away?”

”Why would Tenedos want that?” I said. ”He knows how valuable the skirmishers are. h.e.l.ls, man, he created the force.”

”He did,” Yonge grudged. ”I don't know why we was sacrificed. But I feel we were.”

”Why?”

”I don't know.” Yonge heaved a deep sigh. ”h.e.l.ls. Maybe I'm just drunk, and mournin'. Maybe that's all.” He lifted the bottle, and, to my amazement, finished it.

”Guess I'm not thinkin' straight,” he said, and stood. ”Sorry to bother you. You're a man of honor, like I said. An' I trust you.”

His eyes slid closed, and he toppled. I caught him before he hit the ground, and eased him down. I called for Karjan, and we made a rough bed for the general with my cloak and a pillow. He muttered something about honor and blood, then began snoring. I little wanted to be inside his head in the morrow.

I tried to go to sleep, but the absurd thought stayed with me: Whyhad Tenedos chosen such a sacrificial way to begin the engagement? It was another answer I wouldn't have for years.

Now Tenedos's magic held Chardin Sher firm in its vision, and because of that many lives were saved, both Kallian and Numantian. If he had not been able to track him through sorcery, we might have decided Chardin Sher would retreat to the capital, gone after him, and mired ourselves in street butchery.

Probably the Kallian a.s.sumed we would do just that, and give him some time to regroup, for he fled past Polycittara, and took refuge beyond.

The Numantian Army ignored the bait of Polycittara and marched after him. Two weeks after Dabormida we came on his final refuge.

It was a huge brown stone fortress, walls many yards thick, that occupied the entire top of a solitary peak that commanded the center of a fertile valley. It was the ultimate refuge, and I think all of us thought the same thing: We would all die here, under these grim battlements, before we would destroy Chardin Sher.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

The Demon from BelowI he nameless fortress had an evil reputation. It had I been built centuries before by a meditative order, its JL battlements intended to give shelter to the priests and simples of the surrounding country men when raiders threatened. But as the centuries pa.s.sed the order became fascinated with the dark arts, and it was said they were more feared than any brigands. All manner of evil was attributed to these priests, including human sacrifice to demons.

One storm-tossed night, the story went, nearby peasants heard screams from the fortress, screams far louder than any human throat should be able to produce. A few of the bravest chanced peering into the night, and saw all of the citadel's lights flash bright and then go out as if they were a single candle snuffed by a giant hand.

The next day, no one came out of the citadel, and that night it remained dark. So it went for a week until one courageous young man chanced climbing the ramps to the entrance, and found its iron gates blasted open, as if a giant hand had ripped them away.

He entered, and found no sign of any of the priests. Nor was there any indication of what had happened, neither bloodstain nor corpse to be found.

*The stronghold sat vacant for almost a century, then an outlaw baron took and held it, and once more the valley paid a bitter price for ”protection.” Three generations of this family held the fortress, each lord more baneful than the last.

Finally, Chardin Sher's father mounted an expedition against the current baron and, by deceit, gained entrance. The baron was taken, tried for his crimes, and quartered below the citadel. His women and children were reduced to commoners and sold as slaves. Perhaps the fortress should have been left empty, or even razed to the bare rocks. But it was not. Chardin Sher's father and then his son made it their last refuge, adding to its defenses.

Now it was surrounded by the Numantian Army. There were three choices: to reduce it by sorcery; to attempt to storm it; or starve out Chardin Sher, his magicians, and his retainers. Tenedos tried magic first, and his a.s.sembled magi used the natural force of the season to send storm after storm against the towers.

The magicians within, led by Mikael Yanthlus, not only used defensive spells to lessen the effect, but sent their own conjurations against the soldiers below.

The normal spells of apprehension, fear, and such were accompanied with incantations intended to bring sicknesses and plagues on us, fortunately countered by Tenedos's magicians before more than a handful of victims were stricken.

The storm spells were cast again and again, and then it seemed they took on a life of their own. It was awesome to watch the dark bulk of the citadel against the night as winds screamed against it and lightning slashed from the skies, thunder rocking the valley.

It was awesome-and harder on us in some ways than on those inside, for at least they had shelter.

We had nothing but canvas, and the winds laughed at our tents and ripped them to shreds. The fields were sodden muck, and the farmers fled the wrath of the Numantians.

One night was marked by bolt after bolt, and it seemed certain the fortress would be, must be, broken and shattered to the smallest stone as it stood against the night, its bulk sheathed with white light. But when the dawn mist blew away it still stood, seemingly untouched. Then someone noticed a narrow crack down one side. We tried to feel hopeful, but if that was the best Tenedos's wizardry could produce it would be a very long siege.

Two days later, Tenedos summoned me. He was not living under canvas, but had taken over a guildhall in the nearest town. I found him there, and was about to jest about how comfortable our leaders chose to live, but clamped my mouth shut, seeing how drawn and gray his features were. He looked far worse than any horseman or private, and I realized this war of spells was as exhausting on him as hand-to-hand fighting would be for me.

I asked his health, and he said he was well, and then inquired as to mine, as to how Maran was doing, was she managing all right, and so forth. He took me into his own chamber, and told me to sit down while he made tea.

He brewed a fragrant, warm concoction, and let it steep. I drew in the smell, and felt the long chill in my bones from living rough for so long dissipate a little. He poured me a cup, and offered a tin of sweets that must have just been sent him by Rasenna.

I took one, just as a small alarm bell tinkled in my mind. I attempted to turn it into a joke, saying that, no doubt, with all this buildup I was about to be asked to do something completely insane, such as storm the fortress single-handed.

”Just so, Damastes,” Tenedos said, and there was not an ounce of humor on his face or in his voice.

”Sir?”

”May I sit down?” This was unusual, my commander hardly needing my permission for anything. I nodded. He poured himself some of the tea, then let it sit and grow cold, ignored, while he considered his words.

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