by Rick Shelley
Annick led the way. We rode slowly, giving our horses a chance to cool down. Since darkness had already fallen, we had all night to wait.
“We’ll have to wait for dawn,” I told Annick. “With Dorthini patrols around, we can’t show a fire for me to try to finish the passages tonight.”
“That’s still plenty of time, isn’t it?”
“If those scouts were right about how far off the Dorthinis are.”
Riding at a slow walk gave my aches a chance to make themselves felt again, and when I took a nip of painkiller—the flask was getting low—exhaustion flowed over me. Off and on, I had dozed a little in the saddle coming east, but you can’t get much rest that way. I looked forward to some real sleep, but at the same time I was afraid that Annick and I might both oversleep, snore on through the morning while the Etevar got closer and our men fretted at the delay. I mentioned that worry to Annick.
“I wake at the first hint of dawn, no matter what,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissing gesture. “It never fails.”
I hoped that she was right, even though part of my mind was trying to remind the rest that we would have Sir Hambert and his men coming up to the cottage at dawn, that they would certainly wake us, but when you’re as tired as I was then, irrational fears seem saner than logical thought. I even got to the point of Perhaps my danger sense will keep me from oversleeping with the enemy so close, with the nervous tag but it might not wake me until the cottage is surrounded.
We reached the orchard and dismounted to lead our horses the last stretch. They were near the end of their endurance. Even Gold seemed hard put to keep up with my own slow walk. There were no lights on in the cottage, no sign of people or horses already there, but we checked the cottage and orchard out thoroughly before we put our horses in the tiny attached stable, unsaddled them, and brought in water and hay for them. Then we carried our stuff—and the sea-silver—into the cottage.
There was no real bed, just the hard bench where my father’s body had been. I had no intention of sleeping there. Ghosts had been in my mind all too much lately. I got my thermal blanket and my saddle and found a spot on the floor where I thought the morning sun would get me in the face, just in case. The night was a trifle chilly after the heat and sweat of the long ride. I shucked my weapons and boots and settled myself in, wrapping the blanket around me. I had my elf sword close—and my own regular sword. I took a couple of deep breaths and started to drift off, doing a fairly good job of not thinking about Annick and the way she had looked naked earlier. I was much too tired to let my mind cook over her.
I thought.
I yawned, relaxed, sliding down the incline. Sleep was waiting to jump all over me for a change. There would be none of the long tossing and turning that I usually have to wade through to reach slumber. I could hear Annick’s soft movements, but they didn’t bother me—until I sensed that she was very close.
When I opened my eyes, Annick was kneeling right over me. There was enough dim light filtering in to let me see milky white skin as she came down and kissed me. Her hair slid forward off her shoulders and covered my face. Then she was in the blanket with me, pressing her body against mine.
Tired as I was, I couldn’t ignore her. I could feel both our hearts beating, not in time. Between us, we got my clothes off. Annick had stripped before she came down on me. Passion replaced exhaustion, and we went at each other as though it were a contest, a joust—bruising kisses, frenzied groping, inarticulate grunts and moans. We seemed to be all over the cottage, rolling around, bumping into things, rolling back. Annick eventually straddled me and reached down to join us. Locked together, we continued to roll around the floor like wrestlers. The build-up was maddening, the climax explosive. I felt almost as drained as I was after the duel with the elflord. My back didn’t waste much time reminding me that it wasn’t completely healed yet, but even that wasn’t enough to slow us down.
Afterward, when I fell asleep, Annick was half on top of me yet—not on my injured side luckily. She had collapsed, as spent as I was, but still holding on. Neither of us could have found the strength for an encore.
19
The Congregation of Heroes
I guess I slept soundly through most of the night—what was left of it—but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. I had a long dream, very detailed. It seemed so real that I never realized that it was a dream until after I woke, and even then it didn’t fade away the way dreams normally do.
It started with a long walk down the stairs leading to the burial crypt below Castle Basil. I was alone on the stairs, not part of a procession. My footsteps echoed. I looked around almost constantly, as if I were trying to tie the echoes to someone else. There was a nervous knot in my gut, but my only companions were the multiple shadows I cast in the torchlight.
When I reached the doorway to the crypt, I hesitated for a long time, or so it seemed, before I entered. I didn’t want to go into that chamber. I felt a powerful dread.
A long table had been set up inside, parallel to the burial wall. The capstones of the burial niches for all the Heroes of Varay were missing. The dead Heroes were sitting along one side of the table, my father at the center. They all stood and raised golden goblets in toast when I appeared in the doorway. They looked as though they belonged in a reunion picture of victims from slasher movies. Dad’s wounds were all open, gaping, both the wounds that had killed him and those that had scarred over long before—the scars that had once made me believe that he was a spy like James Bond. All of the other Heroes sported similar wounds. There was no blood—just open gashes in skin and clothing.
The man standing next to Dad at the center said, “Hail the Hero of Varay,” and then he took a long drink from his golden goblet. The rest of the Heroes echoed his toast and drank. Then each introduced himself—in chronological order, I think. The one who had offered the toast called himself Vara. Dad was the last. I caught a few other names in between that I recalled seeing on the missing capstones back in Basil.
