Gar came panting up, blood running from cuts on his cheeks and brow and staining the fabric of sleeves and tights. "Where have you been?" Gianni snapped, then saw the man's wounds and was instantly sorry. "Your pardon . . ."
"Given," Gar panted, "and gladly. It was not only here that they came ashore, but at every dock and water stair all around the island. I suspected it the instant I heard the alarm and ordered troops to every such site. Then I led my marines from one outbreak of clamor to another. We have run long, Gianni, but we have pushed the lords' men back into the sea."
"It was well done," Gianni said, eyes wide. "You are wounded, Gar!"
"Nothing but cuts," the giant told him, "and you have a few yourself."
"Do I really?" Gianni touched his cheek and was amazed to see the hand come away bloodied.
Gar looked him up and down quickly. "Again, nothing of any danger, but we shall have to see the physician to be sure. I fear many of our men came off much worse—and many more of the enemy."
"Yes . . ." Gianni's gaze strayed to a black-clothed heap near them. "The poor slaves ... How did they ever think of a ruse so simple, yet so subtle?"
"They didn't," Gar said, lips pressed thin. "This is not the sort of thing that would occur to a Taliponese nobleman raised on tales of chivalry and battle glamour. Test that man's tunic, Gianni. Try to tear it."
Puzzled, Gianni knelt by the corpse and yanked at the fabric. It gave not at all. "Silk?" he asked, amazed. "For thousands of warriors?"
"Not silk." Gar handed down his dagger. "Cut it." Gianni tried. He tried hard, even sawed at it. Finally, he looked up at Gar in amazement. "What is this stuff?"
"The mark of the Lurgan traders," Gar told him, "and if you tested that black face paint he wears, you would find it to be no simple lampblack and tallow, but something far more exotic. The Lurgans told the lords how to plan this raid, Gianni, and gave them the materials to make it work."
Gianni stared up, appalled. "Are they war advisers now?"
"Apparently so," Gar said darkly. "We knew they recognized Pirogia as a threat, didn't we?"
And yourself, Gianni thought, staring up at the grim, craggy face—but he most definitely didn't say it.
From that time on, the sentries stayed alert again, staring twice at every shadow—but needlessly, as it turned out. There were no more night raids, for Pirogian caravels patrolled the channel between the city and the mainland. The grumbling in the lords' camp grew ever worse, and morale ever lower, according to the reports from the spies there. The Pirogians welcomed each new caravel that brought them food, and toasted its sailors with the wine from its casks. Gar, of course, grew more and more tense, more and more hollow-eyed, stalking the battlements muttering to himself. Finally, Gianni asked him why, and Gar answered, "Things are going too well."
Very well, indeed, for the people of Pirogia. Even better, courier boats brought word from other cities, and caravels took arms to them—but they were all port cities, and none lacked for food. They were having more difficulty defending their walls, since only Pirogia had a natural moat to protect it—but none of the inland lords had so very big an army by himself, and all his allies were sitting and fuming outside the walls of their own merchant towns, or with the prince at Pirogia. Gar sent cannons and crossbows and advice, and watched the stew boiling in the prince's camp with a grin.
They also seemed to lack knowledge of sanitation, these inland soldiers who had never lived in groups of more than a hundred with no less than a mile between villages. It wasn't long before the offshore wind bore their stench to Pirogia, and the soldiers the Pirogians captured in their endless sinking of new vessels told tales of dysentery and cholera stalking the camp.
"They're weakening nicely," Gar told Gianni, "but the noblemen only have to learn better siege tactics, and I'm sure they won't lack for advisers."
Gianni thought of the fake Gypsies and the dour Lurgan traders, and nodded. "Do they really know so much of war?"
"No," Gar admitted, "but they have no shortage of books to tell them of it."
Gianni stared—he certainly hadn't thought there would be much room for books in the caravans—but he didn't doubt Gar.
The Wizard appeared in Gianni's dream that night, and told you, You do well, you and your giant barbarian. You hold the lords at bay, here and all around the coastline—but that is not enough.
What then? Gianni asked, amazed.
