The Redemption of Althalus (68 page)

“It’s not the building that’s burning, my friend,” Twengor chortled. “One of the biggest tax evaders in Poma just happened to be a wool merchant. We emptied out his warehouse and filled the cellars of a goodly number of these houses with wool. Then we soaked that wool down with lamp oil, melted lard, and naphtha. One of my archers just put a fire arrow through the cellar window of that house. Breathing in smoke isn’t very good for a man, I’m told, but what
really
tops it all off is the fact that the house that just got turned into a chimney used to be the palace of the wool merchant.”

“I’d say that his taxes just went
way
up.” Althalus chuckled.

“That they did, Althalus. That they did. Tell Khalor that I’ve got everything under control here in Poma. I’m dispensing justice and tying down the enemy.”

“I’ll pass that on. Could you drive the invaders out of town if necessary?”

“That wouldn’t be much of a problem. But why? I thought Khalor wanted me to hold them here.”

“Just temporarily, Chief Twengor. We’ve got some cavalry in reserve to mop things up when the leaves have all turned red. I’ll let you know when the time’s right. Then you can invite your visitors to leave, and they’ll be out in the open to provide entertainment for the cavalry.”

“We should all be home by winter, then.”

“That was roughly what we had in mind. Winter wars are so boring.”

“I’ve noticed that myself. Just say the word, Althalus, and I’ll kick our unwanted guests out of Poma and start packing up all the odds and ends we’ve picked up here for the trip home.”

“No victory celebration, Twengor?”

“I don’t think so this time,” Twengor replied. “Waking up in the morning without a blinding headache’s sort of a novelty. I think I might like to enjoy it for a little longer. Go tell Khalor that I’m still sober and that I can drive the enemy out of town at a moment’s notice. Isn’t that more or less what he wanted to know?”

“You were way ahead of me, weren’t you?”

“Of course I was. Now that I’m not seeing double anymore, I can see very clearly. Get out of here, Althalus. I’m busy.”

C H A P T E R     T H I R T Y - F O U R

H
ow did you three get past that army out there?” the jut-jawed Koleika demanded when Althalus, Eliar, and Khalor were admitted to Duke Nitral’s palace in Mawor.

“We came across from the other side of the river in one of your supply ships,” Althalus lied glibly. “It took a bit of fast talking, but we finally persuaded the ship Captain that we were friends.”

“How are Kadon and Poma holding out?” Duke Nitral asked.

“Things are going much more smoothly in Kadon now that Laiwon’s confined Duke Olkar to his palace, your Grace,” Khalor replied.

“He did
what?
” Nitral exclaimed.

“Olkar kept trying to interfere, Duke Nitral,” Althalus explained. “He’d come unraveled every time a shop window got broken or Laiwon commandeered part of the workforce. I don’t think Duke Olkar quite grasps the meaning of the word ‘war,’ for some reason.”

“Laiwon got tired of all his interference and sent him to his room,” Khalor said with a faint smirk. “The walls of Kadon are holding, so the city’s not in any real danger.”

“What about Poma?”

“That’s a different story. They’re fighting from house to house there. There won’t be much left of Poma by the time Twengor gets through.”

“Poor Bherdor.” Nitral sighed.

“It’s his own fault, your Grace. If he’d been a bit more firm, he might have been able to do something about the walls. From a strategic point of view, though, those insignificant walls are a godsend. The besiegers got
into
Poma, but Twengor’s busy making sure that they’ll never get out—until I’m ready for them to come out.”

The door opened, and a heavily armed Treborean soldier entered. “They’re mounting another attack near the main gate, your Grace,” the soldier reported with a smart salute.

“Time to go to work, I guess,” the Duke said, picking up an ornate helmet from his desk.

They all trooped out of the Duke’s study.

“Have they been attacking very often, Chief Koleika?” Eliar asked as they left the palace courtyard and came out into the street.

“Three or four times a day,” Koleika replied almost indifferently. “They don’t really know what they’re doing, so they’re wasting a lot of their men.”

“A stupid enemy is a gift from God,” Khalor said in a sententious voice.

“This particular enemy has more than pure stupidity working against it,” Koleika added. “One of their Generals is a woman.”

“A big, ugly woman with a loud voice?” Khalor asked.

“That’s the one.”

“Don’t underestimate Gelta, Koleika,” Althalus cautioned. “She’s no ordinary woman.”

