Zandru's Forge

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Clingfire! May Zandru curse him a thousand times, Rakhal has brought clingfire to the battlefield!

  Closer... he heard Romilly urge the sentry bird, closer ...

  Too late, the bird’s attention veered to the arrow speeding toward her. As if a red-hot wire suddenly seared her breast, Diligence swerved, wings beating, screeching in pain, fighting to stay aloft, to stay in rapport ...

  falling like a stone ...

  the gray rain and the green hills fading ...

  Carolin slumped in the saddle, his breath catching in his chest. He struggled to orient himself again, to separate himself from the dizziness and the pain. Linked through Romilly to the bird, he had felt the creature’s death as if it were his own.

  Romilly’s anger, swift as a plummeting hawk, swept through him. He heard a voice, Ranald‘s, saying, “I am so sorry ... you loved her,” and Romilly’s heated retort, “I hate you all! You and your accursed wars, none of you are worth a single feather from the tip of her wing.”

  Ah, Romilly! Carolin thought, sick at heart. What have I asked of you? And what more must I ask?

  When next he met with Romilly, he struggled to put his own feelings into words. “I am sorry about Diligence. But can you not look at this from my point of view, too? We risk birds, and beasts, too, to save the lives of men. I know the birds mean more to you than they ever can to me, or to any of us, but I must ask you this: would you see me or Ruyven or Orain die instead of the sentry birds? Would you not risk the lives of the birds to save your own Swordswomen?”

  At first, he saw the conflict within her, the burning wish to throw his words back at him, to demand what harm the birds had ever done to Rakhal that they should pay with their lives.

  A wave of sadness passed through him. “This is what every commander of men must face, weighing the lives of some against the lives of all. I wish I need never see anyone who follows me die ... but I have no choice. I owe my very life to those I am sworn to rule.”

  She dipped her head and agreed to fly the one remaining sentry bird as Carolin required. So it was that, several days later, he had advance notice of the impending attack.

  Rakhal’s army swept down over the brow of the hill and Carolin’s own forces charged to meet them. After the first tremendous shock of encounter, the field exploded in frenzied action. Men on foot and horseback hurled themselves forward, captains shouted commands, trumpets blared.

  From the ground, all was confusion. Linked with the sentry bird, seeing partly through avian eyes, partly through Romilly‘s, and partly his own, Carolin directed his forces to where they were most needed.

  “There!” he shouted, pointing out the black wagon. “We must seize the clingfire before it can be used against us!”

  Through the bird’s eyes, Carolin saw the picked group of men leave the main body of Lyondri’s army and sweep toward his own blue fir-tree banner.

  Sunstar! Carry my king to safety! Romilly’s mental cry reached both man and horse.

  The great black stallion reared, lashing out with his front hooves, and thundered away. Carolin’s men followed, maintaining a compact group around him.

  The party Carolin had sent after the clingfire wagon drew nearer their target, through the thickest part of the fighting. A flight of arrows arched upward, toward the main body of Carolin’s forces. Their tips glowed like molten orange fire. Laran, twisted and tainted, shocked through the air. Carolin flinched under its touch, even before the first arrow found a living target. Sunstar threw his head up, pulling at the bit.

  The din of battle drowned out the screams, but Carolin felt each one as a fiery arrow through his own flesh. Beneath him, the black stallion recoiled, then gathered himself.

  Leave the wounded to us! He heard Maura’s voice as clearly as if she stood beside him.

  He started to cry out, to warn her back from the killing frenzy. She was leronis, a trained monitor, and could help those men as he could not.

  Above it all, Romilly’s sentry bird wheeled, sending Carolin images of his own men moving ever closer to the black-shrouded wagon. From this height, he could not make out Maura in the cluster of fallen men, but he sensed her presence, the clear blue flame of her power, the sure movement of her hands.

  “Carlo!” Orain shouted out a warning. Lyondri had sent out another charge. There were more of them this time, slashing through the foot soldiers. Orain’s mount went down. He scrambled up, fighting on his feet.

