King of Foxes

by Raymond E. Feist

  Creed looked around and nodded in satisfaction as his flying company reached the gate, overpowering the squad there and began opening it to admit the Keshians.

  Just then an explosion of fire struck to the right of the gate, sending men on both sides flying through the air. A second, then a third detonation of energy caused men to duck for cover or just turn and run. Creed spun to see a man in a robe look down for a moment, then turn away.

  Whatever the magician thought he was doing, he created more confusion, which aided the invaders. Creed shouted orders for his company to finish opening the gate, and once he saw it thrown open, he knew this part of the fight would be over in less than another half hour.

  Seeing the state of the struggle up on the wall, Creed began directing soldiers still coming out of the tunnels toward a pair of doors at the base of the citadel. So fast _______________

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  had the attack been that they still stood open. He could send his soldiers inside to support Quint’s and Tal’s forces.

  He glanced up at the citadel and wondered how the fighting there fared. With the Keshians inside the walls, the battle was decided; Kaspar’s army would be defeated—he saluted Tal’s ingenuity and hoped the lad lived long enough to see the end of it.

  As Keshian soldiers hurried through the gate carrying scaling ladders, Creed waved over to the captain in command of the Keshian assault forces. “We’re inside already!” yelled Creed, pointing to the gates. “Set your scaling ladders there and there”—he pointed to two spots—“and we’ll shred their forces from both sides.”

  The captain acknowledged the suggestion and sent his men to the indicated locations. Creed took one last look around to ensure that everything was going as planned and saw with satisfaction that Olaskan soldiers were throwing down their weapons and begging quarter up on the wall.

  Creed motioned for a squad held in reserve to follow him inside the citadel. He hoped Captain Quint was having as easy a time as he had.

  __

  Captain Quint Havrevulen knelt behind a makeshift barricade—an overturned table in the soldiers’ mess. He and his men had entered the armory, only to discover that the Duke’s ready company of reserves had been billeted in the mess so they could be easily dispatched to any part of the citadel.

  Unfortunately for Quint, he could not get enough men through the door to mount a sustained assault. Twice he had led a dozen or so men out from the large pantry _______________

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  from which they accessed the mess, only to be driven back. Now they had archers on the balcony above the mess, and any man of Quint’s who moved was likely to be sprouting arrows.

  The only thing that had kept the invaders from being overwhelmed was the breastwork of tables they had erected, for every soldier of Olasko who tried to come over it was killed. A mercenary next to Quint winced visibly every time a shaft struck the wood or the wall behind him. “We going to find a way out of this, Captain?” he asked.

  “Damn me if I know,” answered Quint. “But I’m getting pretty bored just sitting here.” He glanced around.

  “Here, help me push this table farther out.” He motioned to another pair of men to help him. They moved the table forward about four feet, and Quint signaled for some other men to do likewise with the tables on either side.

  Soon they had enough room for an additional dozen men to crawl out of the pantry and prepare for another assault.

  Just as Quint was getting ready to charge, a voice shouted out, “You dogs ready to surrender?”

  Quint shouted back, “Who died and put you in charge, Alexi?”

  There was a moment of silence, then the voice said,

  “Quint? Is that you?”

  “None other,” shouted Quint.

  “We thought you’d be dead by now.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I had other plans.”

  “The Duke will reward me greatly if I bring him your head, my captain.”

  “All you have to do is come get it,” shouted the former Special Captain of the Olaskon army. When no answer was forthcoming, he added, “Or perhaps you’d like to talk about things first?”

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  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Parley.”

  Again there was silence, then the officer named Alexi said, “I can hear you just fine from here. Speak your mind.”

  “A couple of thousand Keshian Dog Soldiers should be through your gates by now, Alexi. There are two other companies of mercenaries already in the citadel and more coming though from tunnels back behind you every minute. You may have us bottled up here, but I’ll warrant if you send runners, you’ll find that other units are hard pressed on all fronts. You can’t win. But if you call a halt to the fighting, you and your men can live.”

  “And if I call a halt to the fighting and you’re telling tales, the Duke will have my guts for garters.”

  “Send runners. Ask for intelligence. I can wait.” Quint grinned at the soldiers nearby. “I’m not in a hurry as long as my side’s winning.”

  There was a very long silence, then the officer named Alexi said, “You’re a lot of things, Captain Quint, but you’ve never been a liar. What terms are you offering?”

  “We’ve no issue with men who are only following orders. Put down your weapons and you’ll be paroled. I don’t know who’s going to be running things after this is over, but whoever it is, he’ll need soldiers to keep the peace in Olasko. There you have it. Wait, and when the other companies start breaking down the doors at your back, we’ll come over these damn tables. If you surrender now, everyone gets to live another day. We can even sit down and have an ale together when the dust settles.

  What’ll it be?”

  “I’ll send runners, Quint, and I’ll tell my men not to shoot as long as you stay down behind those tables.

  Agreed?”

