“Aren’t you going to do something about those?” Sandy asked Terleman.
“Not yet,” he answered, absently, as he read another dispatch and threw it on the table with the others.
“Why not yet?” Sandy demanded. “We could take a bloody piss on them, they’re so close!”
“Go ahead, if you feel the need. But we’re not ready to attack them, yet. Not until they attack us,” he answered.
The time dragged on, as the battle raged below. That’s the irritating thing about siege warfare. It’s not a burst of sudden violence, like a cavalry charge. It’s a slow, grinding process that includes far more waiting around than most soldiers like. Scanning the trenches below, I could see that maybe three in four of our archers were taking a break, as ordered. The rain of arrows against the base of the causeway had turned into a sprinkle, and for nearly an hour almost nothing happened.
Oh, the assault on the southern redoubt was still under way, but far more cautiously. Mother Lightning continued to hurl missiles into the mass of the army, but Carmella’s teams had switched to plain old ordinary boring boulders, or nets of rope filled with hundreds of anvil-sized rocks that burst apart in midair. And their rate of fire had slowed considerably, as well.
Indeed, the response to the attack had slacked such that Gaja Katar felt emboldened to press his assault. The drum pattern we knew meant “prepare for a general charge” rumbled through the distant ranks. Horns blew. Banners were raised. And two larger-than-normal siege worms were led to the front of the line.
“They’re going to attack!” Sandy pointed out, in frustration.
“That’s the idea,” Mavone nodded, as he watched with rapt attention.
“If they get those worms up the causeway,” he pointed out, patiently, “then they’ll be able to span the breech!”
“I noticed the very same thing,” I nodded, calmly.
“So why aren’t we stopping it?” he demanded. “What are we waiting for?”
“That,” Terleman answered, pointing toward the front of the invaders’ line. We all directed our attention with magesight to where he was indicating, a spot between the two worms. A wagon of some sort was being brought forward, pulled by a team of six big horses. “That’s what we’re waiting for.”
“The snow?” Mavone asked, as the pregnant sky began to sprinkle the battlefield with flurries.
“No . . . well, yes, but I meant that,” he said, emphasizing the wain.
“What’s that?” Sandy asked, confused.
“A commitment,” Terleman said, enigmatically. “That’s the wain he rode at Traveler’s. Gaja Katar is here. And now I gotcha, you bastard!” he murmured to his enemy, a smile on his lips.
“Terleman’s plans for the defense of Spellgate were subtle, deep, cunning, and elegant. Never had a warmage been given responsibility for such a task, nor such potent resources to see it done. No wizard was better suited to the task. Even when Spellgate was new, before he strengthened it, it was a formidable expression of his genius. That was proven decisively in its maiden battle.”
From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser
Chapter Thirty-Six
Terleman’s Millstone
The snow began falling in earnest as the great wain was escorted up the road, pulled by its miserable team. While wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, the way was too narrow to allow the siege beasts to travel abreast, so they followed the dark wagon in single file, along with a host of infantry. The advance was cheered by a guttural chant and pounding drums, a din loud enough to be heard from the battlements of Spellgate.
Magesight revealed the wain was heavily protected, though its aspect and design was fearsome enough to warn any attackers away. It was a heavy construction, made of dark, thick wood, unadorned with decoration or pigment. It needed none. The severe lines and sturdy manufacture were blocky and sinister. I’d seen it in the darkness, at Traveler’s Tower. Now I got to watch it from a better vantage.
It had been transformed for such work with the addition of attachments to The wagon was borne on four great, solid iron wheels as tall as a man. It was enclosed from the back to half way of its expanse, with an open platform in the front and a second fighting deck overhead as a canopy, above, complete with crenellations.
Enshadowed warriors and draugen guards filled forecastle of the giant wain, their faces grim and mad, respectively, while urgulnosti shamans, their bleached-fur looking grimy against the snow, cast spells of protection around the wagon. Maragorku warriors marched alongside the conveyance, their shields high to protect themselves from arrows from the trenches, and two trolls bearing great iron spears flanked the procession. A band of chanting drummers followed directly behind.
