Joe realized that, because he was hanging so high, the demon’s head was now between his hand and Irving. Held painfully by the wrist, he nonetheless managed to open his hand.
The magic sword was on the floor, with Poquah’s weapon and their clothing. The idea had come into his head from the start, and now was the first and perhaps only time it might work.
With a little silent prayer he yelled, “Irving! To me!”
The sword flew from the bundle of clothes right at the demonic head, striking it and knocking the creature back, then continued on to Joe’s hand. With a flip of the wrist that was tremendously painful, he brought the blade around and it sliced neatly through the rope. One arm free, he brought the blade up and cut through the other rope, falling to the floor.
The demon had been knocked over, losing the Lamp, but now the terrible creature rose to its feet. Its face was the face of nightmare, its power something that could be felt by all in the room.
Marge dived, scooped up the Lamp, and pitched it to Joe.
The demon got to his feet, smiled, and said, “Now feel the powers of Hell, mortal!” He threw out his hand and Joe instinctively drew back but nothing happened.
The demon looked puzzled. “What in... ?”
Joe gave him no more time. “I wish all in this room and its contents were now with Ruddygore!” he yelled, holding the Lamp.
In a moment, they all winked out of the tent.
To say that Ruddygore was shocked and surprised was an understatement. One moment he had been alone in his tent thirty miles across the Valley of Decision from the enemy army, meditating for added powers, when suddenly in popped Joe, Marge, Poquah, a strange soldier looking scared to death, and a full suit of the Dark Baron’s armor.
Joe whooped and hollered, waved his sword in the air, then tossed the Lamp to the astonished Ruddygore. “It worked! We did it!”
It was Marge’s and Poquah’s turn to be astonished. “But how?” they both asked at the same time.
The black clad captain, still in a state of shock, looked around fearfully and squeaked, “I surrender! Won’t somebody accept my surrender?”
Ruddygore was the first to regain some sense of self control.
He walked over to the fearsome armor, kicked it, and frowned.
It was empty. He turned to the captain. “Just put your sword over there and sit down like a good fellow,” he told the frightened soldier. “We’ll get around to you when everything’s sorted out.” The captain complied.
“Now, then,” the sorcerer continued, “just what is going on here?”
As quickly as possible, the three sketched the events in the tent. Ruddygore listened attentively. Finally he nodded his head affirmatively and sighed. “Well, I think I can at least explain it. The Baron, knowing that he was vulnerable to a well stated wish even if he could block moves against himself with the Lamp, drew upon his ultimate power and raised Hiccarph.
Now, Hiccarph’s powers are quite limited on this plane he has, in fact, no more real existence than the genies of the Lamp but he could move that suit of armor and, most important, he was totally invulnerable to any magic of Husaquahr.
Using the armor, he could pick up the Lamp and take it to his ally. When you summoned Irving, Joe, the sword struck the upper part of the armor. In the summons it was an irresistible force so the armor went sprawling. That was quick thinking, by the way.”
“I’d hoped it would run the Dark Baron through, damn it,”
Joe muttered.
“Be content. This was a major victory from the very brink of total defeat. It’s a good thing I wasn’t in Terindell, though or you and the Lamp would have gotten there, but not the rest.
I shudder to think what might have happened to you.”
Marge frowned. “But the Lamp was completely powerless against this demon! And he seemed amazed to be powerless against us!”
Ruddygore nodded. “The forces of Hell would not be directly subject to any of the Laws or Rules, because they have no physical existence on this plane. They must work through humans in this case the will of the Baron that placed Hiccarph in that armor. But as to why Hiccarph had no power over you, Joe it was because you are not a native of this world. Your soul is still your soul, and it is of a different place. Hiccarph was summoned by a native of this world and, as such, he was attuned totally to the things of this world. Since he had no physical being beyond the armor, he could only reach out for your soul but he was wrongly attuned. That’s the best way I can put it. On your native world he would have plucked your soul from your body and carried it with him back to Hell itself.
But here let’s just say he was on the wrong frequency. That’s what I counted on. It is the extra edge you and Marge have over anyone else.” He paused a moment. “I fear it will also mean both of you are now marked. Hiccarph and his bosses will never rest until they know why they failed against you.
They will be after you.”
Joe grinned. “Let ‘em come! We faced down the Prince Regent of Hell a few minutes ago.” He leaned over, grabbed a startled Marge, and kissed her on the lips. “We’re ready for anything now.” He paused and looked at her and smiled. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
She smiled and patted his hand. “What of Dacaro?” she asked. “He’s now in the land of the djinn.”
“And there he’ll stay,” Ruddygore assured her. “Nor will he get what he seeks there. They will string him along, but give him nothing of substance. And one day I will pay him a visit there, and he will leam that the Lords of the Djinn may be disinterested in our affairs but do value old friendships.”
A military officer entered, bowed slightly, and said, “Sirit will be dawn in less than half an hour. Lord Kasura awaits your pleasure.”
