The Deed of Paksenarrion (56 page)

The Clarts had found a village, mostly burned but with several large barns intact, along the line Siniava had taken. They reached this village by nightfall; all the wounded, and most of the others, slept in shelter. Paks tried to ignore the stains where the villagers’ bodies had been dragged away for burial by the Clarts. Rain continued all that night, slow and steady. In the morning light, the wreck of the village was even uglier. Paks found a body the Clarts had missed: a young girl or woman who had been trapped in a burning sheepfold. She stared at it for a time before she called someone to help carry it away for burial.

For three wet days they marched on in the mud, along crooked lanes that led from village to village. Paks heard from Stammel that the militia was finally on the move behind them. But they could not catch Siniava’s army, and one day the Blue Riders reported that it had split. They were not sure which part of it Siniava was with. Finally the Duke turned them south, toward Cortes Cilwan.

“He thinks Siniava might have kept troops in reserve there,” said Kefer. “The Blue Riders are still trying to find out which remnant he’s with, but if the Duke is right, we could cut him off.”

Several days later they came in sight of the high walls of Cortes Cilwan, the inner keep standing far above the main city. They marched closer, in battle order. Paks could see sentries on the walls, and hear horns cry the alarm.

“Hmmph. I don’t see his standard,” said Arcolin. “I wonder if they’ve changed sides already.”

The Duke had ridden to the front of the column with Vladi and Aliam Halveric. “They’ll wish they had, if they haven’t,” he said. “But I expect they’re waiting to see who we are before they decide who they’re for. Let ‘em see our colors, Arcolin, and we’ll find out.” Arcolin signalled the standard bearers, who unfurled the Duke’s banner to the light breeze.

“Nothing yet,” said the Halveric. “Coy, aren’t they?”

“Merchanters,” growled Vladi. “No courage, no honor—bah! Tir take all such to the black realms!” Paks glanced cautiously at him; she’d never been so close to him before. He looked like someone who would be called the Cold Count: a pale narrow face with cold blue eyes and a pointed gray beard.

The Duke lifted his reins and rode a little forward; the others went with him. A bellow came from the walls. Paks could not understand the words, and the Duke made no reply, advancing farther. He was close under the walls when he stopped. After a few minutes, someone came from a postern gate to speak with him. The discussion went on some time. Paks counted the sentries on the wall, and tried to see if there were archers up there too. It was hotter; standing in the sun she felt sweat trickling through her hair under the helmet. It itched. She resisted the urge to scratch her nose. Sun glared on the city walls. She looked past the city to the river. A bath in the river—Stammel cleared his throat and she jerked her attention back to the Duke. He and the others were riding back.

“Siniava isn’t here,” he told them. “They’re having riots inside, it sounds like, but they all swear Siniava isn’t here, and hasn’t been since he marched for Koury and Ambela. They won’t open the gates to us, and I won’t waste time taking the city when Siniava isn’t there. We’ll stay here until our scouts can tell us where he is.”

Paks had her bath in the river, as refreshing as she’d hoped; the camp was festooned with drying socks and tunics. By the time the couriers came in, rest, hot food, and baths had revived enthusiasm for the chase—among the mercenaries. They heard without surprise that the Vonja and Foss Council militia would not go farther east.

“I suppose we can’t complain,” said Devlin. “With all these bandits running loose in the confusion, and their own cities and lands at risk, I can see they’d want to stay closer to home.”

“I heard the trouble with Foss Council is that they’re still arguing about who’s in command since their captain-general was killed,” said Paks.

“Probably. With those units from different cities, their chain of command is tangled as briars. I wish the Sorellin militia would show up. Just because they were beaten once is no reason to hang back now. Siniava’s lost a lot, and not just on the battlefield.”

Seli limped heavily to their fire and eased himself down.

“Are you supposed to be here?” asked Devlin.

Seli grinned. “The surgeon said to try walking a few steps.” Devlin looked at the distance from the surgeons’ tents and shook his head. Seli ignored him. “Well, Paks,” he said. “How do you like being corporal?”

Paks blushed. “I’m not, really. Just until you’re well.”

