A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  The stable door opened and Locklear and Jimmy walked in. They halted when they saw Arutha, then Jimmy approached. “We were coming to check the horses.”

  Arutha said, “I cast no blame on your stewardship, Jimmy. I simply like to see to such things for myself when I can afford the time. And it gives me a chance to think.”

  Locklear sat down on a hay bale between Arutha’s mount and the wall. He reached out and patted the mare’s nose. “Highness, why is this happening?”

  “You mean why the war?”

  “No, I think I can understand someone wanting to conquer, or at least I’ve heard enough about such wars in the histories. No, I mean the place. Why here? Amos was showing us some Kingdom maps upstairs and…it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Arutha paused in combing his mount. “You’ve just touched upon the single biggest cause for concern I have. Guy and I have discussed it. We just don’t know. But one thing to be sure of is, if your enemy is doing something unexpected, it’s for a reason. And you had best be quick in understanding what that is, Squire, for if you don’t, it’s likely to be the means of your defeat.” His eyes narrowed. “No, there is a reason Murmandamus is heading this way. Given the timetable for what he is able to do before winter, he must be making for Sethanon. But why? There is no apparent motive for him to go there, and once there, he can only hold until spring. Once spring comes, Lyam and I will crush him.”

  Jimmy pulled an apple from his tunic and cut it in two, giving half to the horse. “Unless he figures to have this business over and done with before spring.”

  Arutha looked at Jimmy. “What do you mean?”

  Jimmy shrugged and wiped his mouth. “I don’t know exactly, except what you said. You have to guess what the enemy is up to. Given the indefensibility of the city, he might be counting on everyone pulling out. Like you said, come spring you can crush him. So I guess he knows that, too. Now, if I was making straight for some place I could get smashed the next spring, it’d be because I didn’t plan on being there in the spring. Or maybe there was something there that gave me an edge—either made me so powerful that I didn’t have to worry about being caught between two armies, or kept the armies from coming at all. Something like that.”

  Arutha rested his chin upon his arm on the back of the horse as he thought. “But what?”

  Locklear said, “Something magic?”

  Jimmy laughed. “We’ve had no shortage of that since this whole mess began.”

  Arutha ran his finger along the chain holding the talisman give him by the Ishapian monks at Sarth. “Something magic,” he muttered. “But what?”

  Quietly Jimmy said, “It’ll be something big, I’d guess.”

  Arutha fought rising irritation. In his belly he knew Jimmy was right. And he felt frustration close to rage in not understanding the secret behind Murmandamus’s insane invasion.

  Abruptly trumpets sounded, and were answered almost immediately by the pounding of boot heels upon the cobbles as soldiers rushed to their posts. Arutha was out of the stables in an instant, the boys just behind.

  —

  Galain pointed. “There.”

  Guy and Arutha looked down from the highest tower of the keep, overlooking the barbican of the fortification. Beyond, in the deep canyon called Cutter’s Gap, the first elements of Murmandamus’s army could be seen. “Where’s Highcastle?” asked Arutha.

  “Down on the wall with his men,” answered Amos. “He rode in a short time ago, all bloodied and battered. Seems the Dark Brothers were up in the hills above his advance position and swarmed down over him. He had to cut his way out. Looks like he lost most of the detachment out there.”

  Guy swore. “The idiot. That was where he could have bottled up Murmandamus’s army for a few days. Here, on the walls, it’ll be a bloody damned farce.”

  The elf said, “It was foolish to underestimate the ability of the mountain moredhel once they get into the rocks. These are not simple goblins he’s facing.”

  Arutha said, “I’m going to see if I can talk to him.” The Prince hurried down through the keep and within a few minutes was standing beside Lord Highcastle. The Baron was bloodied from a scalp wound, received when his helm had been knocked off his head. He had not put another on, and his hair was matted with dried blood. The man was pale and shaky, but he still supervised his command without hesitation. Arutha said, “Brian, can you see what I was talking about?”

  “We’ll bottle them up here,” he answered, pointing to where the narrow canyon came together before the wall. “There’s no room to stage, so his men will be stopped before the wall. We’ll cut them down like wheat before a scythe.”

