“You know,” he said, “I don’t think either of you realizes how close he came to winning over the N’Ombs with that bird attack—I’m sure he was behind it.”
“So what if he was?” Jessica replied. “It didn’t work. I think you spent too much time listening to Ramsey. Despite all of S’York’s efforts, and Derek S’Mayler’s too, York didn’t manage to enlist the League’s help or to break the N’Omb neutrality. Time’s run out for them; it’s too late for them to get any major allies now. The war began the day our troops crossed into
York, and in a few days, perhaps a few weeks, Castle York itself will be ours.”
“I hate to break off this fascinating discussion, but it is getting late, and we wouldn’t want the battle to start without us, you know? The surprise will be on York when they discover that we are ready for their attack.” S’Stratford rose and stretched his short, slim arms above his head. Then he gathered up his cloak and rune-covered staff. “We’d better get going outside. I’ll give some final instructions to my men. Jessica, you can take Sinclair out to the front lines.”
The Red Witch took Jaxton’s hand and led him outside. “We’ve had a charmed circle set up for days, of course. When Taral sent word that there would be an attack tonight, Douglas and I set up a few more wards in the area.”
The circle was painted on a rocky ridge just behind the front lines. The place had an unencumbered view of the York fortress and of most of the surrounding countryside. Four three-foot-high rune posts were placed equal distances apart along the circumference of the circle. Several chairs and a table had been set up inside.
Jessica S’Logan extended her hand over the northern post. Then she let the powerstone in her ring touch the pole’s pointed top as she recited an opening spell. The engraved runes glowed a dull yellow, and the circle of blood on the ground seemed to shimmer as she entered.
Jaxton followed her example, using the Pendant of Thantos as the key to the warded area. Once inside he made himself a meal from the provisions stacked under the table and half-listened to the Red Witch chat about the war’s progress and the new gowns she would order when it was over. Finally S’Stratford arrived and cast the last, binding spells that made the circle almost impregnable. During the attack they would be able to use their power to defend the troops and to return fire without having to expend any protecting themselves.
While they waited, the almost full moon rose higher in the sky, casting a silver glow over the dark gray stones of Castle York. The fortress remained quiet, as though its occupants really slept. The only signs of life were the flickering torches upon the outer wall that lighted the way for the usual night watch.
The Empire troops had moved quietly into position. The catapults and ballistae stood ready. They waited.
As midnight came and passed, the air seemed to tingle with the tension. Jaxton’s eyes hurt as he strained to see any change on the castle walls. His back ached from sitting in the stiff wooden chair too long, so he paced around the table. Feeling like a trapped animal in a cage defined by the blood-red line that ringed them, he struggled to relax, knowing that part of the psychic energy he’d built up in preparation for the battle was beginning to leak away with the tension.
Douglas S’Stratford sat leaning back in his chair with his staff raised and pointed at the moon. His swarthy skin glistened with sweat as he concentrated on building up his own power reserves.
Jessica brought out a mirror and began inscribing a rune upon its surface as she chanted. Her spell could be keyed to any of the other members of the Council of Seven who had similar rune-activated mirrors. They would be able to see and hear one another through the devices.
She contacted each of the Council members in turn, but none had any activity to report.
By one-thirty the attack still had not begun. Suddenly there was a slight crackle of static behind Jaxton, and he turned to find Jessica receiving a message from Taral. Taral’s voice was as cold and hard as frozen earth in winter as he announced that York had learned that they knew of the surprise attack. Now York had postponed its attack, so that Taral could no longer be sure when it would take place. However, he thought that it would come in the next few hours.
“N’Omb’s damnation!” cried Jaxton as he recognized York’s cleverness. When York had found out that Taral had learned of its plans, it had turned the tables on him by delaying the attack. While York’s men relaxed for a few more hours and perhaps got some extra sleep, Taral’s men would be forced to remain alert, waiting for an attack that would probably come only when they’d grown tired and irritated. Yet Taral couldn’t run the risk of letting his men rest when the assault might come at any time; so they were compelled to wait the night out on York’s terms.
