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twenty-eight
For
most of their journey along the
"The
city must be very close," Belamil said.
At that moment the spunkies
began to squeak and grow dim. The boys hastily drew aside as a fine coach,
escorted by eight armed linkmen trailing sparks from their firebrands, came up
from behind them and thundered past.
"I was beginning to
wonder if any Didionites were left alive in this infernal fog," Saundar
muttered.
"I'll wager the coach
is hurrying to get through the bridge gate before it closes for the
night," Belamil said. "We should waste no time ourselves."
"Let's stop here and
get our own torches ready;" Snudge said. He dismounted and extracted the
pitch pot from one of his saddlebags. "Take care of it, lads, while I go
down to the shore and reconnoiter. Maybe the mist is thinner over the water and
I can catch sight of our goal."
He
withdrew, moving cautiously until he heard waves dashing on rocks, then sent
his windsight due north across the estuary, like a gull skimming the surface of
the sea. No human eye could see much of anything, but his talent scried the
shadowy silhouettes of docks and buildings along the immense quay, which curved
for nearly three leagues along the opposite shore. Sighting along its frontage,
moving toward the river, he perceived at last the outline of the
It was enormous, longer than
any span he'd ever seen before. Even obscured by mist, the fortified tower
seemed the size of a small castle keep. The leaf of the bascule was still down.
But how long would it stay that way?
"Small Lights!" he called. "Are you with me?"
The luminous swarm winked
into existence. Some of us are, human. Most of our number have already
gathered inside the city to await the great feast promised to us by the lady.
The bridge you seek is very near. With torches, you should not require our
assistance to find it. Give us leave to join Shanakin and our fellows.
For a feast!
Our reward!
"Go. But remember to harm none of my people!"
We obey Shanakin and the lady, not you. Fight your fight and be damned,
human.
Snudge felt his gorge rise,
wondering again whether Prince Conrig knew how Ullanoth intended to secure his
victory, and whether he cared.
He ran back to the others,
vaulted into his saddle, and accepted a torch from Saundar. "Only a league
left to go now," he said. "I could see the bridge lights across the
water. Spur your horses to a gallop!"
In the
end, it was almost laughably easy to pass through. The small guardpost on the
southern shore was manned by hollow-eyed troops whose sergeant studied their
forged papers with apathy, then ran a dirty hand along the sleek damp flank of
Mero's horse. The big armiger had taken the leadership role, since he bore the
barony's pennon. He was the only one of the group without a torch.
"Looks like Castle
Redfern's hardly feeling the famine at all, from the looks of your
mounts," the Didionite observed, not bothering to conceal his envy.
"Better keep a sharp eye out for gangs of starving desperados once you get
inside the city, messires. They'll cut you down in a trice just to get their
teeth into this juicy horseflesh."
Mero
lifted the banner in salute. "Thank you, sergeant. We'll stay alert. Come
along, men!"
They
trotted across the bascule and into the fortified tower. Snudge counted at
least twenty-five armed warriors inside the well-lit structure, but no one
there possessed talent. He noted with his windsight the passages leading to the
counterweight vault and the upper storey where the portcullis machinery was.
As in most well-designed gatehouses, the roof of the area between the iron
grates was perforated with scores of murder-holes. Anyone trapped between the
two lowered portcullises risked being arrow-shot or pelted with deadly missiles.
But that didn't worry
Snudge. The real cause for concern was his windsight of the vault, where
engineers were obviously preparing to man the pumps and lift the bascule for
the night.
When the armigers rode out
of the tower they continued on only until they reached the first of the three
bridge piers, where Snudge signaled a halt. He could detect no one else
crossing in either direction, and they were beyond the view of anyone in the
tower.
"I've decided we must
leave our horses here," he said, "rather than take them all the way
across and hide them inside the town. We're fast running out of time. The
Didionites are preparing to raise the bridge."
"How
do you know that?" Mero demanded.
Snudge didn't answer the
question. Dismounting, he snuffed his torch and ordered the others to do the
same and tie their mounts to the bridge railing. Each squire then removed the
sack holding tarnblaze from his saddle and refastened the awkward load to his
belt.
"We'll not use our
swords during this mission unless it becomes absolutely necessary," Snudge
said. "I have special weapons for us that are more likely to convince the
foe that supernatural beings are on the loose." He handed around thick
wool socks half-filled with copper coins, which the other armigers regarded at
first with bemused disbelief. "A smart blow on the head from this, swung
wide, will render the strongest man senseless, even if he's struck through a
mail hood. Try to hit behind the ear rather than on the top of the skull."
