Knights Magi (Book 4)

by Terry Mancour

  Their spells held, Rondal was happy to note, as none of the sentries on the walls noticed them, though some he felt had looked right at them. They finally climbed down the embankment and waded through the center of the creek until they came to within a bowshot of the wall, where a rickety bridge crossed the creek.

  There was no sentry on the bridge, they were happy to see, but they also noted that the bridge itself was heavily warded. Had they crossed over it, instead of under it, they would have quickly alerted their foe if they hadn’t been protected. Instead of lingering near the bridge they went another fifty feet and then crawled up the other bank, using the side of the ditch as cover as they tried to peer inside.

  Do you think we could scry inside the walls? Tyndal asked, mind-to-mind.

  Not one bit. They have it protected. Besides, I want to put eyes on whatever it is they don’t want seen.

  The gatehouse to the fortified manor - technically a castle, Rondal decided - was occupied by a band of gurvani, decked out in captured Gilmoran finery and gilded armor more suited to jousting than guarding. Most of them were asleep, sprawled out all over the cool stones of the gatehouse. Two actually leaned on spears, and one almost seemed awake.

  Gafney Castle is under new management. So, do we just come up to them and tell them we’re collecting for Trygg’s temple houses for crippled children and ask for a donation?

  Rondal wasn’t paying attention to the guards, not really. He wanted to avoid the guards, asleep or not. He could tell his fellow wanted to fight, but that’s not what this mission was about. Instead he scanned the walls. There were sentries there, but they seemed more concerned with looking inside, not outside.

  And there was one section of the castle that seemed abandoned. On the far east side, Rondal observed, an outrigger square tower, part of an older section of the castle, had been unoccupied due to its ruined condition. The top of the tower was missing and the side gaped open, the result of some calamity.

  Tyndal, wouldn’t you say that was a Lord’s Refuge? He asked, mind-to-mind.

  That? An old one, maybe, he conceded. Back when this place was really about defense and not topiary. Why?

  One important feature of a Lord’s Refuge is usually the escape route it provides the lord’s family, explained Rondal. The point was you could escape to it from several points in the castle. Or escape from it to several points in the castle. Usually by an underground tunnel.

  Don’t you think the gurvani know about that sort of thing?

  No, not really. They’ve only been around our fortifications for a year or two. I’m guessing if you weren’t aware of that, after attending Relan Cor, most of them might be ignorant as well.

  You really can be an ass sometimes, Tyndal complained. Rondal smiled as he moved quietly toward the ruined tower. He considered it a compliment, coming from someone in the profession.

  The tower had apparently been abandoned long before the goblins took residence, from the empty state of its interior. But the section of wall that connected it to the rest of the castle was still intact. A few boards were nailed over the big wooden door to keep anyone from wandering inside. No doubt the door at the other end was likewise secured, if not bricked over entirely.

  Tyndal began doing a simple scanning of the stone floor of the tower without being asked, and they soon found a stairwell down to the basement. Once used for storing a little bit of everything, the litter and debris of a century of castle life had been scattered haphazardly around.

  “Here!” Tyndal whispered harshly, outlining a section of stone wall under the staircase. “The stones all around this section aren’t really mortared in. It’s just for show.”

  “How do we open it?”

  “I thought you were the expert with stone?”

  Sighing, Rondal took a thoughtful look at the possible doorway and had to agree. There was a passageway concealed there. Sending his consciousness through the rock he could detect the great iron hinge that hung the heavy door. In a few moments the great piece of iron had rusted away to nothing under his spellwork. The door fell into the passageway behind it by six inches. With both of their shoulders on it, they were able to force it open enough to admit them into the stale-smelling tunnel.

  “Magelight?” Tyndal asked.

  “Cat’s Eye,” ordered Rondal, and both of them cast the spell that allowed them to see in the dark. A magelight might shine through and reveal them somehow. They slung their bows and drew their swords, Rondal and his shield in front as they went single file down the ancient tunnel.