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  “Agreed!” Quint put his sword away, indicating to his men that they could relax and lie down for a while without worry. “This may work out well,” he whispered. He ventured a look and saw that the bowmen had put their bows down and were leaning on them, while the crossbowmen had lowered their weapons. He sat back. “Hope things are going this well elsewhere,” he said.

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  TWENTY

  RESOLUTION

  Tal watched.

  Leso Varen approached slowly, the dagger hanging loosely in his grip. Tal felt pain in every part of his body, but it was manageable, less than he had endured after his rescue by Pasko and Robert, less than when he had been attacked by the death-dancers, less than when his arm had been cut off. He focused on that, that he had endured more pain and lived.

  He drew strength from within and waited, for he knew he would get only one opportunity to strike at the magician. Tal let his head loll as if he had no strength to raise it.

  Varen ignored the other soldiers nearby. When he got close, he said, “Talwin, I am impressed. You’re far more resilient than I would have thought.

  “You know, I told Kaspar I thought there was some-

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  thing odd about you when I examined you on the night you took oath. It wasn’t that you revealed duplicity, but rather that you were . . . without any sort of doubt. I suspected you had been trained somehow, but had you been a magic-user, you would not have lived more than a minute once you were inside this room.” He gestured.

  “I’ve placed wards everywhere.” He sighed, as if over-tasked. “I have enemies, you know.” He waved his hand at a far wall and it shimmered, then faded away. It had been an illusion, and Tal saw that the room was a full ten feet longer than he had thought. A figure hung from chains on the far wall, naked and bloody. Tal knew instantly who it was: Al
ysandra. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or not, and it took all of his concentration to ready himself for one last attempt to defend himself. Varen said, “Our lovely Lady Rowena tried to kill me.” His voice rose to a near shriek. “She tried to kill me!”

  He turned his back on Tal and hurried to where the limp form hung. “She thought to seduce me!” He laughed, then turned to face Tal and spoke quickly.

  “Look, I enjoy a tumble as much as the next man, but there are times when such things are merely a distraction.

  Besides, the energies are all wrong for what I’m doing these days. It’s terribly life-affirming and generative and all that, but right now, my efforts are entirely concentrated in the opposite direction, if you take my meaning.

  So, rather than some fun between the sheets—and a dagger in my back—I thought she could contribute to my work in a good way—or bad, from her point of view.” He laughed, and Tal knew that by any measure the man was completely mad.

  Varen reached up and gripped her chin. “A little life left in there yet, isn’t there, my dear?” He regarded her intently. “Slow death is the best death . . . for me. Right _______________

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  now, I imagine it’s pretty miserable being you.” He laughed and let her chin drop. Then he started walking back toward Tal. “It wouldn’t surprise me to discover you both work for an old enemy of mine. Sad to say, I haven’t time to put you on the wall and find out. But even if you don’t, you’ve been a serious nuisance, Talwin. Bringing an army, sacking the city, all that noise.” His eyes widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. “I do enjoy the screaming and the blood, though. That’s a nice touch.” He reached Tal and knelt beside him. “Now, it’s been lovely seeing you again, but I must put an end to our time together. I fear Kaspar is about to lose his city, and that being the case, I must depart for a new home.” He smiled. “Good-bye.” Then he reached out with his dagger, as Tal had expected, and started to slice down on Tal’s exposed neck.

  Tal used every ounce of strength he possessed to slash upward with the dagger he had pulled from his belt, and block Leso’s move. Varen was a powerful magician, but in the use of a blade he might as well have been a baby compared to Tal. Varen’s blade flew from his hand and went clattering across the floor.

  Tal then slashed out again, only to find his blade deflected from Varen’s skin by some sort of arcane armor.

  But the blow caused the magician to fall backward, landing hard on his rump, and suddenly the pain wracking Tal’s body ceased.

  Taking a deep breath, Tal rose to his feet. “So, steel can’t touch you?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Varen, his eyes narrowing. He scrambled to his feet. “You know, this is no longer amusing. Please die now!”

  He put out his hand and Tal could feel energies building. Only once or twice had he witnessed Pug or Magnus gathering power, and the results were usually spectacular.

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  Tal had no doubt that if he let the mage finish his incantation, he would not enjoy the results.

  In the remaining seconds he had, he knew his sword would be as useless as his dagger. He felt a lump in his tunic and snatched out the hard ball Nakor had given him. In a desperate move to interrupt the magician’s concentration, he drew his arm back and threw the ball as hard as he could.

  The ball passed through whatever energy-armor Varen possessed and struck him hard in the throat. The incantation was disrupted, and Tal felt the power in the room fade.

  The magician’s eyes went round as he grabbed his throat. He fought for air, but Tal could see he couldn’t breathe. He took two steps toward the mage, and Varen fell to his knees, his face turning red and the veins on his head starting to stand out.

  A voice from behind said, “I think you crushed his windpipe.”

  Tal looked and saw one of the soldiers rising to his feet. Tal pointed at a large clay object next to the door, hexagonal in shape and covered in mystic writings. “See that,” he said. “Break it. Look around these rooms and you’ll find more. Break them all.”