"But
the guards are sure to see us coming at them!" Belamil protested.
"No, they won't."
Snudge pulled the leather thong holding his bagged sigil from beneath his armor
and uncovered the moonstone. It shone pale green in the golden haze emanating
from the widely spaced bridge lamps. "Here is a powerful amulet of
invisibility that I took from the dead body of the sorcerer I killed at Castle
Vanguard. Prince Conrig knows all about it. I have dedicated the amulet to his
service. It will shield all of us from the eyes of the enemy."
"Codders!"
murmured Saundar. The others stared goggle-eyed.
"Step close,"
Snudge commanded, "one beside me and the other two directly behind. The
amulet's magic hides its wearer and anyone else within four ells of him, if
commanded to do so."
"Show us," Mero demanded. He took a place as
Snudge's left, while Belamil and Saundar perforce had to fall in behind.
"Best cling to one
another's surcoat tails," Snudge said. "We'll be invisible to each
other as well as to the foe. Let's start off moving slowly back along the
bridge, then speed up once we get the hang of staying together. While we're
within thick fog, our outline is dimly visible. Once inside the lighted tower,
we'll cast faint shadows. No need to worry overmuch about that, though! With
the guards getting ready to lock up, there'll be other shadows aplenty.
Remember: if you move four ells away from me at any time, you'll become visible
again and vulnerable to the enemy. I'll take us directly to the vault entry,
which is near the southern portcullis, on the right side as we approach. If
anyone gets in our way, push them gently aside. No violence unless I give the
command ... Are you ready?"
Three voices muttered "Aye."
"BI DO FYSINEK. FASH AH."
Three yawps of astonishment from three invisible mouths.
"Are those the words of the magic spell?" Mero asked softly.
"Yes," Snudge said. "Now hold tight to each other and
let's go."
After some initial stumbling
and cursing, the boys settled into a steady lope that swiftly brought them back
to the tower. No one spoke.
Mero was wild with an
excitement that had nothing to do with the up-coming action. An amulet of
invisibility! Count Feribor had said nothing about Deveron possessing such a
thing. Feribor probably knew nothing about it—nor need he ever know.
Before I kill the young
bastard, Mero thought, I'll force him to show me how to work the amulet. The
other two will have to die also, of course, but such things happen during
battle.
The boys moved without
hindrance down into the pumping area beneath the bridge deck, which was
accessed by a flight of stone steps. There, as Snudge had predicted, they found
the team of twenty-four workers already manning a line of twelve stout pump
handles. Water drawn from the river passed through a great hosepipe made of
tarred leather into the huge metal chamber mounted atop the main counterweight,
pushing it down into the vault as the chamber filled. As the counterweight
sank, the bascule leaf pivoted upward.
The weight was already starting to edge downward.
"Quick!" Snudge whispered. "Stand abreast and strike
them down!"
The workers dropped, four at
a time. A few uttered cries of surprise and con-fusion as they saw their mates
mysteriously stricken, but most fell without a sound. The last to drop were the
two stupefied engineers, who had stood rooted to the spot as the pumper team
was dispatched, only to attempt to escape up the steps at the last minute.
Unseen armigers tripped the fleeing pair, then clouted them as they lay
sprawled on the damp stone floor.
"KRUF Ml. BI FYSINEK."
The four boys reappeared,
grinning at each other. But Snudge sobered quickly as he took a better look at
the great water tank, which was almost the size of a small cottage. Its top lay
about six feet below the level of the pumping platform and was separated from it
by a gap of nearly ten feet.
"Damn it! I didn't
think the water-chamber would be completely lidded over with metal, except for
the place where the hose goes in. We'll have to cut the hose with our swords to
get the tarnblaze bombshells inside. A pity no one carries a battle-axe."
Saundar said, "Belamil and I have the heaviest broadswords. We'll
do the job."
Snudge nodded. "See
that catwalk along the wall of the vault? Go along it to the opposite side,
climb over the pivot housing, and then down onto the top of the tank. All we
need is a hole in the hose large enough to drop the bunched shells through. Be
careful! The hose might spew water when you hack through it. Don't slip and
fall into the vault . . . Leave your sacks of tarnblaze here, and I'll get the
shells prepared."
Mero was assigned to guard
the stairs, with orders to-get close to Snudge if he heard someone coming so
that they could both defend themselves while invisible. The great vault was
poorly lit by torches, so there was a good chance the two boys working on the
hose would not immediately be seen by the guards.