But it was Gaja Katar’s ugly face that sat in a great throne behind the two hobgoblin drovers. His once-human face became clearer as he advanced. It was a frightening mess of scars, tattoos, and decay. I swear by the Flame That Burneth Bright, he got uglier with every turn of the wheels.
“He’s going to address us again,” I groaned. “He’s going to want to talk to us, like he did at Traveler’s Tower. Do you want to do the honors, Terl?”
“Hells, send Wenek, if you want to piss him off,” snorted Sandy. “I just heard from him, mind-to-mind. He and his apprentices got out of the redoubt before it was destroyed.”
“Is he well?” Mavone asked, concerned.
“He’s battered, scorched, and battle-weary. He sounded like a child at Yule,” Sandy reported.
“I’ll go,” Terleman agreed. “I’d like to meet the man – former man – that I’m fighting. I’m wagering that being sent a subordinate will irk him,” he predicted, thoughtfully.
“He irks easily,” I agreed. “Just tell him I have more important matters to contend with, at the moment. Do you want an honor guard?”
“I’ll go,” Mavone suggested. “You, Sandoval?”
“Why not?” Sandy sighed, heavily. “It will do the fellows good, to see us all out there,” he suggested. “We’ll call if we need you, Min.”
My men made themselves ready, donning thick mantles over their armor against the snow and the chill of the wind. Terleman’s squire – apprentice – servant? The lad who followed him around and did things on his behalf, he secured a white cloth to the end of a pole and accompanied his master to the causeway door.
The four of them were allowed to cross, after the great drawbridge came down. They strode down the road through the falling snow toward the bottom of the sloping causeway with cheerful resolve, occasionally waving to the men in the trenches below or on the battlements above. A ceasefire was called, lest they be accidentally hit by an arrow – that sort of thing happens – and the goblins at the base of the artificial hill likewise avoided firing their crossbows at the approaching magi.
They halted a few dozen yards above the front line of the goblin ranks and waited.
The dark wain struggled the last few hundred yards of roadway, even though the gurvani and undead made way for the struggling team. Matters were made worse by the narrowing of the roadway, forcing the trolls and the goblin escort down into the drainage ditch to let the wagon pass.
But eventually the great creaking vehicle rolled to a halt, the siege beasts stopping behind it. The drums beat a long, dramatic roll while one of the Enshadowed climbed to the top of the forecastle. I quickly summoned the Long Ears spell – rather, the Alka Alon variant that was, in some ways, superior – from the Magolith and listened in to the discussion while I watched with magesight.
There was more to my insistence that Terleman serve as emissary than a reluctance to get that close to a Nemovort again. For one, he was a local lord who had engineered this battle with precision, and he deserved the dubious honor of standing for his accomplishment. Secondly, I wanted it known, to friend and foe alike, that the Spellmonger did not stand alone in the Magelaw. Indeed, some of the deadliest warmagi in the world lived here, and they were willing to fight to protect it.
&nb
sp; That had important political implications. Terleman was well-respected in Vanador. Being seen leading in such a capacity would keep him elevated in his new countrymens’ eyes, and demonstrate my trust in him. Though Anguin, Pentandra and I had given him lands, he had ignored them in preference to preparing our army and readying our defenses. Yet he was the kind of magelord I wanted to be seen as epitomizing our class, in the Magelaw.
“I am the herald of—”
“I know who you are,” Terleman snapped. I realized with a start that he was augmenting his voice, using some subtle “command magic” that can help in tense situations. He was also a master of dressing-down a subordinate with the same precision he directed a battle. “Your name doesn’t matter to me. Only your purpose.”
“Our purpose is to remove the humani infestation from—”
“All right, noted,” Terleman interrupted. “Are these all the troops you’ve brought?”
“All?” the transformed Alkan sneered. “Our army is vast! The power of our—”
“All right, this is all you have . . . what you didn’t leave on the road. Or at Traveler’s. Or at Lotanz,” he recounted, scornfully. “Fine. I can contend with this,” he decided.