  Carolin wrenched free of rapport with the sentry bird. The next moment, he was fighting beside his men. Sunstar bellowed out his own battle cry. Men and beasts screamed, swords clashed. The reek of blood and sweat mingled with the stench of burning flesh.

  A horseman slammed through Carolin’s guard, laying about him with an enormous battle-ax. Blood smeared his helmet and the armor that gleamed through the rents in his tunic. Lyondri’s badge flashed on one shoulder. His huge yellow horse plunged forward, ears pinned back, jaw dripping bloody foam. The horse reared, neighing. The ax swept up.

  Carolin raised his sword as he reined Sunstar into place so that he could strike. The black stallion lost his footing in the churned mud and almost went down. Carolin glanced up at the falling ax. Sun glinted red along the curved edge.

  Orain hurled himself between Carolin and the axman. The ax came down on his sword, deflected, steel skittering over steel. Orain staggered under the impact, but did not give way.

  The next instant, Sunstar scrambled to his feet. His powerful hindquarters flexed and he sprang forward. Reflex aimed Carolin’s sword, for there was no time to think, only to act.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, the warhorses collided. Carolin’s sword tip curved upward, under the assailant’s breastplate. He felt it slide in. Sunstar swerved, pulling the sword free.

  Two of Carolin’s guards grabbed the axman even before he toppled. One held the yellow horse as Orain scrambled onto its back. Orain’s lean face was a mask of blood and dust and smoke, but fire lit his eyes. He lifted his own sword in salute, then wheeled the yellow horse to face the next onslaught.

  Carolin could no longer fight a defensive position. The battle hung upon a thread and the key was the clingfire. The dreadful arrows were far fewer now, but still they came. Whatever they touched, flesh or bone or leather, grass or wood, ignited. Each man that fell was either dead or, worse yet, spread the unquenchable fire to any who sought to aid him. In the end, no matter how great the courage of the men or the healing of Maura and the others, the clingfire would defeat them.

  The force Carolin sent to take the wagon battled on bravely, but met fierce resistance and heavy losses.

  I must put an end to this thing.

  “With me!” He shifted his weight. The stallion reared, pawing the air, drawing the eyes of all his surrounding guard. “Ride with me now!”

  “King Carolin! King Carolin!”

  Sunstar bounded forward, a torrent of sleek black power. Orain spurred his yellow horse ahead, clearing the way. A stride or two later, more men streamed to join them.

  Through the eyes of the sentry bird, Carolin spotted his target. The wagon had come to rest, defended by a circle of soldiers. At Carolin’s approach, his own men redoubled their efforts.

  The wagon shimmered in Carolin’s sight and then vanished. He bit off a curse. It had been an illusion to hold their attention while the real wagon was removed with Rakhal’s army.

  Trumpets rang out across the field. Once more, Carolin drew upon the linkage with Romilly and the sentry bird, still hovering above the battle. He saw Rakhal’s troops wheel and flee, saw his own men pursue them for a space. The rapport with the sentry bird dissolved, and Carolin caught a last image of Romilly slumping, sickened and exhausted, in her saddle.

  A laranzu stood on the place of the false wagon, his gray cloak blown about him. His hood had fallen back, his features unreadable. He held something in one hand, clasped against his breast.

  “Hold!” Carolin cried. His voice penetrated the clamor. Men
disengaged, remaining in fighting stance and yielding no advantage.

  He lifted his voice, so that all might hear. “Lay down your arms, and I will grant you the king’s amnesty!”

  One of Lyondri’s men shouted, “It’s Carolin himself!” and surged forward. Orain swiveled his yellow horse across the man’s path and cut him down.

  The laranzu held his ground. Fear and despair emanated from him.

  What has Rakhal told him about me, that he so fears surrender?

  “Come no closer!” the laranzu called. “You know what this is and what it can do!” He lifted his hand, and Carolin saw a glass vial. Shadow and ember coiled within it.

  Zandru’s frozen hells! Was the man willing then to immolate himself, rather than surrender?

