Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  It was well past midnight when Polgara returned.

  "He's bringing up his siege engines," she informed us.

  "Do you think the walls'll hold?" Beltira asked me.

  "Probably," I replied.

  "Vo Mimbre's not quite as impregnable as the Algarian Stronghold, but it comes fairly close. I think it's secure--as long as Torak doesn't start getting exotic. He could knock down a mountain if he really wanted to."

  "That's forbidden," Belkira assured me.

  "The Necessities have agreed on that point."

  "I think we're relatively safe on that score, father," Pol said.

  "If Torak were going to knock down mountains, he'd have knocked down the Stronghold. He hasn't once been out of that iron pavilion since his army crossed the land bridge."

  "How do you know that?" I asked her.

  "He and Zedar were talking about it this evening, and I was eavesdropping."

  She smiled faintly.

  "I definitely wouldn't want to be in Urvon's shoes--or Ctuchik's. Torak's really put out with both of them. He was really counting on Urvon's second army. Zedar seems fairly smug, though.

  Now that Urvon and Ctuchik are in disfavor, he's the cock of the walk."

  She paused reflectively.

  "I think we'll have to keep an eye on Zedar, father. Torak might abide by the prohibition, but Zedar might not. If things start going badly, Zedar's probably going to break a few rules."

  "My brother and I'll keep an eye on him," Beltira promised.

  "What else were the two of them talking about?" I asked Pol.

  "Their instructions, for the most part," she replied.

  "Evidently the Ashabine Oracles gave Torak far more in the way of details than the Mrin Codex gives us. He knows that Eldrig's bringing the legions, for example, and he knows that there's not a great deal he can do about it. He also knows that the event's going to take place in three days. He's known about that for a long time now. He doesn't really want to meet Brand.

  Apparently there's some bad news for him in the Oracles. When he came across the land-bridge and gathered up the western Angaraks, there was no way we could have matched his numbers, but his campaigns in Drasnia and Algaria and his trek across Ulgoland have cost him at least half his army. I guess Zedar went out and counted noses. If the legions get here in time, the numbers are going to be fairly even. At that point, Torak won't have any choice but to accept Brand's challenge."

  "Well, now," I said, "isn't that interesting?"

  "Don't start gloating, father. Torak's ordered Zedar to throw everything they've got at Vo Mimbre here. If they can take the city, the advantage swings back his way, and he'll be able to ignore Brand's challenge.

  Once we go past that third day, we go into an entirely different

  EVENT.

  Torak knows what it is, but we don't. He seemed a bit smug about it, though."

  "That suggests that he'll win if this goes into the fourth day," Belkira said.

  "And the corollary to that is that we'll win if the EVENT takes place on the third day," Beltira added. He frowned.

  "Did they talk at all about trying to delay the war-boats on their way upriver, Pol?"

  "Zedar suggested it," she replied, "but Torak said no. He's not going to split his forces. He wants Vo Mimbre, and that's going to take every man he's got. How long is it until morning?"

  "Three or four hours," I told her.

  "I'll have time for a bath, then. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll go see to that."

  The night seemed to drag on forever. I wound up prowling the tops of the walls and staring out into the darkness. The stars overhead were very bright, but there was no moon. Poets rhapsodize about starlight, but you really can't see very much by it.

  Then, after what seemed an eternity, a faint stain of light touched the eastern horizon. It grew and gradually began to wash out the stars with its steely luminescence. At first, all I could see on the plain before the walls of Vo Mimbre were dark masses. Far out on the rim of Kal Torak's army, twinkling watch-fires glowed like fireflies. Torak's generals had just come through Ulgoland, and the cat-eyed Ulgos made them nervous.

  I joined Mandor and Wildantor on the wall above the massive main gate, and we waited.

  "It looks like we'll have good weather," Wildantor observed in that quiet voice men use when it's very early in the day.

  "If it doth not rain," Mandor added. I don't think he was trying to be funny, but his remark set Wildantor to laughing.

  The dawn light grew gradually stronger, and details began to emerge.