You must give them reason to leave, and more importantly, an honorable reason to leave—of a sort.
Gianni frowned. What sort of reason could there be, for giving up ignominiously and going home?
A diversion, said the Wizard, and explained.
Gar thought it was a capital idea when Gianni repeated the explanation to him. "Wonderful!" he cried, slapping his knee. "How do you think of these things, Gianni?"
"I really haven't the faintest idea." For his part, Gianni was just glad it had been Gar's knee and not his own.
That night, when the docks were dark and deserted except for the sentries Gar kept posted, a hundred marines with fifteen gunners, ten horses, and five cannon boarded two long, lean, dark-colored ships—captured galleys outfitted with proper sails. Off they went into the night, and as far as Pirogia was concerned, they ceased to exist for a week. Gar and Gianni were both with them, leaving the captain of the guard in command with Vincenzio as his second. The scholar had shown an amazing talent for commanding men; Gianni thought it came from his years of cajoling and maneuvering people into giving him money and helping him go from town to town, saving to return to the university.
By dusk, they were well past the prince's lines, and far enough to the north that a single night's march should take them to Tumanola, the Raginaldis' city. The galleys rowed into a little bay as far as they could and anchored; then longboats began the tedious process of ferrying men and equipment ashore. When they were all gathered, the galley weighed anchor but rowed only as far away as the shadows of the high bluffs that warded the little port. The marines hoisted their packs and began to march, the gunners right behind them with their horses.
It was a long march, and all the men gazed down with relief when they came to the top of the slope that led down to Tumanola. Gar wouldn't let them rest, though, until they had all moved silently into the positions he assigned them, and camouflaged themselves. Then he posted sentries and let his marines collapse gratefully behind their blinds. Gianni collapsed, too, and took what sleep he could, until Gar waked him to take the second watch. Gianni spent the next four hours moving as silently as he could from sentry post to sentry post, but always found his men awake, if not terribly alert. He glowed with pride, and was quite unsure that he would be able to keep the vigil as well as they, with so little sleep—but he did.
Gar woke them all at dawn. They breakfasted as they had supped—on clear water, cold journey bread, and jerky. Then, as the sun warmed the earth, Gar gave the signal for the bombardment to begin.
Cannon boomed to the east and west of the city, slamming boulders into the walls. Alarms rattled inside the city, and the home guard came running to the ramparts. They couldn't know that the booming from east and west came from cannon with no ammunition to throw, that now belched only blank charges; they could only assume the gunners were very poor shots.
But the three cannon before the central gate had boulders and iron balls and fired at five-minute intervals, each shot striking the city gates.
How could they hold? It was amazing they lasted the hour. But when they began to crack worse and worse with each shot, the home guard gathered around, crossbows and pikes at the ready—so as the final shots crashed through the wood, splintering the huge panels, they didn't hear the shouts of alarm from the few sentries left along the wall as scaling ladders slammed into place and grapnels bit into the top of the wall. Those sentries ran to push the ladders away, shouting for all they were worth, but they were too few, and the marines swarming up the wall to their grapnels were far greater in number
than those on the ladders. In five minutes, Gar's marines held the ramparts, and Gar himself was leading the assault on the gate from the west while Gianni led from the east. The defenders finally heard them coming, in lulls between purposeless cannon fire; they turned just in time for bolts and spears to bring them down. A few of them did manage to shoot a bolt or hurl a spear, and a few marines died, but the rest of it was slaughter until the soldiers threw up their arms, shouting for mercy.
"Hold!" Gar shouted, and his men froze in midstride. "Sergeants, send men to secure the prisoners!" he snapped. "Soldiers of Tumanola! You have fought well, but you have been outflanked! Lay down your arms and mercy will be yours!"
Warily, the soldiers laid down their pikes and crossbows, and marines stepped up to lash their arms behind them. Then, with the soldiers lined up against the wall and sitting, bound with a score of marines to guard them, the rest advanced on the castle.
"It looks formidable indeed." Gianni shuddered, remembering.