  “Brian, he’s bringing an army of thirty thousand against you. What have you here? Two? He doesn’t care about losses! He’ll pile his soldiers against your walls, then walk over their corpses to reach you. They’ll come and come and come again and wear you down. You can’t hold out for more than a day or two at the longest.”

  The Baron’s eyes locked upon Arutha’s. “My charter is to defend this position. I may not quit it save by leave of the King. I am charged to hold at all costs. Now, you are not part of my command; please leave the wall.”

  Arutha remained motionless for a moment, his face flushed. He left the wall and hurried back to the tower. When he had rejoined those upon the tower, he said to Jimmy, “Go saddle the horses and get all we need for a long ride. Steal what you must from the kitchen. We may have to make a quick exit.”

  Jimmy nodded and took Locklear by the sleeve, leading the other boy away. Arutha, Guy, Galain, and Amos watched as the leading edge of the invading army moved closer, coming down the canyon like a slow-moving flood.

  —

  It began as Arutha had predicted, a wave of soldiers attacking down the narrow draw. The fortress had been built as a staging point for the garrison, with little thought that it would need to withstand a massive attack from an organized army. Now just such an army advanced upon it.

  Arutha joined his companions atop the tower, watching as Highcastle’s bowmen began slaughtering Murmandamus’s advance elements. Then the front ranks of the attackers opened, and goblins with heavy shields hurried forward at a crouch, forming a shield wall. Moredhel bowmen ran and took refuge behind them, then rose and began answering the archers upon the wall. The first flight of arrows took a dozen of Highcastle’s bowmen off the wall, and the attackers streamed forward. Again and again the two sides exchanged missile fire and the defenders stood firm. But the attackers continued to advance toward the wall.

  Step by bloody step they came, moving past the bodies of those who had fallen. Each wave came and fell, but moved closer to the walls than the last. An archer would die and another would run forward to take his place. Then, as the sun breasted the high wall of the canyon, the attackers had halved the distance to the wall. By the time the sun had made the narrow transit from wall to wall overhead, the distance was narrowed to less than fifty yards. The next wave was unleashed.

  Scaling ladders were carried forward, and the defenders exacted a heavy toll on those who carried them, but as each goblin or troll fell, another took his place carrying the ladder. At last they rested against the wall. Pole arms were employed to topple them, but others were put in place, and goblins scrambled up to be greeted by steel and flame. Then the battle of Highcastle was truly joined.

  —

  Arutha watched as the ragged defenders held again. The final wave had breasted the wall to the south of the barbican, but the reinforcement company had filled the breach and driven them back. With sunset, the trumpets sounded withdraw, and Murmandamus’s host pulled back up the canyon.

  Guy swore. “I’ve never seen such carnage and waste in the name of duty.”

  Arutha was forced to agree. Amos said, “Bloody hell! These border lads might be the dregs and outcasts of your armies, Arutha, but they’re a tough and salty crew. I’ve never seen men give better account of themselves.”

  Arutha agreed. “You
don’t serve on the border for long and not get toughened. Few big battles, but constant fighting. Still, they’re doomed if Brian keeps this up.”

  Galain said, “We should leave before dawn if we are to get away, Arutha.”

  The Prince nodded. “I’m going to speak one last time with Brian. If he still refuses to listen to reason, I’ll ask permission to quit the garrison.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” asked Amos.

  Arutha said, “Jimmy’s already gotten us provisions and a way out. We’ll leave on foot if we must.”

  The Prince left the tower and hurried back to where he had last seen Highcastle. Looking about, he saw no sign of the Baron. Inquiring of a guard, he was told, “Last I saw of the Baron was an hour ago. He might be down in the courtyard with the dead and wounded, Highness.”

  The soldier’s words were prophetic, for Arutha found Brian, Lord Highcastle, with the dead and wounded. The chirurgeon was kneeling over him, and when the Prince approached, he looked up, shaking his head. “He’s dead.”

  Arutha spoke to an officer standing by the body. “Who’s second?”

