Zandru's Forge

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Carolin gave orders for riders to accompany Orain and positioned his forces to strike quickly at the first breach in the perimeter.

  A short time later, two dozen of Carolin’s men, headed by the small band of leronyn, rode toward the hill. They slowed as they neared its base, circling away from the gentlest slope to the steeper, rockier ascent. Carolin, watching from the safety of his own guard, saw a cloud, dense as smoke, rise quickly to engulf them. It could not be natural dust, however, for the earth was still damp.

  The cloud billowed to many times the size of the attacking party. Figures emerged, the blurred shapes of riders, not two dozen now but a hundred or more in tight formation, racing out ahead of the real men. Pennants of Hastur blue and silver streamed out behind them. Carolin had seen these very horsemen before, for they were Rakhal’s own men in flight. Orain had used the image as a mirror, this time rushing toward the defended hill.

  For a time, Rakhal’s men held firm under the approaching assault. Bowmen moved to the fore and sent down a hail of arrows, using the height of the hill as an advantage. Their aim fell short, however, for they shot at the false image of the soldiers speeding toward them. They missed the real riders toward the rear.

  Carolin could not see his riders, but he sensed they had drawn together, sending the illusion out in front of them. As he watched, the shapes within the cloud altered, so that they no longer resembled a company of living, breathing creatures. The horses’ heads elongated into pale bony skulls, tapering and reptilian. Their riders became skeletons lit from within with devil fire. Whips and chains, shimmering with unnatural light, lashed the air above their heads. Moving between them, the lean shapes of gigantic hounds wove in and out, their eyes glowing like red coals.

  In the name of Aldones, where had Maura and the others gotten these horrific images?

  Around him, Carolin’s guards muttered prayers to the Lord of Light, to Holy St. Christopher, Bearer of the World’s Burdens, even to Zandru, Lord of the frozen hells. He could not suppress a shiver of terror, for this was no ordinary foe, but a nightmare from men’s darkest primal fears. Echoing his guard, he gave silent thanks that the unholy host was racing away from him, not toward.

  Loathing stirred in Carolin, as if he had touched something unclean, a pollution of the soul. He had kept his resolve not to use laran weaponry, yet how easily he had agreed to this use of psychic power, this warping of the minds of men who had no defense against it. Was this not as despicable, as horribly obscene as clingfire?

  I have no choice. It is the only way to save the lives of my own men.

  So kings and generals thought, from the Ages of Chaos to the end of time. There would always be good reasons. Men would say, Just this one battle, just this one time.

  What kind of king will I be, with such a beginning?

  A better king than one who never questions his own actions, a thought whispered through his mind, and Carolin felt Varzil looking over his shoulder, nodding.

  It will take more than the resolution of any one man to make such things unthinkable, Carolin thought.

  That is why we must do it together, you and I, castle and Tower. But first you must win back your throne from Rakhal, who has no such compunctions.

  You are right, my friend. Carolin narrowed his attention to the impending battle. Sunstar snorted and arched his neck.

  Closer and closer, the ghost army approached the hill. It flowed up the steepest part without slowing. The defensive line faltered in a dozen places.

  “Stand firm! Stand firm!” Rakhal’s own voice rang out.

  Orain’s company slowed, letting the bespelled forces continue on. As the ghostly riders climbed, their speed increased. Sparks flew from the curling whips and the hooves of the foul steeds. Carolin imagined slaver, glowing an unnatural yellow, dripping from the jaws of the gigantic hounds.

  Rakhal’s captains tried vainly to hold their forces. These were seasoned fighters, surely aware of the uses of laran in battle, yet there was a limit to what men could withstand. Pushed to the breaking point, the bravest would flee in terror, or plunge into the oncoming foe, each acccording to his nature.

  The foremost of the ghoulish forces had almost reached the top of the hill. Carolin’s men held their position on the flat ground.

  In an instant, the defensive line broke. Rakhal’s horsemen charged down the hill, straight into the cloud of magical images. The portion of the perimeter facing the attackers gave way, and riders from other areas rushed after them. Even as Orain had predicted, the flank was now vulnerable. Carolin signaled for his own riders to begin their assault.