"It looks so, yes," Gar agreed, "but we know better, don't we, Gianni? After all, we've been inside—and there can't be more than a few score soldiers left to guard it, since most of them are with the prince at Pirogia."
Gianni looked up in surprise, but when he saw Gar's grin, he began to smile, too.
The only difficult part of the siege of the castle was bringing the cannon up the slope into firing position opposite the drawbridge. The defenders started a hail of bolts even before the gunners and their horses came in range—which gave the marines a convenient supply of ammunition as they moved up the slope ahead of the cannon, keeping up such a continuous fire that the defenders could scarcely lift their heads above the wall. The drawbridge fell as cannonballs broke its chains, and struck the shore with a boom almost equaling that of the artillery. Then the gunners sent buckets of nails over the parapets to keep the defenders down while Gar led his marines charging across the bridge, ramming spears through the arrow slits in the gatehouse and firing in staggered ranks, the back row finishing reloading and running to the front as the first rank retired.
The continuous fire kept most of the defenders prudently down; the few bold ones died with bolts in their chests. A few marines died, too, but their mates came up behind the defenders and grappled hand to hand, knocking them out. Then, in parties of a dozen, they went through the castle from top to bottom, until they were satisfied that it was completely secure.
"A whole city and its castle taken with only a hundred men!" Gianni was dizzy at the thought.
"Yes, but there were only three hundred defending it," Gar reminded him. "We did lose twenty-three men, too." At the thought, his face turned somber.
"My husband shall be revenged upon you!" the princess raged. "You lowborn upstarts shall learn the meaning of royal wrath! You shall be hanged, but cut down before you are dead, then have your entrails drawn forth before your still-living eyes! The end shall come only when your bodies are cut in four pieces and hung up as warnings throughout the city!"
"Perhaps, Highness," Gar said with grave courtesy, "but until your royal husband comes, you shall keep to your apartments with all your ladies. Guards, escort them!" Still, it was he himself who stalked behind the princess, and one look at the determination in his eyes left her no doubt that he would pick her up and carry her bodily if he had to. She shuddered and turned away, lifting her chin and marching proudly to her chambers.
With her shut in and well guarded, and all the castle's servants and defenders locked in the dungeons,
Gianni finally asked, "How long before the prince learns his castle is taken?"
"He knows already." Gar nodded toward the highest tower. "Remember the stone egg? I'm sure the princess used it before she came down to rebuke us. In fact, let's go and listen."
Puzzled, Gianni followed Gar up to the high tower. Sure enough, they found the egg already talking to itself, the heavily accented Lurgan voice alternating with the prince's. "Leave at least a partial force to keep the Pirogians in," the Lurgan voice pleaded.
"Why?" snapped the prince in his cultured (but infuriated) tone. "They come and go as they please in their confounded caravels! Take Pirogia yourselves, if you need it! I and all my allies go to take back my ancestral city and house!"
Gianni cheered, and so did the marines who heard with him. The cheering ran down the stairs and through the garrison, but Gar only stood watching the stone with glowing eyes.
He was up in that room now and then for the next few days, as they waited for the prince and his men. The marine couriers moved more quickly on the converted galleys, and the army of Pirogia moved just as quickly in more of the same ships. They came marching through the gates of Tumanola a full day before the prince and his troops came in sight. They drew up their lines that night, and thousands of campfires blossomed outside the city walls. Gar walked the parapets, reassuring his men; Gianni took his message to the rest of the defenders. "Be warned. Tomorrow, huge metal fish may drop from the skies and fire lightning bolts. Don't be frightened, for a golden wheel will strike them out of the air."
He didn't believe a word of either promise himself, but he did ask Gar about it later. "Where could these metal fish come from, and how could they fly?"
"By magic," Gar said, with a brittle smile, and Gianni could only sigh for patience. "As to where, they shall come from the Lurgan Company—and the golden wheel will be Herkimer."
Gianni frowned. "You mean from this wizard Herkimer, don't you?"
"No," Gar said, and wouldn't explain it any further.