  The man said, “Walter of Gyldenholt, but I think he fell during the overrunning of the forward position.”

  “Then who?”

  “Baldwin de la Troville and I, Highness, are both ranked behind Walter. We arrived upon the same day, so who is senior I do not know.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Anthony du Masigny, formerly Baron of Calry, Highness.”

  Arutha recognized the man from Lyam’s coronation after hearing the name. He had been one of Guy’s supporters. He still affected a trim appearance, but two years on the frontier had rid him of much of the manner of the court dandy he had displayed at Rillanon.

  “If you’ve no objections, send for de la Troville and Guy du Bas-Tyra. Have them meet with us in the Baron’s chambers.”

  “I’ve no objections,” said du Masigny. He surveyed the carnage along the walls and in the courtyard. “In fact I would welcome a little sanity and order about now.”

  —

  Baldwin de la Troville was a slender, hawkish man, in contrast to du Masigny’s neatly trimmed, softer appearance. As soon as both officers were present, Arutha said, “If either of you has any notion of that nonsense about being vassals only to the King and defending this fortress to the death, say so now.”

  Both exchanged glances, and du Masigny laughed. “Highness, we were sent here by order of your brother for”—he cast a glance at Guy—“certain former political indiscretions. We are in no hurry to throw our lives away in futile gesture.”

  De la Troville said, “Highcastle was an idiot. A brave, almost heroic man, but still an idiot.”

  “You’ll accept my orders?”

  “Gladly,” they both said.

  “Then from now forward, du Bas-Tyra is my second in command. You’ll accept him as your superior.”

  Du Masigny grinned. “That is hardly new to either of us, Highness.”

  Guy nodded and returned the smile. “They’re good soldiers, Arutha. They’ll do what needs to be done.”

  Arutha ripped a map off the wall and laid it upon the table. “I want half the garrison in saddle within an hour, but all orders are to be by whisper, no trumpets, no drums, no shouts. As soon as possible, I want squads of a dozen men each slipped out the postern gates at one-minute intervals. They’re to ride for Sethanon. I think even as we speak Murmandamus is slipping his soldiers through the rocks on either side of the pass to cut off retreat. I don’t think we have more than a few hours, certainly not past dawn.”

  Guy’s finger touched the map. “If we send a small patrol to this point, then this point, just for show, it would slow down any infiltrators and cover some of the noise.”

  Arutha nodded. “De la Troville, lead that patrol, but don’t engage any enemy forces. Run like a rabbit if needs be, and be sure to be back by two hours before dawn. By sunrise this garrison is to be evacuated, not a living man left behind.

  “Now, the first squads leaving will consist of six able bodies and six wounded. Tie the wounded to their horses if you must. After today’s slaughter, there should be enough mounts for each squad to take two or three extra, and I want each to carry as much grain as possible. Not all the horses will make Sethanon, but between the grain and rotating the mounts, most should.”

  “Many of the wounded won’t survive, Highness,” said du Masigny.

  “The ride to Sethanon will be a killer, but I want everyone safely away. I don’t care how badly hurt they are, we’re not leaving one man behind for the butchers. Du Masigny, I want every dead soldier to be put back on the wall, propped up in the crenels. When dawn comes, I want Murmandamus to think he faces a full garrison.” He turned to Guy. “That might slow him down a little. Now prepare messages for Northwarden, telling him of what is occurring here. If memory serves, Michael, Lord Northwarden, is far brighter than the late Baron Highcastle. Perhaps he’ll agree to send some soldiers to harass Murmandamus’s flanks along his line of march. I want messages to Sethanon—”

  “We have no birds for Sethanon, Highness,” said de la Troville. “We are expecting some to be coming by caravan within the month.” He looked embarrassed for his former commander. “An oversight.”

  “How many birds do you have left in the coops?”

  “A dozen. Three for Northwarden. Two each for Tyr-Sog and Loriél, and five for Romney.”

