The Tree of Story (37 page)

Preparations for battle and siege went even faster now, and the stream of folk fleeing the northern part of the Bourne increased to a flood that clogged the roads and led to arguments and in a few cases blows. With the Marshal unable to perform his duties, it was up to Captain Thorne to meet with the Red Duke and the captains of the other allied forces. The Duke’s great pavilion was even more crowded than it had been the first time.

“We’ve been informed,” the Duke said to Thorne, “that your city is under martial law and there have been arrests.”

“It is true,” Thorne said, darting nervous glances at the assembled commanders. It was clear he felt out of his element and was struggling to maintain his poise. “The archmage, Ammon Brax of Kyning Rore, has discovered a plot to overthrow the Errantry. We had no choice but to take these measures, for the safety of the people.”

“This is troubling news,” said the Duke. “If you require additional troops to help—”

“We do not,” Thorne said brusquely. “The mage will soon have the traitors unmasked.”

The Duke nodded doubtfully, as if he wished to say more, but then he turned the business of the council to the coming threat. It was almost a certainty that the Nightbane would use the high road from the north, since that would be the quickest and easiest route from Annen Bawn. The enemy would know by now they could not hope to take the city by surprise, yet it was unclear whether they had any inkling of the size of the defending force. And so it seemed to the Duke and the other commanders that they themselves might have an element of surprise that they could put to their advantage, along with the fact that the enemy would be coming uphill to meet the defenders.

“We need not wait for a siege to begin,” the Duke said. “And I believe we should not. The walls of Fable were not built to withstand the kind of onslaught that is on its way. They are neither high enough nor strong enough to last even a day against siege towers and battering rams. And to pen our combined forces up inside walls would be to hobble what strength we have. I say we take the fight to our enemy. We strike them hard and fast, and hope to break their lines and scatter them before they get anywhere near the city.”

The various forces were divided so that if a company was made up of both archers and foot soldiers, the archers were separated from their fellows and assigned to one of two large companies of bowmen. They were to be situated on either side of the narrow, northern end of the valley, and their task would be to rain arrows down on the enemy from both sides. But this order would not be given until the main Nightbane force had come some distance into the valley. A shallow stream that often dried up in the hottest summers meandered across the northern end of the Course, and this was chosen as the point at which the enemy was to be stopped and driven back.

Teams of diggers went to work on the banks of this stream, which was nearly dry now in the late summer heat, hollowing out the banks and making them deeper and more sheer. Stakes were driven all along this new trench on the Fable side. The plan was to let the enemy begin crossing the stream, and while they were struggling up the near bank, when their lines would be in disarray, the main force of defenders would launch its assault. A company of horsemen concealed in the woods on either side of the Course would charge out at the same time, with the intent of cutting through the enemy and breaking it in half. Then the archers would let loose their volleys.

What remained was to decide how the Errantry itself, with its troopers and its small contingent of mounted knights, would be best deployed. The Duke had a plan for this, as well. The knights, he suggested, would form part of the concealed cavalry brigade on the west side of the Course, nearest to Fable, while the foot troopers would join a reserve force that would remain closer to the city gates. These troops could be brought up to reinforce the main army if the battle turned against them, or they could be sent back into the city to defend it should the attack be repelled and the battle become a siege.

“And what of the archmage?” the Duke asked Captain Thorne when the plans had been debated and approved. “I have had mages for counsellors myself in the past and have seen their power and the way they can stir hope and fighting spirit in men. Once the threat of treason in Fable has been dealt with, will Ammon Brax help us?”

“Master Brax has informed me that he will stand with us,” Thorne said, though the nervous working of his jaw was at odds with his words. “I know he is making preparations for a great feat of spellcraft that he’ll unleash on our enemies in the hour of need.”

“That hour may be soon,” the Duke said.