Snudge
unwrapped the tarnblaze bombshells, black iron spheres about two handspans in
diameter, with long wicks protruding from their iron necks. Each shell was
enclosed in a net made of stout cord for easy handling. The infernal devices
were usually used in siege engines or in naval catapults when an explosive
effect was required, rather than a gout of unquenchable fire.
Snudge used leather thongs
from the sacks to tie two of the shells to his own swordbelt. The others he
lashed together and slung about his neck. They weighed at least ten pounds
apiece.
Saundar and Belamil reached
their goal and began chopping. The hose was twice as thick as a man's leg. Though
flexible to accommodate the movement of the counterweight, it was obviously
extremely tough.
"I'm going to cross
over," Snudge told Mero, "to be ready as soon as they finish making
the hole."
"Why not leave your
invisibility amulet with me?" Mero suggested. "You won't need it—and
I might."
"The magic only works
for the stone's owner. I'm able to use it only because Iscannon the sorcerer
died. It burns any other person who touches it."
Mero's eyes narrowed a
fraction. "But I tried to take it from you once when we were horsing
around. Remember? You kneed me in the balls! I'm sure I touched the amulet
then."
And so
he had—before it had been empowered.
"No, you couldn't have
done." Snudge's tone was offhand. "I'll send Belamil and Saundar back
before I toss the bombshells into the water-chamber. All of you take cover in
the alcove behind the stairs when I give the signal. I don't think the
explosion will blast the counterweight to pieces and kill me, but if it does,
the rest of you will have to secure the portcullis machinery as best you
can."
Mero
gasped. "Saint Zeth! . . . But how shall we do it?"
"With luck, there'll be
so much confusion after the blast that no one will pay much attention to you,
even if you're visible. Just take off your knightly surcoats so you're not
obvious outsiders. Climb to the upper floor, strike down anyone you find there,
and barricade yourselves in. Then lower both portcullises and keep them down
until Prince Conrig and the army arrive. There'll be the usual weapons
stockpiled above to shoot with or drop through the murder-holes. Use them if
the trapped guards refuse to surrender. Just he damned certain that no foeman
gets out of the tower and across the bridge to give warning in
"Very
well . . . You seem to have thought this out rather thoroughly."
Snudge
shot a glance over his shoulder as he headed for the catwalk. "Stable boys
have their share of low cunning."
"You're
more than that, Deveron," Mero said smoothly, "as you've reminded the
rest of us often enough." He drew his razor-sharp varg sword and strode
through the collapsed bodies of the pump workers to take up his position near
the stairs.
"Ready?"
Snudge called. "Take cover, everyone! I'm lighting the bomb wicks."
He had
tied all four of the wax-soaked fuses together. After igniting them with his
talent, he balanced the net-covered iron spheres on the ragged edge of the
hose-cut until the flames disappeared into the necks of the shells. Then he
pushed the deadly load into the hole and scrambled for his life.
As he
dove behind the bascule pivot, a devastating thunderclap of sound deafened him.
He felt the massive iron housing lurch and sway like a speeding cart hitting a
pothole. Water rained down on him, and the entire vault chamber was instantly
filled with an opaque cloud. Snudge lay flat, covering his head with his arms,
while echoes of the explosion reverberated from stone and metal. The entire
tower shuddered. A single fragment of broken iron clanged down, narrowly
missing his body.
Then it
was over. He heard distant shouts from the bridge deck above, a stifled groan
that was much closer, and the continuing sound of rushing water leaking from
the great ruptured tank. The wall-torches had been extinguished and the only
illumination came from the staircase opening. Trembling, filthy, and soaking
wet inside his chain mail, Snudge struggled to his feet and attempted to use
his talent to scry the others in the misty shadows on the opposite side of the
vault.
Another
low groan. He searched the alcove where his companions had taken refuge and saw
a single figure standing upright amidst the swirling steam clouds. A second
crouched on the floor, bent over a third, who lay prone and motionless.
Snudge
felt his way back to the pumping platform along the catwalk, which had remained
intact. From above, a Didionite shouted, "Hoy! Down there in the vault!
What in God's name has happened?"
Snudge
yelled, "Don't come down! Danger! Don't come down!"
"Deveron?" A voice called softly from near the stairs. Mero.
Snudge
scried that the bully still held his sword, and its tip rested at the back of
the crouching squire's neck. Whoever that other boy was, he had lost both his
helmet and his mail hood.
"Are
you safe, Deveron?" Mero called out again. "I can't see you. Come
across. I think Saundar was hurt by a piece of falling iron and Belamil may be
injured, too. Come and help us."
