“Hegadil has a tendency toward inappropriate satire,” he concluded.
“In fact,” Ambius said, “I had no idea the armor looked to well on me.” He looked at the creature with a critical aspect. “Do you send him to fight the enemy?”
“Hegadil is not a warlike creature,” Vespanus said. “His specialties are construction, and, of course, its obverse, demolition.”
“But if the army is guarded by sorcery…?”
“Hegadil willl not attack the army itself,” said Vespanus, “but rather its immediate environment.”
“I shall look forward to a demonstration,” Ambius said.
Vespanus first sent Hegadil on a whirlwind tour of the enemy camps, and within an hour the madling—reappearing as a caricature of the Basileopater of Pex, a tiny white-haired man dwarfed by his voluminous robes with their blazons and quarterings—gave a complete report as to the enemy’s numbers and deployment. Both armies proved to be larger than Ambius had suspected, and it was with a doomed, distracted air that he suggested Hegadil’s next errand.
Thus it was that, shortly after midnight, a peak overhanging part of the Exarch’s army, having been completely undermined, gave way and buried several companies beneath a landslide. The army leapt to arms and let fly in all directions, a truly spectacular exhibition of firepower that put to shame the morning’s demonstration by the castle defenders.
At the alarm, the army of Pex likewise stood to its arms, though in silence until, a few hours later, a bank of the river gave way and precipitated a part of the baggage train into the ice-laden river, along with all the memrils that had drawn the supplies up the trail. Then the camp of Pex, too, fell into disorder, as soldiers tried to get themselves and their remaining supplies as far from the river as possible. Scores got lost in the dark and fell into hidden ditches and canyons, and some into the river itself.
Pleased with the results, Vespanus complimented Hegadil and promised him three months off his indenture.
In the morning, the besiegers attempted revenge, the armies’ spell-casters hurling one deadly spell after another at the castle. The air was filled with hoops of fire, with viridian rays, with scarlet needles, and with the thunder of prismatic wings. All was without effect.
“Countercharms are woven into the very fabric of this place,” Ambius said with great satisfaction, and then—thinking doubtless of Hegadil and others like him—added, “and into the rock on which it stands.”
Hegadil’s next nightly excursion was less profitable. The enemy were encamped with more care, and magical alarms placed in vulnerable areas that would alert enemy sorcerers to Hegadil’s arrival. The madling managed to brain a few sentries with rocks spirited from out of time and dropped from above, but on the whole, the evening’s venture had to be scored a failure. It was with a dispirited tread that Vespanus took himself to his quarters for a rest.
He awoke mid-afternoon, broke his fast, and joined Ambius in the Onyx Tower. There he found the Protostrator talking to a green twk-man, even smaller than the miniaturized wife in Ambius’ quarters, who had flown to the castle on a dragonfly.
“My friend brings news that an army from Pex has come to attack the castle,” Ambius reported.
“The news seems somewhat delayed.”
“It came as soon as the dragonfly permitted,” Ambius said. “Insects do not fare well at altitude, and in a chilly spring.”
“I should like to have salt now,” said the twk-man, in a firm voice.
Ambius provided the necessary nourishment.
“In summer,” he said, “there are never less than a dozen twk-men here at any one time. I see to their needs, and they provide perfect intelligence of the movements of armies and traffic on the Dimwer.”
And, Vespanus thought, gossip about the voivodes of Escani and the Despoina of Chose.
“Our enemies seem to have anticipated this,” Vespanus said.
“True. They came ahead of the dragonflies and their news.”
“And behind me,” Vespanus muttered in anger.
Vespanus peered out of the tower’s windows and saw that the enemy deployments had not changed.
“They’re waiting for something,” Ambius said. “I wish I knew what it was.”
Vespanus stroked his unshaven chin. “The two lords are proud. Can we cause discord between them, do you think?”
“In this,” said Ambius, “lies our greatest hope.”
“Allow me to stimulate their rivalry.”