  The horrific shapes, dragon horses, spectral riders, and demon wolves, vanished. The cloud of dust fell away. Fire burst upward through the ground, a conflagration in vivid green and blue. The flames disappeared as quickly, replaced by a river of blood that flowed uphill.

  The horses of Rakhal’s men slid to a halt, snorting in terror. A few threw themselves over backward, thrashing as they crushed their riders. Other men fell from their plunging, maddened mounts, or jumped free and sprinted away.

  A few, braver than the others, still held their ground, “It’s a trick! A trick!”

  The warning came too late. The line of Rakhal’s defense had broken. Horses stampeded, trampling the fallen riders. Officers struggled to reassemble their men. Trumpets sounded, a confusion of signals. Foot soldiers gathered with their backs together, unsure whether to stand and give battle or retreat.

  “Now!” Carolin cried.

  Carolin’s forces charged, flowing like a living river through the scattered defense. Momentum and rising exhilaration carried them forward. Sunstar plunged on like a beast possessed, shouldering aside lesser mounts. All about him, Carolin’s men shouted and whooped in triumph.

  The charge slowed at the pit of resistance, no longer slicing through the enemy lines, but fighting at close quarters. Now Carolin sensed the black miasma of the clingfire wagon. Through the fray, he saw Rakhal’s bowmen gather around it, dipping their arrows into the caustic stuff.

  “The wagon!” he shouted, pointing with his sword. “We must take the wagon!”

  He urged Sunstar forward, but Rakhal’s men rushed up, and not even the great stallion could push through their ranks.

  Orain, by some chance, was not so heavily pressed. Shouting, he wheeled his horse toward the wagon. Alderic and Ranald galloped on his heels. Carolin felt the leronyn link minds; he threw his own laran power into the bond, even as he had learned to do at Arilinn. Orain, too, was there, and somewhere behind them, adding their strength, Maura and Ruyven and Romilly.

  Blue fire erupted from the earth, raging outward in a solid band. Suddenly, it shot upward to form a wall. It rolled out toward the wagon, engulfing any who stood in its path. The bowmen who had been dipping their arrows into the clingfire spun around. Their weapons tumbled to the ground. Faces paled in the oncoming cerulean brilliance. The roar of the blaze swallowed their screams.

  The blue fire struck the wagon, blazing upward. Thunder crackled overhead. An inferno of coruscating blue and white burst skyward.

  Rakhal’s men, those beyond the sphere of fire, scattered and ran for their lives. Where the clingfire-dipped arrows had fallen, grass burst into hot orange flame. It sped up the wooden wheels, surging over the sides and protective canvas. With a sound like heaven itself shattering, the wagon exploded. Fiery fragments and white-hot dust spurted skyward.

  Carolin shuddered as the acrid stench of clingfire swept over him. Every instinct recoiled against it, but he steeled himself to hold firm. He must not think of the terrible danger, only upon what he had come to do.

  Burning droplets fell on the bowmen and fleeing soldiers. They ignited like living torches. Their bodies twisted and shriveled, blackening, as the fire consumed them. The rest of Rakhal’s forces, hearing the shrieks of agony of their own fellows, panicked and scattered. Many ran right on to the swords of Carolin’s own men.

  Hold the circle! Ruyven cried silent
ly. We must put out the clingfire before it rages out of control.

  Join with us! rang through the psychic firmament. In the name of everything holy, everyone who has laran, help us to hold the clingfire.

  The smell of charred flesh saturated the air. Rain began to drizzle again, but the clingfire burned on.

  Hold... hold ...

  Carolin felt the clingfire as a living thing, drawn from the pulsing heart of the planet, yet imbued with malevolence toward all living things, ravenous and implacable. It raged outward, consuming everything it touched, wagon, men, and grass. A halo of blue light, flickering like the gentlest of flames, sprang up to surround it.

  Hold... hold...

  The fires burned inward now, the blue of the laran spell mingling with the glowing red-orange of the clingfire. It left a ring of blackened earth, where there was nothing left to consume.

  “Look there!” Orain cried, pointing beyond the burning clingfire. “See where Rakhal flees with his sorcerers!”