Oh, shite .. .
Snudge grasped Concealer and
silently bespoke the spell. He reached the platform, where a few of the
bludgeoned workers were stirring and moaning. The cloud of vapor dissipated
rapidly, revealing Mero's burly figure looming above the other squires.
"What
have you done?" Snudge said quietly. He had come to a halt a dozen feet
away from the trio. Slowly, he drew his own sword.
Mero chuckled. "Ah. So
you've gone invisible, have you? But I'm certain you can see me—with your
damned wild talent, if no other way. Belamil will die in the next instant,
unless you cancel the amulet's spell and show yourself. Do it now!" The
blade of the varg glittered wickedly.
"BI FYSINEK. Don't harm him!"
Belamil lifted his head and
stared at Snudge with eyes bereft of hope. "He's gone mad. He coshed us
both with a sock before you set off the bombshells. When I woke after the
blast, I saw he'd slain poor Saundar—"
"Shut up!" Mero barked. To Snudge: "Cast down your
sword." After that was done, he said, "Take off the amulet and put it
on the floor. Carefully." "Don't!" Belamil shouted.
But
Snudge obeyed. Mero nodded in grim satisfaction. "Now step back from it
ten paces and get on your knees." Again, the younger boy complied.
"Good."
"You
can't use the stone yourself," Snudge said desperately. "It only
responds to persons of talent. If you touch it, you'll be burnt!"
"Liar."
"I've done what you asked. Let Belamil go free!"
"Yes. I'll give him his freedom."
Mero thrust the varg into
Belamil's nape with a single savage thrust, killing him before he could utter
another sound. Snudge screamed in horrified disbelief. "You murdering
whoreson!"
"Don't
move!" Mero bellowed. He let the body fall. Three swift paces brought him
to the green-glowing sigil. With a crow of triumph, he scooped Concealer up by
its thong and held it dangling from his left hand. His right still gripped the
hilt of the bloodstained varg. "Now it's time for me to go invisible and
finish you off . . . BI DO FYSINEK!"
Nothing
happened.
Mero cursed in a
good-natured fashion. "Of course! I forgot one important detail. First,
the former owner must die!" He flipped the sigil on its thong, intending
to stuff it into his belt-pouch, and grasped the moonstone in his bare fist.
His shriek of agony echoed
in the vault. Snudge smelled something like burning pork. He rolled frantically
sideways as Mero reflexively brought down the varg with all his strength, still
voicing that hideous scream. The fine steel blade struck the stone floor,
missed its intended target, and broke in half. The sigil flew from what had
been Mero's hand and struck the wall beside the stairway alcove. It fell,
blazing like a green meteor, and came to rest less than two feet from Saundar's
corpse.
Protruding from the left
sleeve of Mero's mail shirt was a blackened mass of nearly fleshless bones. He
staggered about like a drunken man, never ceasing his howling, as Snudge
retrieved his own blade, sprang to his feet, and dashed back to the comparative
safety of the catwalk.
Mero ignored him. He had
caught sight of shining Concealer and lumbered toward it. "You won't have
the amulet either! I'll destroy the cursed thing." Bending, he drew Saundar's
broadsword from its scabbard, swung it high, and brought the heavy blade down
with practiced accuracy on the moonstone.
Open-mouthed, Snudge saw the
tall armiger bathed in emerald incandescence, suddenly frozen in place, a
statue clad in chain mail and a tattered, filthy surcoat, clutching a lowered
sword. A moment later the dank air was filled with a shower of bright
particles, fiery embers that once were flesh and bone, cloth and leather and
forged iron. The embers faded to a scatter of cinders that did not quite
conceal the foxfire glow of the sigil partially buried beneath them.
Snudge came off the catwalk
and trudged through the fallen bridge workers. He seemed to view the terrible
scene from a far distance. It could not be real. Later, he told himself, he'd
surely discover that his two friends were not dead, that brutal Mero had never
attempted treachery.
Later—after
he'd taken care of the portcullises and finally secured Mallmouth Bridge for
Prince Conrig and the Cathran army.
He
picked up Concealer and wiped it clean. The sigil would need a new thong. For
now, he thrust it behind the collar of his padded gambeson, beneath his shirt,
where it rested warm against his bare skin. He spoke the spell of invisibility,
then mounted the stairs swinging his sock full of coins.