  “I ask you again to lay down what you hold,” Carolin replied. “That infernal fire knows neither friend nor foe, but consumes all life. Have you not seen the lands to the east, still barren from a war fought before either of us was born? Have you not tended the children of those who dared to venture into the wastelands? First clingfire, then bonewater dust and root blight and what more? These are the true enemy, not I, not your master, nor any other mortal man. Look about you, and tell me what defense these soldiers have against clingfire. I say, let them fight as men, with honor and steel. I say, use the Gifts the gods have given you for healing, not for death. If you will yield, I offer you safe conduct back to your own Tower.”

  A hush fell over that corner of the battlefield, and even the men still struggling paused. Carolin’s sight blurred, as if a veil of glowing silver had fallen over him. Sunstar pawed the ground, then stood like a rock.

  Chest heaving, the laranzu shook his head. “You will only use it against my people.”

  “I swear I will not use it at all, except to see it destroyed,” Carolin said. “By the light of Aldones and the holy things at Hali, I swear it.”

  The next moment, the men guarding the laranzu broke, some of them throwing down their swords and standing with empty hands outstretched, others running away. The laranzu carefully lowered the vial of clingfire and approached Carolin.

  “Vai dom, I did not believe the stories which came to us through the relays,” the laranzu said, “but now I have seen and heard. I have read the truth of your thoughts. Though I be exiled for it, I will make no more war upon you.”

  “You need suffer no exile for such a choice,” Carolin said, “for there will always be a place for you among us. If you will go into the field and help those men who burn with this accursed stuff, I welcome you into my own company.”

  One of the surrendered soldiers gasped, for this was not how Lyondri or his captains treated their prisoners. The laranzu bowed deeply, and then went to do what he could for the wounded. Carolin gave direction for the safeguarding of the clingfire.

  All about Carolin lay men and horses, dead and dying. Blood darkened the churned earth. Unexpectedly, the thought came to him that Roald McInery had said nothing about the stench in his Military Tactics.

  As the battle fever drained from his veins, a terrible weariness set in. All the hurts he had scarcely felt now burned as if he’d been lashed by clingfire. Orain swayed in the saddle, rubbing the back of his free hand across a gash in one cheek.

  Carolin roused himself. The dead were beyond his help, but the living still needed him. He steeled his voice, sending renewed strength into his officers. He ordered tents set up for nursing the wounded and repairing equipment, picket lines for horses, latrine pits, and such burial as could be arranged for so many.

  Ruyven and Rakhal’s laranzu had joined Maura, seeking out those who could be helped, while others went to give the last few dying horses the mercy stroke. The Sisters of the Sword gathered up their own.

  By the time everything immediately necessary had been done, Carolin was weaving with exhaustion. Inside, he reeled with death upon death, men and horses and even Romilly’s ugly, faithful sentry birds.

  Orain, who must have been even more weary, finally insisted that Carolin rest.

  “How can I?” Carolin protested. “The men—and the Swordswomen, too—who fought at my command—”

  “There is nothing more you can do tonight. Look, the last of the daylight is almost gone. The men will look to you tomorrow; you must be ready to lead them again.”

  Carolin allowed himself to be led to his own tent, his armor and clothing stripped off. An aide brought a bowl of steaming water, soap, and towels. Carolin could not imagine how the man managed to find these things, but he accepted the ministrations gratefully. Every joint and muscle in his body throbbed. He fell across the sleeping pallet and sank into its softness. Darkness took him.

  Distantly, as if floating up from a formless abyss, he sensed the presence of another person. The pallet shifted. The edge of the blanket touched his cheek. He smelled the faint fragrance of rosalys and sunlight.

  Beloved, I am here. Maura’s mental touch, as sweet as dew upon parched land, swept across him. Her arms went around him, slim cool fingers brushing his lips, his eyelids. Rest now.

  47

  The morning after the battle, the sky opened and drenched the field with rain. Great carrion birds fed on the bloating carcasses of the horses. The healers continued their work, now aided by Orain’s grown son, Alderic, who had just arrived. Alderic had Tower training and had come to lend his skill to tending those suffering from clingfire burns.