  “After them, men!” Carolin shouted. “Take them now!”

  Carolin nudged Sunstar with his heels. For an instant, the horse froze, back arching, terrified of the fire.

  What had Romilly said as she offered the horse as a gift? He will carry you for love. Neither spur nor whip could compel courage. Shuddering yet steadfast, the stallion moved forward.

  Now I will put an end to this barbarity, Carolin thought.

  Rakhal’s standard came into view, with his men fighting furiously, covering their retreat. Step by desperate step, they fell back before the onslaught of Carolin’s men.

  One of Rakhal’s soldiers lunged at Carolin, sword in hand. On Carolin’s signal, Sunstar reared high, pawing the air. The man fell beneath the blows. One massive hoof struck the man’s head. Carolin lost his balance in the saddle for an instant, but as quickly recovered.

  Another soldier rushed up with a lightning flash of steel. The stallion swerved. Too late, Carolin saw that he himself was not the target, but the horse beneath him.

  His mind was so open, so attuned to the warhorse, that for a terrible moment, it seemed that the sword sliced through his own neck, his own throat, and that it was his own life’s blood which spurted away into the dust.

  Reflexively, he kicked his feet loose from the stirrups and rolled free. Sunstar dropped to his knees, shaking his massive head, struggling for the strength to rise ...

  ... fading, like the sky at twilight, lingering for a blessed moment. Pain fell away, and terror, and memory ...

  The horse never felt his body strike the ground. A terrible emptiness filled Carolin’s mind, the utter absence of the stallion’s vigor and courage. The man Sunstar had killed lay beneath the horse’s body. Sunstar’s head had been nearly severed.

  There will be a time to mourn, Carolin promised himself, for this death and for so many others.

  All around him, his men were fighting hard, pressing back the enemy. Steel clashed against steel. Rakhal’s men no longer shouted his name as a battle cry, but struggled on in silence.

  Carolin’s guard clustered close around him. In a break in the fighting, a man in a blood-stained Castamir tartan led up a small, mud-smeared chestnut mare. She rolled her eyes as Carolin gathered the reins, but stood for him to mount. After Sunstar’s powerful rounded back, she felt slight, hardly able to bear his weight. When he touched her with his heels, she moved off skittishly.

  Even mounted, Carolin could not make out much of the battle beyond a small circle. He longed for a vision of a sentry bird, but he could not simultaneously fly and fight.

  Just then, the remnants of Rakhal’s army made a last, frenzied assault. They charged into the main body of Carolin’s force. Carolin and his guard were swept away by the attack. Rakhal’s men fought recklessly, heedless of risk.

  For a time, Carolin’s guards were pressed hard. They drew together, fighting at close quarters. Carolin kept a tight hold of the chestnus mare. Infected with battle fever and terror, she whinnied and pranced, pulling hard at the bit.

  The battle shifted as the momentum of that last charge faded. Carolin’s men began making headway as Rakhal’s fell back, step by bloody step to the very edge of the hilltop.

  Before long, the worst of the fighting ended. Men still fought on here and there, but most of Rakhal’s forces had either fled or thrown down their weapons and fallen to their knees.

  Carolin wheeled the little mare around the summit, scanning the fields below. There were so many dead—men and beasts. The circle where clingfire and blue laran flames had mingled still gave off throat searing, greasy smoke. They dared not leave it until every mote of the infernal stuff was gone.

  He called to the nearest officer. “What of Rakhal? Captured or killed? Where is Orain?”

  “Vai dom, there is no sign of either of them, or of Lord Lyondri.”

  Dead? Escaped? That could not be, for Orain would never let Rakhal slip through his grasp, not while he had breath and strength to hinder him.

  Carolin stood in the stirrups, searching through the smoke for the yellow horse. His eyes stung and he wiped them, smearing his face with sweat and grease.

  “Find them!” The command came roaring out of Carolin. “Find them now!”

  The officer, looking very pale and young, bowed his head. He spurred his horse toward the main body of the army.

  “My lord,” the chief of Carolin’s guard said, “we have taken the field, and await your orders.”