“You’ve come up against her before?”

“In Wekti, yes. The lives of her soldiers don’t mean anything at all to Gelta. She’ll throw away her entire army to get what she wants.”

“That’s insane!” Koleika said.

“That’s a fairly accurate description of her,” Althalus agreed. “Pekhal could control her, but I believe he’s not with her
anymore.”

The Queen of Night was in full voice when Althalus and the others reached the battlements on the eastern side of the city, and her catapults were hurling boulders at the walls of Mawor with a monotonous thudding sound. “I’m starting to get a bellyful of that,” Duke Nitral growled. “I spent a fortune on that marble sheathing on the outer wall, and she’s breaking it all to pieces with those accursed engines. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to do something about that right now.” He went on down the parapet to a cluster of peculiar-looking engines.

“What are those things?” Eliar asked curiously.

“Nitral calls them arbalests,” Koleika replied. “They’re sort of an oversized bow. They’ll throw a spear for half a mile. Nitral and I’ve come up with a way to make life very interesting for those catapult crews out there.”

Duke Nitral barked a sharp command to the men around the arbalests, and a sheet of spears trailing fire shot out in long arcs from the high walls of Mawor.

“Colorful,” Khalor noted, “but I don’t quite see—”

“Watch,” Koleika said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.

The fiery spears began their almost graceful descent, and then they fell amongst the invaders’ siege engines. Sheets of fire immediately burst out in all directions from the spears, engulfing the catapults.

“What happened?” Eliar exclaimed in astonishment.

“I saw right off that one spear would only kill one man,” Koleika replied modestly, “and only
if
it happened to hit him. I suggested to Nitral that replacing the steel points with earthenware jugs filled with boiling pitch might be an improvement.” Then he made a wry face. “You’ve got to be careful about making suggestions to Nitral. He takes a good, sound idea and immediately starts to expand it. He went me one—or maybe three—better. He liked the pitch idea so much that he added naphtha, sulphur, and something his brewers boil out of good strong beer. One spark is all it takes to set fire to that mixture, and you probably noticed that each spear had a burning rag tied around the shaft.”

Burning men were running from the sudden bonfires that had engulfed the siege engines, and the men were shrieking in agony.

“That’s mostly because of the pitch in the mix,” Koleika explained. “Boiling pitch sticks to anything it touches, and when the jug breaks, the mix splashes all over everything—and everybody—in the vicinity. Then that burning rag sets fire to the whole mess.” He squinted out at the horror on the field below. “They look almost like comets in the night sky. Rather pretty, isn’t it?”

“They didn’t seem to expect it,” Khalor observed.

“I don’t imagine they did. This is the first time we’ve tried it.”

“How did you manage that kind of accuracy, then?”

“That was Nitral,” Koleika replied shortly. “He’s an architect, and computations get involved in that, I guess. He spent two days telling me all about angles of declination, arcs, triangulation, and numbers that he stacked up like cordwood. I couldn’t make much sense of it, but he assured me that it’d work.”

“It looks to me like he guessed it pretty close, Chief Koleika,” Khalor said, gesturing at the bonfires around the siege engines. “As a favor to me, would you see if you can coax the recipe out of him? I’ve got a sneaking hunch that splashing fire all over people might be a quick way to settle a lot of arguments. Have you worked out the details of how you’re going to keep the besiegers from disengaging here and marching on Osthos?”

“They’ll lose more than half their army if they try,” Koleika told him. “I’ve got that river at the back door, and Osthos is downriver from here. I can send men down by boat to ambush any columns marching south, and as soon as they weaken the force around Mawor, I’ll open the front gate and charge out to engage them. Nitral’s fire just added some finishing touches, I think. I’ll keep them so busy that they won’t have time to disengage, and winter’s snapping at their heels.”

“That’s all it’ll take, Chief Koleika,” Althalus said. “If they don’t reach Osthos before the snow flies, we’ve won us a war.”

Dweia was alone in the tower when Althalus, Eliar, and Khalor returned. Her face was pensive, almost melancholy, and her voice was subdued when she spoke. “I think it’s time to call in Kreuter and Dreigon, Sergeant Khalor,” she said. “You might want to go start them moving. Let’s make absolutely sure that Gelta can’t scrape together a
real
army when she goes to Osthos. If Leitha was reading her correctly during that dream, she couldn’t have more than two regiments at her back, and we’ll want to keep it that way.”

