Magician (54 page)

Martin shouted back, “Unless
they’ve . . . suddenly all . . . gone deaf.” He managed a
smile. “The Tsurani hold a six-to-one . . . advantage I . . .
think it . . . only fair to let . . . the Brotherhood . . . have the
. . . ambush.”

Garret spared enough breath for a low
groan and continued to follow his master’s lead. They crashed
out of a thicket and Martin stopped, grabbing Garret by the tunic. He
cocked his head and said, “They’re up ahead.”

Garret said, “I don’t know
. . . how you can hear a thing with . . . all that cursed racket
behind.” It sounded as if most of the Tsurani column had
followed, though the forest amplified the noise and confused its
source.

Martin said, “Do you still wear
that . . . ridiculous red undertunic?”

“Yes, why?”

“Tear off a strip.” Garret
pulled his knife without question and lifted up his green forester’s
tunic. Underneath was a garish red cotton undertunic. He cut a long
strip off the bottom, then hastily tucked the undertunic in. While
Garret ordered himself, Martin tied the strip to an arrow. He looked
back to where the Tsurani thrashed in the brush. “It must be
those stubby legs. They may be able to run all day, but they can’t
keep up in the woods.” He handed the arrow to Garret. “See
that large elm across that small clearing?”

Garret nodded. “See the small
birch behind, off to the left?” Again Garret nodded. “Think
you can hit it with that rag dragging at your arrow?”

Garret grinned as he unslung his bow,
notched the arrow, and let fly. The arrow sped true, striking the
tree. Martin said, “When our bandylegged friends get here,
they’ll see that flicker of color over there and go charging
across. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, the Brothers are about fifty
feet the other side of your arrow.” He pulled his horn as
Garret shouldered his bow again. “Once more we’re off,”
he said, blowing a long, loud call.

Like hornets the Tsurani descended, but
Longbow and Garret were off to the southwest before the note from the
hunter’s horn had died in the air. They dashed to be gone
before the Tsurani caught sight of them, aborting the hoax. Suddenly
they broke through a thicket and ran into a group of women and
children milling about. One young woman of the Brotherhood was
placing a bundle upon the ground. She stopped at the sight of the two
men. Garret had to slide to a halt to keep from bowling her over.

Her large brown eyes studied him for an
instant as he stepped sideways to get around her. Without thinking,
Garret said, “Excuse me, ma’am,” and raised his
hand to his forelock. Then he was off after the Huntmaster as shouts
of surprise and anger erupted behind them.

Martin called a halt after they had
covered another quarter mile and listened. To the northeast came the
sounds of battle, shouts and screams, and the ring of weapons. Martin
grinned. “They’ll both be busy for a while.”

Garret sank wearily to the ground and
said, “Next time send me to the castle, will you, Huntmaster?”

Martin kneeled beside the tracker.
“That should prevent the Tsurani from reaching Crydee until
sundown or after. They won’t be able to mount an attack until
tomorrow. Four hundred Dark Brothers are not something they can
safely leave at their rear. We’ll rest a bit, then make for
Crydee.”

Garret leaned back against a tree.
“Welcome news.” He let out a long sigh of relief. “That
was a close thing, Huntmaster.”

Martin smiled enigmatically. “All
life is a close thing, Garret.”

Garret shook his head slowly. “Did
you see that girl?”

Martin nodded. “What of her?”

Garret looked perplexed. “She was
pretty no, closer to being beautiful, in a strange sort of way, I
mean. But she had long black hair, and her eyes were the color of
otter’s fur. And she had a pouty mouth and pert look. Enough to
warrant a second glance from most men. It’s not what I would
have expected from the Brotherhood.”

Martin nodded “The moredhel are a
pretty people, in truth, as are the elves. But remember, Garret,”
he said with a smile, “should you chance to find yourself
exchanging pleasantries with a moredhel woman again, she’d as
soon cut your heart out as kiss you.”

They rested for a while as cries and
shouts echoed from the northeast. Then slowly they stood and began
the return to Crydee.

Since the start of the war, the Tsurani
had confined their activities to those areas immediately adjacent the
valley in the Grey Towers. Reports from the dwarves and the elves
revealed mining activities were taking place in the Grey Towers.
Enclaves had been thrown up outside the valley, from which they
raided Kingdom positions. Once or twice during the year they would
mount an offensive against the Dukes’ Armies of the West, the
elves in Elvandar, or Crydee, but for the most part they were content
to hold what they had already taken.

