by Garon Whited
Extremely bad move.
For a man with a magical, atom-sharp blade that drinks the vitality of any living thing it cuts, “surrounded” is a synonym for “can’t miss.”
He spun in place, whipping that lethal blade in a circle, cutting half a dozen men in a full dozen pieces. While they were clutching at their hips, trying to pull themselves together, Seldar moved on, driving for the shiny-armored targets behind the flags, horns, and drums.
He would have made it there without me, but I obviously have no sense of fair play on the battlefield. Bronze and I won free of the melee and charged up behind Seldar to keep people from chasing him. With his rear secure, he had no trouble carving through everything to his front. He personally routed the surviving members of the commanders’ guards, routed the signalers, and beheaded two of the commanders. The whole command post, what was left of it, ran like hell from the blood-covered figure in the strange black armor.
Seldar waved at me and pointed at the fleeing men; I took it as a request. Bronze and I chased them down. My main purpose was to eliminate anyone with the authority to act as a rallying point. Seldar later mentioned that was his idea, too. We succeeded in a chunky salsa sort of way.
When I turned back, Seldar was on the trestle table with some of the signal flags, apparently trying to signal the enemy to surrender. Nobody was paying much attention, unfortunately; the enemy troops were more than a little hard-pressed and I doubt they cared to take orders from a stranger.
Bronze did a fast circuit of the command tents; Firebrand set everything on fire.
Then I dismounted, hunted around, and found a horn. The blast I sounded darn near broke it. Everybody on the field not actually, immediately involved in killing someone or trying not to be killed turned to look. I handed Seldar their command standard and set it on fire, too. I could almost feel him grinning at me as he took it and slowly waved it back and forth in flaming, red-orange arcs.
Everything was burning. Pillars of black smoke climbed the sky. The command center was a fiery, bloody ruin.
Attacked from three sides, disorganized, demoralized, and now obviously without a central command, the surrender finally started. It wasn’t quick—it was another ten minutes before all the fighting stopped—but they did the best they could.
The Wizards’ Corps moved in with healing spells and first aid. I stayed out of it unless someone shouted for help. If the wounded were alive when we got to them, they generally stayed that way. There were a few exceptions, but it was mostly true. I spent a lot of the afternoon like that, making sure people stayed alive.
Is that irony?
Later, after sunset, I took care of the dead. There were quite a lot of them milling about and looking confused, angry, or frightened. They seemed to recognize me, however, regardless of their mental state. They all went quietly.
Our casualties were light. No knights were killed, although several were wounded—nothing more serious than broken bones. Among the rank and file, we had more casualties—about thirty percent of the total force was wounded, with over half of that in Huler’s troops.
We had surprisingly few fatalities, though. These types of weapons don’t usually kill you outright, just maim you so you can die later. The fatalities were a few head-shots, a few heart-wounds, an a couple of rapid bleed-to-death wounds… We can grow back a hand or a foot or a whole leg—there were a lot of those injuries; the Bed of Regeneration was going to be busy for weeks—but there was nothing to keep someone from dying from blood loss and shock before we could help him.
I’m going to have to form a unit of battlefield medics.
Losses were considerably heavier on the Byrne side. We tended to our wounded first, so that may have been a factor. Somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about that.
Beltar, by the way, didn’t have so much as a scratch on him. His horse was killed in the fighting and he wound up fighting on foot. By the time the general surrender was complete, he was almost entirely covered in blood and not a drop of it his own.
Lissette was also unwounded. She thoroughly enjoyed her first taste of battle despite being hemmed in by people trying to protect her. She was a screaming fury in the fight; both Torvil and Kammen learned to get out of her way and let her clobber people. They just kept the enemy from blindsiding her or surrounding her. She was all for killing everyone on the field, at least until her adrenalin rush wore off and the exhaustion hit.
I found it very interesting that the swords of my personal guard—the ones with a life-drinking tendril of darkness buried in the steel—continued to function during the day. Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar weren’t at all tired from the fight; in fact, they felt wonderfully refreshed and ready to do it again. The fact that I can hide a vampiric manifestation inside a solid object and have it work while the sun is in the sky raises questions and implications I’m not sure I like.
I also felt it wasn’t fair. I was tired.
Kammen and Seldar also named their swords after the battle.
Seldar decided to name his sword “Terror,” since his assault on the command post owed its success in no small part to the terror caused by his enemies falling in pieces.
Since Torvil and Seldar named their swords, Kammen went ahead and named his sword, too: “Sharpie.”
Am atomic-edged girder with life-drinking properties named “Sharpie.” Sometimes I wonder about that man. He has a sense of humor, I grant you, but it’s as skewed as mine and in different ways.
It was after dark before we had a semblance of order and organization again. That’s when Kelvin hunted me down. I was a little worried he was going to chew me out, but he didn’t. All he wanted was to know what to do with the cannon.
“We’ll take them back to Karvalen,” I decided. “We can probably mount them on the fortress walls, or on disappearing mounts—I’ll show you what I mean, later—and use them for road-sweepers at the gates. With cannon coming into play, I really need to rearrange the outer wall in a star fort configuration…”
Which meant, of course, that I had to explain what a star fort was. Kelvin got it almost immediately. The defensive principle works with most missile weapons; my world just didn’t develop it until cannon were developed.