  The siege engines Pol had mentioned looked very much like large, spindly black insects with slender limbs; long, arched-back necks; and small, bucket-shaped heads. They encircled the city about a hundred and fifty paces out from the walls, and the dark bulky forms of the Thulls who manned them swarmed around them like clusters of fleas.

  Wildantor chuckled.

  "Something funny?" I asked him.

  "I don't think the Thulls are going to laugh very much," he replied.

  "They've set up their siege engines within bow-shot of the walls. Thulls seem to have trouble learning from experience, don't they? When we were coming down the valley, we were picking them off at half again that range. Give the word, Belgarath, and I'll have my archers educate them some more."

  I considered it.

  "Let's hold off on that," I decided.

  "When they start shooting rocks at us, their assault troops are likely to start massing up behind the engines. That's going to impede escape routes for the Thulls manning the engines and create a great deal of confusion."

  The sky gradually began to take on some color. It was blue off to the east above the mountains of Ulgoland now.

  "Why do they wait?" Mandor asked.

  "Time's a part of the EVENT, my friend," I explained.

  "Torak's waiting for a specific moment to begin. The first rock he throws at us starts the battle, and if he's off by so much as a second, he'll lose."

  "Methinks he will lose anyway," Mandor said.

  "We can hope, I guess."

  Then, just as the upper rim of the sun rose above the mountains of Holy Ulgo, a deep-toned horn sounded from the black iron pavilion that headquartered Kal Torak of Mallorea, the siege engines all lashed forward like striking snakes, and a veritable cloud of large rocks arched upward to crash against the golden walls of Vo Mimbre.

  The battle had begun.

  There was a lot of confusion, of course--people shouting and cursing and running for cover. A fair number of the rocks those engines were hurling at us did fall inside the city, but that was only incidental, and probably the result of poor aim. Torak wasn't trying to kill people with his engines; he was trying to batter down the walls. After the first few volleys, his engineers adjusted their aim, and the whole business settled down to the clash and rattle of large rocks striking the outer walls of the city. It was noisy, but it didn't really accomplish much. The walls held.

  As I'd anticipated, masses of assault troops began to move battering rams, assault towers, and scaling ladders up into position just behind the siege engines in preparation for an attack on the walls. It was about mid-morning, after four hours or so of steady pounding, when I turned to Wildantor.

  "I think this might be a good time for you to give our Thullish friends out there some idea of the range of your long bows I suggested.

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  The fact that the Asturian archers were shooting from the top of a very high wall added more distance to the range of their bows, and the effect of their arrows devastated the Thulls manning the siege engines.

  The bombardment stopped immediately. The air between the engines and the walls had been littered with rocks coming our way all morning.

  Now it was filled with a glowing arch of slender arrows, all going the other way. The survivors of those engine crews turned and fled back into the very teeth of the assault forces massed behind them with th
e arrows relentlessly following them. Kal Torak's army flinched in on itself and pulled back about a quarter of a mile. The insect-like siege engines stood silent and unmoving with windrows of dead Thulls heaped around them.

  "What think est thou will be their next move, Ancient One?" Mandor asked me.

  "They're going to have to retrieve those engines," I speculated.

  "They're not going to be able to tear down these walls with their bare hands."

  "My very thought," he agreed. Then he raised that horn he always carried at his side and blew a strident note on it.

  The main gate crashed open and a couple thousand armored Mimbrate knights mounted on huge horses charged out.

  "What are you doing?" I almost screamed at him.

  "The Angaraks have withdrawn in fearful confusion. Holy One," he explained in an infuriatingly reasonable tone of voice.

  "Their engines stand unmanned and unguarded. I find those engines irritating. Twere best, methinks, to seize this opportunity to destroy them."

  I couldn't fault his reasoning, but I wished that he'd told me about his plan before he'd opened those gates. I was getting older, and my veins weren't as good as they used to be.

