A Darkness at Sethanon (42 page)

Amos stuck a
finger in his mouth, then raised it. With a satisfied ‘Ah’
he shouted, “Catapult! Fire!”

The mighty war
engine uncoiled, throwing its missile with such force as to make it
leap upon the wall. Into the dark the missile silently sped.

For a long
moment no effect was visible, then shrieks filled the night from the
distance. Amos let out a satisfied howl of glee. Arutha watched for a
moment and saw no more flashes of light. “Amos, what did you
do?” asked Guy.

“Well,
One-eye, it’s a trick I learned from your old friends the
Keshians. I was in Durbin when a tribe of desertmen had an uprising
and decided to take the city. The governor-general, that old fox
Hazara-Khan, found the walls being swept with bow fire, so he ordered
up hot sand and threw it at them.”

“Hot
sand?” said Arutha. “Yes, you just heat it until it glows
red and toss it at them. The wind carries it a fair piece, and if it
hasn’t cooled too much when it hits - it burns like unholy
blazes. Gets in your armour, under your tunic, in your boots, your
hair, everywhere. If Murmandamus was looking this way, we might have
blinded the impotent son of a poxy rat. Anyway, it’ll take his
mind off spells for an hour or two.”

Arutha laughed.
“I think only for a time, however.” Amos took a pipe from
his tunic and a taper which he lit from a torch. “Yes, there’s
that.” His tone turned serious. “There is that.”

The three looked
out again into the dark, seeking some sign of what would be next.

T
he
wind blew dust across the wall.

Arutha squinted
as he watched riders move along the lines of the assembled host,
heading for Murmandamus’s banner. The attacks had continued
unabated for three days before ceasing. Some sort of war council was
being held in Murmandamus’s camp, or so it seemed to Arutha.

For an hour the
conference had been taking place. Arutha considered the situation.
The last assaults had been intense, as much as any before. But they
had lacked the disquieting element of the sudden appearance by those
warriors transported by magic inside the walls. The lack of magic
assaults had Arutha puzzled. He speculated there was some compelling
reason for Murmandamus not to use his arts again, or some limit on
what he was able to do for any length of time. Still, Arutha
suspected something was about to break for Murmandamus to be calling
all his chieftains together.

Amos wandered
along the wall, inspecting the soldiers on duty. It was late in the
day, and already men were relaxing, for it was apparent there would
be little chance of attack before morning. The enemy’s camp was
not standing ready, and it would take hours for them to muster. Amos
reached Arutha’s side and said, “So, then, if this was
your command, what would you be doing?”

“Had I the
men, I’d roll out the bridge, sally forth, and hit them before
they could marshal their forces. Murmandamus pitches his command post
far too close to the front, and without apparent thought a company of
goblins has been moved down the line, leaving an almost clear path to
his pavilion. Lead with mounted archers and with luck you could have
several of his captains dead before they could organize resistance.
By the time they were roused, I’d be back inside the city.”

Amos grinned.
“Well, what a bright lad you are, Highness. If you want, you
can come play with us.”

Arutha regarded
Amos questioningly, and the seaman inclined his head. Arutha looked
past him to the bailey and saw horsemen riding into position before
the inner gate of the barbican. “Come along. I’ve an
extra horse for you.”

Arutha followed
Amos down the stairs to the waiting mounts. “And what if
Murmandamus has another magic trick to toss at us?”

“Then we
will all die and Guy will be sad for having lost the best company
he’s had in the last twenty years: me.” Amos mounted.
“You worry too much, lad. Have I told you that?”

Arutha smiled
his crooked half-smile as he mounted. Guy, waiting by the gates,
said, “Be doubly careful. If you can hurt them, fine, but no
heroic suicide assaults just on the chance to get at Murmandamus. We
need you back.”

Amos laughed.
“One-eye, I’m the last candidate for hero you’re
ever likely to meet.” He signalled and the inner gate was
opened. The rumble of the bridge being run out could be heard as the
inner gate closed. Suddenly the outer gate swung open and Amos was
leading the company out. Quickly outriders took their position on the
flanks as the main element of Amos’s force advanced upon the
besieging army. At first it was as if the enemy didn’t
understand that a sally was being undertaken, for no alarm was given.
They were almost upon the first elements of Murmandamus’s army
when a trumpet sounded. By the time the goblins and trolls were
scrambling for weapons, Amos and his raiders were racing by them.

