The Deep Gods (18 page)

Daniel’s look silenced him.

“If the Queen should ask for such a service,” Daniel said after a minute, “you have my permission to take my place.”

Eshtak looked speculative. Daniel yawned and pulled off his boots. The bed was enormous and inviting, and he was more tired than he had thought. He crawled in and Eshtak extinguished the flaring oil lamps, one by one, till only one still burned. Then he glanced at Daniel, who was already asleep. He went to the door and wrapped himself in his heavy cloak, lying down across it.

They swept down on the borders of Numith and across the burned villages and the empty farmlands, like a tidal wave. Out of Iskarth they poured down in thousands, led by chariots, followed by lines of slave-bearers and great carts. When they reached the sea, slave workers began hastily building the new ships that had been brought in pieces. Other, smaller boats had been brought entire, and were launched at once.

From the seacoast, many of the warriors of Iskarth turned north, but not directly against Numith. They marched with lightning swiftness across the deeper valley east of the city, burning and slaying as they went, but wasting no time.

On the great rock which would one day be called Gibraltar, there was only a small garrison, in a mud-walled fort; they held for a day, and died to the last man. Now the Iskarthans paused and began to build log walls across the roads to Numith, on the north.

As they worked, the men of Esmare launched ships, and more came from the south, having made a long passage around. More slaves poured down into the land, day after day. Among them were a few from the valley kingdom of Cohanar, which had been in the way of the passage of the warriors of Iskarth.

Now, Numith was besieged, to the ends of the wall. Under the wall, to landward, the fires of the besiegers burned just out of arrow range, and they swarmed thickly at either end.

When the fleets of Esmare had appeared, ships had gone out from Numith against them. But only a few returned, with bloodchilling accounts of a battle that had not been against those ships, but against sea folk. No seaman would set out again; the ships of Esmare held the sea alone.

Then they assaulted the causeways, again and again. Thrown back with the sea full of dead men, the chariots of Iskarth came once more. Galleys came and men climbed in swarms up on the roadway while their galleys burned behind them. And at last the men of Iskarth were camped before the city gates, on the north as well as on the south.

For the moment, they could go no farther. The walls were not to be scaled, even if the weapon Daniel had given Numith had not existed. But the grenades made the taking of the city impossible, yet. Each time a siege tower was rolled closer, deafening explosions and a tower of flame resulted, and rams met the same fate.

There were catapults on the harbor walls, too, and each attack by the ships resulted only in more wrecks to clog the passage.

In the great encampment on the shores south of Numith, two tents stood, larger than any of the others, and hung with banners. Each was ringed with warriors, and each was at an extreme end of the encampment. It had been Rorin’s notion not to place the tents of the two kings side by side. Kings, he had said, should visit each other only at long intervals. Too close an acquaintance only led to envy.

On this day, the King of Iskarth, Alcron, had come the long way across the camps to speak with the King of Esmare. He descended from his chariot and entered the high tent, pausing to look about. His expression was disapproving.

Alcron was armored in bronze, plainly made but strong. He was a wide, heavy man, no longer young but still strong enough to bear a weight greater than most; he had a bull-like face with a great yellow beard that was streaked with grey.

The King of Esmare, regarding Alcron’s scowl, remembered that he was said to be a strange man who took little pleasure in wine or women, whose palace resembled an armory, bare of color or perfume. The tent of the King of Esmare was well-furnished with wine and women, and incense burned.

“Greetings, Ulff of Esmare,” the King of Iskarth said.

“And good day to you, brother Alcron,” Ullf said. He dismissed the girl who had been beside him, with a cheerful slap, and Alcron sat down.

“It has
not
been a good day,” Alcron said pointedly.

“Yes, so I’ve been told,” Ulff said. He leaned forward. “Listen to me, Alcron. These assaults waste men.”

Alcron looked about the tent. “Perhaps you could persuade the warriors of Numith to come forth, to share your pleasures.”

Ulff burst into a roar of laughter while Alcron stared.

“Perhaps I can do just that,” Ulff chuckled. He grinned at Alcron. “They’ll be hungry enough, in a while. And thirsty; the city’s reservoirs hold only so much, and we have the aqueduct. Now, let us wait and see.”