Jaxton studied the dark walls of the fortress silhouetted against the predawn sky. It was so quiet that he could almost imagine that it had been deserted.
Without warning, the night’s silence exploded into sound as York’s ballistae spewed forth heavy bolts and stones. The projectiles glowed faintly as they thundered into the Empire positions, since sorcery was boosting them farther than the normal range of about four hundred yards. Catapults sent arrows whistling through the sky, and at the same time streamers of light arched out over the castle as the ballistae launched balls of fire toward the supply depot in the southwest.
Jaxton and the other sorcerers around the line of battle blocked the hail of missiles and turned some back toward the citadel. The air blazed with sparks as spells clashed with counterspells above the battlefield. While the barrage continued, the wind began to whip into hurricane force, shafts of energy sailed toward the troops, and darts of light that exploded on contact lit the sky. During the turmoil Jessica relayed instructions from Taral, while S’Stratford pointed his staff toward the castle and murmured a spell that could dissolve the mortar holding its stones together. Jaxton concentrated on defense.
Then the moonlight touching the fields nearest Taral’s position in the southwest began to shimmer and twist like steam rising toward the sun on a hot summer day. The light churned, coalesced, and solidified into the shapes of men, who ran into the massed troops and engaged them with swords of light that cut as sharply as steel. Most of the shadow-figures wavered and seemed to melt as Taral lashed back with a counterspell, but some continued to wreak havoc on the line, for they were indestructible unless hit with a blade made of silver.
One of the other sorcerers must have blocked the wind spell, for the gusts whirled into a dark funnel that sliced back toward the castle and then dissipated in a sudden whoosh as the forces canceled each other out.
The castle’s battlements glowed when S’Stratford’s spell hit rune-activated protective wards. The two parapets atop the outer wall disintegrated under the force of his attack. Suddenly the ground under them shook as a volley of counterspells forced S’Stratford to break off his assault.
Jessica reported that although the major offensive was aimed at their supplies, Derek S’Mayler’s men had also begun a coordinated attack behind their lines in the east.
As the first rays of the sun touched the battlefield, the tempo of the conflict changed. When the rays reached the shadow soldiers, they dissolved into morning mist. The bombardment of rocks and projectiles stopped. The Empire sorcerers completely blocked York’s spells and began to counterattack in earnest.
For a time the breeze seemed to sing the chants of the spells and counterspells. Then the battlefield grew still as the exhausted sorcerers on both sides gradually halted their attacks.
The outcome of the combat seemed clear to Jaxton. York had hit them with a full-scale attack against all fronts and had been stopped cold. Taral had successfully defended their supplies and returned fire as well. Empire casualties were few, and York’s defensive spells had been penetrated.
Although York had struck with full force, Taral’s sorcerers had retained some power reserves. More important, the strength of Taral’s army had not even been tested against the castle, a
nd it surely would be greater than that of the outnumbered forces inside York’s walls.
Evidently Taral had come to the same conclusions, for shortly after the attack ended, he sent word to Douglas S’Stratford that preparations were to begin immediately for an all-out offensive. Scaling ladders were to be brought to the front lines, the siege towers were to be completed immediately, and sorcery was to be used to augment the digging of tunnels and approach trenches.
Jaxton considered the possibilities. The final stage had come in Taral’s conquest of York. Even if York were to concentrate all its power on defense, it could be only a matter of weeks before its fall. Then the former Eastern Kingdoms would be completely consolidated under the Empire’s banner, and the last rebel enclaves would be destroyed. Afterward, Taral would conquer the Sylvan, and in a few years the Western League would crumble.
With the loss of Ramsey and probably other members of the Council of Seven during the wars, the way would be clear for Jaxton to become a Council member. Jessica S’Logan would surely sponsor him once the current conflict ended.