  Along the way they came to a chamber off to the side – not much, but enough of a space to harbor a sheaf of spears and a few iron helms. Just beyond it was a heavy and defendable door which, luckily, stood open. They moved carefully through and continued up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top, the passageway led right, left, and forward.

  Which way?

  Straight, Rondal decided. No particular reason why.

  As luck would have it, the passageway Rondal had chosen led into the base of one of the towers that ringed the inner bailey of the structure, and into a hidden chamber. There were three separate doors, each concealed from the other side.

  These Gilmoran lords dearly love their hidden passageways, Rondal chuckled.

  They’re for all the whores and mistresses, remarked Tyndal. Hey, can you see out of that one?

  The door that led to the bailey did, indeed, have a gap next to it that allowed them to see out. Whatever decorative feature on the other side was so deeply cut that it could not be discerned as a fissure. As a result, they could see a great deal of what was going on inside the castle.

  The sight was horrific.

  Clustered in groups of a score were human slaves, bound neck and hands together, men, women and children. Almost all lacked shoes, and many had only a few scraps of clothing left. Everyone was sporting wicked-looking whip scars on their backs, arms, and faces. Among them toiled a few who brought water around to them, giving each but a few sips before they continued to the next.

  They’re almost dead of dehydration! Rondal told Tyndal, when he used his magesight to get a better look. Look at them, the way they watch the slave with water. That’s how they keep them docile. Give them just enough water to keep them cowed.

  There were guards among them, too. Mostly mangy-looking gurvani, many of them in tribal gear or captured armor, carrying clubs and whips. A few had spears, and all carried knives or short swords. And among them were a few humans who walked freely, if deferrent to the goblins. Collaborators. Slavers. Traitors.

  I think the whippings and summary executions might play a role, too, Tyndal pointed out sarcastically. Dehydration keeps them weak. Fear and pain keep them docile.

  How many are out there?

  They each counted, and then counted again. Over two hundred within their sight alone.

  It seems a shame to leave them there, all tied up like that, Tyndal said.

  We’re not here to rescue them, we’re here to observe, reminded Rondal. I’d like to save them too, but there’s just two of us.

  So?

  There’s a lot more of them. They taught us at War College that’s a bad move.

  So is this what the goblins were trying to hide? Slaves? We knew about their slaving operations. None of them looks capable of dropping a load as big as the one I saw. Maybe that plump burgher on the end, but . . .

  We need a better view, sighed Rondal, turning away from the hole. Where do these other doors lead?

  This one . . . likely to the chamber beyond, answered Tyndal, cRoseng to peer through its hidden viewport. The place is filled with sleeping slaves. It looks like a banquet hall they’re using as a pen.

  How many?

  Another hundred, maybe. Tied hand-to-hand. The main door looks locked from the outside. This one is behind a tapestry, I think.

  Rondal was peering through the third door. This one is more stairs – going down. I think it leads to another tunnel. Probably into the kee
p, he reasoned.

  That sounds like an excellent vantage point, Tyndal agreed. You know, this sneaking around stuff is kind of fun!

  It’s one of the reasons warmagi make such expensive but useful mercenaries. They followed the stairs back down, and then through a tunnel at least fifty feet long, narrow and close on all sides. Rondal eventually had to sling his shield and move sidewise, it narrowed so much. At last it came to a narrow passageway straight up, accessed by a stout wooden ladder.

  They must have designed this as the lord’s escape route, Rondal said excitedly as he began to climb the ladder. Like Arsella’s hidey-hole.

  Belsi, reminded Tyndal.

  I knew her for weeks as Arsella, Rondal shot back. Give me some time to adjust.

  Touchy . . .

  You really shouldn’t irritate the man climbing the ladder above you, Rondal pointed out. Gravity is a cruel mistress.

  Just don’t fart and nobody will get hurt.

  Rondal didn’t respond. He kept climbing.

  Three stories of ladder led to the summit of the keep. The topmost rooms were reserved as the chamber of the lord and lady, as well as the living quarters of the senior servants. It was deserted now, the bedchamber thoroughly looted and destroyed.

  But it was empty.