Arutha rode
straight for the hill where Murmandamus’s commanders were in
conference, three Armengarian archers at his side. He didn’t
know what drove him, but suddenly he was filled with a need to meet
this dark lord. A squad of riders, those closest to the raiders,
galloped to intercept the Armengarians with Arutha. Arutha found
himself facing a human renegade, who grinned as he slashed at Arutha.
Arutha killed him quickly and efficiently. Then the fight was fully
joined.

Arutha looked
toward the command pavilion and saw Murmandamus standing in plain
view, his snake companion at his side. The moredhel leader seemed
indifferent to the carnage being visited upon his forces. Several
Armengarians attempted to close upon the pavilion, but they were
intercepted by renegade and moredhel horsemen. One archer pulled up
his mount and coolly sent bow shafts at the pavilion. Having learned
the lesson of Murmandamus’s invulnerability, he chose other
targets. He was quickly joined by another bowman and suddenly two of
Murmandamus’s chieftains were down, one clearly dead from an
arrow in the eye. Another company of foot soldiers ran toward the
spot where Arutha laid about with his sword, cutting down goblins,
trolls, and moredhel, attempting to protect the archers while they
attacked the chieftains. For some endless time the ringing of steel
and the pounding of blood in his ears were all Arutha heard. Then
Amos shouted, “Begin the withdrawal!- The cry was taken up by
other horsemen, until every raider had heard the call.

Arutha cast a
glance past where Amos sat his horse and saw another company of
riders was headed toward them. Arutha slashed out with his sword,
unseating another renegade, and headed toward Trask. The newly
arriving renegades struck Amos’s raiders, halting their
movement. Then the raiders wheeled as a body and attacked
Murmandamus’s cavalry. Slowly the raiders began to fight their
way out of the camp, killing everyone who stood between them and
escape. A break appeared in the mass around them, a clear path back
to the gates. Arutha spurred his mount forward and joined with the
others in headlong flight back to the city. He glanced over his
shoulder. A company of black-clad riders sped past Murmandamus’s
pavilion, following in hot pursuit. To Amos he shouted, “Black
Slayers!”

Amos signalled
and several riders peeled off to turn and engage the Black Slayers.
They charged and met with a ringing clash of steel, and several
riders from both sides were unhorsed. Then the melee dissolved as the
Armengarians disengaged, while another company of moredhel advanced
upon the conflict. Most of the Armengarians who fell regained their
saddles, but not all. A full dozen soldiers lay upon the sandy soil
of the plain.

The gates were
open when Amos’s company reached the wall, and they spun in
place once inside the barbican. Behind, the rear guard was hurrying,
engaged in a running fight with the Black Slayers and other moredhel.
A dozen Armengarians sought to escape from more than thirty pursuers.

Amos sat next to
Arutha as the Black Slayers cut down a pair of riders. “Ten,”
said Amos, counting the remaining riders. As they rode for the gate,
Amos said, “Nine, eight,” then, “seven.” Upon
the dusty plain a wave of black-armoured riders overwhelmed a
half-dozen fleeing soldiers and Amos said, “Six, five, four.”
Then, with a note of anger in his voice, he shouted, “Close the
gate!”

As the gate
began to swing shut, Arutha continued his count. “Three, two .
. .” The last two riders from the raiding party were cut down.

Then from above
came the sound of catapults launching. A moment later the screams of
dying moredhel and horses filled the air. As the inner gates opened,
Amos spurred his horse forward and said, “At least the bastards
paid. I saw at least four chieftains down, two clearly dead.”
Amos glanced back, as if he could see through the massive gates. “But
why didn’t the bastard use magic? That’s what I don’t
fathom. He could have had us, you know?”

Arutha could
only nod. He also wondered. He gave his horse to a boy detailed to
care for the mounts and hurried up the stairs to Guy’s command
location. “Damn me!” greeted him as he joined the
Protector.

Several
prostrate figures in black armour were rising, in jerky awkward
motion, moving back toward their own lines. Quickly their movement
smoothed out and they were soon running as fast as if they had been
uninjured.

“When you
told me of those . . .” began Guy.

“. . . you
couldn’t believe,” finished Arutha. “I know. You
have to see it to understand.”