Ruddygore turned and looked suddenly very tired. “Tell him I will be there straightaway.” He turned back to Joe, Marge, and Poquah. “The three of you have done what you can, and it is more than any man had a right to expect. Get something to eat at the mess tent anyone will be able to tell you where it is and then get some rest. The outcome of this day will no longer depend on your labors, but our cause has certainly been fortified by your deeds.”
Poquah, who was pulling on his clothes, said, “Master, I will be with you. My place is not to rest during a battle.”
“As you wish, old friend. But ours is a different sort of battle from what those brave ones will face.”
“I can still fight,” Joe told him, and Marge nodded as well.
“No. It is time for the professionals now. A battle requires planning and discipline, and you were not a part of the training.
Remain here, or go up the heights nearby at the command post and watch it unfold as best you can. But fight not todayunless we are lost and overrun.” And, with that, he turned and left, Poquah following, trying to get his pants fastened.
The captain’stirred in the corner. “Won’t somebody take my surrender?” he pleaded.
Joe looked at him. “Go. On your word of honor, go to the river and join your own forces, but do not fight us until you are with your own.”
The captain shook his head from side to side. “Oh, no. I’m going to surrender. I looked into that thing’s eyes.”
Joe sighed. “Then turn yourself in to the captain of the guard. I’m sure they’ll have a place to accommodate you.”
Then they, too, walked out, leaving the prisoner alone.
They found the officers’ mess tent with no trouble. They filled plates from a cauldron of scrambled eggs, and Joe, at least, took slices from the roast of pork on a spit as well. Both sipped abnormally strong black coffee.
After a while they felt somewhat themselves again and began to relax a bit, although the tension throughout the camp was too thick to ignore. Still, in the moments before things broke loose, Joe took advantage of the little time remaining. “Well you sure have changed, that I’ll say.”
She looked a little embarrassed. “The djinn accelerated the process. It
was only a few days, but time there didn’t pass like time here.”
He nodded, although he didn’t quite understand. Certainly her short pageboy hair was now down to her shoulders, and was a true silver color except for the ever present streak in the middle, now a burnt orange. Her elfin ears stuck out cutely, and it seemed that her whole face and figure radiated an unnatural sexuality. Her figure had become so exaggerated that the clothes she wore bulged and pulled, and he knew they wouldn’t last long. “You’re going to have a hard time with that nun’s vow,” he noted playfully.
She sighed. “I know. But maybe that’s for the best. Huspeth will never understand, though.”
His brows went up. “Then she didn’t do this?”
“No. Ruddygore lies when it’s convenient. It’s his sort of practical joke on Huspeth, I think. I can see why people get irritated with him.”
“So you’re still glad you hitched a ride?”
She smiled. “Very glad, Joe. Very glad. And you?”
“I’m beginning to get the hang of this place. I think maybe I’ll stay a while. Have you thought of what you’re going to do after today? Assuming we win, of course, and we aren’t on the run.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to go to the realm of faerie for a bit, to complete this and to learn more about what I am and what it all means. That will determine the future, more or less, I guess. But I haven’t had my fill of this land.
I’d like to see all of it someday. What about you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think I can hold my own here now. I guess maybe I’d like to travel, too. Just sort of let things take me along, like that river out there. Go with the current and the flow and see where I wind up.”
“Still we made a hell of a good team, didn’t we, Joe?”
He grinned. “We sure did. Marge.”
Trumpets sounded across a broad area outside and seemed to echo and go on forever. Officers still in the mess grabbed their weapons and ran out, while the cooks started frantically cleaning up the place. Drums began to beat, and there was the sound of massive numbers of horses and men moving into positions.
Joe sighed. “I think I’d like to see this battle.”
She nodded. “Me, too.”
With that, they got up and walked out into the breaking dawn.
Chapter XVII
The Battle
Of Sorrows Gorge
Although magic may play a significant part in any battle, victory must be secured by soldiers supported by sound strategy.
- XIX, 301
“Now is the time for swords and sorcery’“
With that ritualistic exhortation required by the Rules, the commanders of both forces urged their men into battle.
From the heights overlooking the great battlefield, the leaders of the northern countries watched and plotted. Behind them, apart from the rushing messengers and great birds and winged fairy folk bringing reports and taking out orders to the field, Ruddygore stood alone, dressed now in his robes of gold and looking quite imposing. He sat in a large wooden chair that seemed almost like a throne, and his arms rested on the arms of the chair, while his eyes were closed.
Poquah saw Joe and Marge and came over to them. “The Master is right, as usual,” he sighed. “I am far too weakened to do more than assist.” His suited eyes seemed to bum, though, and they knew he wanted to be out there with the moving armies.
The sight was imposing. Huge masses of men and equipment marched in formations, while the nonhumans and people of faerie formed their own ranks, covering the human foot soldiers. Ahead, almost a thousand massed cavalry stood, barely holding back their mounts.
“Looks like a Roman epic from the late show,” Marge noted.
“Only this is for real.”
“I don’t understand why they waited for dawn,” Joe said to Poquah. “This looks all too set for a guy with a reputation like his.”
“Crossing the River of Sorrows is no mean feat,” the Imir told him. “Our own forces harassed but could not prevent it.