And each year they would expand their
holdings, building more enclaves, expanding the area under their
control, and gaining themselves a stronger position from which to
conduct the next year’s campaign. Since the fall of Wahnor, the
expected thrust toward the coast of the Bitter Sea had not
materialized, nor had the Tsurani again tried for the LaMutian
fortresses near Stone Mountain. Walinor and Crydee town were sacked
and abandoned, more to deny them to the Kingdom and Free Cities than
for any Tsurani gain. By the spring of the third year of the war, the
leaders of the Kingdom forces despaired of a major attack, one that
might break the stalemate. Now it came. And it came at the logical
place, the allies’ weakest front, the garrison at Crydee.

Arutha looked out over the walls at the
Tsurani army. He stood next to Gardan and Fannon, with Martin Longbow
behind. “How many?” he asked, not taking his eyes from
the gathering host.

Martin spoke. “Fifteen hundred,
two thousand, it is hard to judge. There were two thousand more
coming yesterday, less whatever the Dark Brotherhood took with them.”

From the distant woods the sounds of
workmen felling trees rang out. The Swordmaster and Huntmaster judged
the Tsurani were cutting trees to build scaling ladders.

Martin said, “I’d never
thought to hear myself say such, but I wish there’d been four
thousand Dark Brothers in the forest yesterday.”

Gardan spat over the wall. “Still,
you did well, Huntmaster. It is only fitting they should run afoul of
each other.”

Martin chuckled humorlessly. “It
is also a good thing the Dark Brothers kill on sight. Though I am
sure they do it out of no love for us, they do guard our southern
flank.”

Arutha said, “Unless yesterday’s
band was not an isolated case. If the Brotherhood is abandoning the
Green Heart, we may soon have to fear for Tulan, Jonril, and Carse.”

“I’m glad they’ve not
parleyed,” said Fannon. “If they should truce . . .”

Martin shook his head. “The
moredhel will traffic only with weapons runners and renegades who
will serve them for gold. Otherwise they have no use for us. And by
all evidence, the Tsurani are bent on conquest. The moredhel are no
more spared their ambition than we are.”

Fannon looked back at the mounting
Tsurani force. Brightly colored standards with symbols and designs
strange to behold were placed at various positions along the leading
edge of the army. Hundreds of warriors in different-colored armor
stood in groups under each banner.

A horn sounded, and the Tsurani
soldiers faced the walls. Each standard was brought forward a dozen
paces and planted in the ground. A handful of soldiers wearing the
high-crested helmets that the Kingdom forces took to denote officers
walked forward and stood halfway between the army and the
standard-bearers. One, wearing bright blue armor, called something
and pointed at the castle. A shout went up from the assembled Tsurani
host, and then another officer, this one in bright red armor, began
to walk slowly up to the castle.

Arutha and the others watched in
silence while the man crossed the distance to the gate. He looked
neither right nor left, nor up at the people on the walls, but
marched with eyes straight ahead until he reached the gate. There he
took out a large hand ax and banged three times upon it with the
haft.

“What is he doing?” asked
Roland, just come up the stairs.

Again the Tsurani pounded on the gates
of the castle. “I think,” said Longbow, “he’s
ordering us to open up and quit the castle.”

Then the Tsurani reached back and
slammed his ax into the gate, leaving it quivering in the wood.
Without hurrying, he turned and began walking away to cheers from the
watching Tsurani.

“What now?” asked Fannon.

“I think I know,” said
Martin, unshouldering his bow. He drew out an arrow and fitted it to
the bowstring. With a sudden pull, he let fly. The shaft struck the
ground between the Tsurani officer’s legs and the man halted.

“The Hadati hillmen of Yabon have
rituals like this,” said Martin. “They put great store by
showing bravery in the face of an enemy. To touch one and live is
more honorable than killing him.” He pointed toward the
officer, who stood motionless. “If I kill him, I have no honor,
because he’s showing us all how brave he is. But we can show we
know how to play this game.”

