A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  “The defensive barriers we built will help, but only a little. We must depend upon the men,” said Arutha.

  “Well, those we brought south with us are a solid crew,” observed Amos. “Maybe these parade soldiers here will pick up a thing or two.”

  “That’s why I spread the men from Highcastle out among the city garrison. Just maybe they’ll prove the difference.” Arutha didn’t sound hopeful.

  Guy shook his head, then rested it on his arms, against the wall. “Twelve hundred seasoned men, including the walking wounded returned to duty. Three thousand garrisons, some local militia, and city watch—most of whom have never seen anything more extreme than a tavern brawl. If seven thousand Armengarians couldn’t hold from behind sixty-foot-high walls, what can this lot do here?”

  Arutha said, “Whatever they must.” He said no more as he returned his attention to the fires across the plain.

  —

  The next day passed into night, and still Murmandamus staged his army. Jimmy sat with Locklear upon a bale of hay near a catapult position. They, and the squires of Lord Humphry’s court, had been carrying buckets of sand and water to every siege engine along the city walls all day, against the need to douse fires. They were all bone-tired.

  Locklear watched the sea of torches and campfires outside the walls. “It somehow looks bigger than at Armengar. It’s like we never hurt them at all.”

  Jimmy nodded. “We hurt them. It’s just they’re closer, that’s all. I overheard du Bas-Tyra saying they’ll come in a rush.” He was silent for a while, then said, “Locky, you’ve not said anything about Bronwynn.”

  Locklear looked at the fires on the plains. “What’s to say? She’s dead and I’ve cried. It’s behind. There’s no use in dwelling on it. In a few days I might be dead, too.”

  Jimmy sighed, as he leaned back against the inner wall, glimpsing the host around the city through the crenelation in the stones. Something joyous had died in his friend, something young and innocent, and Jimmy mourned its loss. And he wondered if he had ever had that young and innocent thing in himself.

  —

  With dawn, the defenders were ready, poised to answer the attackers when they came. But as he did at Armengar, Murmandamus approached the city. Lines of soldiers carrying the banners of the confederations and clans marched out, then opened their line to let their supreme commander come to the fore. He rode a huge black stallion, equal in beauty to the white steed he had ridden the last time. His helm was silver trimmed black and he held a black sword. Little in his appearance offered a reassuring image, yet his words were soft. They carried to everyone in the city, projected by Murmandamus’s arts. “O my children, though some of you have already opposed me, yet am I ever ready to forgive. Open your gates and I will offer solemn vow: any who wishes may quit and ride away, untroubled and unharried. Take whatever you desire, food, livestock, riches, and I’ll offer no obstacle.” He waved behind him and a dozen moredhel warriors rode forward to sit behind. “I will even offer hostages. These are among my most loyal chieftains. They will ride unarmed and unarmored with you until you are safe within the walls of whatever other city you wish. Only this I ask. You must open your gates to me. Sethanon must be mine!”

  Upon the walls the commanders observed this and Amos muttered, “The royal pig-lover is certainly anxious to get within the city. Damn me if I don’t almost believe him. I almost think we could all ride away if we would only give him the bloody place.”

  Arutha looked at Guy. “I almost believe him, too. I’ve never heard of any Dark Brother offering hostages.”

  Guy ran his hand over his face, his expression one of worry and fatigue, a tiredness born of long suffering and not simply lack of sleep. “There’s something here he wants badly.”

  Lord Humphry said, “Highness, can we deal with the creature?”

  Arutha said, “It is your city, my lord Baron, but it is my brother’s Kingdom. I’m sure he’d be quite short with us if we went about giving portions of it away. No, we’ll not deal with him. As sweet as his words are, there’s nothing about him that makes me believe he’d honor his vows. I think he’d willingly sacrifice those chieftains of his without a thought. He’s never been bothered by his losses before. I’ve even come to think he welcomes the blood and slaughter. No, Guy’s right. He simply wants inside the walls as quickly as possible. And I would give a year’s taxes to know what it is he’s after.”

