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twenty-three

We have reached the ruined outpost, human. It lies on your left, halfway up the wall of the ravine—what's left of it.

Hee heel You can't see in the fog, but a great rock came down on the guardhouse roof and smashed it to flinders. This is the place where you wanted to stop. We're about halfway to the place you call Redfern.

Snudge reined in Primmie. "We'll rest for a while, old boy. There's a bit of grass and you can have some water." He dismounted and led the mule to the stream that paralleled the downhill track through the gorge. The mist was thin­ner there and a sizable pine tree grew on the bank. Bending and stretching, he smote his aching inner thighs with closed fists. After a cold drink, he sat down on an exposed tree root and began to chew on a piece of sausage.

Between bites he addressed the spunkies: "My friends, two of you please go on ahead and look for enemy humans on the trail. I doubt any patrol will venture far from the castle in this fog, but we have to be sure. Douse your lights and fly as fast as you can, and return quickly to tell what you've found."

Tinkling giggles. And if we find a wandering Didionite patrol, may we eat it?

"No, God damn it! Remember what Shanakin told you. No feeding! If you must, frighten the soldiers back to the castle or lead them astray to their doom. But if you drink their blood, I'll see that your master punishes you severely."

Spoilsport!

Two sparks winked out and Snudge presumed the little beings were on their way. He hoped they'd follow orders and restrain themselves.

In spite of attempts to keep Sir Ruabon's murder secret, numbers of the knights had found out about it from the dead man's two friends and reacted with both anger and apprehension. The mutinous undercurrent was halfhearted thus far. But if the attack force, which had set out from the summit an hour or so after Snudge, should chance upon a heap of eerily drained Didionite corpses, the consequences might be disastrous.

"You other Small Lights," Snudge said, beckoning, "gather near me. I have something to show you."

The three remaining spunkie guides hovered expectantly before the boy. For this special mission, he had left his armor, gambeson, military cloak, and armiger's weaponry with Ord Sedgewick. He wore his spare outfit, a simple wool tunic and trews, and had a raggedy pony-blanket as an improvised cape. He pulled from his shirt a small thing that hung on a thong around his neck and slowly removed its covering. The sigil named Concealer glowed softly in the murk.

Yeee! squealed the creatures. A Hiding Stone!

"So you know what this is. Good! I'm going to use it to accomplish my task at Castle Redfern. As a matter of fact, I intend to make myself and the mule invisible from here on during our journey, so that I can get used to it. I've never done this sort of thing before."

There followed a distressed chittering. Bad magic! Great Light magic! You'll be sorry if you use it, human.

Snudge felt his heart thudding in his breast. I'm not afraid! he told himself, and turned his back on the agitated spunkies, tucking the sigil into his clothing so that it rested against his bare flesh. Then he swung himself back into the mule's saddle and spoke the words that would render him and the animal invisible.

"BI DO FYSINEK. FASH AH."

The commotion made by the spunkies was cut off as by a slamming door. Night fell abruptly: black, icy, star-strewn. Overhead hung a single slow-blooming patch of gauzy scarlet radiance shot through with restless beams of pale green. A sepulchral voice—one he'd heard before—spoke from the sky.

CADAYAN RUDAY?

Oh, shite!

Panic seized him. It wasn't supposed to happen this way! Red Ansel had never warned him he might have to speak to the Light again when he first used the sigil . . . What were the bloody words? What what what?

Yes!

"GO—GO TUGA LUVKRO AN AY COMASH DOM."

KO AN SO? Asking his name.                                        -

"Dev—" No, you dungpoke, not your true name! "SNUDGE. SNUDGE." MMMMM. A very long, portentous silence. Then, almost in a tone of dis­appointment: THASHINAH GAV.

Had this been some sort of a test? Did the Beaconfolk suspect the earlier sub­terfuge when he'd used his nickname, and were they now attempting to get a stronger hold on him? Perhaps. But this Light had apparently accepted his answer.

Now to say thanks. "MO TENGALAH SHERUV." And please—oh, God, please!—send me back to my own world.

Dank grey fog lapped his face, while three fuzzy Small Lights danced anx­iously around, buzzing like midges. He sat in the saddle and felt his mount stamp one muffled hoof, felt the stirrups supporting his booted feet, sensed the sloshing of the kegs in their nets tied fore and aft of his thighs. A vaguely uncomfortable warmth rested against his breastbone.

He lifted his mittened hand in front of his eyes. It wasn't there—any more than the rest of him was, or Primmie.