Alcron scowled and shifted uneasily on his seat. “We cannot wait forever,” he said. “If any danger comes to Iskarth, there are none but old men and boys to guard the land.”

“You speak as cautiously as my poor late cousin,” Ulff said. “He too preferred to watch his own, rather than adventure abroad. Yet, for all his care, I am king.”

“I’d heard he was, as you say, careful,” Alcron said darkly. “But not enough, when it came to his wine and food.”

“Ah, yes, wine slew him in the end,” Ulff said blandly. With a grin, he poured a cup for his guest.

Chapter IX

The messengers reached Daniel in the city of Mikalon, a sprawling town that lay under the tall mountains that would be called Cyprus some day. The rulers of Mikalon were men of caution and deliberation, fond of long speeches. They had already made up their minds to cast in their lot with Numith, but they could hardly do so without talking about it first. So, though the men of Kratonis were already moving southward, Daniel was still in Mikalon.

It was useless to keep the message secret; it would not remain so. Daniel told the council of Mikalon the tale, in a cold, controlled voice, though he felt as though knives were at his bowels.

“All the warriors of Iskarth and Esmare have come down against Numith,” he said. “The city holds, still. In the lands of Iskarth, no more than a few days march from here, there cannot be more than a few to oppose you, if you strike now. There is wealth there for you.” He stopped and looked at the men of Mikalon. “If Numith is taken, the wall will be destroyed, and your land will lie under the sea. I have no time to say more; I must go back to Numith, to fight.”

Within an hour he was riding hard with his handful of men, back along the long road west. They rode till they could no longer sit in a saddle; slept briefly and mounted again. Here and there fresh horses were found, and ridden nearly to death. And at last they came into the moorland, the edge of Cohanar lying just beyond.

Here they found ragged men camped in hidden places,
who
had fled from Cohanar in time. There were others, too, men of half a dozen of the small kingdoms that were yet untouched. These had come only lately, but seeing the hosts between themselves and Numith, waited here in the moorland for their own destruction.

Daniel had moved too swiftly for the messengers who followed him. When they found him, he had begun to collect men from the scattered camps, and prepare a desperate assault.

Eshtak, listening to the messengers beside Daniel, heaved a great gasp of relief when they were done.

“We’ll wait a day or two, then, will
we
?” he said, and Daniel nodded. But his face was set in grim lines.

“If they come in time,” he said. He stared impatiently westward, though Numith was too far away to be seen.

“Lord Daniel, I’ve no special wish to be killed, unless I can do more than scratch Iskarth’s hide,” Eshtak said reasonably. “There will be many horsemen, now, from these new allies. Look, at night. You see how the campfires burn, hundreds of them. We’ll not enter Numith without help.”

Daniel looked at him. “I said I would wait a day,” he said. “Then I ride for Numith, and if you wish to come with me…”

“What else can I do?” Eshtak asked, and shrugged. He followed Daniel as he went toward the horses, and silently saddled his own as Daniel was doing. They rode out, along a ridge overlooking the marshes where the Salt River ended; and it was not for a long time that Eshtak finally broke the silence.

“If you rode out to see the enemy, Lord Daniel, they’re in sight.” Eshtak pointed across the marshes.

Daniel had already drawn rein. He sat, staring hard into the misty air, shading his eyes with his hand.

The marshes were half water and half unstable islands of mud, green with reeds and low brush. Daniel and Eshtak sat their horses on a rounded hillock, and the marsh stretched away for miles at their feet. On the far side, a thin line of smoke rose from a campfire, and men moved about, no bigger than ants.

“They keep a few posts along the saltmarsh rim,” Eshtak said. “No more than a dozen men or so in each one, merely in the off chance that some may cross to attack, or steal. Steal, most likely. The remnants who skulk here are no real danger to them.” He rose slightly in the saddle, squinting northward. “Now, over there, on the road we took out of Numith, there are many more warriors of Iskarth.
Too far to be seen, but a man who went that way told me.”