At sunset, he summoned Hegadil from his resting-place in the architect’s thumb-ring. The madling was instructed to level the top of a small hill to the east of the castle, beyond the range of any of its weapons, and equidistant between the two armies. A small fortress was there constructed. And, when the red sun made its sluggish climb above the horizon, it illuminated not only the battlements and miniature towers of the fortress, but the long banner that curled in the wind like a snake’s forked tongue, the banner that read, “For the Bravest.”
From the tower, Vespanus perceived a stir among the besieging soldiers, pointing arms and waggling lips. Officers were summoned. These summoned bannermen. The bannermen summoned generals. And eventually the Exarch and the Basileopater of Pex were observed on their individual knolls, studying the fortress by means of far-seeing devices.
After that, a patrol was seen heading toward the fortress from the army of Calabrande. Perceiving this, the army of Pex sent its own patrol. The patrols surrounded the fortress and sent scouts inside. These returned to their units with the news that the fortress contained only a single long couch, suitable for a single person to take his rest.
Both patrols returned to their respective armies. Then, for several hours, nothing happened. The officers retired to their luncheon. The sentries returned to their drowsy patrols. The dull red sun crawled across the dark sky like a blood-bloated spider.
Vespanus cursed his useless scheme, and went to bed.
Just before nightfall, another patrol came from each army, soldiers accompanied by enchanters, and they set up a camp on the flat country in the shadow of the fortress. One designated champion of each army, armed to the teeth, walked into the fortress, where they presumably spent the night, like shy virgins, perched on either end of the couch.
Certainly, they expected to be attacked. And just as certainly, they were not—the castle’s defenders lacked even that much power. In the morning, the champions strutted out to polite applause from their followers, and then made their way to their respective armies.
“We have made a beginning,” Vespanus said.
“Not now,” said Ambius.
He was in his morning conference with the twk-men. Four more had arrived, a small squadron, and he gave them instructions to carry messages and to observe the enemy.
“My friends tell me that five barges are coming down the Dimwer from Calabrande,” Ambius said. “Each contains a large object, but these items are shrouded by canvas.”
“I mislike this attempt at concealment,” said Vespanus.
“I also,” said Ambius. “I also recall, with a certain foreboding, our speculation that the enemy forces were waiting for something, and now wonder if this might be the arrival that will precipitate their grand assault. I will sent one of the twk-men to view these barges in greater detail.”
The twk-man scout had not returned by the afternoon. Ambius chewed his upper lip.
“Perhaps,” he said, “Hegadil might be of use.”
Hegadil was sent to view the barges, and returned some moments later. He reported that each barge contained a cradle that held a bottle-shaped object some eight paces in length, each made of dark metal chased with elaborate silver Flower-and-Thorn designs. Some of these he traced on the tower walls with a finger.
“Projectors of the Halcyon Detonation!” Ambius exclaimed. “Our cause is lost!”
Vespanus attempted to stifle his alarm. “How so?” he said. “Did you not say that the fortress was proof against any form of magic?�
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“Magic, yes!” Ambius said. “But the Projectors do not employ magic, but rather an ancient form of mechanics no more magical than a fire-arrow. The Halcyon Detonation can blast our walls to bits!”
Vespanus turned to Hegadil. “How long before the barges arrive at the enemy camp?”
The madling—he had appeared today in the form of Austeri-Pranz, one of Vespanus’ instructors at Roë, an intimidating man with bulging, rolling eyes and a formidable overbite—gave the question his consideration.
“Two more days, perhaps,” he judged.
“Two more days!” Ambius echoed. “And then the end!”
“Don’t despair,” Vespanus said, though with the sense that he was speaking more to himself than to his companion. “I shall send Hegadil to sink the barges!”
“They will be prepared for such an attempt,” Ambius said.
“Nevertheless…” Vespanus turned to Hegadil.
“May I complete my report?” Hegadil said.
“Yes. There is more?”