  Amos said, “And I don’t think those chieftains look happy with the offer either.” Several moredhel leaders were exchanging hurried words with one another behind Murmandamus’s back. “I think things are rapidly becoming less than harmonious among the Dark Brothers.”

  “Let us hope,” said Guy flatly.

  Murmandamus’s horse spun and danced nervously as he shouted, “What, then, is your answer?”

  Arutha stepped up on a box, so he might better be seen above the wall. “I say return to the north,” he shouted. “You have invaded lands that hold no bounty for you. Even now armies are marching against you. Return to the north before the passes are choked with snow and you die a cold and lonely death, far from your home.”

  Murmandamus’s voice rose as he said, “Who speaks for the city?”

  There was a moment’s silence, then Arutha shouted, “I, Arutha conDoin, Prince of Krondor, Heir to the throne of Rillanon,” and then he added a title not officially his, “Lord of the West.”

  Murmandamus shrieked an inhuman cry of rage and something else, perhaps fear, and Jimmy nudged Amos. The former thief said, “That’s torn it. He’s definitely not amused.”

  Amos only grinned and patted the young man on the shoulder. From the ranks of Murmandamus’s army there arose a murmuring as Amos said, “It sounds as if his army doesn’t like it either. Omens that turn out false can undermine a superstitious lot like these.”

  Murmandamus cried, “Liar! False Prince! It is known the Prince of Krondor was slain. Why do you prevaricate? What is your purpose?”

  Arutha stood higher, his features clear to see. The chieftains rode about in milling circles, engaging in animated discussion. He removed his talisman, given by the Abbot at Sarth, and held it forth. “By this talisman am I protected from your arts.” He handed it down to Jimmy. “Now you know the truth.”

  Murmandamus’s constant companion, the Pantathian serpent priest Cathos, came forward at a shambling run. He tugged upon the stirrup of his master’s saddle, pointing at Arutha and speaking at a furious rate in the hissing language of his people. With a shriek of rage, Murmandamus kicked him away, knocking him to the ground. Amos spat over the wall. “I think that convinced them.”

  The chieftains looked angry and moved as a group toward Murmandamus. He seemed to recognize the moment was slipping away from him. He spun his mount in a full circle, the warhorse’s hooves striking the fallen serpent priest in the head, rendering him senseless. Murmandamus ignored his fallen ally and the approaching chieftains. “Then, foul opposer,” he cried toward the wall, “death comes to embrace you!” He spun to face his army, and pointed back at the city. “Attack!”

  The army was poised for the assault and moved forward. The chieftains could not countermand the order. All they could do was ride at once to take charge of their clans. Slowly the horsemen moved up behind the advancing elements of infantry, ready to rush the gates.

  Murmandamus rode to his command position as the first rank of goblins walked over the unconscious body of the serpent priest. It was not clear if the Pantathian had died from the horse’s kick or not, but by the time the last rank had passed over, only a bloody carcass lay in a robe.

  Arutha raised his hand and held it poised, dropping it when the first rank came within catapult range. “Here,” said Jimmy, handing back the talisman. “It might come in handy.”

  Missiles struck the advancing host and they faltered, but continued forward. Soon they were running toward the walls, while bowmen offered covering fire from behind shield walls. Then the first rank h
it trenches hidden by canvas and dirt and fell upon the buried, fire-hardened stakes. Others threw shields upon their writhing comrades and ran over their impaled bodies. The second and third ranks were decimated, but others came forward, and scaling ladders were placed against the walls, and the battle for Sethanon was joined.

  —

  The first wave swarmed up the ladders and were met with fire and steel by the defenders. The men of Highcastle provided the leadership and example that kept the inexperienced defenders of the city from being swept away. Amos, de la Troville, du Masigny, and Guy were linchpins for the defense of the city, always appearing where needed.