“What shall we do with the prisoners?” he also wanted to know. “There are some thousands of them, most of them wounded.”
“We outnumber them by bunches, right?”
“We do now,” he agreed, “but I fear that we cannot guard them constantly, and we have not enough chains to bind them all.”
“Okay. We captured their supplies, didn’t we?” There were nods. “Give the conscript troops food and water and send them away. Most of them are from areas around Byrne; they probably want to go home. Any of them who want to switch sides can be scattered among various units.
“As for the professional soldiers, line them up and I’ll look them over.”
Once they were all lined up and awaiting judgment, I sat on Bronze and held Firebrand overhead for illumination.
“Gentlemen. You are all aware that you are defeated. I am faced with the choice of what to do with you. I have a mind to send you home. However, before I do so, I want your parole,” I said, using the English word. Rethven didn’t have one like it. “That means you will promise to go home without making trouble for me nor for anyone on the way.”
I grinned and made sure my fangs were in the light.
“I can see you think that is a stupid idea. ‘What a trusting fool!’ is the main thought. You forget that I am a Lord of Night. I can see into your hearts and minds.”
I paused to let that sink in.
“If you are prepared to swear to me in that regard—to give me your parole—move over here to my right.” I pointed with Firebrand. “If you do not believe you can honestly make such a promise, stay right where you are. Now!”
Most of them shuffled to the side. Bronze and I moved along them so I could eyeball them up close. I sent a couple back to the other group w
hen I saw in them the signs of treachery and deceit.
“Anyone else want to go back over to the other line?” I asked, after the third one. “I can tell if you mean it or not, and I’m going to start killing anyone I think is lying to me.”
Another dozen or so moved back. I continued my scrutiny, looking for people who were planning to betray their promise. I killed one, cutting downward with Firebrand through his head and into his chest. I pulled Firebrand back from the smoking, twitching meat.
Several more hurried back to the other line. I didn’t find anyone else that seemed likely to lie about it. The rest seemed all too eager to be told to go and sin no more—a price far lighter than they thought would be exacted.
I had them kneel and swear it, as an oath, and I fanned a net of dark, invisible tendrils through them all as they did so. They swore, then felt faint and exhausted.
“I accept your oath,” I told them, “and lay it upon you as a geas. You all felt that?”
They did.
“Then you will be given food and water in the morning and sent out to make your ways home. Huler? Take them in hand, please.” Then I turned my attention to the rest.
“You men are a bunch of lying, traitorous, deceitful bastards,” I said. “I trust men with souls like yours about as far as I can comfortably spit bricks. Since your word is worth exactly nothing, understand that your lives are worth exactly nothing. If you kill anyone, assault one of your guards, attempt to escape, make any sort of trouble whatsoever… the penalty is death. Not short rations. Not a whipping. Not a beating. Death. Instant and immediate. With your dismembered body left beside the road to rot and your spirit to wander the world as one of the mournful dead. Do you understand me?”
They did. I dismounted and gathered up the fried meat. With one hand, I tossed the corpse into the air and cut it in two as it came back down. A couple of quick chops and I kicked various bits of anatomy in several directions.
“Just like that,” I added. “Now, does anyone want to volunteer to pay that price right now and save me the trouble?”
Nobody did.
I mounted Bronze and we returned to our command tent. The two hundred or so remaining prisoners seemed very cowed. Maybe I’m getting better at this intimidation thing.
Saturday, August 28th
It took us about two days to get everything sorted out. There’s a lot of work before two armies can meet on the field, then even more work to organize what’s left afterward.
We’re taking the prisoners back to Byrne, which seems to suit them. They don’t get to ride, though, unless they’re still wounded; then they get to ride with our wounded. Kelvin thought it a good idea to let them be exhausted from a long day’s march and slightly-short rations. It would keep their mischief to a minimum.
Technically, we’re marching to war on Byrne. But it sounds better to say we’re taking prisoners home.
I, on the other hand, was not marching on Byrne. Last night I called ahead to Tort; this morning she dumped all the manacles and chains we had through the gate. Bronze and I went through at the same time.
“Welcome home, my angel,” she offered, and kissed me. “I see you are none the worse for wear.”
“A little scuffed about the armor,” I replied. “It’s almost finished putting itself to rights.”
“And how is Lissette?”
“Thoughtful. She’s never fought in a war. Kammen seems unmoved—just another day, to him. Seldar looked a little green, though, when he had a chance to calm down and observe the aftermath. I don’t think being a professional killer suits him, but he did a damn fine job in his first war.”
“What of Torvil?”
“He’s killed a man before,” I pointed out. “He seems to be taking a pitched battle better than a duel. Duels are personal; battles are almost anonymous. He’s been talking with Kammen and Seldar about it. I think it’s helping. They all seem solid to me.”
“I am pleased to hear it. What more may I do to aid you?”