  Carolin met with his advisers, and it became clear that they must move camp. The rotting carcasses would soon bring disease, and, more importantly, would hamper any attempts to maneuver, should Rakhal’s forces return to strike at them again.

  Though he hated to ask it of her, he sent Romilly to fly the remaining sentry bird to spy out Rakhal’s path. Romilly would not look at him, though she agreed without argument. There was something wrong with her eyes. He remembered that she had trained many of the horses slain yesterday. With her MacAran gift, she must have felt the death of each of them. Many of her Sisters of the Sword had perished also.

  She is a girl, not brought up to hardship. She must have proper care, as soon as may be. Perhaps Maura, being a woman, would know what to do.

  Romilly sent the bird up and with the help of Ruyven Carolin followed it in rapport, flying in slow circles, gradually widening. The rain lightened, so that a strange watery sunlight penetrated the clouds. Before long, the bird spotted movement in the distance. Carolin recognized the pattern of Rakhal’s army, riding swiftly toward the hills.

  To Carolin’s eyes, the fleeing army seemed shrunken in size. Off to the north, he spotted another body of men and horses, riding hard away from the main force. Rakhal’s men were deserting him, but not, Carolin thought, from cowardice. They had fought as bravely as any.

  They knew what Rakhal was capable of, and seeing that Carolin was not easily defeated, they made their choice. Despite his weariness, and lingering sickness of heart at the carnage, Carolin’s spirits rose.

  The main body of Rakhal’s army halted at the brow of a little hill, seizing the most advantageous terrain. From there, Carolin’s army would be forced to charge uphill at them. Rakhal’s horsemen quickly formed a perimeter, surrounding the foot soldiers and bowmen. They ringed the hill, so that as long as they held firm, it would be impossible to breach their defenses.

  This, then, would be the decisive battle. But upon whose terms? Carolin was unwilling to waste the lives of his men in a useless charge against formidable odds. Roald McInery had described how a fortified hill could be taken, but had advised against it. Somehow, Carolin must lure Rakhal down or at the very least, break the line of defense. It would be difficult enough, charging uphill against a disordered enemy.

  Orain, who had been riding a little apart, talking earnestly with his son Alderic, kneed his horse closer to Carolin‘s, so that they might speak in private.

  “By your leave, my lord, I have in mind a plan, an old mountain trick. Give me a dozen or two of your men, as well as leronyn to cast an illusion
that we are four times as many. We can deceive Rakhal into an attack, leaving the main part of his forces open. Then you can come and take him on the flank.”

  “It just might work,” Carolin considered, though he did not like sending Maura and Ruyven directly into battle. Most leronyn did not even carry swords to defend themselves.

  What had he himself said to Varzil after the assassination attempt on the way to Blue Lake?

  Would you have me cripple myself trying to prevent every conceivable catastrophe? Life must be lived on its own terms, and part of being a Hastur, let alone a king, is the ongoing risk.

  Varzil had answered, mind to mind, I would not live my life walled in by imagined terrors. I cannot ask my friend to do the same. Aloud, he had added, “Once you said there were two kinds of power—that of the world and that of the Tower. We must have both, if we are to succeed.”

  Then Carolin remembered Maura’s words, There is no certain safety for any of us. She was no plaything, to be protected from danger or given as a prize to whoever prevailed on the field. Every day, in the Tower, she took unimaginable risks, even as Varzil did. Were her choices any less honorable because she was a woman? Had she not gone out into the battle, using her laran against the clingfire, doing what no ordinary man could do?

  To protect her is to diminish her. He remembered how Alianora, who would have quailed to come within five leagues of a battlefield, had died. He had not been able to protect her, either.

  “Once Rakhal’s line breaks, we must take the heights as quickly as we can,” Carolin said. “Rakhal is already desperate. He sees his own men deserting him, and we have him penned on that hill. He will not hesitate to use clingfire or anything else he has, if he believes all is lost.”

  Orain nodded grimly, and Carolin saw this was also in his thoughts. Of all of them, Orain best knew Rakhal’s mind.