“You’re doing the work. You’re as much of one as I am. If you weren’t doing it right, Kef and Stammel would have replaced you by now. Or so they told me, when I was worrying about it a few weeks after my promotion. I remember I was scared stiff. Did you feel like that, Devlin? I thought my friends would think I’d gotten conceited, and wondered if anyone would obey my orders.”

Devlin nodded. “Yes—I think everyone feels like that at first. I’d been bedding a woman in Cracolnya’s cohort, and she kept teasing me about it. So I quit, and she said my new rank had made me proud. And we had a big old fellow in this cohort then—as tall as you, Paks, and immensely strong. He wasn’t too bright, but he had years on me. He’d grumbled before when someone a year junior to him made corporal, and I was sure he’d cause me trouble.” Devlin paused to drink.

“Well? Did he?”

“He started to. He complained—claimed I’d done gods know what all for my promotion—things like that. I was young and brash in those days—” Seli laughed, and Devlin grinned. “Brasher, then. And a quick tongue, that I’ve always had. So I went to him, and we had a little talk—I asked him how he thought a little runt as ugly as I was—for that’s what he’d called me—could sell his favors to anyone. And then I suggested that since he was bigger, stronger and smarter—which he claimed to be—that if I’d been chosen, it must have been with divine guidance. That was in the days when no one in this company would have considered evil influence. He hadn’t thought of that, he said, and had I any proof. The proof, I said, was in the promotion—surely he knew the captains and the Duke could recognize the gods’ will—but if he wanted proof, to wait until nightfall.”

“What did you do?” asked Seli. “Coat yourself with one of those glowing mushrooms?”

“No. Better than that, I thought. We’d had a rich haul of treasure from the last campaign, and I’d noticed something—or thought I had. The quartermaster then was a friend of mine, and as corporal I could go through the stuff. I told him what I wanted, and he laughed and agreed, as long as I brought it back by morning. I’d told my troublemaker to meet me at midwatch of the second. This was late summer, and what would be rising?”

“Torre’s Necklace—by all the gods, Dev, what did you do?”

“Don’t be hasty, Seli; it’s not good for your wound. Well, he was there, and I was, and I’d told the watch to leave us be. I think they thought that if we wanted to fight on the walls they’d rather not know. I told the old boy that my proof was this: as I saluted the Necklace of Torre, her grace would give light to my blade—only briefly, of course, unless he was one of the evil ones.”

“It’s a wonder you weren’t blasted out of the sky.”

“The gods love the brave.” Devlin stretched and went on. “When the whole Necklace was above the hills and clear to see, I drew the blade I’d borrowed, and made some kind of invocation. Sure enough, it flared as blue as could be, and my—friend—nearly fell onto his knees. I sheathed it quickly, before the glow died, and had a time keeping quiet. The thing stung my hand when it lit up, and left blisters that lasted two weeks.”

“I thought something would happen,” said Seli. “The gods may love the brave, but some of them wouldn’t like your wit. I assume the man gave you no more trouble?”

“Right, he didn’t. But there was trouble nonetheless—one of the captains was up for some reason, and saw the flash. Next thing I knew I was explaining it to her—”

“Dorrin’s sword!” exclaimed Paks.

“Yes. It wasn’t hers at the time; she took it in the captain’s draw a few days later. She did about chew my hide off for mocking the gods. When I showed her my hand, though, she said they’d taken their revenge, and all she wanted was the sword.”

“It is a magic sword, then?” asked Paks. “I thought I saw it glowing last year in Rotengre, when we’d killed the webspinner’s cleric.”

“Yes, it’s magic. Good magic, too. She doesn’t show it off—swords like that attract thieves like honey brings bees.”

“Why doesn’t it glow all the time?”

Devlin shrugged. “I don’t know—I suppose it was made that way.”

Early the next morning they were marching again. All around the rich farmland showed scars of war: fields unsown, orchards hacked and burned, bloated corpses of cattle and sheep. Now and again they saw little bands of ragged peasants who fled into the woods and hedges at their approach. On the third day of the march, the Duke turned sharp south, and told them why.

“Our scouts report that Siniava’s holed up in a ruined city between Koury and Immervale on the river. They’ve seen his personal banner and troops in his colors. The Sorellin militia should be coming south to meet us. I’m telling them to come ahead. We’ll assault if we can, or siege until they arrive—but I don’t want to let him get loose again.”