  For nearly an hour the battle teetered as if poised upon the point of a dagger, with the attackers only barely able to gain a foothold upon the battlements before they were thrown back. Still as one rush was repulsed, another would be mounted from a different quarter and soon it was apparent that all would hinge upon some chance of fate, for the two opposing forces were in equilibrium.

  Then a giant ram, fashioned within the dark glades of the Dimwood, was rolled forward, toward the southern gate of the city. Without a moat, there were only the traps and trenches to slow its advance and these were quickly covered with wooden planking laid over the bodies of the dead. It was a tree bole, easily ten feet in diameter. It rolled on six giant wheels and was pulled by a dozen horsemen. A dozen giants pushed from behind using long poles. The thing gathered speed as it rumbled toward the gate. Soon the horses were cantering and the riders peeled off, turning away from the answering hail of arrows. The sluggish giants were replaced by faster goblins, whose primary task was to keep the thing on course and moving. It rolled toward the outer gates of the barbican, and nothing the defenders could do would stop it.

  It struck the gates with a thunderous crash, the shattering of wood and protests of metal hinges torn from the walls heralding a breach in the city’s defenses. The gates were flung back into the barbican, twisting as they fell under the wheels of the ram. The front end of the ram lifted as it bounced off the tilting gates, momentum carrying it upward as it struck against the right wall of the barbican. Suddenly the invaders were provided with a clear entrance to the city. Up the tottering ram and leaning gates the goblins swarmed, gaining the top of the barbican. Suddenly the balance was tipped.

  Atop the barbican the defenders were forced back. The invaders reached a point above the inner gate as more goblins and moredhel swarmed up the accidental ramps. Arutha called the reinforcement company forward. They hurried to where the first goblins were dropping into the courtyard before the massive bar that held the inner gates in place. The fighting before the gates was fierce, but soon goblin bowmen were driving the defenders away, despite the fire directed at them from other parts of the wall. The bar was being hoisted when shrieks and cires went up from outside. The fighting slowed, as those engaged sensed something odd was occurring. Then all eyes looked heavenward.

  Descending from the sky was a dragon, its scales glinting in the sun. Upon its back three figures could be seen. The giant animal swooped downward with an astonishing roar, as if about to pounce upon the attackers before the gates, and goblins began to flee.

  —

  Ryath spread her wings and swooped into a low glide above the heads of the attackers, as Tomas waved his golden sword aloft. She trumpeted her battle cry and the goblins beneath her broke and ran.

  Tomas looked about, seeking sign of this Murmandamus, but could see only a sea of horsemen and infantry in all directions. Then arrows began to speed past. Most were harmlessly bouncing off the dragon’s scales, but the Prince Consort of Elvandar knew a well-placed shot could strike between the overlapping plates or in the eye and the dragon could be injured. He ordered Ryath to enter the city.

  The dragon landed in the market, some distance from the gate, but Arutha was already running toward them, with Galain behind. Pug and Tomas both leaped lightly down, while Macros was more sedate in his dismount.

  Arutha gripped Pug’s hand. “It is good to see you again, and making so timely an entrance.”

  Pug said, “We hurried, but we had some delays upon the way.”

  Tomas had been greeted by Galain, and Arutha in turn clasped his hand, both of them obviously pleased to see each other alive. Then Arutha saw Macros. “So you didn’t die, then?”

  Macros said, “Apparently not. It is good to see you again, Prince Arutha. More pleasant than you can imagine.”

  Arutha looked at the signs of battle about him and considered the relative quiet. From distant quarters the sounds of battle carried, signifying only that the assault upon the gate had ceased. “I don’t know how long they’ll wait before they rush the barbican again.” He glanced down the street toward the gate. “You gave them a start, and I think Murmandamus is having trouble with some of his chieftains, but not enough to benefit us, I’m afraid. And I don’t think I can hold them here. When they come again, they’ll swarm over that ram.”

  “We can help,” said Pug.

  “No,” said Macros.

  All eyes turned toward the sorcerer. Arutha said, “Pug’s magic could counter Murmandamus’s.”

  “Has he used any spellcraft against you so far?”