The next day dawned as bright and serene as the last, and some began to question what they had been told, doubting whether there really was any Nightbane host on the march or whether these strange foreign armies—which counted among their number goblins and trolls and other such creatures of darkness—had gathered here under false pretences in order to lay siege to the city themselves. This fear, combined with rumours of dark sorcery in Fable, brought people out into the streets to demand answers. The Errantry troopers had to quell several near riots as they attempted to disperse the
crowds and send everyone home. When it was all over, there were some bloodied heads and broken bones, among not only the people but the Errantry as well.

Balor Gruff was kept busy all that day restoring order, although he sent two of the older Errantry apprentices he knew and trusted to keep watch on Pluvius Lane in case anyone entered or left the toyshop. Finally, late that evening, he turned his steps toward Appleyard, weary and disgusted with the force he’d had to use to keep peace in the streets. As was his duty, he went to report to the acting marshal, a task he had been avoiding ever since taking Edweth to the Golden Goose.

Thorne was pacing in Lord Caliburn’s chamber, his hands knotted together. He didn’t wait to listen to Balor’s report but muttered broken phrases about traitors in their midst and punishment for those who broke their oath to protect Fable.

“Even Dame Oreande,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The mayor, sir?”

“I’ve had her taken into custody. Brax uncovered proof that she was one of the plotters. And if she—” He broke off suddenly and looked at the wildman as if noticing him for the first time. “You’re one of the few I can trust, Gruff. I cannot leave Appleyard now to meet with the commanders. No, the archmage requires my presence here to keep order in the city while he prepares his great stroke against the enemy. We must not—” He broke off once more, and wiped a shaking hand across his mouth.

“Sir?”

“We will commit no troops to the defence outside the walls. Master Brax has advised me on this and I agree with him. This Duke and the others … well, we must be on our guard. We don’t know what their true motives are. Balor, listen. I’m making you special constable of the watch. I’ve
already signed the order. Keep your troopers on patrol in the streets and allow no one to leave the city. The Errantry’s duty is to the people of Fable.”

“Sir, the enemy is almost here. There will be battle tomorrow, by all reckoning. Our allies need us to stand with them.”

“No one leaves the city until I give the order,” Thorne repeated. “Is that clear?”

“If I may speak freely, sir. The mage created all this fear and confusion in the first place. He’s been using us—using the Errantry—for his own ends. His only concern is protecting himself. He’s growing more powerful all the time and we can’t let him—”

“You have your orders, Constable,” Thorne growled furiously, his lips trembling. “If you will not carry them out, you will be stripped of your rank and confined to your quarters. You are dismissed.”

After he’d left the Marshal’s chamber, Balor paused on the steps of the Gathering House and looked back at the great doors. This had been his home for many years now, ever since childhood, when he was found by Errantry troopers and brought to live at Appleyard. How proud he had been to take the oath of a knight-errant.

Then he hurried to Pluvius Lane, where he’d left the two apprentices to keep watch. They were still there, concealed in the shadows.

“People are being marched in there, Balor,” they told him. “Those who break curfew or protest what’s happening are taken in there and they don’t come back out.”

“Time to spread the word, lads,” Balor said. “We will have to act soon.”

In the night’s cool quiet, above the creak of frogs from the nearby ponds and the crickets chirring in the long grass, a
faint noise could be heard, a rumbling like distant thunder. The sky was clear, but in the middle of the third watch a vast cloud rose and hid the stars. It was the cloud of dust raised by the approaching enemy.

In the first grey light before dawn a thick clot of darkness could be made out at the far end of the Course, where the northern road emerged from the hills beyond. As the light grew, the darkness resolved into a great mass of bodies. Shouts and calls and the clatter of weaponry drifted across the field.

The Duke and his fellow commanders watched from a knoll at the other end of the Course, but no one from the Errantry had yet joined them. Then Balor came riding from the city alone. He dismounted before the Duke and saluted.

“The acting marshal has sent me in his stead, my lord. He is … preoccupied with the threat of treason and cannot leave the city at present.”

“It would seem the threat is worsening,” the Duke said.

“It is, my lord. Captain Thorne has issued an order that while the Errantry is engaged in rooting out this insurrection, he will not commit troops to the defence outside the walls.”