By afternoon of the next day, they could see the old city. From a distance it looked more like a low hill of broken stone than a fortification, but as they drew closer, they saw that the city wall still held its shape around most of the mound. Where it had been breached, fresh piles of earth and brush blocked entry. Above the highest half-crumbled tower Siniava’s banner waved in the afternoon sun. Paks could not see any sentries; she had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing.

While the commanders positioned their companies on the north and west of the ruins, archers tried to ignite the brush with fire arrows, but it was still too green. No arrows returned, and nothing showed on the walls.

“They want us to charge up there carelessly,” said Vik. Paks paused beside him for a moment.

“Yes—I think so too. The Duke’s smarter than that.”

“I hope Siniava doesn’t have something like that priest at Sibili. Or a wizard.”

“If he had something that powerful, surely he’d have used it before now.”

“Yes—unless it was here. Something lurking in the ruins that he knew about.”

Paks shivered. “Don’t say that, Vik. It’s enough to spook anyone.”

“Surely not you?”

“Huh. I don’t think I’ll answer that.” Paks waved and went on. Nothing happened that night, and in the morning they prepared to assault the walls. Halveric Company would try the southern wall; Vladi’s spears, the west; and the Duke’s Company, a breach in the northwest angle of the wall. East of Phelan’s forces, the old ruins ran apparently unbroken to the river, some distance away.

After several attempts at climbing the earthworks filling the broken wall, they gave up; the outer face was slippery and sticky. An assault force could not climb that unstable slope while being pelted with stones and harried with arrows. While the main attack group stayed visible at the foot of the slope, Paks and Dorrin’s junior corporal, Malek, each took a squad and found a climbable place on the walls out of sight, around a square jutting corner.

This was easier than it might have been. Over the years stones had shifted, giving hand and foot holds; bushes had grown in the gaps. At the top of the wall, Paks peeked over cautiously. She saw the backs of a small group at the edge of the earthworks, some yards to her left, and nothing else. She passed a hand signal to those following, and eased up onto the wall. She heard the rasp and scrape of others coming over the rim as she drew her sword. Another quick glance showed few enemy soldiers anywhere: some on the far side of the earthworks, but equally intent on the action below. As soon as her squad was on the wall, Paks gave a last look to Vossik, below with reserves, and waved. He returned the gesture. She headed toward the enemy, counting on surprise to make up for numbers.

One of the soldiers across the earthwork gap saw them just before she reached the rear of those on her side and yelled a warning. As the first soldiers turned, Paks drove her sword into the back of the rearmost. They had not had their swords out; she killed another before facing a useful weapon. Across the gap an archer let fly. Paks heard a yelp and a curse behind her. She drove on; in minutes they had killed those on their side of the gap. Paks looked down and across. Crude steps had been cut into the fill, leading to a walkway a few feet below the rim; similar steps led up to the wall on the far side.

“Let’s get across that,” she said to Malek. He glanced back; Vossik was on the wall with their reserves.

“Good idea.”

Paks waved to her squad and started down the steps as fast as she could. She heard bowstrings twang both before and behind as Vossik’s archers tried to drive the enemy away, and the enemy tried to shoot her. An arrow sank into wet clay near her foot. Another. She held her shield before her face as she ran across the walkway. She could hear her squad coming close behind. At the foot of the steps, she took a deep breath and surged upward, yelling encouragement to those following.

When she topped the steps, no one was there. Four crumpled bodies sprawled on the wall; the rest of the enemy were many strides away, running as fast as they could. She started to pursue, then looked back at Vossik. His hand signal was emphatic: wait. She looked back at her squad. Only Arñe was missing; she had taken an arrow in her arm, and Vossik had held her back. Paks looked down the outer face of the wall. Some were already climbing the wall, and others followed Volya, who was cutting steps in the clay earthwork.

No enemy soldiers showed on the wall, now. Paks explored eastward, finding a narrow break with a worn footpath climbing tumbled stones from inside the wall, then winding down the slope of broken rock below the gap on the outside. Stammel posted a guard here, and another at the river end of the wall. Then they moved into the ruins themselves.