We didn’t have the time to get sufficient armies south. By the time our troops were gathered, most of his were across, and so it was better to take up defensive positions and wait. The Baron has a real problem, you see he’s in Sorrows Gorge, his entire force with its back to the River of Sorrows and the Dancing Gods. If he loses, he could lose a lot of his main force. But if he wins, he can break through the mountains there and have a clear plain for hundreds of miles and an unimpeded run to Terindell.”
Joe shook his head wonderingly. “I’d have used all that to cross the Dancing Gods. From the map, it’s much easier going on the other side.”
“True but he would telegraph his move weeks in advance and he would be in essentially the same position at the Sad Virgin. That is why the Valley of Decision has always been the place would be conquerors have come, and why none have yet breached it.”
Marge gazed out nervously at the assembling forces. “How good a chance does he have to win?”
“About even, with the Master here,” Poquah told her. “But if he punches through here, there is nothing much to stop him.”
The defenders had dug trenches and built effective looking earthworks, and Joe didn’t envy anybody having to come against them. There were also large catapults and other less familiar machinery of war, but no permanent fortifications in the area.
The sky was suddenly alight with hundreds of fireballs, rushing in toward them, landing, and bursting, spilling their fiery death in a random manner. Poquah watched them come in. “It has begun,” he said softly.
The defenders took cover and generally weathered the storm of fireballs, the catapult equivalent of heavy artillery. It w: ; merely a softening up measure, for all its spectacle. While the fireballs did little damage, they made certain that the main field was clear for the attacker.
Now, across the field, perhaps ten miles from the command post, a huge thing like a black snake moved across the length of the battlefield. It took a little thinking to realize that what they were seeing was a line of men almost a mile long and perhaps ten or fifteen deep. It was not merely impressive it was downright awesome.
From defensive earthworks, a similar line began to march out from the defenders’ side. It was not quite so deep or so wide, but they didn’t have to march over a mile or more of open ground. These were the elfin hacrist, master bowmen, and they took their positions and stood their ground, waiting for the approaching line to get within range. Behind them formed cavalry, so many horsemen it was impossible to count them from the command post. They formed into company sized detachments and waited, about a hundred yards behind the hacrist.
When the two forces were within range of each other, the bowmen let loose with a tremendous hail of arrows that nearly blackened the sky. They concentrated on the center of the attacking line, which suddenly seemed to turn into a solid wall as the soldiers held their shields horizontal, forming something of a roof. The closer they were and the better the discipline, the more absolute that roof would be.
Soon there were holes in that roof, as such a concentration of arrows and bolts as none there had ever seen struck with great force. Without exception, the men who fell were left, with those behind falling in and taking their place in the relentless advance.
From behind the bowmen, the catapults of the defenders went off in perfect series. Some were firebombs, but most contained as much as a quarter of a ton of junk, rock, and scrap metal that would tear into or crush flesh.
The catapults took their toll on the advancing marchers, whose roof was certainly caving in at a number of key spots. Spots on which the bowmen now concentrated.
Joe frowned. “They’re not going to get here that way,” he noted.
Poquah nodded. “Yes. They have something up their sleeves, In his great chair, Ruddygore, too, was thinking the same thing. A frontal attack was useless unless supported by a flank; if this kept up very long, the edges of the force would be the only
attackers and could be disposed of long before they could close the vise. He rose up into the air, his astral shape taking in the entire battle scene, but he could see nothing and he determined that the great mass of the Baron’s troops was, in fact, committed. They looked to be about the numbers and types of beings he’d seen in his earlier reconnaissance. Something was definitely wrong here... But what?
On a hunch, he swung over his own forces, jubilant in their easy victory, and beyond, in back of them, to the ox bows near the River of Dancing Gods. He saw almost immediately that his hunch was correct. Four thousand infantry together with flying cosirs perhaps several hundred, in nine flying companies, all wearing the colors of Marquewood approached. They were row less than two miles from the rear camp of the defenders. They flew traditional Marquewood colors, but the cosirs gave them away.
Abruptly, Ruddygore’s physical body stood up from his chair and he screamed, “We are attacked from the rear by men in our colors!”
Two of the generals turned and frowned. “How?” one asked.
“They must have been carried in small groups up the river and stayed dispersed until last night,” the sorcerer told them.
“They wear the colors of Marquewood, but who of Marquewood would be supported by nine companies of cosirs!” As suddenly as that, the Baron’s true strategy was revealed, along with the fact that there were far more of the enemy than believed. The fight was no longer one sided, but at least even.
Even if the new enemy were exposed, a large percentage of the defenders would have to shift to open field fighting in their rear, weakening the frontal assault. Now, instead of the defenders having the Baron with his back to Sorrows Gorge, they were caught in a vise themselves with no place to run to.
Either the Baron or some other sorcerer with the rear force must have sensed Ruddygore’s astral presence; from behind, even as orders were being issued for a defense of the rear positions, committing the reserves to that fight, the cosirs came silently out of the sky directly at the command post and reserves.
The River Of Dancing Gods Page 30