Amos grinned. ‘Well, what a bright lad you are, Highness. If you want, you can come play with us.’
Arutha regarded Amos questioningly, and the seaman inclined his head. Arutha looked past him to the bailey and saw horsemen riding into position before the inner gate of the barbican. ‘Come along. I’ve an extra horse for you.’
Arutha followed Amos down the stairs to the waiting mounts. ‘And what if Murmandamus has another magic trick to toss at us?’
‘Then we will all die and Guy will be sad for having lost the best company he’s had in the last twenty years: me.’ Amos mounted. ‘You worry too much, lad. Have I told you that?’
Arutha smiled his crooked half-smile as he mounted. Guy, waiting by the gates, said, ‘Be doubly careful. If you can hurt them, fine, but no heroic suicide assaults just on the chance to get at Murmandamus. We need you back.’
Amos laughed. ‘One-eye, I’m the last candidate for hero you’re ever likely to meet.’ He signalled and the inner gate was opened. The rumble of the bridge being run out could be heard as the inner gate closed. Suddenly the outer gate swung open and Amos was leading the company out. Quickly outriders took their position on the flanks as the main element of Amos’s force advanced upon the besieging army. At first it was as if the enemy didn’t understand that a sally was being undertaken, for no alarm was given. They were almost upon the first elements of Murmandamus’s army when a trumpet sounded. By the time the goblins and trolls were scrambling for weapons, Amos and his raiders were racing by them.
Arutha rode straight for the hill where Murmandamus’s commanders were in conference, three Armengarian archers at his side. He didn’t know what drove him, but suddenly he was filled with a need to meet this dark lord. A squad of riders, those closest to the raiders, galloped to intercept the Armengarians with Arutha. Arutha found himself facing a human renegade, who grinned as he slashed at Arutha. Arutha killed him quickly and efficiently. Then the fight was fully joined.
Arutha looked toward the command pavilion and saw Murmandamus standing in plain view, his snake companion at his side. The moredhel leader seemed indifferent to the carnage being visited upon his forces. Several Armengarians attempted to close upon the pavilion, but they were intercepted by renegade and moredhel horsemen. One archer pulled up his mount and coolly sent bow shafts at the pavilion. Having learned the lesson of Murmandamus’s invulnerability, he chose other targets. He was quickly joined by another bowman and suddenly two of Murmandamus’s chieftains were down, one clearly dead from an arrow in the eye. Another company of foot soldiers ran toward the spot where Arutha laid about with his sword, cutting down goblins, trolls, and moredhel, attempting to protect the archers while they attacked the chieftains. For some endless time the ringing of steel and the pounding of blood in his ears were all Arutha heard. Then Amos shouted, ‘Begin the withdrawal!’ The cry was taken up by other horsemen, until every raider had heard the call.
Arutha cast a glance past where Amos sat his horse and saw another company of riders was headed toward them. Arutha slashed out with his sword, unseating another renegade, and headed toward Trask. The newly arriving renegades struck Amos’s raiders, halting their movement. Then the raiders wheeled as a body and attacked Murmandamus’s cavalry. Slowly the raiders began to fight their way out of the camp, killing everyone who stood between them and escape. A break appeared in the mass around them, a clear path back to the gates. Arutha spurred his mount forward and joined with the others in headlong flight back to the city. He glanced over his shoulder. A company of black-clad riders sped past Murmandamus’s pavilion, following in hot pursuit. To Amos he shouted, ‘Black Slayers!’
Amos signalled and several riders peeled off to turn and engage the Black Slayers. They charged and met with a ringing clash of steel, and several riders from both sides were unhorsed. Then the melee dissolved as the Armengarians disengaged, while another company of moredhel advanced upon the conflict. Most of the Armengarians who fell regained their saddles, but not all. A full dozen soldiers lay upon the sandy soil of the plain.
The gates were open when Amos’s company reached the wall, and they spun in place once inside the barbican. Behind, the rear guard was hurrying, engaged in a running fight with the Black Slayers and other moredhel. A dozen Armengarians sought to escape from more than thirty pursuers.