The Tsurani officer turned and picked
up the arrow and snapped it in two. He faced the castle, holding the
broken arrow high as he shouted defiance at those on the walls.
Longbow sighted another arrow and let fly. The second arrow sped down
and sliced the plume from the officer’s helmet. The Tsurani
fell silent as feathers began drifting down around his face.

Roland whooped at the shot, and then
the walls of the castle erupted with cheers. The Tsurani slowly
removed his helm.

Martin said, “Now he’s
inviting one of us either to kill him, showing we are without honor,
or to come out of the castle and dare to face him.”

Fannon said, “I will not allow
the gates open over some childish contest!”

Longbow grinned as he said, “Then
we’ll change the rules.” He leaned over the edge of the
walkway and shouted down to the courtyard below. “Garret,
fowling blunt!”

Garret, in the court below, drew a
fowling arrow from his quiver and tossed it up to Longbow. Martin
showed the others the heavy iron ball that served as the tip, used to
stun game birds where a sharp arrow would destroy them, and then
fitted it to his bow. Sighting the officer, he let fly.

The arrow took the Tsurani officer in
the stomach, knocking him backward. All on the wall could imagine the
sound made as the man had his breath knocked from him. The Tsurani
soldiers shouted in outrage, then quieted as the man stood up,
obviously stunned but otherwise showing no injury. Then he doubled
over, his hands on his knees, and vomited.

Arutha said dryly, “So much for
an officer’s dignity.”

“Well,” said Fannon, “I
think it is time to give them another lesson in Kingdom warfare.”
He raised his arm high above his head. “Catapults!” he
cried.

Answering flags waved from the tops of
the towers along the walls and atop the keep. He dropped his arm, and
the mighty engines were fired. On the smaller towers, ballistae,
looking like giant crossbows, shot spearlike missiles, while atop the
keep, huge mangonels flung buckets of heavy stones. The rain of
stones and missiles landed amid the Tsurani, crushing heads and
limbs, tearing ragged holes in their lines. The screams of wounded
men could be heard by the defenders, while the catapult crew quickly
rewound and loaded their deadly engines.

The Tsurani milled about in confusion
and, when the second flight of stones and missiles struck, broke and
ran. A cheer went up from the defenders on the wall, then died when
the Tsurani regrouped beyond the range of the engines.

Gardan said, “Swordmaster, I
think they mean to wait us out.”

“I think you’re wrong,”
said Arutha, pointing. The other looked: a large number of Tsurani
detached themselves from the main body, moving forward to stop just
outside missile range.

“They look to be readying an
attack,” said Fannon, “but why with only a part of their
force?”

A soldier appeared and said, “Highness,
there are no signs of Tsurani along any of the other positions.”

Arutha looked to Fannon. “And why
attack only one wall?” After a few minutes, Arutha said, “I’d
judge a thousand.”

“More likely twelve hundred,”
said Fannon. He saw scaling ladders appearing at the rear of the
attackers, moving forward. “Anytime now.”

A thousand defenders waited inside the
walls. Other men of Crydee still manned outlying garrisons and
lookout positions, but the bulk of the Duchy’s strength was
here. Fannon said, “We can withstand this force as long as the
walls remain unbreached. Less than a ten-to-one advantage we can deal
with.”

More messengers came from the other
walls. “They still mount nothing along the east, north, and
south, Swordmaster,” one reported.

“They seem determined to do this
the hard way.” Fannon looked thoughtful for a moment. “Little
of what we’ve seen is understandable. Death raids, marshaling
within catapult range, wasting time with games of honor. Still, they
are not without skill, and we can take nothing for granted.” To
the guard he said, “Pass the word to keep alert on the other
walls, and be ready to move to defend should this prove a feint.”

The messengers left, and the waiting
continued. The sun moved across the sky, until an hour before sunset,
when it sat at the backs of the attackers. Suddenly horns blew and
drums beat, and in a rush the Tsurani broke toward the walls. The
catapults sang, and great holes appeared in the lines of attackers.
Still they came, until they moved within bow range of the patiently
waiting defenders. A storm of arrows fell upon the attackers, and to
a man the front rank collapsed, but those behind came on, large
brightly colored shields held overhead as they rushed the walls. A
half-dozen times men fell, dropping scaling ladders, only to have
others grab them up and continue.