  The Mimbrate knights were armed with battle-axes, and they swept out of that gate like two great scythes, one cutting to the left and one to the right. They didn't exactly reduce the Angarak siege engines to kindling wood, but they came close, then they circled back; pounded, cheering, along the foot of the walls; reentered the city; and slammed the gates behind them.

  "Nice job, Mandor," Wildantor complimented his friend.

  Mandor smiled with becoming modesty.

  Kal Torak, however, probably wasn't smiling. His iron pavilion was at least a mile out on the plain, but the sound of his raging came to us quite clearly.

  "What'll he do now?" Wildantor asked me.

  "Something foolish, most likely," I replied.

  "Kal Torak doesn't think very clearly when he's angry."

  With the loss of his siege engines, Torak's chances of broaching the walls of Vo Mimbre were reduced to almost zero. He really didn't have any choice but to try a frontal assault on the main gates at that point. The battering rams crept forward, and the tall, swaying assault towers came lumbering toward us. Hordes of Murgos, Nadraks, and Malloreans ran at the walls carrying scaling ladders. The Asturian archers picked them off in droves as they rushed forward, and when they got closer, Mimbrates joined in with their shorter-limbed bows. When the Angaraks reached the walls, we dropped boulders on them and poured boiling pitch on their heads. Fire arrows into the pitch added confusion and smoke.

  It was a very expensive afternoon for Kal Torak of Mallorea, and his demoralized army withdrew as a smoky sunset decorated the western sky.

  We'd survived the first day. Kal Torak had lost thousands of men, and he was still outside the walls.

  We dumped heaps of dried brush and stacks of cordwood off the top of the walls, doused the resulting jumble with naptha, and set fire to it.

  The smoke was a little inconvenient, but that ring of fire surrounding the city made sure that there wouldn't be any surprises during the night.

  Then we all gathered in the throne room. King Aldorigen was almost beside himself with glee.

  "A most fruitful day!" he gloated.

  "I salute thee, my Lord baron of Wildantor. Thine archers have saved the day for us."

  "I thank your Grace," Wildantor replied with a modest bow, "but much of the credit should go to my friend Mandor here. All my men did was drive the Angaraks away from their engines. Mandor sent the axe-men out to hack the silly things to pieces."

  "There's credit enough to go around, gentlemen." It was Mergon, the Tolnedran ambassador to the court at Vo Mimbre. He was a weedy-looking little fellow, whose short stature proclaimed him to be a Borune, a fact confirmed by his silver-trimmed blue mantle. Tolnedrans have an elaborate color code to identify members of the various families.

  "All in all, I'd say that it was a fairly successful day," he continued.

  "It's only the first day of the battle, Mergon," I warned him.

  "I'm not going to start gloating until we get through tomorrow." I looked around.

  "Where's Polgara?"

  "She left just after sunset," Belkira told me.

  "She thought it might be a good idea to listen in on Torak and Zedar this evening."

  "You can stand on the walls and listen to Torak, brother," I said.

  "He gets very loud when he's angry. When Cherek and I went to Cthol Mishrak and stole back the Orb, we could hear him from ten miles off."

  Mergon's face grew pained.

  "Please don't say things like that, Belgarath,"

  he pleaded.

  "You know it's a violation of my religion to listen to that sort of thing."

  I shrugged.

  "Don't listen, then."

  "What can we expect tomorrow?" Wildantor asked me.

  "I haven't the faintest idea," I admitted.

  "Why don't we wait until Pol gets back with some solid information rather than waste time on wild guesses."

  It was shortly after midnight when Polgara returned, and we gathered in the throne room again to listen to her report.

  "Zedar seems to have fallen out of favor," she told us with a faint smile.

  "He was supposed to take the city yesterday, and Torak said any number of highly uncomplimentary things to him about his failure."

  "It wasn't entirely Zedar's fault, Lady Polgara," Mergon told her.

  "We had a little bit to do with it, after all."

  "Torak's not known for his forgiveness, your Excellency," Beltira said.

  "He tends to hold grudges."

  "That he does," Pol added.