York would need a new governor, and if he became Lord of Akron it would be logical for him to oversee the nearest captured kingdoms, such as Wessex and Cascar. If things worked out right, he’d be able to carve himself a niche among the richest provinces in the expanding Empire.
In Jaxton’s mind the promise of his future suddenly flared as brightly as the rising sun.
17
Three days later, Hawk and Ro had almost reached the skytree forest of Alycia. They had ridden hard, crisscrossing through streams and over rocky areas to cover their trail. Although Ro’s wound had not reopened, she was still weak, and Hawk knew that at times she’d been riding in an almost trancelike state of fatigue and pain, with only stubborn determination keeping her from slipping into unconsciousness.
The sustained pace probably would have killed their horses if Hawk hadn’t traded them to a farmer for fresh mounts. Their new horses were no beauties, and the farmer had gotten a bargain by trading two old plow mares for well-bred, if exhausted, saddle horses, but the mares could take them the rest of the way.
The morning sun’s image reflected and refracted into a thousand golden coins across the surface of the creek that paralleled their trail. Abruptly the brook dipped, tripped over a shallow waterfall, and rushed into a river. At the juncture the path they traveled merged into a hard dirt road that followed the river northward to Elmera and southward through the outskirts of the skytree forest, until the stream fed into the larger Susannah River forming the western border of the Kingdom of Cascar.
They turned south, and soon small skytrees appeared. Hawk looked back at Ro. She leaned forward, resting her fever-flushed face against the mare’s neck. When she noticed Hawk’s glance, she pulled herself erect and smiled slightly, as if to say she was all right. However, Hawk suspected that the wound had become infected and that her condition was more serious than she would admit. The only thing that reassured him was that they would soon be in the Sylvan village, where Ro would receive adequate food, rest, and medical treatment.
Then as the skytree forest thickened around them, hoofbeats echoed through the woods. Before they could react, riders appeared on the road ahead. The black and silver uniforms identified them as an Empire border patrol.
Hawk felt a surge of frustration and anger. It seemed bitterly ironic to be within the fringes of the Alycia forest only to run headlong into enemy soldiers.
As the patrol sighted them and slowed, Hawk quickly considered his options. If they tried to dash for the forest’s safety, they’d be downed by the soldiers’ arrows before they could get fifty feet. To fight it out with a dozen soldiers seemed out of the question, even if Ro had not been injured. He might have tried creating a diversion with attacking birds, but the ceiling of skytree leaves and branches overhead was too thick to allow tight maneuvering of a flock.
Since they seemed to have no choice except to brazen it out, Hawk prodded his horse forward.
Raising his left hand in a wave, he called out “Good morning!” as he reached and passed the patrol leader.
Somewhat surprised, the soldier nodded in return. His horse continued several steps farther before it suddenly clicked in the man’s mind that there was something very wrong about the two pilgrims passing him. Immediately he wheeled his horse and galloped back toward them, yelling “Hold on there!” His column ground to a halt, and several of the men at its tail fanned outward, blocking Hawk’s path.
The young officer slowly inspected Hawk’s somewhat tattered robes and the stained side of Ro’s pilgrim garb. However, that did not bother him as much as the tip of the sword he’d seen hanging out from under the edge of Hawk’s cloak.
“Sorry to bother you, but we have to search all travelers.” The officer waved a couple of his men forward.
“Of course.” Hawk smiled and dismounted. “I hope this won’t take long, my wife’s horse took a fall and she bruised her side rather badly. We’ve had a long trip, and we’re anxious to get home.”
Inwardly Hawk congratulated himself on his coolness. Perhaps his constant exposure to Ro’s self-assurance under pressure had given him a measure of his own.
The officer’s voice was brittle with suspicion. “I take it you were visiting the shrine at Elmera?”
“Yes. We received N’Omb’s blessing on our spring planting.”
“And did he bless your sword while he was at it?” said the officer sarcastically as he drew his own blade and used its tip to lift Hawk’s cloak and reveal Hawk’s sword.