“Now that you mention it,” I said, grinning. She grinned back, knowing I already had something in mind. “With the main military might of Byrne off the playing field, we need to get serious about finding and killing Prince Parrin. I know you’ve been focused mainly on the army and keeping it informed, but what do we have on Parrin?”
“I shall summon T’yl,” she said, smiling. “He does not have your devices, but he has his own.”
So Tort called T’yl and he agreed to come back to Karvalen, both to report and to continue his probing of Byrne. It would take an hour or so, since he was using the Long Step and just walking. I didn’t think it urgent enough to go get him, or to use the gate again. Besides, the gate wasn’t exactly brimming with power. It really needed longer to charge.
Tort and I settled in at the sand table for the afternoon and started looking Byrne over.
“I don’t like it,” I told her.
“I agree. The city is easy enough; Mochara and Karvalen are the only cities with many wizards. But a magician wards the manor of Prince Parrin. I cannot analyze his spells from here, but they certainly block all forms of detection, location, and viewing. Shall I transport myself to Byrne and examine the magical defenses more closely?”
“Hell, no,” I replied. Tort looked hurt, so I elaborated. “What I mean is, while that would absolutely get me answers, you’re not nearly as stealthy as I am. Especially after you’ve expended a lot of effort in defensive spells and stealth spells. I’ll do the scouting, but you’ll dress me in spells.”
“Ah, I see! Yes, that does play much more fully to our respective strengths.”
“I’m glad you agree,” I said, sincerely. There was no way I was allowing Tort to go there; too many nasty things could happen to her. Nasty things happen to me, too, but I have better survival chances. “Besides, I want you and T’yl to really bear down on finding Prince Parrin. He’s got to go.”
“Of course, my angel. But, once you have examined the spells that ward the manor—can we call it a castle? It has an outer wall and a court.”
“I’ve been thinking of Princes’ residences as ‘palaces.’ Not as hefty as a castle, fancier than a house, with some implication of fortifications. Although, this thing,” I gestured at the model on the sand table, “strikes me as a fortified manor house that’s been trying really hard to be a castle for decades. It kind of qualifies. Maybe a war-palace.”
“I think you may be right. The round towers do not look like part of the original design. It puts me in mind of Karvalen, before you added more gates. See here, where there is but one entry through the outer wall?”
“Yes. Go in through the doors and down an enclosed tunnel, then out through the doors at the other end, into the courtyard. It’s inconvenient for city traffic, but it’s probably worth it in a keep.”
“I mislike that we cannot even look into this… tunnel? Hallway?”
“Hallway, I think. I think of tunnels as being dug out belowground. Maybe that’s just me.”
“Passageway?”
“Excellent.”
“This passageway, then, is sure to have mechanisms for killing intruders, as well as the wards upon it. Holes for boiling oil, arrow slits, possibly more doors…”
“Things for use against an invading army, you mean. They’re not really geared for stopping me and Bronze.”
Ahem.
“Especially with the awesome might of Firebrand on our side,” I added.
Thanks, Boss.
“Agreed,” Tort said, trying not to laugh. “But I could simply place a spell of flight upon you and allow you to bypass the outer wall entirely.”
“For the initial reconnaissance, maybe. Surely. The wards we’ve seen are sequential: small, overlapping bubbles of protection rather than one grand spell over the whole property. I could hop the wall, land in the court, and look things over from there.
“But for the assault, I’d be willing to bet that all sorts of alarms and klaxons, bells and whistles wil
l go off the instant I get too close to the house. So stealth is kind of out at that point. Even taking down an alarm bubble might still alert someone, and it wouldn’t affect the other, overlapping bubbles.”
“True, but you would be past the killing-ground passage.”
“I would. But can you make Bronze fly, as well?”
“What?” she asked, looking surprised. “I… well, the spell could be cast that forcefully, I suppose. You would have to supply much of the energy; all my effort would go into constructing a spell that could contain such a force. Do you know how much Bronze weighs?”
“Tons. Want to try a flying spell on her?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “Perhaps, if we had many of the wizards’ guild to assist us, and T’yl helped… it would not last long, I am afraid.”
“Scratch that, then. I don’t know what those warding spells do, but they’re probably more than scrying blocks and alarms. We’ll come up with a plan once I know what they do. So I’ll fly in alone, cloaked, check them out, see what else I can find out, and beat it back here. How’s that?”
“Surprisingly rational and sane,” she replied, smiling. “Maybe just a little bit heroic.”
“Kingly heroism on request,” I offered. “Reasonable rates. Maidens rescued, kingdoms saved. Monsters slain while you wait.” Tort chuckled.
“Shall we repair to the gate room and prepare your spells for the evening’s heroics? Or are you hungry?”
“I had a lot of soul-food after the battle; most of the blood, though, had already gone bad. I could stand to take a few bites out of a dazhu for my mortal dinner, that’s certain.”
Tort sent for food and we went to the gate room to get ready. She cast spells on me while I ate. T’yl joined us later and took over from Tort to let her rest before the rumpus started.
“Will you be needing anything offensive, Sire?” T’yl asked, between castings. “A bolt of lightning or fire, perhaps?”
“No, this is strictly a look around, not an assault,” I demurred. T’yl looked surprised.
