The Isles’ army should be fully in place by now. Tal had convinced King Ryan he could move his army by boat up the route mapped by the agents of Salmater Tal had captured for Kaspar, then land on the north shore of the river, placing a force of five thousand men between Olasko Gateway and Opardum.
Tal felt tremendous impatience, for he knew he was close now to his final accounting with Kaspar. He wished for a moment that the Conclave could use its arts to magic his army inside the caves, rather than wait for engineers to construct a new bridge across the bottom of the ravine.
But he knew that was impossible. Pug had warned Tal that Leso Varen would detect any spell used within miles of the citadel. He must think until the very last instant that the attack was conventional, for forewarning would doom this attempt to failure. Even if Kaspar was taken, Varen was the true target, and he must not escape. While Tal wanted Kaspar dead, he knew that his first objective had to be the magician’s rooms, for there he would find the wards that protected the sorcerer from Pug and the others, and there Tal would have to destroy them before Varen killed him, else all would fail. Kaspar would endure, the dark magic of Leso Varen would go unchecked, and Tal’s entire life would prove futile and pointless.
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engineers. He had given them clear directions to follow.
Once the bridge was up, they were to cross over, climb the long path, then wait inside the first large gallery, where he would take over and lead the soldiers through the maze of tunnels that led to the one cave big enough to hold his forces. From there it was a short march to the abandoned cellar in the citadel that would prove Kaspar’s undoing.
Tal regarded his army as they filed past, making their way to campsites where they would unsaddle their mounts and leave them in the care of lackeys. They were a mix of veterans recruited by John Creed and recruits from farms and villages near Karesh’kaar, young men and a few women who felt they had no future in Bardac’s. Tal had promised everyone who fought that after the war they would be permitted to settle in Olasko . . . assuming they won, of course. Tal watched as the last of the riders crested the rise and moved off to find a place to rest. Pack animals brought up the rear, and as they came into sight, Tal rode to the most forward camp.
Quint Havrevulen, John Creed, and the Barons Visniya and Stolinko waited. They had been over the plan a hundred times, but Tal said, “Once more. Report.”
Quint said, “Signals from our scouts to the rear show all is clear, and no one suspects we are here.”
Creed said, “Everyone knows his job, Tal.”
Tal said, “It’s in my nature to worry at this point.”
Visniya said, “When the Keshians land, they’ll find key defenses have been left unattended, or orders are confused. We have friends who will ensure the outer city defense is token at best.”
Stolinko said, “It was never much anyway, given the layout of the city. By sundown tomorrow, Kaspar’s forces will either be in full retreat in the city or already behind the walls of the citadel.”
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Tal nodded. It would take a full day to reach the citadel’s basement by the tunnels he had mapped. “Then at dawn in two days’ time, we take the citadel.”
There was something bothering him: he knew that he would have preferred to wait until all his men were in place before assaulting the citadel from within. There simply wasn’t enough room in the caves or basements for that. He had to lead two hundred men up a flight of stairs and hope that they reached the top landing before any alarm was sounded, and could hold a key corridor long enough to allow the balance of his forces to start feeding into the citadel.
If he or his men were trapped on that stairway, a squad of six men with swords and crossbows could hold them there for a week.
Tal gave his horse to a lackey, then squatted where the others sat. He pulled the glove on his right hand off and flexed it. “If I hadn’t see that stump,” said Quint, “I wouldn’t have believed your hand had ever been cut from you.”
Looking at his fingers as he flexed them, Tal said, “It helps to have friends who know ‘tricks.’ ”
“Well,” said the dour Stolinko, “I hope you have some more good ones for the next two days.”
John Creed said, “From what Tal’s told us, I don’t think we’re going to need tricks. This looks to be a straight-up fight, and whoever has the greatest will wins.”
No one said anything after that.
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For hours they crept through the darkness. Every tenth solder carried a torch. Tal’s ability to remember details of the route after more than four years since his last visit _______________
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saved them time and lives. There were treacherous falls and dead-end passages all through this region. His noc-turnal explorations in his first months of service to Kaspar were serving them all well.
The caves were dry at this time of year, and mostly of bare rock, though occasionally a vein of hard-packed earth was exposed between rock faces. Lichen in the lower chambers gave way to dry granite walls and dusty floors as they rose to the surface. Everything smelled musty.
Tal paused in the last gallery of any size before reaching the outer limits of the citadel. He beckoned to a young woman, one of the freed slaves from earlier that year, and said, “Pass the word back. We rest for an hour.
I’m going ahead to scout.”
She turned and passed the word, and Tal took a torch, lit it from one already burning, and moved on. He turned a corner and vanished down a tunnel.
Everything was as he remembered it, and he quickly found his way to the narrow passage that led to a storage area, which had been abandoned long ago. The only foot-prints on the ground in the dust were his own, grown faint after more than four years.