Hawk grinned sheepishly. “Oh, I know the priests don’t like us to carry weapons on a pilgrimage—but what’s a man to do? These woods are full of deserters from York’s army, I hear, and they are not above waylaying a poor farmer for a few pennies or stealing his horses, even these old nags.”
He glanced up at Ro’s calm green eyes and thought he read approval in them. Suddenly she frowned and almost imperceptibly cocked her head, as if she heard something.
“Would you like to see the blade? It is a nice one,” Hawk continued casually as he drew out the sword and offered it to the soldier for examination. Then he let a little fear creep into his face. “You wouldn’t tell the priest about it, would you?”
But the officer’s face had turned as hard and cold as his voice. “This is an Empire sword. Where did you get it?”
“Yes, a beauty isn’t it?” Hawk replied guilelessly. “I bought it in Elmera last time I visited. You people do make a fine blade. I suppose the merchants have quite a supply of them, what with all this fighting.”
Despite Hawk’s expression of wide-eyed innocence and his convincing tone, he could see that the officer did not completely believe the story.
Although the soldier’s expression had eased somewhat, he said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to confiscate this. It is illegal for merchants to sell Imperial Army equipment. You and your wife will have to accompany us back to Elmera for further questioning. We will want to check your story and … “
He got no further than that, for a high-pitched wail like an elephant’s scream resounded through the trees, and the soldier’s head snapped back as though it had been struck.
Before Hawk consciously identified the source of the sound, it was in their midst—a huge mass of green fur dropping from a tree to smash one of the horses and its master into bloody, broken flesh in seconds. There was only the one osmur, but one was enough. Men shouted, drew swords, and tried to drive their frenzied mounts out of the path of the fifteen-foot apelike monster. However, the osmur moved faster—breaking the neck of the next horse, tossing a soldier into the air, throwing another man against a horse so forcibly that the animal fell over, pinning its rider underneath.
In the pandemonium of rearing, screaming, bolting horses, Ro’s and Hawk’s animals stood their ground under Ro’s telepathic control, enabling Hawk to mount.
Then the osmur turned toward the officer and the two soldiers standing near him
. It parried their blades as though they were table knives and slashed with its claws. Roaring again, it charged them, using its tusks and teeth as weapons.
Ro’s horse galloped forward, and Hawk instinctively spurred his horse after her. The osmur howled, and Hawk shivered, half-expecting to feel its claws rip him from his horse’s back.
Then he saw tall figures in the gloom ahead of them. As he slowed and started to swerve the mare away, he realized that they were Sylvan, not osmurs.
When he reached them he recognized Coleman’s half-brother, Elihen, and the telepath-communicator, Proter. The third man stood alone, pressing his left hand against a skytree trunk while he concentrated intently. His painted left cheek identified him as a defender.
“You have the plaque?” asked Proter brusquely.
Hawk nodded. He started to ask what they were doing there, but Proter interrupted: “Please come now. We’ll answer your questions later.”
Elihen took the mares’ reins and led them deeper into the woods. The defender remained behind, still standing motionless staring back at the road.
When they entered the darkened center of the forest, more Sylvan appeared, to lead their horses away and send their meager belongings aloft.
Hawk helped Ro down from her saddle. She had become quite pale, and he knew that she would never be able to make the strenuous climb to the village. When he told Elihen about her wound, the half-Sylvan immediately called for a basketlike seat to be lowered. After Ro was lifted into the trees, other ropes dropped down and were used to pull Hawk and the Sylvan upward in several stages, until at last Hawk found himself on the outskirts of the village. Ro was nowhere in sight.
He turned to Elihen. “Where is Ro?”
“She’ll be given tomaad and cared for while you report to Feder.” He leaned toward Hawk as Proter led the way toward Feder’s council chambers and said softly, “I’m glad you got back with the plaque; I’ve received word from Coleman that Castle York is under attack.”
Master of Hawks Page 19