“Each of the barges contains between seven and ten bargemen. There are also a dozen soldiers on each craft, one officer, and an enchanter. Pinned to the prow of the first barge, with a silver needle, is the corpse of a twk-man.”
“When you sink the barges,” Vespanus said, “you must avoid being run through with a needle, or indeed with anything else.”
The madling rolled Austeri-Pranz’s eyes at him.
“How do you wish me to proceed?” he asked.
“Rip the bottoms out of the craft. Undermine the rivernbank and sent it crashing into them. Drop large stones from above. Whatever best suits your talents and imagination.”
“Very well,” the madling said dubiously, and vanished, only to return moments later.
“The barges have magical protections,” he said. “I was unable to sink them, or to drop anything upon them. They travel in the middle of the river, and are not vulnerable to collapsing banks.”
“Build a mound in the center of the river, beneath the waters,” Vespanus said. “Make its height such that the barges can just clear it. Then take some of the spikes from the castle roofs, and plant them in the mound.” He looked at Ambius in triumph. “We will tear out the bottoms of the barges.”
Ambius waved a hand. “Let the attempt be made.”
Hegadil was sent forth again, only to have the barges detour neatly around the obstacle. The attempt was made again, with like result.
Ambius looked bleakly out of the window.
“Continue your plan to sow distrust among our enemies,” he said. “It is all we can hope for.”
“I wonder,” Vespanus said, “if the promise of liberty would motivate your wife into fighting in defense of Castle Abrizonde?”
Ambius considered this for a moment, then shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said.
That night, Hegadil demolished the fortress in which the enemy champions had waited, and built instead a golden-domed structure ornamented at the corners by allegorical figures representing Knowledge, Truth, Sapience, and Insight. The banner overhead said, “For the Wisest.”
Again scouts trooped out, again parties left the armies at sunset. Two magicians, magnificently bearded respectively in copper and midnight-black, approached the structure with their guards, and entered.
In the morning, they marched out again, their beards unruffled, their expressions a little puzzled.
“What next?” asked Ambius. “For the Cleanest? For the Most Fashionable?”
“You shall see,” said Vespanus.
During the day, a wide-ranging, ingenious assortment of ruses were employed to effect the destruction of the barges, but with no success. The barges and their deadly cargo were expected within the day. Hegadil reported that the enemy magicians on the barges now bore identical superior smirks on their faces.
That night, the madling demolished the mansion of the magicians and built instead a palace faced with veined marble, crowned with lacy towers, and with a great flag proclaiming For the Greatest Ruler. Ambius paced the tower room in unsettled silence, chewing his upper lip. Vespanus did his best to sleep.
Shortly before nightfall, the Exarch and the Basileopater, each commanding a battalion of elite troops, crossed to the palace and took their places in what they must have known was a trap. Vespanus rejoiced that their vanity did not permit them to behave otherwise.
Once again, Vespanus had no intention of attacking those in the palace directly. He, and Castle Abrizonde, entirely lacked the means.
Instead, he instructed Hegadil to seal the palace from the outside, and then to plate the palace with enormous sheets of adamantine metal. If Vespanus could not actually kill the inhabitants, he would do his best to seal them inside, after which he would fill the interior with a poisonous vapor.
After he sent Hegadil on his errand, Vespanus paced back and forth on the battlements as he awaited the outcome of his scheme. The field was silent, the night cold. In his mind, Vespanus pictured vast sheets of armor being lowered silently into place, all along the distant palace.
Then there was a sudden flare of light that limned the marble towers of the palace, followed by a rush and a clap of thunder. More flashes followed, red, yellow, and blazing orange, and the air was filled with shrieks, war cries, and the beating of invisible wings.
Vespanus cursed his luck, his ancestors, and every human being for fifty leagues round. Before he was quite finished, Hegadil appeared by his side—once again in the form of Austeri-Pranz, a sight alarming enough without the addition, in this case, of charred, smoking clothing and a singed beard.
“Alas,” Hegadil croaked, “they were prepared. I barely escaped annihilation.”