At the far end of this cave was a single door, and Tal inspected it closely before attempting to open it. It was stiff and moved slowly, but he took his time, and when it was barely wide enough to admit him, he slipped through.
He entered a room. He was in the citadel proper.
Three walls had been chiseled out of the rock, but the far wall was made from mortar-set stones around a door. He opened the door in that wall and looked down a deserted hallway.
Tal quickly inspected the route and reached the last door he would open, for after this room came a part of the stronghold that might be in use: a short auxiliary pantry _______________
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that led to the stairs he would have to use to get into the heart of the citadel. This was the pantry farthest off the kitchen, and while it was rarely occupied, occasionally someone came down to refill salt cellars from the large barrels kept there. He took out a red rag and a heavy tack, and pinned the rag to the door.
He then started backtracking, putting rags on every door his forces would pass through.
At one junction, he put up two rags, one red, one blue, and then moved off in a different direction. An hour later a second path had been marked in blue.
By the time he returned to where the vanguard of his army waited, three routes up into the citadel would be marked. John Creed would lead a force up along the yellow path, into the marshaling yard via a postern gate entrance, opening into the bailey between the outer walls and the citadel itself. His job would be to attack the wall from inside, in support of the Keshian soldiers attacking from the city.
Quint Havrevulen would lead the second column, coming up along the blue path, directly into the armory, attacking the main strength of the forces inside the citadel. He would most likely be the first of the three of them to face the main strength of Kaspar’s forces.
Tal’s task was the most dangerous, for he was to lead an assault along the red path into Leso Varen’s apartments. He knew it earned him a good chance of
a quick and messy death. He had argued with himself over this choice, but felt he could not order any other man to do it.
Additionally, he now realized that with victory in sight, he no longer cared. All he felt was cold inside. For years he had anticipated the day when he would crush Kaspar and let him know why he was being destroyed. The thought of revenge on his enemies no longer gave him comfort. In _______________
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fact, it felt just the opposite. Vengeance had started to lose its appeal after the death of Raven.
Years spent in anticipation of this moment now seemed somehow wasted. In the short time before committing himself to an all-or-nothing gamble, he wished more than anything that he could just walk away. He thought of all he had lost, all he had let go in the past without thought because of his determination to punish Kaspar.
Now he wondered what use it would be. For Kaspar’s death would not bring back his father, Elk’s Call at Dawn, or his mother, Whisper of the Night Wind. His brother, Hand of the Sun, and his little sister Miliana would remain dead. The only time he would hear the voice of his grandfather, Laughter in His Eyes, would be in his memory. Nothing would change. No farmer outside Krondor would suddenly stand up in wonder and say, “A wrong has been righted.” No boot-maker in Roldem would look up from his bench and say, “A people has been avenged.”
If he could just expunge Kaspar with a thought, he would gladly turn away from the slaughter to come. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men and women were about to die, and not one in a thousand would have an inkling of why their lives were ending. Not one of them would understand that they were dying because a boy had survived the obliteration of his people and an ambitious man had made a pact with an evil magician.
Tal sighed. Try as he might, he could not hate Kaspar or Quint any more than he could hate a bear for acting like a bear. They were creatures of their own nature. With Kaspar, that meant he was sick with ambition and devoid of scruples. With Quint, it meant he followed orders blindly and did as he was told, no matter how repugnant and without morality those orders might be.
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Yet now Tal was using one of those men’s natures to help destroy the other. He found the irony far from amusing.
He returned to the vanguard and found that his officers had all made their way to the front. Quint said,
“We’re all in place and ready.”
Tal sat on the stones. “So, now we wait.”
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The cellar was empty, and Tal motioned his men to follow to the far end. He pushed open the door and in the distance could hear faint noises. Nothing very distinct, but he knew it was the echoes of men and women in the citadel rushing to whatever place was appointed them during battle. Soldiers would man their posts, while servants would hurry to prepare everything required to withstand the assault: food, blankets, water, sand to fight fires, and bandages and unguents for the wounded.
Tal motioned, and the first group moved up the narrow stairway. He peered through the door and saw that the corridor was empty. He pushed it open and held it aside as the first twenty men raced up the stairs, ten going to the right and ten to the left. They were ordered to hurry to the far end of the hall and hold until a full company was in place.
After the first score of mercenaries were in place, the others came up like a steady stream, one man after another, and when a full fifty were in position Tal signaled.
Both companies hurried off to their specified destinations. Each band had one mission: to find a particular place in the lower citadel and hold it. They would barricade the intersections between halls—using tables, chairs or anything else they could find—then hold those posi-
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tions using longbows and crossbows until Tal had reached his objective. They would be protecting the flanks of those fighters sent into the lair of the magician.
Tal motioned for those behind him to move as silently as possible. He had hand-picked twenty-five of the toughest men in the army, led by the huge murderer, Masterson, who still carried the massive ax he had taken from the Fortress of Despair. Tal knew that if need be, he could chop through an oak door with it in moments.