Amos sat next to Arutha as the Black Slayers cut down a pair of riders. ‘Ten,’ said Amos, counting the remaining riders. As they rode for the gate, Amos said, ‘Nine, eight,’ then, ‘seven.’ Upon the dusty plain a wave of black-armoured riders overwhelmed a half-dozen fleeing soldiers and Amos said, ‘Six, five, four.’ Then, with a note of anger in his voice, he shouted, ‘Close the gate!’
As the gate began to swing shut, Arutha continued his count. ‘Three, two…’ The last two riders from the raiding party were cut down.
Then from above came the sound of catapults launching. A moment later the screams of dying moredhel and horses filled the air. As the inner gates opened, Amos spurred his horse forward and said, ‘At least the bastards paid. I saw at least four chieftains down, two clearly dead.’ Amos glanced back, as if he could see through the massive gates. ‘But why didn’t the bastard use magic? That’s what I don’t fathom. He could have had us, you know?’
Arutha could only nod. He also wondered. He gave his horse to a boy detailed to care for the mounts and hurried up the stairs to Guy’s command location. ‘Damn me!’ greeted him as he joined the Protector.
Several prostrate figures in black armour were rising, in jerky awkward motion, moving back toward their own lines. Quickly their movement smoothed out and they were soon running as fast as if they had been uninjured.
‘When you told me of those…’ began Guy.
‘… you couldn’t believe,’ finished Arutha. ‘I know. You have to see it to understand.’
‘How do you kill them?’
‘Fire, magic, or by cutting their hearts out. Otherwise even the pieces find a way to rejoin and they just get stronger by the minute. They are impossible to stop by other means.’
Guy looked out at the retreating Black Slayers. ‘I never had your father’s fascination for things magic, Arutha, but now I’d give half my duchy – my former duchy – for a single talented magician.’
Arutha considered. ‘Something here has me concerned. I know little of these things, but it seems that, for all his powers, Murmandamus does little to truly trouble us. I remember Pug – a magician I know – telling me of some things he has done … well, they far outstripped what we’ve seen so far. I think Pug could pull the gates from the city walls if he’d a mind to do so.’
‘I don’t understand such things,’ admitted Guy.
Amos was standing behind them, having approached at the last. ‘Maybe the king of pigs doesn’t want his army relying too heavily upon him.’ Guy and Arutha both regarded Amos with open curiosity. ‘It might be a matter of morale.’
Guy shook his head. ‘Somehow I think it more complicated.’
Arutha watched the confusion in the enemy camp. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll most likely know soon.’
Amos leaned on the wall. ‘It’s been two weeks since your brother and the others left. If all has gone as planned, Martin’s at Stone Mountain today.’
Arutha nodded, ‘If all has gone as planned.’
Martin crouched down in the depression, his back tight against wet granite. The scraping sound of boots on the rocks above told him his pursuers were looking for signs of him. He held his bow before him, regarding the broken string. He had another in his pack, but no time to restring. If discovered, he would drop the weapon and pull his sword.
He breathed slowly, attempting to stay calm. He wondered if fate had been kind to Baru and Laurie. Two days before, they had reached what appeared to be the Yabon Hills proper. They had seen no sign of pursuit until today, when, a little after sunrise, they had been overtaken by a patrol of Murmandamus’s riders. They had avoided being run down by climbing up into
the rocks alongside the trail, but the moredhel had dismounted and followed. By poor chance, Martin and the others were on opposite sides of the trail and Laurie and Baru were forced southward, while Martin ran to the west. He hoped they had enough sense to continue south toward Yabon, and not to attempt to rejoin him. The chase had lasted throughout the day. Martin glanced upward, noting the sun moving behind the mountains. He judged only two more hours of light left. If he could avoid capture until dark, he would be safe.
The sound of boots grew faint and Martin moved. He left the shelter of the rock overhead and scampered along at a half-crouch, half-run, following a rill upward. He judged he was close to Stone Mountain, though he had never come there from the northeast before. But some of the landmarks looked vaguely familiar, and had he not had other concerns to occupy his attentions at this time, he was sure he could easily find the dwarves.