Even Dad introduced himself formally when it finally came down to his turn.
“We’ve been waiting for you, son,” he said after he drank his toast. He raised his goblet again. “I had hoped that the wait would be much longer, though. Your mother and I had such great dreams for you. Come, your place is waiting.”
I didn’t move from the doorway. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place. Moving would mean—at least in my mind—that I was accepting this … this verdict, and I wasn’t ready to do that. I held on to the doorjamb.
“What’s this all about?” I asked. My voice echoed over and over, so thickly that the words were almost obliterated by the interference. None of the other voices had raised even a hint of an echo.
All of the Heroes but Father and Vara sat down. Most seemed to busy themselves refilling their goblets from a row of decanters. Father looked to Vara. Vara spoke.
“My dying vow was that no other Hero of Varay should ever die alone,” he said. No echo.
“I haven’t died,” I said.
“We will be with you,” Vara said.
“I see.” I shifted my gaze to my father. “At the same place you died?” He didn’t answer. He looked away from me. I had little choice but to look to Vara again.
“Does this mean that you can see the future?” I asked.
“There is no time on our side,” he said, which wasn’t an answer at all. “Come in and have a drink with us.” He pointed at the one empty chair at the table.
I stared at the chair for a while—I can’t even guess how long. Finally, I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said, opening my eyes to focus on Vara. “It’s too soon. I can’t give up yet. I’ve still got a job to finish.” I looked to my father again. “Your job.” He acknowledged that with a nod.
“I’m leaving now,” I said. And then, I wasn’t sure that I could leave. I experienced some kind of split-existence thing. My mind had me turning around and walking back to the stairs, but my body
wasn’t responding. It took a moment before I figured it out—a dizzying realization. My hands gripped the jambs of the door yet and I had to consciously relax my grip and remove my hands.
I’m leaving now, I told myself, and this time I did. Movement still wasn’t automatic. I had to concentrate on every step, watching as I moved each foot out in front of the other. I seemed to be sweating profusely by the time I got to the stairs and started up, and it wasn’t over even then.
I climbed those stairs forever. Now, the stairway leading from the crypt back up to the living levels of Castle basil is extremely long, but no stairway could be as long as the one I climbed in that dream. I climbed and climbed, and when I looked back down, I had scarcely gone a tenth of the way. I climbed some more, making a little progress, but not as much as I should have. I counted my steps over the next stretch and looked back down when I reached fifty. It looked as though I had actually made it up about a dozen.
I kept climbing.
I woke to find that my body had started without waiting for me. I wasn’t climbing steps now, though, and I couldn’t remember getting to the top of that stairway.
But this was no dream now. Annick was on top of me again. I’m not even positive that she was fully awake when we started making love the second time—near the tag end of the night. While our lovemaking lasted, my memories of the congregation of Heroes in the crypt were pushed aside, out of focus but not completely out of mind. Afterward, Annick and I lay together, neither of us ready to sleep again. Memories of the dream—nightmare—flooded back over me. For some minutes, all I could do was relive the scene below Castle Basil. To get that out of my head, I tried to focus on the battle that was coming, the fight that I would be one nexus of by necessity—and that Annick would certainly be in the middle of by desire.
The night had nearly ended. Annick and I got up, cleaned up as best we could, and dressed. There was a trace of distant morning visible outside, a glow that let me see well enough to move about in the cottage. As soon as there was enough light to work with, I had to complete the passages. Soon after that, unless something went drastically wrong, our private arena would be the staging area for the complete armed might of Varay—as pitiful as that might me.
Annick hugged me and rested her head on my shoulder for just an instant. She was warm, pliable for a change. She kissed my cheek and whispered, “I needed that.”
I brushed the hair away from her face. “I think I did too.” I returned the hug and we broke the clinch. There was neither the time nor the desire for another round, not then, maybe not ever. Despite the vigorous intimacy of the night, we were still worlds apart, in many ways. We looked at each other but found no words. I couldn’t ask Annick what she was thinking, because I couldn’t share my thoughts in return, not a cold appraisal of how little we had in common. After more minutes, the spell was broken, quickly, like the snap of a crab leg.
“I don’t suppose that we’ll see much of each other after the battle’s over,” Annick said.
“That’s possible.” Her words brought my dream back to the fore. If the dream was true, I wouldn’t be seeing much of anyone. Back home, I would have dismissed the nightmare without too much thought. But, in Varay, I couldn’t be so sure that there was nothing to it but nocturnal fear.
“You have your duty and I have mine.” Annick kept her voice low, but the determination was still there. “I won’t forsake my vengeance for anyone.”
I shrugged. That was safer than words.
“This night is one to remember, but not to relive,” Annick said.
“I think that’s best.” I took her hands in mine, just long enough to give them a squeeze. “I don’t think we could ever recapture the moment.” I tried to keep any relief out of my voice. “But the paths of our duty may cross on occasion,” I added, releasing her hands.
“We’d better get our horses saddled,” Annick said. She turned away, and we had enough to occupy us until I could start on the doors.