* * *
By the time he had struck
down the last of the stubborn ones and herded those who had yielded into the
custom clerks' small chamber, the head of the Cathran column, with the prince
in the lead and Vanguard and Beorbrook attending him closely, had crossed the
bascule and was waiting at the closed southern portcullis. It took the last of
Snudge's strength to operate the great windlass and haul up the counterweighted
iron grate. Then he made himself visible, slipped the sigil into his boot, and
trudged wearily down to hold his master's horse while he dismounted.
"Well done,
Deveron!" Conrig exclaimed heartily, and the other two great nobles also
added their congratulations. The prince continued in a low voice. "We have
let it be known that Princess Ullanoth's magic was responsible for taking the
bridge, and you and the armigers merely assisted her . . . Where are the other
boys?"
Snudge's eyes welled up and
he was too spent even to wipe away the tears making runnels on his sooty face.
"Alas, Your Grace. It grieves me to inform you that they have
perished."
"Great God!" said the duke. "This is melancholy
news."
"We must retrieve their
poor bodies before quitting this place," the earl marshal said.
"Where do they lie,
lad?" the prince asked. "I'll send my Heart Companions to retrieve
them. Your three brave friends shall still ride with us as we conquer
Didion."
"Only the remains of
Saundar Kersey and Belamil Langsands can be so honored," the boy muttered.
"The armiger Mero Elwick was—was destroyed utterly by evil magic. All that
is left of him is ashes."
"God's Breath!" Vanguard whispered. "And you: are you
hurt?"
"Only slightly, lord Duke."
"How did this come to
pass?" the earl marshal demanded. "If the Mossland witch was not
actually here—"
Conrig
held up his hand. "My lords, now is not the time to question Deveron. He
has accomplished his task and is plainly near the end of his tether. I must confer
with him myself before we continue on into
The two nodded and turned
their mounts back towards the column of warriors, which waited silently in the
murk.
Conrig spoke curtly to
Snudge, "Hobble my horse, and give an account of your actions as you do
so. I want to know everything—particularly why you deemed it necessary that the
other armigers should die. It's true that I commanded you do all possible to
guard the secret of your sigil and talent, but there will now be inconvenient
inquiries made, especially by Feribor Blackhorse."
Snudge held the prince's eye
without flinching, even though tears continued to course down his face.
"It was Count Feribor's squire, Mero, who murdered the other two, not I.
He slew Saundar out of hand, even as I blasted the bridge machinery with
tarnblaze. Then he threatened to murder Belamil unless I turned over to him my
Concealer sigil. When I put down the stone so he could take it, he killed
Belamil with a single thrust of his varg. We fought. He attempted to command
Concealer and failed. He tried then to destroy it. Instead, it engulfed him in
green flame . . . and vanished from my sight. I know not what has become of the
stone. Perhaps the Beaconfolk themselves have taken it back. If so, I'm glad of
it, for it was a thing accursed."
The prince gave a sharp
inhalation of breath. He was silent for a long time. "I beg your pardon
for accusing you unjustly."
Snudge nodded. "There's
something else I must tell you. Mero knew that I am a wild talent. He made sly
insinuations during our journey and accused me of it openly before he died.
I've cudgeled my brain, trying to think how I might have betrayed myself to
him—indeed, how he might even have come to know such a phrase, which is not
commonly known, except among magickers. I did not betray myself, Your Grace. I
can only conclude that Mero learned of my wild talent in some other way."
"But can you be
absolutely certain of this?" the prince asked, understanding well enough
what the boy implied, yet not wanting to accept it.
"No."
Snudge spoke dully. "I can't be certain."
"And
the Concealer sigil: will you swear to me on your heart and soul that it's
truly lost?"
Snudge did not immediately
answer. He hated the moonstone because it had been the death of his two friends.
He hated it even more because of what he had seen in the prince's eyes when he
asked about it. Concealer was truly a thing accursed, and he wanted nothing
more to do with it.
And yet he had not thrown it
into the river, as he had almost done after lifting the portcullis to Conrig
and his army. The Salka would surely have found it in the water, he told
himself with facile reasoning, and taken it to Conjure-King Beynor. So Snudge
kept the stone, convincing himself it was necessary to do so until he had a
safe way to dispose of it.
"Your Grace," he
said earnestly, "I swear to you by all that is sacred that the stone is
truly lost to the sight of men—although mayhap the Beaconfolk, or the Salka who
made it, or even Princess Ullanoth do know where it is. Sigils are evil things,
just as the princess warned us. We're well rid of it, believe me."
Conrig's
dark eyes with their glint of talent bored into his, seeking the truth. But
Snudge stood fast, and at last the prince turned away and spoke of the matter
no more.
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