A shocked and angry murmur spread through the gathered commanders. The Duke raised a hand.

“The captain is aware, is he not, of the enemy force that has just arrived on his doorstep?”

“He is, my lord.”

The Duke breathed deeply. He turned his gaze to the city for a moment, then back to his fellow commanders.

“Very well,” he said. “We pledged to defend this city, and we will do so. Balor Gruff, I ask you to remain at my side for the time being. There may be news that you can take back to your acting marshal, should he be interested in hearing it.”

Balor had a spyglass, an instrument unknown to many
of the other leaders. The Duke borrowed it from him and peered through it. After a moment he gave a grunt of surprise and handed the spyglass back.

“There are men in the Nightbane army,” he said.

Balor looked where the Duke pointed. He saw a company of foot soldiers and another of horsemen, the metal of their pikes and spurs glittering with the morning dew. They looked like they could just as easily have joined the side of the defenders.

The sun climbed in the sky and burned the mist away from the hollows and thickets around the city, but still the enemy did not advance. No horn sounded; no signal was given. Instead the besieging force slowly fanned out on either side of the road—as if the plan was to encircle the defenders—then came to a halt.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” asked Balor.

“They haven’t brought any siege engines,” one of the other commanders said. “There are no catapults, no battering rams.”

“The fetch host will be their battering ram,” the Duke said. “That’s what they’re waiting for.”

Soon an unnerving sound could be heard, a squealing that pierced the silence and swiftly grew louder. At last the most distant of the enemy ranks parted and a great, towering carriage came into view, square and windowless and made of some dull grey metal. The wheels were metal, as well. The carriage was pulled by four huge, unknown beasts in plate armour that covered most of the enormous bodies.

The carriage stopped at the rear of the Nightbane army and again there was silence. Then a single rider on a black horse appeared. He sat stiffly upright, clutching his arms before him, like someone unused to riding, but still his mount came swift and sure up the Course to the far edge of the stream, where it halted. The rider’s face was bowed, and
he carried no weapon that anyone could see, nor made any gesture of greeting or parley.

“It must be a herald,” the Duke said. “We will meet with him.”

The Duke had his horse brought and he rode down with Balor and two other commanders.

When the four reached the stream, they saw why the rider sat so stiffly in his saddle. He was an older man with cropped white hair and a long sharp face, and he had been strapped to his mount because he was dead. His fine plate armour had been defaced with obscene taunts scrawled in blood, but the clasp of his torn cloak was the five-petaled flower of the Errantry.

“Who is this?” the Duke asked, his face darkening with anger.

“He was the garrison commander at Annen Bawn,” Balor said, swallowing hard. “Captain Bayard Kells.”

As if in answer to its name a voice issued from the dead man’s mouth, though the mouth did not move. The commanders’ mounts snorted and stamped in fear.

“Greetings to the Red Duke of Tintamarre and his allies,” the voice said. It seemed to rise from a deep pit.

“Who are you?” the Duke demanded. “Who dares speak through the dead?”

“I speak for the Viceroy of Malabron, who commands these legions. I am his voice.”

“I’ve never heard of this viceroy,” the Duke said. “What is his name? What land is he from?”

“He has no name, for he is many. The many that is the hand of the One. The Viceroy bids me say to the leaders of your alliance: this is not your city. It belongs to the true lord of this world and he will have it. If you lay down your arms now, you will be allowed to depart in peace for your own lands.”

“Tell your viceroy we will not lay down our arms,” the Duke replied. “He is the one who must leave this field. He and all this rabble of invaders, before they are all destroyed.”

They waited, but the voice did not speak again. The dead man’s empty eyes gazed at nothing. A fly landed on his forehead and began to walk across it.

“We cannot leave your comrade to this indignity,” the Duke said to Balor. “His body should be taken back to Appleyard.”

Balor nodded. He dismounted and was clambering down the stream’s newly steepened bank when the dead man’s horse reared up and galloped down the field the way it had come. The commanders watched as horse and lifeless rider were swallowed up by the Nightbane horde and vanished from sight.