  Rondal pushed the hidden door open from the inside, and a section of wall gave way. The top floor was deserted. There was no sign of goblin encampment here.

  They don’t particularly like heights, Tyndal reminded him. The watchtower over in the outer bailey is taller, so they’ll have their lookout there. You can’t see much beyond the walls from here. But you can see just about – good gods eternal, what the hells is that?

  He pointed out of one of the arrow slits in the ruined chamber at what Rondal first thought was a rickety redoubt on a hill of dirt.

  Then it moved.

  It was a beast – a gigantic beast, easily fifty feet long from blunted snout to thick tail. Six giant, squat legs, as thick as the thickest tree Rondal had ever seen, supported the beast. The redoubt Rondal had seen was in fact a kind of saddle-fortress, a covered platform that could be filled with warriors in battle, creating a walking castle.

  The redoubt was situated just behind the second pair of legs and secured with broad straps and ropes. Empty at the moment, Rondal was appalled to see. in addition to the platform for archers, some sort of cunning mechanism on the roof he guessed was a compact sort of ballistae or catapult.

  That thing . . . that thing is a walking siege! Tyndal finally said.

  What the hell is it? I’ve never even heard of something like this before!

  It’s like a leggy worm, only . . . that snout. It’s got a thick plate of horn or bone or something on it.

  Like a living battering ram, agreed Romdal. How long would it take to go through a castle gatehouse with that?

  A lot less time that it would take to attack with trolls or scrugs, agreed Tyndal, darkly. Shit, Ron, what does that thing eat?

  I don’t see any fodder around, Rondal said, scanning the courtyard below. Then he realised the awful truth when the great beast yawned

  Oh. Never mind. Look at those teeth, he said. Its head was like a huge alien tortoise. The teeth it revealed were sharp, pointed, and numerous. I’m guessing its carnivorous. And I bet it eats people.

  That’s why they haven’t moved these poor bastards north yet! They’re supplying their siege worms!

  That’s . . . that’s horrible, Rondal said, shaking his head.

  Tyndal looked at him. Feel different about a rescue mission, now?

  Rondal stared at him. His mission was accomplished. They knew what the goblins were hiding, and why. It would only take a moment to alert Commander Terleman, mind-to-mind, and then they could return.

  Only that would leave the hundreds of people below to die in the jaws of that hideous beast.

  Gods, I hate you sometimes, Rondal said, shaking his head.

  Just keeping you on the path of chivalry.

  How do you propose we take on . . . Trygg only knows how many goblins, at least a shaman, possibly more, there could always be a couple of trolls hiding out in the cellar, and at least a dozen vile remnants of humanity who are collaborating with the enemy? Oh, yes, a fifty-foot long death machine that seems to eat people?

  Easy, Tyndal smiled. Remember, there are two of us.

  Every castle and manor house had a cistern, and most had many. As much as a castle relied upon a well within the walls of the bailey to slake the thirst of the besieged, in dire circumstances, when a retreat to a tower or keep was necessary, it became important to ensure a temporary supply.

  Gafney Castle was no different. In fact the third-tallest tower overlooking the inner bailey had a large one, at least a thousand gallons, fed by rainwater and magically protected from stagnation. It was at the center of the top-most floor of the tower, a chamber of rock lined with clay. But cisterns needed to be emptied and repaired from time to time, and a drain a foot wide led to the inner bailey for that purpose.

  Rondal had let himself be persuaded to approve of Tyndal’s plan mostly because of the profound distraction the sudden appearance of that much water to that many people so close to being mad with thirst would produce. There were guards enough to handle a few isolated incidence of resistance among the humans huddled around their knees. If several hundred of them all went into action at once, they would be hard-pressed to keep control of the situation.

  And once an angry siege worm was loosed on the scene, well, Rondal couldn’t deny that whatever mayhem and destruction it wrought was no less than the goblins deserved. While he knew that some people would inevitably get killed in the fight, that was a better fate for them than being wormfodder.