"I'm gone!" he chortled, and the spunkies gave a shrill squeal of consterna­tion and fled into the fog. "No, wait! Come back!" he called. "It's all right. I'm only using magic to hide from the enemy. Come back!"

A faint windspoken statement: You are a sorcerer. Like the lady!

"Only a very young one. A beginner. Going invisible is the only important spell I know. Please come back I won't hurt you." Some impulse made him add, "If you don't hurt me."

The three Small Lights reappeared. One of them pointed something out to the others. Look very closely! See? The mist outlines his body and that of the animal. Oooh!

Damn, Snudge thought. I'll have to remember that. And Iscannon had cast a shadow when he hid behind Concealer. He said to the spunkies, "My friends, you're far more clever at magic than I am if you can see me in the fog. Let's just travel on to the castle with no more delay."

You promise to do no more Great Light magic?

"I promise," Snudge said. With a few disgruntled chirps and jingles, the three Small Lights took up their position just above the ground and floated off down the track Primmie followed without urging.

*                                                        *

Snudge never did get a good look at Castle Redfern, although he was later to dis­cover that the place was very small and poor. The fog surrounding it was the thickest he had yet encountered, rendering indistinct any object more than an ell distant. The ravine where the castle was situated was a muddle of spectral shad­ows. After being assured by the uncanny guides that no enemy warriors were on duty outside the stronghold, the boy had them lead him to the ramp of the fort's raised drawbridge, which spanned a steep-walled watercourse that would have made a formidable barrier had it not been nearly bone-dry.

"Can you thin the fog just a bit between here and the castle's gatehouse?" he asked the spunkies. "I want the guards to be able to see me when I go visible again and call out to them."

... There!

"Excellent. Now fly to the windvoices in the army following after me. They must approach with no noise at all and position themselves here, hidden in the fog and ready to attack when the drawbridge lowers and the gates open. Tell them that'll probably happen very suddenly."

The spunkies peeped and disappeared.

As Snudge prepared to speak the words that would render him visible again, he wondered whether he would face another confrontation with the Great Light. It would be horribly inconvenient if that happened each time he used the sigil—and probably fatal if the insubstantial monster in charge of lesser sigils asked him a question he couldn't answer.

Well . . . "BI FYSINEK. KRUF AH"

No mystical darkness, no querying Light. Only the swirling white fog of noontide and he himself, a drably dressed youth sitting on a big dun mule draped with cargo nets bulging with small kegs. Primmie's hoof-muffling rags had been removed.

"Hello, the castle!" Snudge shouted. "Hoy, hoy, hoy! Castle Redfern!"

He had to continue for some minutes before a voice yelled from the blurry battlements above, "Who goes there?"

He had his story ready. "I'm Lunn, son of Rek Warmergill, Royal Customs Officer of Rockport." He gave them the name of the coastal town that was the eastern terminus of one fork of the Breakneck Track. "I'm sent with provisions you'll welcome gladly! Five kegs of fine Langford malt spirits, part of a cargo taken from a Cathran coaster off Skellhaven by our valiant local sailormen. Good King Achardus has ordered the frontier garrisons at Redfern and Highcliff to have a share of the loot as a token of his gratitude for loyal service."

The glaring improbability of such largesse from the notoriously stingy monarch during a time of naval blockade was lost on the sentry.

"Spirits!" the awed man cried out. "Stand fast, lad, whilst I get the sergeant of the guard."

After a few minutes another voice, more authoritative and suspicious, called, "Are you all alone, then, young Lunn?"

"Well, the load's not large," Snudge admitted, "although the proof of the liquor's supposed to be superbly high. Dad sent me out when the royal order disposing of the contraband came through yesterday. My brother Rado went to Castle Highcliff, the lucky duck. The fog's not nearly so bad near the coast. It took me forever to get here. I had to sleep rough on the trail last night, and I was sore tempted to broach one of these kegs to keep me warm. But I didn't. Dad would skin me alive for messing with a royal gift."

"Wait," said the voice, laughing.

 

He did, and for a considerable time, praying that the lord of the castle would not think to have his wind adepts scan him, since he would not be visible to their tal­ent. It would be even worse if the alchymists bespoke the authorities in Rockport to confirm his story.