  Arutha said, “Then at least we can spread the word. Tell Duke Talwyn of Romney to send word to Lyam in Rillanon. I want the Armies of the East to march on Sethanon. Martin will already be in the field with Vandros’s army. As soon as he encounters the survivors from Armengar and learns Murmandamus’s route, he’ll turn his forces around and send the army from Yabon to Hawk’s Hollow, where they can cut through the mountains and march this way. We’ll send word to Tyr-Sog to get gallopers out to tell him exactly where we are. The garrison from Krondor will march as soon as Gardan receives word from Martin. He’ll pick up troops along the way at Darkmoor.” He seemed vaguely hopeful. “We may yet survive at Sethanon.”

  —

  “Where’s Jimmy?”

  Locklear said, “He said he had something to do and would be right back.”

  Arutha looked about. “What nonsense is he about now?” It was nearly first light and the last detachment of soldiers was ready to ride out of the garrison. Arutha’s party, the last fifty soldiers, and two dozen extra horses were poised at the gate, and Jimmy was off somewhere.

  Then the boy dashed into sight, waving for them to be off. He jumped into the saddle, and Arutha signaled for the postern gates to be opened. They were pushed wide and Arutha led the column out. As Jimmy overtook him, Arutha said, “What kept you?”

  “A surprise for Murmandamus.”

  “What?”

  “I put a candle on top of a small barrel of oil I found. It’s on a bunch of straw and rags and things. Should go up in a half hour or so. Won’t do much but make a lot of smoke, but it will burn for a few hours.”

  Amos laughed in appreciation. “And after Armengar, they won’t be so quick to rush toward a fire.”

  Guy said, “That’s a bright one, Arutha.”

  Jimmy looked pleased at the praise. Arutha said dryly, “Sometimes too bright.”

  Jimmy’s expression turned dark, while Locklear grinned.

  —

  They gained a day. From the time they left the first morning until sundown, they saw no sign of pursuers. Arutha decided Murmandamus must have ordered a thorough search of the empty fortress and would then have to reorder his army for the trek across the High Wold. No, they had stolen the march on the invaders, and they were likely to stay ahead of all but his fastest cavalry.

  They could push the horses, rotating the remounts they led, and make between thirty-five and forty miles a day. Some horses were sure to go lame, but with luck they would be across the vast, hilly High Wold in a week. Once in the Dimwood, they would have to slow, but
the chances of being overtaken would also be less, for those behind would have to be cautious of ambush from among the thick trees.

  On the second day they began passing the bodies of those wounded who could not withstand the punishment of the hard ride. Their comrades had followed orders and cut the dead loose from their saddles, not wasting time to bury them, not even stripping them of weapons and armor.

  On the third day they saw the first signs of pursuit, vague shapes on the horizon near sundown. Arutha ordered an extra hour’s ride, and there were no signs of those behind at dawn.

  On the fourth day they saw the first village. The soldiers riding past before them had alerted everyone of the danger, and it was now deserted. Smoke came from one chimney and Arutha sent a soldier to investigate. A well-banked fire still smoldered, but no one was left. A little seed grain was found and brought along, but all other foodstuffs were gone. There was little to comfort the enemy, so Arutha ordered the village left alone. Had the villagers not picked the place clean, he would have ordered it burned. He expected Murmandamus’s soldiers would see to that, but he still felt better for leaving the place as he had found it.

  Near the end of the fifth day, they saw a company of riders approaching from behind, and Arutha ordered his command to halt and make ready. The riders came close enough to be clearly marked as a dozen moredhel scouts, but they veered off and moved back toward their main army rather than accept the offer to fight the larger force.

  On the sixth day they overtook a caravan, heading south, already warned of the approaching danger by the first units of the garrison to ride past. The caravan drivers were moving at a slow, steady pace, but it was certain they’d be overtaken by Murmandamus’s advanced units within another day, two at the most. Arutha rode to where the merchant who owned the wagons sat and, riding alongside, shouted, “Cut your horses loose and ride them. Otherwise you cannot escape the Dark Brothers who follow!”

  “But my grain!” complained the merchant. “I’ll lose everything!”

  Arutha signaled a halt. When the wagons were stopped, he shouted to his command. “Each man take a sack of this merchant’s grain. We’ll need it for the Dimwood. Burn the rest!”