“You . . . can contend with this?” the Alkan asked, haughtily.
“If that’s all you can muster, then yes,” he shrugged.
“Just who are you?” demanded the herald, irritated.
“I am Magelord Terleman, Deputy Ducal Court Wizard of Alshar. Captain of the Alshari Magical Corps.”
“And it is your task to guard this pass?” the herald asked, with a sneer.
“Not actually,” Terleman admitted. “It is my job to destroy your army.”
“You speak proudly, human,” Gaja Katar finally said, his voice low and creaking. “But it is pride rooted in ignorance. I waged war in these lands a thousand years before you were born. I will see you and all of your kind dead or enslaved. The mistake of allowing you to pollute this world will be corrected,” he vowed.
“It might be, but not by you. And not today,” Terleman said – not boasting, just stating the facts, as he saw them. Mavone was stone-faced. Sandy smirked a bit.
“Where is the Spellmonger, who taunted me at the place you call Traveler’s Tower?” the Nemovort asked. “I expected he would be the one to stand to resist me. I looked forward to taking his life. My master places his death as the highest importance,” Gaja Katar leered.
“Then why did he send you to take it?” snorted Terleman, disdainfully. “Really, a few thousand gurvani and the dregs of the undead? I would think that Korbal would have given Minalan’s fate more serious consideration. I suppose he just isn’t that concerned, to send a lacky like you.”
“Where is the Spellmonger?” demanded Gaja Katar, impatiently.
“He’s got more important things to do, at the moment,” Terl dismissed. “Once he explained to me what the problem was, he figured I could deal with it.”
“He left you to deal with an entire army?” laughed Gaja Katar. “Is he a coward, or just a poor friend?”
“He is an adept administrator who hires high-quality people. He trusts my judgement,” Terleman replied. “Really, a child could defeat this rabble you lead. You must be the one responsible for bringing this mess to my door. Or are you merely doing as your master bids you?” he asked, coolly.
“I come to destroy you,” Gaja Katar proclaimed, with a growl. “My master bids me a task I am passing eager to fulfill. For the longer I have association with your repulsive folk, the more loathing I find for you. Driving you into oblivion will be a fitting prelude to the destruction of cowardly Alkan lords you protect.”
“I’m not doing this to protect the Alka Alon,” Terleman corrected, impatiently. “I’m doing this as a demonstration.”
The confident declaration confused the Nemovort. His rotting face looked at Terleman with a troubled expression. “A demonstration to who? Your pathetic warrior-princes?”
“No, to Korbal,” Terleman replied. “If he has no better opinion of Minalan than to send the least of his slaves against him, then we must improve it. I expected Ocajon, or Kalbur, or Raz-Ruziel, perhaps even Nadziratel . . . but you? Why, Stulka Dumi would have been a better choice to lead this motley band of fools you lead to their doom. He was a fool – at least it would be entertaining.”
“I will see you suffer, before you perish!” snarled Gaja Katar . . . who did not appreciate Terleman’s intimate knowledge of inter-Nemovorti politics. As I said, no one can dress a man down better than Terleman. He can find a way to get under your skin by his pure competence.
“You will be lucky to see sunrise, tomorrow,” Terl returned, derisively. “Ishi’s tits, to think of all the time I wasted preparing for . . . for this!” he said, waving at the army surrounding them with utter contempt. “It’s a complete waste of my talents. I could do this with half the men, and a quarter of the artillery. Why must Minalan torment me with mediocrity?” he said, affecting frustration with the precision of a surgeon.
“I think he’s just jealous, my lord,” offered Sandoval, helpfully. “He seeks to demean you through petty tasks.”
“I . . . am NOT . . . a petty task!” declared Gaja Katar.
“Oh, shut up, this doesn’t concern you,” Terleman snapped. “Do you really think he’s jealous?” Terl asked Sandy, curious.