  Carolin nodded. There was nothing he could do about Orain or Rakhal for the moment. He must establish a headquarters so that the necessary work might proceed, everything from tallying and burying the dead to arranging latrine facilities to tending the wounded and sending word to Hali.

  48

  Dusk came early, as thickening, black-bellied clouds blotted out the late afternoon sun. In between receiving reports and meeting with his officers, Carolin paced the length of his field tent, too overwrought to sit still. The losses, although fearsome, were less than he’d first thought. Rakhal’s men had taken the brunt of the clingfire, or the damage to his own forces would have been much worse. Even so, he had gone numb, hearing the roll of those identified as slain.

  Mikhail Castamir ... Ranald Ridenow, whose quick thinking and laran skill had saved the lives of so many others ... Alaric, the landless man who had ridden with him from the Kadarin ...

  With each report, he braced himself for the names he most dreaded hearing.

  Orain ... where was Orain?

  Neither he nor the yellow horse had been found. By now, it was clear Rakhal and Lyondri had escaped, together with their leronyn. Carolin tried to convince himself that Orain, along with the party of men he commanded, was still on their trail.

  Faithful, tenacious Orain who was once sworn to Lyondri’s service and now had every reason to hate his former master unto death.

  Lyondri’s death? Or Orain’s?

  No, he must not think that way. He was king. His men looked to him for command, for steadfast courage. He was their heart, their sword. Doubt was a luxury only ordinary men could afford.

  He sensed Maura’s nearness even before the guard outside spoke. Other voices joined hers, another woman and two men. The tent flap lifted. Alderic and Ruyven followed Maura inside, with Jandria a pace behind.

  Maura’s face was very white. Her hair hung in sweat-damp tendrils. A jagged scorch mark covered her sleeve from shoulder to elbow, She moved stiffly, but did not seem to be hurt. When she saw Carolin, her smile lightened her whole body. He ached to gather her into his arms.

  Ruyven inclined his head. Like the others, his face was ashen. “I regret we could not come sooner.”

  Carolin made a dismissive gesture. “What is the situation?”

  Ruyven raked his hair back with one hand, a gesture that reminded Carolin of Varzil. “We have ascertained that the clingfire is completely extinguished, and have done what we could for those still within our power to help.”

  Carolin steeled himself
to ask, “What of Orain? Has he been found?”

  “There is no trace of my father,” Alderic said. In his voice, in the weariness of his spirit, Carolin saw that he had searched the battlefield from one end to the other, with his mind as well as his eyes, and had encompassed more death than most soldiers saw in a lifetime.

  “We have looked everywhere for him,” Jandria said. “He is gone ... and so is Romilly.”

  “Romilly, missing?” Carolin echoed. His heart clenched.

  “Neither of them is among the slain,” Ruyven said, and Carolin remembered that he was Romilly’s own brother. If he and Alderic, who had Tower training, could not find her, then she must have run far away.

  “At first, we thought she might have sought comfort in the Sisterhood, as she had before,” Jandria said. “None have seen her since the battle. We feared the worst, but have not found her body.”

  “I would know if she were dead,” Ruyven said, shaking his head.

  Not dead, then, but fled into the madness born of too much pain, too much death.

  Romilly was like a wild creature in her innocent trust, the generosity of her love. She had felt the loss of the sentry birds as if they were her own children. How much keener and more devastating must the death of Sunstar, trained with her own hands and heart, have been for her?

  It was too much for her to bear. He himself had asked ever more of her in the name of saving human lives. Had he been selfish to demand so much for his own cause?

  We must find her!

  Maura met his eyes with that direct, unflinching gaze. “We will not abandon her. She may be too wounded in spirit, too sick at heart to hear us, but we will not stop until we have found her.”

  Carolin nodded. As for Orain, there was nothing more to be done, except wait for news.

  “My father is not on the battlefield,” Alderic said again. “We think he and his men must still be on the road to Hali, following Rakhal and Lyondri.”

  Carolin pressed his lips together. Yes, Rakhal would go running back to Hali, even in defeat. He was not the sort to forsake the luxury of Hastur Castle for the wilds beyond the Kadarin. Let him think himself safe in the city he had once ruled with a brutal hand. If he managed to reach it before Orain caught him, it would buy him only a short reprieve.