Martin rounded a curve and suddenly a moredhel warrior loomed up before him. Without hesitation Martin lashed out with his bow, striking the dark elf in the head with the heavy yew weapon. The surprised moredhel staggered, and before he could recover, Martin had his sword in hand and the moredhel lay dead.
Martin spun about, seeking signs of the moredhel’s companions. In the distance he thought he saw movement but couldn’t be sure. He quickly hurried upward then discovered another bend. Peering around the bend, Martin found a half-dozen horses tied. He had somehow managed to double behind the pursuers and stumble across their mounts. Martin ran forward and gained the saddle of one of the horses. He used his sword to cut the reins of the others and slapped them across the flanks with the flat of his blade to drive them off.
He spun his horse and spurred it forward. He could race down the wash and reach the trail. Then he could outrun the moredhel to Stone Mountain.
A dark shape launched itself from atop a rock as Martin rode past, dragging him from the saddle. Martin rolled and came up in a fighter’s crouch, his sword out as a moredhel did the same. The two combatants faced each other as the moredhel cried out in his harsh elven dialect to his companions. Martin attacked, but the moredhel was a skilled swordsman and kept Martin at sword’s length. Martin knew if he turned to flee, he’d get a blade in the ribs for his troubles, but if he stayed, he’d soon be facing five moredhel. Martin kicked rocks and pebbles at the moredhel, but the warrior was an experienced fighter who moved sideways, avoiding dust in the eyes.
Then the sound of boots pounding over the rocks could be heard from both directions. The moredhel shouted again and was answered from Martin’s left, to the south. From the right the sound of armour and boots grew louder. The moredhel’s eyes flickered in that direction, and Martin launched his attack. The dark elf barely avoided the blow, getting a slight cut in the arm for his troubles. Martin pushed his slight advantage, and while the moredhel was off balance, he struck out with a risky thrust that left him open for a riposte if he missed. He didn’t. The moredhel stiffened and collapsed as Martin pulled his blade free.
Martin didn’t hesitate. He leaped for the rocks, seeking high ground before he was overrun from both sides. Moredhel warriors came rushing into view from the southern end of the wash, and one had his sword back, to slash at Martin.
Martin kicked out unexpectedly and the warrior ducked, causing him to mistime his blow. Then, equally unexpectedly, a hand reached down and gripped Martin’s tunic.
A powerful pair of arms lifted the Duke of Crydee and dragged him over the lip of the wash. Martin looked up to discover a grinning face, with a thick red beard regarding him. ‘Sorry for the rough handling, but things are about to get nasty down there.’
The dwarf pointed past Martin, who turned to see a dozen dwarves dashing down the ravine from the north. The moredhel saw the superior number of dwarven warriors and turned to flee, but the dwarves were upon them before they moved ten yards. The fight was quickly over.
Another dwarf joined the one at Martin’s side. The first handed Martin a waterskin. Martin stood and took a drink. He looked down at the pair of dwarves, their being barely five feet, and said, ‘Thanks to you.’
‘No bother. The Dark Brothers have been poking about here of late, so we keep this area heavily patrolled. As we have guests’ – he indicated some dwarves who were climbing up to join them – ‘we have no shortage of lads willing to go out and have a bash at them. Usually the cowards run, knowing they’re too close to our home, but this time they were a mite slow. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, who might you be and what are you doing at Stone Mountain?’
Martin said, ‘This is Stone Mountain?’
The dwarf pointed behind Martin and the Duke turned about. Behind him, above the edge of the wash he had crouched in, a stand of trees reared up. Following the woods, he saw they blanketed the sides of a great peak that rose high into the clouds. He had been so intent on the pursuit of the last day, so intent on hiding, that he had seen only the rocks and the gullies. Now he recognized the peak. He was standing with a half day’s walk of Stone Mountain.
Martin regarded the assembling dwarves. He removed his right glove and displayed his signet. ‘I am Martin, Duke of Crydee. I need to speak with Dolgan.’