Sir Hambert and his men were just moving into the orchard when I decided that I had enough light to work. I used the cottage’s front door for the link to Arrowroot. I applied the sea-silver and stood looking into the cottage when I reached for the tracing so the men and horses would be coming out of the cottage as they arrived. It would have been incredibly stupid to get that turned around. The actual connection came quickly with only slight effort and a sudden twinge of hunger. Parthet was there, his hands touching mine, his face looking up and grinning.
“Your mother is at Coriander,” Parthet said. “We decided that that would be faster than me popping over there after we did this door. I’ve got Resler and his soldiers here, ready and waiting. I’ll hold this way open while you do the other.” He looked quite his old self, fully recovered.
“Right.” I grinned back at him.
I used the stable door for the second passage. There wasn’t much choice, but this door wasn’t much wider or higher than the cottage’s front door. Even Parthet could have spanned it without difficulty. Lining two doors and opening the passages took less than twenty minutes. Not bad, I thought.
When the men started coming through from Arrowroot and Coriander, I had new responsibilities. The biggest “command” I had ever held was captain of a tug-of-war team in high school. And all that meant was that I got to hold down the tail end of the rope and get dragged across the line last when we lost. We always lost. But now, I had the entire army of Varay to command, and the stakes were enormous, more than just getting dragged through the mud. I would have help, but everyone would look to me for a battle plan and for any tactical decisions. After all, I was the hotshot Hero, whether I was qualified for anything or not. Barons Resler and Dieth came through with their men. I expected Dieth to be helpful, but I wasn’t sure about Resler. Annick didn’t think he was worth much. And Parthet came through with the last of the men from Arrowroot. So did Baron Kardeen, with another score of Basiliers. And I had Harkane, Lesh, and even Timon with me again.
Kardeen set up a headquarters for us in the orchard close to the cottage. He had a large-scale map of the area right around Castle Thyme, both sides of the border, showing considerable topological detail. Kardeen took care of administrative details too, finding out just how many men we had—mounted and on foot, archers, lancers, that sort of thing. He was damn efficient. In thirty minutes he had messengers running and we were getting organized. I told him that we needed to find out where the Dorthini army was and how many men were coming. He got word to Baron Dieth and scouts were out in five minutes.
“How do you do it?” I asked Kardeen.
“Experience. I’ve been making sure that things get done for twenty-five years.”
“You should be running this show instead of me.”
He shook his head quickly. “I’m an administrator, not a general. But you tell me what you want and I’ll find a way, or find the people who can find the way. If there is one.”
I nodded. “Right now, a lot depends on how far off the Etevar’s army is. If we’ve got time, it would be nice to get inside Castle Thyme before his main force arrives.” I shrugged. “We probably won’t have that kind of time, but just in case we do get the chance, it would help to know the layout inside the castle.”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have the floor plan.”
Kardeen laughed. “That’s an easy one. Try something harder.”
“Okay, how about a simple way to get inside?”
“That’s military. I’ll have to find you someone who knows the castle for that.”
There was a commotion at the edge of the orchard, and I went to see what that was about while Kardeen went to find someone who knew Castle Thyme. One of our patrols had surprised a Dorthini patrol and taken a couple of prisoners. No one had escaped to carry the news of our presence back to Castle Thyme or to the approaching Dorthini army.
Our scouts didn’t get back until midafternoon, and by then I was ready to start swinging in the trees I was so nervous. The ea
rly reports that the Dorthinis would reach us somewhat after noon hadn’t been borne out, but I still thought that our scouts should have had time to find the enemy and get back … if any of them were going to get back. When the scouts did return, they brought both good news and bad news. The bad news was that the Etevar had four thousand soldiers. The good news was that they wouldn’t reach Castle Thyme until the next morning. They were moving slower than expected and the only logical place for them to bivouac for the night would leave them with three hours’ marching to reach the castle.
I went looking for Parthet and found him just returning from Arrowroot.
“Let’s put together a think tank,” I told him. “I want to find a way to get inside Castle Thyme before the Etevar gets here.”
Parthet nodded, and we gathered the three barons, Sir Hambert, and two soldiers who had once been garrisoned at Thyme. My people were all there too, but only Parthet took part in the conference.
“I want to take Castle Thyme before the Dorthini army arrives, and I don’t want the Etevar to know that we’ve done it,” I started. “We get part of our force inside the castle and put the rest around it as if we have it under siege. The army outside retreats from the approaching Dorthinis tomorrow. Once the Etevar’s army moves past the castle, we move the men inside out against the rear of the Dorthini army, put the Etevar in the middle.” Turn the ambush idea back against him.
Everybody claimed to like the idea even though it didn’t alter the fact that we would still be outnumbered by about three to one when the main Dorthini army arrived. A practical way to get inside Castle Thyme was harder to find. I was counting on Parthet, but his reaction to most of my suggestions was “I’ve got to be able to see what I’m doing to do it,” and we had to make our move against the castle during the night.
“Other than you climbs the wall,” one of the soldiers who knew the castle well said, “they’s jest two ways in, the main gate and the postern. The gate’s gotta drawer-bridge and por’cullis. Postern’s jest a thick door. When they’s fixin’ to use that, they shoves a plank acrost the ditch or jest climbs down through it.”