“I still don’t quite understand how she expects to get into the city with only two regiments,” Khalor said.

“Althalus and I are going to investigate that while you and Eliar are visiting with Kreuter and Dreigon, Sergeant. The leaves are starting to turn, so Gelta
has
to move very soon. I think we’ll want to be absolutely certain she doesn’t have any surprises for us.”

“Good thinking,” Khalor agreed. “Let’s go talk with Kreuter and Dreigon, Eliar.”

“Yes, my Sergeant,” Eliar replied.

“You seem sad, Em,” Althalus said after Eliar and his Sergeant had left.

She sighed. “Autumn’s always a sad time for me, love,” she replied. “The world grows old in the autumn, and winter lurks just over the edge of next week.” She stretched and yawned. “Then, too, before humans came along, I always used to sleep through the winter.”

“The way bears do?” That startled him.

“Bears are more clever than they look, Althalus. There isn’t really anything to do in the winter, so it’s a good time to catch up on your sleep. After this is all over, we might want to try that now and then.” Then her expression became more businesslike. “Come to the window, Althalus. Let’s do some snooping, shall we?”

“Anything you say, Em.”

There was turmoil in the enemy encampment outside the walls of Mawor, and most of the turmoil was centered around the Queen of Night. Gelta seemed on the verge of homicidal fury, bellowing curses and brandishing her ax. A well-armed Kanthon General was trying to placate her, but she didn’t seem to be listening.

Then Argan, accompanied by a figure in the black armor of the Nekweros, came out of one of the tents. “What’s wrong with her now, General Ghoru?” Argan demanded of the Kanthon.

“Things haven’t been going exactly the way she wants them to go, Argan, and that always seems to set her brains on fire.”

“You’ve noticed,” Argan said drily. “Is there any way we can possibly disengage here?”

“Not a chance, Argan. I can’t take the city, and if I try to pull my troops clear, the men inside the walls will rush out and destroy my entire army. Tell Ghend that he didn’t give me enough men to take this place.”

Gelta continued to bellow curses.

“Make her be quiet, Yakhag!” Argan snapped irritably.

Argan’s companion raised the visor of his black helmet and approached the raging Queen of Night, ignoring her stone ax.

“I thought the Nekweros were all demons,” Althalus said to Dweia. “That one seems to be human.”

“Look again, Althalus,” she replied in a chill voice. “That’s Yakhag, and he’s worse than any demon in Nahgharash.”

Althalus looked more closely at the man in black armor. Yakhag’s face was pallid white, and he had sunken cheeks. There was a chilling deadness in his eyes, and no expression on his face. He spoke very quietly to the Queen of Night, and she shrank away from him, trembling.

“She’s afraid of him!” Althalus exclaimed. “I didn’t think Gelta knew
how
to be afraid.”

“Everybody in Nahgharash is afraid of Yakhag, Althalus,” Dweia replied. “I think he even makes Ghend a bit nervous.”

“Why isn’t he one of that inner circle, then?”

“Probably because Ghend can’t control him. Yakhag only answers to Daeva. He’s a monster.”

“He seems to be taking orders from Argan, though.”

“You don’t really want to start looking into the politics of Nahgharash, Althalus. It’s the ultimate madhouse.”

“Gelta absolutely
must
be in Osthos in three days, Ghoru,” Argan was saying, “and she’ll need
something
in the nature of an army to go with her. How many troops can you spare?”

“Maybe two regiments, but no more, and that’s hardly enough to take Osthos.”

“We’ll see,” Argan said shortly. “Two regiments should serve my purposes. I have access to certain illusions that should persuade the defenders of Osthos to come to the negotiating table.”

“Illusions?” Ghoru scoffed. “You can’t win a war with imaginary soldiers, Argan.”

“Don’t be too sure about that, Ghoru. Start those two regiments marching toward Osthos. I need to talk with Ghend; then Gelta, Yakhag, and I’ll catch up with our forces.”

Ghoru spread his hands. “Anything you say, Argan.”

“Lord Dhakan!” a richly garbed courtier shouted, bursting into the Chamberlain’s office. “The enemy approaches!”

“Calm yourself, man,” Dhakan said. “Give me some details. Don’t just stand there screaming. How many and how far away?”