  "He made quite an issue of the fact that Zedar's failed before. He raised the point that it was Zedar's failure in Morindland that made it possible for father to retrieve the Orb, and that was almost three thousand years ago."

  "That's a very long time to hold a grudge," Wildantor noted.

  "Torak's like that," I said.

  "Were you able to pick up any hints about what we should expect tomorrow, Pol?"

  "Torak didn't say anything specific, father, but I think I can make a few guesses. He told Zedar that he would be inside the walls by nightfall, and Zedar's supposed to use any means to accomplish that."

  "Sorcery?" Mandor guessed.

  "Torak didn't say it in so many words, but the implications were there. I think we can expect Zedar to resort to his gifts to try to get inside.

  Tomorrow's his last chance. If he fails again, Torak'll probably incinerate him."

  "I can face the prospect with a certain equanimity," I said. Then I looked at Beltira.

  "Would it violate the rules of this particular EVENT if Zedar tries to use sorcery?"

  "That's not too clear," he replied.

  "Torak isn't supposed to, but the Mrin doesn't say anything about his disciples."

  "If the prohibition's absolute, Zedar might be in for a nasty shock,"

  Belkira added.

  "I'm not sure what it'd do to one of us if nothing happened when we spoke the Word to release the Will, but I'm fairly sure I wouldn't care to find out."

  "Zedar's probably desperate enough to try it," Polgara told him.

  "Torak gave him an ultimatum." She frowned.

  "We all know Zedar well enough to know that he'd rather not risk his own skin, but there are Grolims out there. He might order them to try to use Will and Word against us. If a few Grolims get turned to stone, Zedar could use that as an excuse when Torak called him to account."

  "We could speculate all night about that," I told them.

  "To be on the safe side, we're going to have to assume that they'll try it and that it'll work. If it doesn't, fine; if it does, we'd better be ready."

  Mergon's expression was very pained.

  "We're just talking shop, your Excellency," Pol told him.

  "It's a family trai
t, and it doesn't really concern you. I'm sure Nedra won't be angry with you if you happen to hear some things you aren't supposed to."

  "My cousin might be, though," he replied.

  "Ran Borune's not entirely unreasonable, Mergon," I said.

  "A lot of things have happened recently that he doesn't understand. A few more won't unhinge him." I looked around.

  "I think we've covered just about everything," I told them.

  "We might as well try to get some sleep. I think we'll all need to be alert tomorrow."

  I didn't follow my own advice, of course, but I've learned to get along without sleep when I have to. I caught Pol in the dim corridor outside the throne room.

  "I think we'd better start moving people," I told her.

  "I'll go tell Cho-Ram and Rhodar to start closing up the gap between them and Torak's east flank. Then I'll go talk with Brand and Ormik and have them ease down from the north. I want those soldiers to be in place and fresh when Beldin gets here day after tomorrow."

  "Do you want me to do it?" she offered.

  "No. I'll take care of it. I couldn't sleep tonight anyway. Keep an eye on things here, Pol. Zedar might decide to get an early start."

  "I'll take care of it, father. Would a suggestion offend you?"

  "That depends on the suggestion."

  "Use the form of an owl. That falcon of yours doesn't see all that well in the dark, and Zedar might have alerted his troops to keep an eye out for wolves."

  "I'll think about it. I'll try to be back by morning, but if I'm not, you'll have to handle things here for a while. Don't let Mandor open that gate again."

  "I'll see to it. Have a nice flight, father." I think that Polgara's the only person in the world who can say something like that without sounding ridiculous.

  I took her advice about the owl, but I did not assume Poledra's favorite form. I used an ordinary horned owl instead. Once I got out past the Angarak armies, though, I went wolf. Owls don't really fly very fast, and I was in a hurry.

  I woke Cho-Ram and Rhodar, and they sent for the Ulgo, Brasa, who commanded the Gorim's forces.

  "Don't make any contact with Kal Torak's army," I cautioned them.

  "He knows you're here, but he isn't going to do anything about it unless you force him to."

  "Can Vo Mimbre hold?" Rhodar asked.