Evidently nothing of the sort happened. There was a great grinding noise and a scream of poorly greased windlasses. The drawbridge was coming down. Quickly, Snudge dismounted. He snatched a sixth keg of liquor from one of the nets and a coil of strong rawhide lashing that had been looped over the pommel, then rendered himself and his burden invisible and moved back until he was well into the fog. The bridge grounded with a thud, the castle gates opened, and a squad of guards marched out with halberds at the ready, led by their sergeant. They surrounded Primmie and examined the load.

"Damn my eyes if it isn't Snapevale Stillery malt!" The sergeant was over-awed. "Booze fit for a king! But where's that lad gone? Holla, boy!"

"Prob'ly answering nature's call,"" said one of the soldiers.

"Well, to hell with him," said the sergeant. "Let's get this treasure safely in. If the stupid juggins gets caught outside when we lift the bridge, it's his lookout."

He took the mule's reins and led it through the gate. Snudge followed after, unseen. After a few tentative shouts for the missing "Lunn," the sergeant ordered the drawbridge raised and the iron portcullis lowered.

Primmie clopped decorously into the bailey of Castle Redfern and was imme­diately surrounded by a noisy mob. Some of the men had tears of joy running down their cheeks. Snudge's windsight had revealed to him that the garrison's strength was small—no more than two score and ten warriors, nearly half of those either elderly or very young, and all lean to the point of emaciation. If these defenders of the realm were nearly starving, what must be the condition of the ordinary folk living in Didion's capital city?

"You men!" bellowed the sergeant. "Hands off the kegs until His Lordship gives leave to pop the bungs! Warlo, go fetch Baron Maddick."

Snudge waited. The unimpressive small keep was an unadorned two-storey block of stone with a single watchtower on the right and only a few little un­glazed windows. After ten minutes or so the lord of the castle came striding out the entry, followed by six knights in house garb and a pair of men wearing black hooded robes who had to be the resident wind practitioners.

Snudge's prey! But not to be slaughtered as Prince Conrig expected, if the plan succeeded.

Baron Maddick was a greying man of slight stature who possessed an incon­gruously loud and sonorous voice. "Have patience, all! First, let's see whether this unexpected bounty is as advertised. Wizard Hiblesk, tap one of the kegs and sample it."

The tallest man in black bent to the task. When the tap was in place his col-league handed over a wooden cup, which the wizard filled to the brim. Then he rose to his feet, sniffed the cup's contents, and addressed the baron. "As you are aware, my lord, members of our sacred cohort are forbidden to quaff ardent spir­its. It is only to reassure Your Lordship of the wholesomeness of this beverage that I dispense myself from the obligation."

A few titters came from the crowd of soldiers. Hiblesk swept them with a glare, then sipped gingerly from the cup. He frowned, and grumbles of incipient dismay arose. Then he sniffed the liquor again, drained the cup in two strong pulls and lifted it high. "It's good," he declared, and the assembled men raised a thunderous cheer.

Baron Maddick said, "I claim this keg for my high table. The other four will be shared out immediately in equal portions to all fighting men of this garrison. Sir Evolus, supervise the distribution." He turned on his heel amidst more cheers and returned to the keep followed by five of the knights (one carrying the tapped keg), the windvoices, and invisible Snudge.

The great hall of Castle Redfern was stark and incredibly dreary, its windows shuttered against the cold and damp. Smoking torches and hanging cressets fur­nished illumination. The central hearth was unlit and the floor strewn with rub­bishy dried grass and trampled weeds that had obviously not been changed for weeks. Snudge trailed the two adepts to the upper floor, where they evidently had their chambers. As soon as the baron and his knights were out of earshot, a quar­rel broke out between the wizards.

"You could have shared, Hiblesk!"

"Nonsense. You know the Rule."

"Look who's talking! You needn't have filled your cup to the brim to do the test! And the Rule can be relaxed in times of great hardship. You know that as well as I do."

"I'm your superior, Coxus. I'll interpret the Rule!"

Still bickering, they reached a door at the end of the corridor. Hiblesk unlocked it, and the pair entered. Snudge slipped in after them. Most of the siz­able chamber was dedicated to alchymy. It was neat enough, with tattered woven mats on the floor. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters, tables were strewn with arcane equipment made of copper and glass, and the walls were lined with shelves holding books and all sorts of containers. A huge soot-stained fireplace burned merrily, almost making the place comfortably warm. On the hearth stood a glowing charcoal brazier with an alembic distilling some potion. Both wizards went to inspect it.

When their backs were turned Snudge placed the keg that he carried on the floor and stepped away from it, uttering the visibility command in silent mind-speech: KRUF AH.