  Tyndal had volunteered to make his way quietly across the rooftops of the manor over to the tower, which was taking enough time so that Rondal was able to make a brief report, mind-to-mind, to Terleman while he waited. The military commander was surprised and disheartened by the news of the siege worms, but he took the news coolly. When he was done with the conversation, Rondal checked in with Tyndal, who was still slowly creeping across the rooftops trying not to be seen.

  It’s going to be at least another half-hour, he reported. There are more sentries on the back side of the keep, and I’m trying to avoid them. See if you can keep yourself busy until I get there.

  By doing what? I left my embroidery back at the manor, he replied sourly.

  What about contacting those other prisoners, the ones in the banquet hall, and arming them with those siege spears we saw in the tunnel? And maybe getting the women and children out through the secret passage? That might be a better use of your time than needlepoint. Just do it quietly.

  That’s . . . that’s not a bad idea, actually, Rondal admitted. He hated when Tyndal was right.

  He looked through the peep hole into the banquet hall-turned-prison, and with his Cat’s Eye spell he was able to see dozens of bodies crammed into the room. A few were pressed up against the wall, so when he did finally release the catch on the concealed door, two poor souls spilled into the hidden compartment, squeaking in surprise.

  “Shhh!” Rondal said, insistently. “I’m here to help rescue you, but you must be silent!”

  “Wha—?” asked one dull-witted fellow. “Is it my turn for the beasty, now?”

  “I’m here to rescue you!” Rondal repeated, looking to the other man – a younger, scrawny fellow who looked like he’d been beaten a few times – where he found more wit looking back. “I’m Sir Rondal of Sevendor. I’m under the command of King Rard,” he said, hoping invoking the new monarch’s name would grant him some authority with the half-mad prisoners. “Is there a leader among you?” he asked, hopefully.

  “Aye, milord!” the skinny man nodded, “I’ll go fetch him!”

  “Silently!” Rondal insisted. He waited patiently with the thicker fellow, shushing his every attempt to make a sound. Soon three more men stumbled back through the darkne
ss and into the hidden chamber. One was a tall bearded man of noble bearing, the other a shrewd-looking hawk-nosed fellow in sturdy garments. Neither looked as distressed as the first two prisoners he’d encountered.

  “I am Sir Rondal of Sevendor,” he said in a whisper. “I’ve come to try to help.”

  “I am Sire Darduin of Romm,” said the bearded man, “this is Master Gil the Weaver. We . . . we keep things in order,” he said. “How many are you?”

  “Not many,” Tyndal admitted. “But they know not that we are here. There is a passageway leading out of the castle. I want you to quietly – silently! – gather the women, children, old and sick and file them down into the passage. Have them gather in the ruined tower, but they should make no move out of it until our diversion occurs. Then they should run south for their lives. I’m afraid I don’t have any advice beyond that – we’re too few to give you any aid. But we can give you a chance at escape.”

  “Duin’s axe, that’s all we have prayed for!” Sire Darduin said, fervently.

  “The guards check on us every hour,” reported Master Gil. “They made their last check only ten minutes ago. But some of our fellows are half-mad with hunger and thirst. We must be careful lest they alert our jailors.”

  “What about the wounded?” Rondal asked.

  “There are few,” admitted Sire Darduin, grimly. “When someone gets hurt, they become the next meal for that horror out there.”

  “We saw it,” nodded Rondal. “Children?”

  “Only a few. They took . . . they took most of them away when we first arrived. But we will get the non-combatants to safety first. I just fear discovery, if we make too much noise . . .”

  “I can cure that,” Rondal said. “Lead me to this door.”

  Making their way gingerly through the crowded hall, around moaning and wretched bodies who watched him with the dazed expression that told him they knew not whether he was real or phantom, he came to the great wooden double doors that in better days had made a jolly and homey entrance to this hall. Now the polished wood was hacked and pitted and bloodied, barred from the outside.

  Rondal first cast a silencing spell that would permit no noise to pass beyond the door. Then he spellbound it with a simple cantrip. Not enough to stand up to a counterspell, but easily enough to prevent someone opening the door without one.