A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  The next day Martin’s fears were borne out, for a narrow pass, impossible to get around, was guarded by a company of moredhel. A half-dozen hill-clan moredhel sat about a campfire, while two more were posted as guards near their horses. Baru had only narrowly avoided being spotted, the warning from Blutark the only reason he had not blundered into view. The Hadati lay back against a boulder, holding up eight fingers. He motioned that two stood atop rocks, and pantomimed looking. He then held up six fingers and squatted, pantomiming eating. Martin nodded. He motioned passing around the position. Baru shook his head.

  Martin unlimbered his bow. He took out two arrows, putting one between his teeth as he nocked the other. He held up two fingers and pointed to himself, then pointed to the others and nodded. Baru held up six fingers and motioned he understood.

  Martin calmly stepped out into view and let fly with his first arrow. One of the dark elves flew backward from the top of his stone perch, while the other started to jump down. He had an arrow in his chest before he landed.

  Baru and the others were already past Martin, weapons drawn. Baru’s blade whistled through the air as he slashed out, killing another moredhel before he could get close. Blutark had another down on the ground. Roald and Laurie engaged two others, while Martin dropped his bow and pulled his sword.

  The fight was furious, as the moredhel quickly recovered from the surprise. But as Martin engaged another, the sound of hoofbeats could be heard. One moredhel had been left without an opponent and he had chosen to leap to his saddle. He spurred his horse and rode past the attackers before he could be prevented. In short order, Martin and his companions had dispatched the other moredhel and the campsite was silent. “Damn!” Martin swore.

  Baru said, “It could not be helped.”

  “If I had stayed with my bow, I could have brought him down. I was impatient,” he said, as if that was the worst possible error. “Well, there’s nothing for it now, as Amos would say. We’ve their horses, so let’s use them. I don’t know if there are more camps beyond, but we’ll need speed now, not stealth. That moredhel will be back here shortly with friends.”

  “His sort of friends,” Laurie added as he mounted.

  Roald and Baru were also quickly up and Martin cut the cinches on the remaining three horses. “They can have the horses, but they’ll have to ride them bareback.”

  The others said nothing, but this petty act of vandalism indicated most clearly how angry Martin was with himself over the moredhel’s escape. The Duke of Cydree signed, and Baru ordered Blutark out ahead. The dog ran down the trail, and the riders followed quickly after.

  The giant turned his head as Martin’s arrow struck between the shoulders. The ten-foot-tall creature staggered back as another arrow took him in the neck. His two companions lumbered toward Martin while he fired a third arrow into the stricken giant as he collapsed.

  Baru had ordered Blutark to stand, for the huge humanoids wielded swords the size of a human greatsword, easily sufficient to cleave the large dog in two with a single blow. For all their shambling movement, the hairy creatures could lash out with enough speed to make them very dangerous. Baru ducked to a squat as the sword passed over his head, then lashed out with his sword as he leaped past his towering opponent. In a single stroke he hamstrung the creature, causing it to fall. Between them Roald and Laurie had the third giant on the defensive, and they kept him backing up until Martin could kill him with the bow.

  When all three lay dead, Laurie and Roald fetched the horses. Blutark sniffed at the corpses, growling low in his throat. The giants looked roughly manlike, but averaged ten to twelve feet tall. They bulked heavier than a human in proportion and were all uniform with their black hair and beards. The Hadati said, “The giants are usually aloof from men. What power do you think Murmandamus holds over them?”

  Martin shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve heard of them, and there are some in the mountains near the Free Cities. But the Natalese Rangers also say they avoid contact with others and do not usually cause trouble. Perhaps they are simply no more immune to the blandishments of wealth and power than other creatures.”

  “Legend says they were once men such as you or I, but that something changed them,” commented Baru.

  As they mounted, Roald said, “That I find difficult to believe.”

  Martin signaled that the march should resume, and they rode forward, the second encounter with Murmandamus’s guards successfully passed.