The dwarves looked sceptical, as if it was improbable for a lord of the Kingdom to come in this fashion to their halls, but they simply looked to their leader. ‘I’m Paxton. My father is Harthorn, Warleader of the Stone Mountain clans, and Chieftain of village Delmoria. Come along, Lord Martin, we’ll take you to see the King.’
Martin laughed. ‘So he did take the crown.’
Paxton grinned. ‘In a manner of speaking. He said he’d take the job of King, after we nagged at him a couple of years, but he won’t wear a crown. So it sits in a chest in the long hall. Come along, Your Grace. We can be there by nightfall.’
The dwarves set off, and Martin fell in beside them. He felt safe for the first time in weeks, but now his mind returned to thoughts of his brother and the others at Armengar. How long could they hold? he wondered.
The camp reverberated with a cacophony of drums, trumpets and shouts. From every quarter came the response to the order to marshal. Guy watched the display as the false dawn gave way to the light of morning. He said to Arutha, ‘Before the globe of the sun is at noon, they’ll hit us with everything they have. Murmandamus may have felt the need to hold back some forces against the invasion of Yabon, but he can’t afford even another day’s delay. Today they will come in strength.’
Arutha nodded as he watched every company on the field before the city marshal for battle. He had never felt so bone tired. The killing of Murmandamus’s captains had thrown the enemy camp into turmoil for two days before order had been restored. Arutha had no idea what bargains had been struck or what promises made, but finally they had come again, three days later.
For a week after, the assaults had continued, and each time more attackers had gained the walls. The last assault of the day before had required the entire force of reserves being thrown into a potential breach to keep the integrity of the wall intact. Another few minutes, and the attackers would have had a position upon the walls to hold, so that more warriors could have scaled ladders in safety, unleashing a potential fatal flood of invaders into the city. Arutha thought, it has been twenty-seven days since Martin had left. Even if help was coming, it would be too late.
Jimmy and Locklear waited close by, ready for messenger duty. Jimmy regarded his young friend. Since Bronwynn’s death Locklear had become possessed. He sought out the fighting at every turn, often ignoring instructions to stay behind for courier duty. Three times Jimmy had seen the boy involve himself in combat where he should have avoided it. His skills with the sword and his speed had counted for much, and he had survived, but Jimmy wasn’t sure how long Locklear could keep surviving, or even if he really wished to. He had tried to speak to Locklear about the girl, but the younger squire had refused. Jimmy had seen too much death and destruction by the time he had reached sixteen. He had grown callous in many ways. Even when he tho
ught Anita or Arutha dead, he had not withdrawn the way Locklear had. Jimmy wished he understood more of such things, and worried for his friend.
Guy gauged the strength of the army before him and at last, in a quiet voice, said, ‘We can’t hold them at the wall.’
Arutha said, ‘I thought as much.’ In the four weeks since Martin’s departure, the city had held, the soldiers of Armengar performing beyond even Arutha’s most optimistic assessment. They had given all they had, but attrition was at last sapping the army’s reserve. Another thousand soldiers had been killed or rendered unable to fight in the last week. Now the defenders were spread out too thinly to deal with the full force of the attackers, and it was clear from the careful way Murmandamus was staging that he indeed planned to throw the full strength of his army at them today in one final, all-out assault. Guy nodded to Amos. The seaman said to Jimmy, ‘Carry word to the company commanders: begin the third stage of evacuation now.’
Jimmy nudged Locklear, who seemed almost in a trance, and led his friend off. They ran along the wall, seeking out the company commanders. Arutha watched as a few chosen soldiers left the wall once word was passed. They hurried down the steps to the bailey and began to sprint toward the citadel.
Arutha said, ‘What mix did you decide upon?’
Guy said, ‘One able-bodied fighter, two armed old men or women, three older children, also armed, and five little ones.’ Arutha knew that within minutes dozens of such groups would begin slipping out into the mountains through the long tunnel from the cavern beneath the city. They were to work southward, seeking refuge in Yabon. It was hoped that this way at least some of the children of Armengar might survive. The single soldier would be in command of the party and each would carry orders to protect the children. And the soldiers also had orders to kill them rather than let them be captured by the moredhel.
The Riftwar Saga Page 161