As he'd hoped, it worked ... like a charm. The small wooden cask appeared out of nowhere, and when the younger wizard named Coxus turned around he caught sight of it at once.

"Great God of the Heights and Depths!" he bleated. "A miracle!"

With his hood lowered, Hiblesk proved to be a bald, eagle-beaked man, hav­ing very little chin, a defect he had attempted to remedy by growing a little white goat beard. His pale eyes bulged as he spotted the keg and he struck a magical pose, held out hands with stiffened fingers aimed at the eldritch container, and pronounced a lengthy spell to banish demonic illusions.

The keg of spirits remained in place.

"It's real!" Coxus knelt reverently beside it. "And it's ours."

Snudge held his breath. Would Hiblesk succumb to temptation?

"We must report this singular occurrence to Baron Maddick at once!" the bald wizard intoned.

"Codders," Snudge muttered in disgust. He pulled out the sock full of coins he'd prepared and coshed the bald alchymist neatly behind his ear. The man dropped to the floor, moaning. "Stand still, Coxus," the invisible boy said. "Clasp your hands behind your head and don't dare to speak on the wind or you will die."

The young wizard, paralyzed by fright, gibbered, "Who—who are you?"

"A mighty sorcerer, come to give you a choice. Your colleague has already chosen wrongly, by the way, and when he wakes up he faces a very unpleasant fate unless he changes his mind."

"W-what k-k-kind of choice?"

"I must prevent both of you from windspeaking for two days. A sure way to do this would be to strangle you." Snudge flung a length of the invisible rawhide lashing around the wizard's neck and tightened it gently. The man stood stock still, hands at his sides.

"I p-presume there is an alternative."

"Oh, yes." Removing the thong. "From personal experience, I know how the arcane talents are gummixed up by the consumption of spirits. But perhaps the prospect of a two-day spree violates your tender conscience."

"I wouldn't say that!" The young wizard smirked. He would have been hand-some had his face not been scarred by acne. "Why do you want Hiblesk and me wind-silent?"

"None of your business. But I promise you'll be better off for it in the long run. Do you have your beds in this room?"

"Behind yon curtain."

"Help me carry your friend. Take his shoulders."

"He's not my friend, he's my boss. And a bloody-minded one, at that." Snudge and Coxus took Hiblesk by the arms and legs and dumped him on one of the narrow raised palliasses. He was already regaining consciousness, and he whimpered and struggled weakly as the invisible boy bound his crossed wrists and ankles securely with the rawhide.

"I'll have to tie you up, too," Snudge told Coxus. "Just sit on the edge of the bed. When you're wrapped tight I'll give you a nice big beaker of booze, and you can savor it at your leisure while I deal with your master." To be on the safe side, he intended to pour them twice as much as he had drunk the night he'd killed Iscannon. Men unaccustomed to strong drink would either puke it up or fall asleep. Snudge devoutly hoped for the latter.

"You'll never get old Hiblesk to swallow any liquor if he sets his mind against it," Coxus warned.

"Maybe not. But I noticed some soft tubing and a funnel amongst your alchymical equipment. They'll do the job for me if he decides to balk. But I reckon he won't."

Hiblesk didn't. When he came to his senses and the horrid alternative was explained to him he capitulated without argument, swilled the fine malt with a fatalistic shrug, suffered a brief bout of hiccoughs, relaxed on his pillow, and began to snore. Coxus drank more slowly, smacking his lips and humming.

"I know who you are!" he said in a playful sing-song tone, as Snudge re­trieved the empty beaker from him. "Y're invashioners! Cathran booze, Cathran invashioners. Right?"

"Right:' said the boy amiably. "And when Didion joins our new Sovereignty, we'll see that all of you starvelings get decent food as soon as possible." The young wizard giggled. "Food and drink!"

"I'm going to lock your door, but someone will come and look in on you in a few hours, after we've stormed the castle. You'll be well taken care of."

Coxus didn't reply. He had passed out and was snoring in chorus with his colleague.

Snudge paused for a moment, closing his eyes, and windwatched the area of the drawbridge ramp in front of the castle. There were bulky shadows lurking out there, and a myriad of faint little golden lights. The advance force led by Prince Conrig had arrived.

"Time to go," he told himself. "I hope most of the garrison has a nice buzz on by now. Maybe they'll surrender instead of taking a futile stand."

He poured himself a small tot from the broached keg, tossed it down, and went to lower the drawbridge.

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