“How do
you kill them?”

“Fire,
magic, or by cutting their hearts out. Otherwise even the pieces find
a way to rejoin and they just get stronger by the minute. They are
impossible to stop by other means.”

Guy looked out
at the retreating Black Slayers. “I never had your father’s
fascination for things magic, Arutha, but now I’d give half my
duchy - my former duchy - for a single talented magician.”

Arutha
considered. “Something here has me concerned. I know little of
these things, but it seems that, for all his powers, Murmandamus does
little to truly trouble us. I remember Pug - a magician I know -
telling me of some things he has done . . . well, they far
outstripped what we’ve seen so far. I think Pug could pull the
gates from the city walls if he’d a mind to do so.”

“I don’t
understand such things,” admitted Guy.

Amos was
standing behind them, having approached at the last. “Maybe the
king of pigs doesn’t want his army relying too heavily upon
him.” Guy and Arutha both regarded Amos with open curiosity.
“It might be a matter of morale.”

Guy shook his
head. “Somehow I think it more complicated.”

Arutha watched
the confusion in the enemy camp. “Whatever it is, we’ll
most likely know soon.”

Amos leaned on
the wall. “It’s been two weeks since your brother and the
others left. If all has gone as planned, Martin’s at Stone
Mountain today.”

Arutha nodded,
“If all has gone as planned.”

Martin crouched
down in the depression, his back tight against wet granite. The
scraping sound of boots on the rocks above told him his pursuers were
looking for signs of him. He held his bow before him, regarding the
broken string. He had another in his pack, but no time to restring.
If discovered, he would drop the weapon and pull his sword.

He breathed
slowly, attempting to stay calm. He wondered if fate had been kind to
Baru and Laurie. Two days before, they had reached what appeared to
be the Yabon Hills proper. They had seen no sign of pursuit until
today, when, a little after sunrise, they had been overtaken by a
patrol of Murmandamus’s riders. They had avoided being run down
by climbing up into the rocks alongside the trail, but the moredhel
had dismounted and followed. By poor chance, Martin and the others
were on opposite sides of the trail and Laurie and Baru were forced
southward, while Martin ran to the west. He hoped they had enough
sense to continue south toward Yabon, and not to attempt to rejoin
him. The chase had lasted throughout the day. Martin glanced upward,
noting the sun moving behind the mountains. He judged only two more
hours of light left. If he could avoid capture until dark, he would
be safe.

The sound of
boots grew faint and Martin moved. He left the shelter of the rock
overhead and scampered along at a half-crouch, half-run, following a
rill upward. He judged he was close to Stone Mountain, though he had
never come there from the northeast before. But some of the landmarks
looked vaguely familiar, and had he not had other concerns to occupy
his attentions at this time, he was sure he could easily find the
dwarves.

Martin rounded a
curve and suddenly a moredhel warrior loomed up before him. Without
hesitation Martin lashed out with his bow, striking the dark elf in
the head with the heavy yew weapon. The surprised moredhel staggered,
and before he could recover, Martin had his sword in hand and the
moredhel lay dead.

Martin spun
about, seeking signs of the moredhel’s companions. In the
distance he thought he saw movement but couldn’t be sure. He
quickly hurried upward then discovered another bend. Peering around
the bend, Martin found a half-dozen horses tied. He had somehow
managed to double behind the pursuers and stumble across their
mounts. Martin ran forward and gained the saddle of one of the
horses. He used his sword to cut the reins of the others and slapped
them across the flanks with the flat of his blade to drive them off.

He spun his
horse and spurred it forward. He could race down the wash and reach
the trail. Then he could outrun the moredhel to Stone Mountain.

A dark shape
launched itself from atop a rock as Martin rode past, dragging him
from the saddle. Martin rolled and came up in a fighter’s
crouch, his sword out as a moredhel did the same. The two combatants
faced each other as the moredhel cried out in his harsh elven dialect
to his companions. Martin attacked, but the moredhel was a skilled
swordsman and kept Martin at sword’s length. Martin knew if he
turned to flee, he’d get a blade in the ribs for his troubles,
but if he stayed, he’d soon be facing five moredhel. Martin
kicked rocks and pebbles at the moredhel, but the warrior was an
experienced fighter who moved sideways, avoiding dust in the eyes.