  —

  Blutark’s low growl indicated something up the trail. They were reaching that point above the Inclindel Gap where they would be leaving the ridge and heading down into Yabon. They had covered ground as fast as possible for three days. They were bone-weary, drifting off to sleep in the saddle, but they kept on. The horses were losing weight, for the grain carried by the moredhel had run out two days before, and there was no forage to speak of. They would have to let the animals graze when they reached some grasses, but Martin knew that, with the demands placed upon the animals, they would have to have more than grass if they were to finish out the journey. Still, he was thankful for the horses, for the three days of riding had turned their chances from desperate to fair. Two more days of riding and, even should the horses die, they would be certain to reach Stone Mountain in time.

  Baru motioned the others to hold position. He inched forward along the narrow trail, disappearing around a turn. Martin remained motionless, his bow at the ready, while Laurie and Roald held the mounts.

  Baru reappeared and motioned them back down the trail. “Trolls,” he whispered.

  “How many?” asked Laurie.

  “A full dozen.”

  Martin swore. “Can we get around them?”

  “If we leave the horses, and move along the ridges, there may be a way, but I don’t know.”

  “Try surprise?” asked Roald, knowing what the answer would be.

  “Too many,” said Martin. “Three to one on a narrow trail? Mountain trolls? Even without weapons, they can bite your arm off. No, we’d better try to move around them. Get what you need from the horses and let them loose back up the trail.”

  They stripped what gear they needed and Laurie and Roald led the mounts away, while Baru and Martin kept a keen watch for any signs that the trolls might venture up the trail. Suddenly Laurie and Roald were coming back at a run. “Dark Brothers,” said Roald.

  “How close?” asked Martin.

  “Too close to stand here and talk about it,” said Roald as he began climbing the ridges alongside the trail. They scampered up the rocks, the dog able to keep pace, and moved toward the downslope side of the crest, keeping the ridges between themselves and the trail, hoping to bypass the trolls.

  They reached a point along the trail where it had suddenly doubled back. Baru looked along its length. He signaled and they moved farther down the slope and jumped back down to the trail. Suddenly they heard distant shouting. “The moredhel have reached the trolls and most likely have our mounts.” He signaled and they started to run down the trail.

  They ran until their lungs ached, but behind they could hear the sound of riders. Martin dodged around a tall stand of rocks on one side, and shouted, “Here!” When the others had stopped, he said, “Can you get up there and push those rocks down here?”

  Baru leaped and clambered up the side of the trail until he crouched behind the precarious outcropping. He motioned for Laurie and Roald to join him.

  Riders came into view and the first spurred his mount when he saw Martin and the dog; the other riders appeared an instant later. The Duke of Crydee quietly drew a bead upon the charging lead rider. Martin let fly as the horsemen reached the narrowest part of the trail, and a broad-head shaft struck the charging horse in the chest. The animal went down as if poleaxed and the moredhel rider flew forward over the animal’s neck, to hit the ground with back-breaking impact. The second horse struck the fallen one and threw another rider. Martin saw that rider dead with another arrow. Behind, confusion
reigned as the horses were thrown into a roadblock of dead animals and riders. Two other horses appeared injured, but Martin couldn’t be sure. Then Baru shouted. At once Blutark sprang down the trail.

  Martin ran after the dog as the sound of rocks coming loose filled the air. With an almost explosive release, the rockslide came down in a torrent. Martin could hear his companions swearing and yelling as a rain of small rocks bounced down the trail beside him.

  Martin halted to observe the fall of rock. Dust filled the air, clouding his vision. Then, as the dust began to settle, he could hear Laurie calling his name. He dashed back and began to climb the slide. At the top, hands grabbed him, and through watering eyes he saw Laurie. “Roald,” he said, pointing.

  The mercenary had lost his footing, sliding down the hillside to land on the wrong side of the rocks blocking the road. He sat with his back to the fall, facing up the trail where the moredhel and trolls regrouped. “We’ll cover for you,” shouted Martin.