Tal turned the corner, headed down a short corridor, then up a flight of stairs. At the top he was confronted by stairs leading back down again, while two other flights went up on either side. Companies following his own would head up those stairs with orders to attack any units of Kaspar’s men they sighted. Tal led his twenty-five men down the central set of stairs toward Leso Varen’s quarters.
He hurried down the corridor that led into the wizard’s first room, and as he neared the door, he felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up. He halted and without hesitation shouted, “Back!”
Those behind him hesitated for a moment, then the retreat began, just as a shrieking sound of unbearable volume split the air. Men covered their ears and howled in pain. Tal, who was closest to the door, suffered the worst.
His legs wobbled and threatened to buckle as he staggered backward.
When he reached the far end of the corridor, the sound stopped. Tal shook his head to clear his vision.
Without a word, he signaled to Masterson to tear down the door. Masterson nodded, rage etched upon his face, and charged the door.
If Varen had expected Tal and the others to have fled or to be lying stunned in the hallway, he was mistaken.
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Masterson’s massive ax struck the wood to the center of the hasp and shattered it, sending splinters flying. He struck it three more times and the planks fell away. With a kick of one huge foot, he smashed the wood between hinges and lock plate, and the door fell open. He charged in with Tal only steps behind him.
Twenty-five men entered the room with Tal. At the far end the magician, Leso Varen, stood alone. The slender magic-user looked more annoyed than fearful, and all he said was, “This really is just too much.”
Then he waved his hand, and abruptly Tal was en-gulfed in pain. He could barely stand, and his sword fell from fingers that refused to obey him. Other men writhed on the floor or fell to their hands and knees, vomiting.
Tal saw men falling unconscious on all sides. Only Masterson seemed able to keep his feet, and the large man staggered with each step. Seeing that the huge fighter was somehow resisting his magic, Varen sighed as if he was out of patience. He picked up what looked to be a slender wand of dark wood, pointed it at the ax-wielding man, and spoke a few words.
Flames surrounded Masterson’s head and shoulders, and he howled in agony, letting the ax fall. He went to his knees slapping uselessly at the flames, which were tinged an evil green color, and which filled the room with an oily smoke and the stench of burning flesh.
Tal struggled to move forward, although every one of his muscles tried to contract in spasm. He could not will his fingers to close around his sword where it lay near his open hand. In a desperate act of will he drew the dagger from his belt, mustered his remaining strength, and hurled it at the magician.
It flew true, but Varen merely stood still and the blade halted inches from him, falling to the floor with a clatter _______________
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as if hitting an invisible wall. Then he walked to stand over Tal and looked down on him.
“Talwin Hawkins, isn’t it? I am surprised,” he said softly, his voice just loud enough to cut through the moans and weeping of the other men in the room. He glanced at Tal’s right arm and said, “I thought they were going to chop that off you.” He sighed. “That’s the problem with Kaspar’s people. You just can’t rely upon them to attend to details. First you were supposed to die in Salador and didn’t have the grace to do that, then you turn up here unexpectedly with an army . . . it’s all very annoying, Talwin!” He glanc
ed around the room. “If Kaspar can’t keep this city of his, I’m going to have to move . . .
again! That is really upsetting.” He leaned over so that his face was only inches from Tal’s as the young man fought to stay sitting upright, refusing to fall to the floor. “You’re quite a stubborn boy, aren’t you?” asked Varen. He gently pushed Tal to the right, and Tal promptly fell over.
“I don’t suppose this is all your fault; after all, you can’t just whistle up a Keshian army . . . not to mention that bunch down on the river from the Isles. I’d love to know how you contrived to get Ryan and Carol to agree on anything, but time is limited, so I just can’t spare a moment to chat.” Leso Varen walked away and looked out of the window. “Now, that doesn’t look good. Keshians on the wall and a troop of men I don’t recognize opening the gate to the bailey. This just won’t do.”
He opened the window and directed his wand out of it. Tal could feel him discharging his magic at those below. But Tal noticed that each time Varen did so, the pain he was experiencing lessened slightly. His vision no longer threatened to fail him, and he could move a little.
After a few moments of raining burning terror down on those below, Varen turned to Tal again. “Well, as much _______________
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fun as this has been, it’s time for you to die,” he said. He put away his wand and took a dagger out of his robe. With purposeful steps he crossed the floor, heading directly for Tal.
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Creed’s men were on the walls before the Olaskan defenders realized they had been taken from the rear. The Keshians had come through the city like a prairie fire in summer, and those Olasko soldiers who had been ordered to retreat in order had hit the gate in full flight.
Men on the walls with their eyes on Keshian Dog Soldiers carrying scaling ladders and siege turtles suddenly found enemies on the wall beside them, with others hurrying up the stone stairs to the battlements. Archers who should have been raining fletched death down on the Keshians were instead struggling in hand-to-hand combat with armed invaders.
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