  Arutha thought. “Why no, not since Armengar.”

  “He won’t. He must harbor it against the moment he has won into the city. And the bloodshed and terror benefit his cause. There is something here he wants, and we must keep him from getting it.”

  Arutha looked at Pug. “What is happening here?”

  A messenger came running toward them. “Highness! The enemy masses for another attack on the gate.”

  Macros said, “Who is your second?”

  “Guy du Bas-Tyra.”

  Pug looked startled at the news but said nothing. Macros said, “Murmandamus will not use magic, except perhaps to destroy you if he can, Arutha, so you must turn command of the city over to du Bas-Tyra and come with us.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace near here. If all else fails, it will be our cause to prevent the complete destruction of your nation. We must keep Murmandamus from his final goal.”

  Arutha considered a moment. He said to Galain, “Orders to du Bas-Tyra. He is to take command. Amos Trask is to assume his role as second-in-command.”

  “Where will Your Highness be?” asked the soldier next to the elf.

  Macros took Arutha by the arm. “He’ll be someplace where no one can reach him. If we are victorious, we shall all meet again.” He didn’t bother saying what would happen if they were defeated.

  They hurried down the street, past shuttered doors as the citizens huddled safely within their homes. One bold boy looked out a second-floor window just as Ryath lumbered past, and with wide eyes slammed the window. The sounds of battle came from the walls as they rounded a corner into an alley. Macros spun to face the Prince. “What you see, what you hear, what you learn must always remain a trust. Besides yourself, only the King and your brother Martin may know the secrets you’ll learn today—and your heirs,” he added with a dry note, “if any. Swear.” It was not a request.

  Arutha said, “I swear.”

  Macros said, “Tomas, you must discover where the Lifestone lies, and, Pug, you must take us there.”

  Tomas looked about. “It was ages ago. Nothing resembles…” He closed his eyes, appearing to the others to be in some trance state. Then he said, “I feel it.”

  Without opening his eyes, he said, “Pug, can you take us…there!” He pointed down and to the center of the city. He opened his eyes. “It is below the entrance to the keep.”

  Pug said, “Come, join hands.”

  Tomas looked toward the dragon, saying, “You have done all you can. I thank you.”

  Ryath said, “With thee I shall come, one more time.” She regarded the sorcerer and then Tomas. “With certainty do I know my fate. I must not seek to avoid it.”

  Pug looked at his companions and said, “What does she mean?” Arutha’s
expression mirrored Pug’s.

  Macros did not speak. Tomas said, “You have not told us before.”

  “There was no need, friend Tomas.”

  Macros interrupted. “We can speak of this once we’ve reached our destination. Ryath, once we have ceased moving, come to us.”

  Tomas said, “The chamber will be large enough.”

  “I shall.”

  Pug pushed his confusion aside and took Arutha’s hand. The other was joined with Tomas’s, and Macros completed the circle. They all became insubstantial and began to move.

  They sank, and light was denied them for a time. Tomas directed Pug, using mind-speech, until after long minutes in the dark, Tomas spoke aloud. “We are in an open area.”

  With returning solidity, they all felt cold stone beneath their feet and Pug created light about himself. Arutha looked up. They were in a gigantic chamber, easily a hundred feet in every direction, with a ceiling twice that high. About them rose columns and next to them stood an upraised dais.

  Then suddenly, with a booming displacement of air, the dragon bulked above them. Ryath said, “It is near time.”

  Arutha said, “What is the dragon speaking of?” He had seen so many wonders over the last two years that the sight of a talking dragon was making no impression upon him.

  Tomas said, “Ryath, like all the greater dragons, knows the time of her death. It is soon.”

  The dragon spoke. “While we fared between worlds, it was possible I would die of causes removed from thee and thy friends. Now it is clear I must continue to play a part in this, for our destiny as a race is always tied with thine, Valheru.”

  Tomas only nodded. Pug looked about the chamber, saying, “Where is this Lifestone?”

  Macros pointed to the dais. “There.”