  Roald turned and with a grim smile shouted, “Can’t. My legs are broken.” He pointed to where his legs stretched out before him, and Martin and Laurie could see the blood beginning to pool. Bone was visible through one trouser leg. He sat with his sword in his lap, daggers held ready to throw. “Get along. I’ll hold them up a few minutes. Get away.”

  Baru came up beside Laurie and Martin. “We must get away,” said the Hadati.

  Laurie said, “We won’t leave you!”

  Roald shouted, but his eyes were fixed up the trail where vague shapes moved through the dust. “I always wanted to die a hero. Don’t spoil it for me, Laurie. Make up a song. Make up a good one. Now get out of here!”

  Baru and Martin pulled Laurie down the rocks, and after a moment, he came willingly. When they reached the place where Blutark waited, Laurie was the first to begin the run down the trail. His face was a grim mask, but his eyes were now dry. Behind they could hear the shouts of the trolls and moredhel, accompanied by cries of pain, and they knew Roald was giving a good account of himself. Then the sounds of struggle ceased.

  THIRTEEN

  FIRST BLOOD

  Trumpets sounded.

  Armengarian bowmen looked out upon the host that stood ready to assault the city. For six days they had waited for the attack, and now it was under way. Again a goblin trumpeter sounded the call, answered up and down the line by other horns. Drums beat and the order for attack was given. The line of attackers rolled forward, a living wave ready to beat against the walls of Armengar. At first they moved slowly, then, as those in the van began to run, the host surged forward. Guy raised his hand and signaled for the catapults to loose their deadly missiles upon those beyond the walls. Stones flew overhead in a high arc, to crash down upon the attackers. Goblins sprang over the bodies of fallen comrades. This was their third assault upon the city since dawn. The first attack had broken before they had reached the wall. The second had carried the attackers to the moat, but there they had broken and run.

  They came forward until they were at the limit of the archers’ range. Guy ordered the bowmen to fire. A rain of arrows descended upon the goblins and moredhel. Hundreds fell, some dead, others wounded, but all were trampled under the boots of those who came behind.

  And still they came forward. Orders were given, and scaling ladders were brought up, to be placed upon heavy platforms thrown across the moat. The ladders were raised only to be pushed back by long poles. In futile effort, the goblins were again and again seeking to climb the ladders, while death rained down from above. Guy signaled and buckets and cauldrons of scalding-hot oil were poured down upon the attackers. The rain of stone, arrows, oil, and flame became too intense for the attackers to survive. Within minutes, trumpets sounded from behind the lines and Murmandamus’s forces were in full retreat. Guy ordered a cease-fire.

  He looked down at the litter of bodies below the castle, hundreds of dead and wounded. Turning to Amos and Arutha, he said, “Their commander is without imagination. He wastes lives.”

  Amos pointed to where a company of moredhel sat atop a hillock, observing the assault. “What he does is count our bowmen.”

  Guy swore. “I must be slipping. I didn’t see them.”

  Arutha said, “You’ve gone without sleep for two days. You’re tired.”

  Guy said, “And I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Amos laughed. “You never were.”

  Armand de Sevigny came up and reported, “There’s no activity along any sector and the redoubts along the back of the cliff report nothing of note behind us.”

  Guy studied the setting sun. “We’ll be done with them for this day. Order the companies down in turn and get them fed. I’ll want watches of one in five this night. We’re all tired.”

  Guy walked along the wall to the stairs leading downward, the others following. Jimmy and Locklear came hurrying up the stairs, wearing leather armor provided by the Armengarians. Arutha said, “Pulling first watch?”

  “Yes,” said Jimmy. “We traded with a couple of fellows we met.”

  Locklear said, “The girls are on first watch, too.”

  Arutha roughly tousled the grinning Locklear’s hair and sent him after Jimmy. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he said, “We’ve got a full-blown war raging around us, and he thinks of girls.”