  Tal walked over to the quivering magician and looked down at him. “Hell of a way to die, isn’t it?” he said. Then he knelt, pulled Varen upright, moved behind him, and put his arms on either side of his head. With one quick jerk, he broke the dark mage’s neck. Leso Varen’s body crumpled to the floor.

  Then Tal rose and went over to the unconscious figure on the wall. He unfastened the shackles and took Alysandra down gently. He looked at the face of the woman he had once thought he loved. Stunning beauty _______________

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  was now terribly scarred, for Varen’s use of the dagger had not been kind. Tal took his cloak off and wrapped it around her. Calling to one of the soldiers nearby, he said,

  “Take her to the rear and see if the chirurgeon can save her.” The soldier cradled the girl in his arms and carried her out of the door.

  When the last ward was smashed, the air suddenly siz-zled with energy and three men materialized in the room.

  Pug, Magnus, and Nakor looked down at the dead mage.

  Nakor said, “You did better than I thought you would.”

  Pug said, “Get everyone out of this room, Tal. There are things here that only we three are equipped to confront.” He looked down. “Just because this body is dead doesn’t mean the magic doesn’t linger. There may be traps still.”

  Tal turned and ordered his soldiers out of the room.

  Magnus nodded. “Nakor’s right. You did well.”

  Pug said, “How goes the rest of the fight?”

  Tal shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve received no word from Creed or Quint, but now that this . . . man is dead, I plan on seeing this thing ended.”

  As he turned to leave, Pug grabbed his arm. Looking Tal in the eyes, he said, “Before you find Kaspar, remember this: you’ve been harshly used all your life, Tal, by the Conclave as well as by Kaspar. Would I have given you up to kill this enemy of mine?” He pointed to Varen’s corpse.

  “A hundred times over, my friend.” For a moment pain passed behind Pug’s eyes. “You would not be the first of those I cared about to die.” His hand tightened a little on Tal’s arm. “The Conclave will ask nothing more of you: from now on your life is your own to do with what you will. In any way we can we will help, with gold, land, pardons from the Isles and Roldem. Ask what you will, and if we can do it, we will.

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  “But one thing above all you must understand. You are at a crossroads, and from this moment forward who you will be is in your own hands. Decide what sort of man you wish to be . . . then act.”

  Tal nodded. “Right now I have but one goal, Pug. I will find Kaspar, then after I end his life, I’ll worry about the rest of mine.”

  Without another word, he picked up his sword and followed his mercenaries down the hall and away from the magician’s lair.

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  Tal shouted orders and swung his sword. His company had encountered a roomful of Olaskan soldiers who appeared determined to defend that part of the citadel with their lives. The room-to-room fighting was bloody and unforgiving. Tal passed few wounded, but a great many dead on both sides.

  He had been fighting for two hours, the pain he suffered at the hands of the magician now forgotten. He had cleared half a dozen rooms since leaving the magician’s wing. Runners had come telling him the outer bailey and the lower rooms of the citadel were secured, and that men were being detailed to guard Olaskan prisoners. But the closer he got to Kaspar’s throne room, the fiercer was the defense.

  The fighting went on for the rest of the day, and twice he had to withdraw and take water and food. His arms felt as if they had iron weights tied to them, but he kept coming back to lead his men.

  After hours of fighting, Tal realized they had surrounded the thro
ne room, and he quickly sent runners to ensure that the doors were secure. He motioned for a _______________

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  dozen men to follow him, for he knew there were other, less obvious, ways out of that room.

  He found an entrance to the servants’ passages and almost died when he opened the door. Only his exceptional reflexes allowed him to block the sword thrust that greeted his tripping the latch.

  “Pikes!” he shouted and men with pole-arms raced forward. They lowered their weapons and drove the defenders back down the narrow passage, and Tal and his men followed.

  There had been half a dozen men in the passage, and they turned and fled after two were struck down by the pikes. Tal hurried after them but stopped running when he realized they had found the servants’ entrance to the throne room.

  A peephole had been drilled in the door and covered by a simple piece of metal on a screw. It had been put there so that servants wouldn’t interrupt the Duke when he was conducting formal court.

  Tal peered through and saw Kaspar standing in the middle of the room, directing his defenders. He was wearing his black armor and bellowing commands, looking as much like a bear at bay as the one Tal had killed protecting him those years past.

  Tal judged he could possibly reach Kaspar before the Duke recognized he was in the room, but he couldn’t be certain. Better to wait for a few minutes and see how the assault on the three entrances went. Tal knew he could spare more soldiers than Kaspar, for by what Tal could see, he had less than a full company in the room.

  From outside came a voice, speaking Roldemish but in a heavy accent—a Keshian commander. “Will you accept quarter?”

  Kaspar laughed. “Never!”

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  Tal hated to see men die needlessly. The outcome was no longer in doubt. Kaspar had been totally routed in less than a day. But there was no need for more men to die. He turned and said, “Send word back that I want as many men as possible through here. When I open the door, I will go straight in.” To the man behind him he said, “Go right,”