“More vindictive than jealous, my lord,” Mavone considered. “The Count has a very . . . twisted sense of humor. And you have been besting him at rushes, lately,” he reminded him. I flinched at that. It was true. Terl had been kicking my arse, the last few games we’d played.
“This is just like him,” Terleman fumed, pacing back and forth in front of Gaja Katar’s mighty war wagon as if the dark lord was an inconsequential servant. “Just like him! He couldn’t take a loss like a gentlemen . . . no, he has to find some third-rate walking corpse to—”
“I AM GAJA KATAR, DEVOURER OF SOULS!” roared the undead lord, impatiently.
Terleman did not miss a beat. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. A second-rate walking corpse. With an army of third-rate scrugs. Don’t you realize what contempt Minalan has for you?” he said, suddenly addressing Gaja Katar impatiently. “He faced over a hundred thousand gurvani at Boval Vale. And Sheruel, the Dead God.”
“A bloody gurvani!” sneered Gaja Katar.
“Encased in a couple of pounds of irionite – which is far more power than you’ll ever see. Minalan faced down all that. And your master. And he not only survived, he put your master to shame and now enjoys living in a lovely little castle just down the way. While I must contend with the garbage,” he sneered.
“Do you have some reason for this tirade?” demanded the Nemovort, impatiently.
Terleman sighed expressively. “I suppose Korbal just doesn’t have the resources we expected. Here we were, fretting that he’d be sending . . . well, a challenge. Instead we get . . . this. And . . . you,” he added, with a sneer.
“It could be a clever means of disposing of an unruly subordinate, my lord,” offered Mavone, helpfully. “Such a thing is not unheard of. To take a poor general, who lacks imagination or skill, and send him to certain doom as an example—”
“I am not an example!” Gaja Katar screamed.
“Of a great many things, of that I have no doubt,” Terleman said, smoothly, continuing to pace. “But my friend is right. You are likely being pranked by your lord. I really must apologize . . . I hadn’t considered things from your perspective,” he said, with genuine sympathy. “Here I’ve been irritated with my friend for sticking me with this . . . unpleasant task,” he said with a sniff, “and I had no consideration of what you must be facing. Why, to have Korbal send you here like this, to assured destruction . . . it must be utterly humiliating,” Terleman said, shaking his head a bit. “It’s one thing to have a friendly disagreement with a friend, but to be sent to certain doom by your master? For no better reason than your mediocrity? How humiliating that must be!” he s
aid, clucking.
“It’s a godsdamn shame,” agreed Sandoval, solemnly.
“One would think a noble master would treat even the less-fortunate among his followers to a better demise than this,” Mavone concurred. “Really, my lord Gaja Katar, you have our deepest sympathies.”
“I do not need your sympathy!” insisted the dark lord.
“Yet you may have it at our grace,” Sandoval said, with a properly understanding expression. “To think he sent you here, to die in such an ignoble fashion . . . one would scarcely credit any shred of decency to a master who would treat a slave so.”
“It’s a shame,” Mavone concurred. “It must be an attempt at discipline, amongst his fellows. Why else send one so recently returned to life to such a depressingly certain death? It’s politics,” he sniffed. “It must be. One of your fellows has conspired to put you in this position,” he decided. “But which one, I wonder?”
“My lord, Karakush has always been eager to see you fail,” offered the herald in a murmur. “It is not beyond his—”
“Will you shut up!” the exasperated Nemovort demanded of his subordinate. “I command a mighty army at my master’s order! I am favored in the opinions of the Necromancer! I was especially chosen to lead his hordes to wage war against his foes! Only his most trusted advisors were given such power! He has given me the honor of leading the vanguard!”
“Dear gods, he’s really screwed you,” Sandy said, shaking his head sadly. “You must have really pissed him off, somehow.”
“Tell me, Gaja Katar, do you recall any moment in which you might have given him offense?” inquired Mavone, pointedly. “Some unintended slight? Yet potent enough for him to condemn you to a humiliating death at the hands of the humani?”
“Enough!” shouted the Nemovort. “Our councils are at an end! Return to your lines, and await your destruction!”
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