The barrage began at dawn, but most of the shot fell short—the prince's cannon were nowhere nearly as good as those of Pirogia, whose foundries had worked according to Gar's advice. Gar's gunners managed to shoot down their opponents methodically, one by one, and the prince, in exasperation, ordered his army to charge.
It was suicidal even at a hundred yards, for Gar's gunners had all the buckets in the city now, and all the nails. The prince's men died as they ran—but between cannon shots, the remnant came closer and closer. They faltered, though, as they realized they were being driven to certain death—and it was then that the metal fish came swooping from the skies.
"Away from the guns!" Gar shouted, and his gunners leaped back and kept running, just before lightning stabbed down from the bloated, gray metal fish shapes. Two guns disappeared in a gout of flame and a thunderclap. The Pirogian soldiers moaned with fear and scrambled to duck down behind crenels or shields—but on the plain below, the prince's army gave a shout of triumph and charged forward.
Then the huge golden wheel came plunging after the fish.
CHAPTER 15
Beams of light stabbed down from the golden ship, striking one end of each of the metal fish. They plummeted, spinning crazily. Only a hundred feet above the earth, flame roared from the bottom of each fish, slowing its plunge—but only slowing; one struck the earth outside the city walls and one inside. The prince's soldiers shouted with fear as they saw it coming and ran, any way as long as it was away from the bulbous, plunging gray shape. The fish struck, and was still.
Later, Gianni learned that the other fish had struck squarely in the courtyard of Castle Raginaldi, breaking its back and splitting its skin. Gar had barked commands, and a dozen marines came running to ring the object with spears—if they had any fear, they didn't show it. When four people in dark gray came staggering from its bowels, the marines clapped them into irons and hurried them into a tower room, where they mounted guard over the prisoners until their commander was ready to deal with them.
On the wall, Gianni wrenched his eyes away from the wrecked fish in the middle of the prince's army, recovering both himself and the initiative. "Fire!" he shouted, and his crossbowmen came to themselves with a start and loosed a flight of bolts at the enemy soldiers. Some went down, screaming; most ran, or hobbled with bolts in their flesh, away from the walls.
"Cannon, fire!" Gianni shouted, and three cannon fired buckets of nails. The cannoneers had aimed high
, and the nails came down in a lethal rain. The prince's soldiers shouted in panic; demoralized by seeing a sky monster plunging at them afire, by bolts and raining nails, but most of all by the huge golden disk that still swelled above them with its promise of lightning bolts, they ran. This was no retreat, but a rout—and the troops Gar had hidden in the woods atop the ridge recognized their signal for action. They stormed downward, loosing arrows and bolts, catching the prince's men between two fires and shouting, "Surrender!"
Thoroughly demoralized, soldiers threw down their weapons and held up their hands, crying, "I yield me!"
It spread; in minutes, all the prince's men were surrendering, and Gar came up before Gianni, shouting, "Sally forth! Take surrenders, bind prisoners!" The gates opened, and the army of Pirogia charged out with a shout.
But across the valley, fifty picked men didn't stop to take prisoners—they bored on, and finally came to a knot of soldiers who still fought: men-at-arms and knights, the prince's bodyguard. The fifty Pirogians called for reinforcements, and other soldiers left off taking surrenders to help. In minutes, the knot of men had swelled to hundreds, and the fight was bloody, but brief.
"Keep the command, Gianni!" Gar shouted, and ran to take horse. He leaped astride and went galloping out the gate and across the valley.
Gianni wasn't about to be left behind at such a moment. "Vincenzio! Command!" he cried, then ran to mount up and ride after Gar.
He caught up just as Gar was dismounting and walking slowly toward the circle of spears that held the prince and a handful of noblemen at bay—immobilized, but sneering. Gar walked up to them, erect as a staff, hand on his sword. The circle of spears parted just enough for him to enter. "Surrender, my lords," he called. "You cannot escape."
"And dare you kill us?" the prince spat. "Be sure, lowborn churl, that if you do, every nobleman in Talipon—nay, in the whole of the world—will not rest until he has seen you flayed alive!"
A Wizard In Mind - Rogue Wizard 01 Page 19