Daniel’s original madness was cooler now. As he sat, watching that distant campfire, he felt a sharp pang of guilt for what he had almost done. Eshtak, and the others, were simple, loyal men who would have followed him into nearly certain destruction.
And for what?
he
asked himself.
A… gesture, something to satisfy his own soul.
Something that would not save Numith,
nor
Ammi.

If I died, he thought, I would never have to make that last decision. I would not have to ask those questions, the ones without answers. What is it that Ammi feels? Is it for me, or for the man whose flesh I wear? And whose love is it, for her… mine or his? When I was Daniel, I had no love in me for anyone; only a vague liking that I called a feeling of love.

He grinned suddenly at Eshtak.

“I remembered something, just now,” he said. “Once there was a prince named Hamlet.”

“An odd-sounding name,” Eshtak said, politely puzzled.

“He continually asked himself why he was doing this or that,” Daniel said. “That’s why he came to a bad end.” He chuckled, but grimly. “At times I find myself doing something like that. Listen, Eshtak, when I speak like a fool, as I did a while back, why not say so?”

Eshtrak shrugged and said nothing.

“We’ll wait for the new army if it takes a week,” Daniel said, and stared at the distant campfire again. “Though I may find it damned hard…” He paused, suddenly, and frowned.
“Eshtak.
The vagabonds we’ve gathered so far… are any of them men who are natives of this place? I mean, who have lived here, on the marsh edge?”

“What?” Eshtak scratched his head. “Why, some of them may be. Sheepherders, I think, before the Iskarthans drove away their flocks. Why?”

“Let’s find such men. I’ve a thought in my head.” Daniel pulled his horse around and kicked it to a gallop, toward the camp.

They did not have to wait as long as Daniel had feared. Before dawn, the first of the new forces were coming in, riders from a small kingdom in the nearer valleys. Within hours there were more; chariots and footmen, and carts. Some were from Kratonis, and their captains came to Daniel at once.

The Kratonis warriors had first gone to the south, toward the mountains of Iskarth. As they entered the land, word had come of the men of Mikalon, who moved toward Esmare. Tribes and clans of a dozen other places had begun to hear the news of loot, and had followed the armies, into Iskarth then into Esmare.

The western war had stripped the two kingdoms bare of all men who could carry arms, and it was all too easy. The cities were sacked, the ships burned; Esmare was a desert, Iskarth a wasteland. The looting was still continuing, and those who had gained most were already sending back their plunder. But some had turned northwest again, at the command of the war-kings of Kratonis, but also of the Queen, Sabara. She knew well that unless the western forces of Iskarth were crushed, they could come against herself, though their cities lay waste.

On the fourth day, Daniel had made his plans. The chiefs and captains of all the mixed swarm of armed men would meet, to hear him, at sunset.

He wore leather armor, and a helmet, arms found and polished up by Eshtak; and a heavy red cloak against the moorland mist. Leaning against a tent pole, he stared at the setting sun again, his hands clasped on the hilt of the iron sword that had once belonged to Ulff. They made good metal in
Iskarth,
he thought idly, his hands caressing the heavy hilt.

Eshtak had been as solicitous as a mother dressing up her son for a special occasion, Daniel remembered. He had insisted on a dozen minor
details,
and on going over each part of the armor himself.

“You’ll see,” Eshtak had said, “I’m right. I’ve seen some of those chiefs and war-kings. They think more of a man’s cloak and the polish on his helmet than anything else, and they’ll follow us better if we look like damned peacocks. Most of them have a dozen women folk to pretty ‘em up, so they don’t know how much work it is.” He had shaken out the cloak and gazed at it admiringly.
“Nice bit of work, this.
Try not to bleed on it, Lord Daniel.”

The camp was full of men now, and lines of horses were staked out on every side; campfires burned everywhere. Looking at it, Daniel could not imagine that the Iskarthans could be blind enough not to see. And they would have heard, by now, of the sack of their own cities. If Numith still stood, they would withdraw; they would have to, he thought hopefully.

There was a clamor, and men came running toward him.

“Lord Daniel!”

It was a river man, painted for war, feathers in his hair, and behind him others of the river people, shouting Daniel’s name. And among them, Galta and Lali, and Banar!