  Amos nodded. “We were that young once, though I’d be hard pressed to remember that far back. Still, it does remind me of this time I was sailing down the lower Keshian delta, near the Dragonlands….”

  Arutha smiled as they headed for the common kitchen. Some things had not changed and Amos’s storytelling was one of them, and at this time that was a welcome fact.

  —

  The second day the moredhel and goblin host attacked in the morning and were beaten back without difficulty. Each time only a single thrust was made, then a retreat. By late afternoon it was clear the besiegers were settling down. Near sunset, Arutha and Guy watched from the wall, and Amos came running toward them. “The lookouts on the top of the citadel see movement across the plains behind these lads. Looks like the bulk of Murmandamus’s army’s on the march. They should be here by midday tomorrow.”

  Guy looked at his two companions. “It’ll take them a full day to get into position. So we gain two more days. But the day after tomorrow, even as dawn comes, he’ll hit us with everything he’s got.”

  —

  The third day passed slowly, while the defenders watched thousands of moredhel soldiers and their allies take position in the camps about the city. After sunset moving lines of torches showed that new companies were still arriving. Throughout the night the sound of marching soldiers filled the dark, and Guy, Amos, Arutha, and Armand repeatedly came to look out upon the sea of campfires across the plain of Armengar.

  But the fourth day came and the besieging army only settled in, seemingly willing to bide their time. For the entire day the full army of defenders held to their places upon the walls, waiting for the assault. Near sundown, Arutha said to Amos, “You don’t think they’re going to try that Tsurani trick of attacking at night to divert our attention from sappers?”

  Amos shook his head. “They’re not that clever. They wanted Segersen’s boys because they don’t have engineers. If they’ve got sappers tunneling under these walls, I’d like to meet those lads: they’d have to be rock-eating gophers. No, they’re up to something, but nothing fancy. I just think his grand bastardhood has no sense he’s got trouble here. That arrogant swine-lover plans on overrunning us in one attack. That’s what I think.”

  Guy listened, but his good eye was fixed upon the mass of enemies who camped upon the plain. At last he said, “We gain another day for your brother to get to Stone Mountain, Arutha.” Martin and the others had been gone ten days now.

  “There is that,” agreed Amos. They watched in silence as the sun set behind the mountains. They remained watching until darkness had completely taken hold, then slowly they left the wall to eat and, if possible, to rest.


  —

  At dawn a thunderous cheer erupted from the besieging host, a mixture of shouts, shrieks, the rattle of drums, and the blowing of horns. But instead of the anticipated attack, the van of the army opened and a large platform rolled forward. It was moved by the strength of a dozen giants, the tall hairy creatures pushing it effortlessly. Upon the platform rested a gold-encrusted throne, upon which sat a single moredhel dressed in a short white robe. Behind him crouched a figure whose features were hidden by a bulky robe and deep hood. The platform came toward the wall at a leisurely pace.

  Guy leaned forward, his arm resting upon the blue stones of the wall, while Arutha stood at his side, arms crossed. Amos shaded his eyes with his hands against the rising sun. The seaman spit over the wall. “I think we finally meet the grand high royal bastard himself.”

  Guy only nodded. A company subcommander came up and said, “Protector, the enemy takes position opposite all sectors of the wall.”

  “Any attempt to reach the mountain redoubts?” Guy indicated the section of cliff behind the citadel.

  “Armand reports only weak thrusts toward the outposts in the rocks. They seem unwilling to climb and fight.”

  Guy nodded and returned his attention to the field. The platform halted and the figure on the throne stood. By some act of magic his voice filled the air, heard by everyone on the wall as if he were standing only a few feet away. “O my children,” he said, “hear my words.” Arutha looked at Amos and Guy in wonder, for this Murmandamus spoke music. The very sounds of his words were etched with the warmth of a lute’s melody. “We share the destiny of tomorrow. Stand in opposition to fate’s will and you risk utter destruction. Come, come. Let old differences be put aside.”