Disgusted by the turn of events, Vespanus opened his thumb-ring and let Hegadil take his healing rest there. He then took himself to bed.
In the morning, he awoke to the sounds of acclamation, as the two enemy lords left the palace to the cheers of their armies. Vespanus bent his mind entirely to the subject of escape. In the confusion of the final assault, he thought, he might be able to swim the river, possibly with Hegadil’s assistance, and then take refuge in a shelter created by the madling while the enemy armies went about their business…
It was a wretched, dangerous plan, but it was the only one that occurred to him.
He rose, broke his fast, and went to the Onyx Tower. A pair of twk-men orbited the Protostrator’s head in gay silence, as out-of-place as a cheerful red cap on the statue of a Deodand. Ambius, his round face by now set in an expression of permanent dolor, gestured toward the armies of Calabrande. Looking from the window, Vespanus saw that a ridge-top, out of range of any of the castle’s weapons, had been perfectly leveled.
“A platform for the Projectors of Halcyon Detonation,” Ambius said. “The twk-men inform me that the barges will arrive at the enemy camp later this morning. Afterwards, it will take the army most or all of the day to drag the weapons from the landing-stage to their position. We may expect the grand assault at dawn tomorrow.”
“It would take a sandestin, or a madling like Hegadil, to level that ridge overnight,” Vespanus said.
Ambius merely shrugged. “Why should they not outnumber us in sandestins, as they do in all else?” he said.
“Perhaps we should find out.”
Vespanus opened his thumb-ring and summoned Hegadil. The creature appeared in the form of a dead twk-man, green skin turned gray, a needle thrust like a spear through his abdomen.
“Abandon this distasteful form,” Vespanus said, “go to the ridge yonder, and discover if you can undermine it and drop the Projectors into a pit of your own creation.”
Hegadil was gone for three or four minutes, and then returned, this time as a dwarfed Exarch, the lord’s habitual superior smile now turned to a deranged leer.
“A sandestin named Quaad guards the platform,” he reported. “He is far stronger than I, and informed me that he would tear me to bits if I attempted any digging.”<
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Vespanus opended the thumb-ring.
“You may return to your rest.”
When Hegadil was bottled up, Vespanus went to the windows and manipulated their adjustable properties to give himself a closer view of the ridge.
“Those are engineers on the site,” he said. “They employ instruments familiar to me from their uses in architecture and surveying—tripods and alidades, chains and rods, altazimuths and dividing engines. Are they proposing to build something there?”
“The opposite,” said Ambius. “They intend destruction. They measure precisely the distance and angle to the castle, so that the Projectors may be better aimed so as to blast us to ruin.”
Vespanus paused for a moment to absorb the melancholy implications of this revelation. Suddenly, diving into the Dimwer did not seem so dreadful a plan. Ambius, who now seemed very diminished in his grand array, slowly rose to his feet.
“I fear it is time to visit my wife,” he said.
Curious, Vespanus followed Ambius to his quarters. Ambius either did not mind his presence, or was unaware of it. The Protostrator disarmed the various traps on his door, then led Vespanus again into his study.
This time he found himself with a better view of the Protostrate—she was a buxom woman, with wiry hair, and, even at her current size, a piercing voice. From the Protostrator’s attempts to communicate with her, Vespanus gathered her name was Amay.
Amay began abusing Ambius as soon as he entered the room and continued throughout the interview. The gist of her comments—leaving aside the personal references to Ambius, his person, and his habits—was that she would delight in the destruction of the castle, and would not prevent it if she could.
Perceiving that his arguments were futile, Ambius shrugged and walked to a shelf, where he found a vial filled with an amber liquid. Loosening the stopper, he poured a single drop into the neck of the crystal bottle, whereupon Amay staggered, spat, and collapsed into unconsciousness.
“Sometimes it is necessary to think in silence,” he said, as he returned the vial to its shelf, “and this narcotic will guarantee my peace for some hours.”
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