"A spindly tailor's apprentice, who can neither dance nor play a tune. My own true love, not a virgin! And with Cutfast. And five others! But never with me!"
"She kept you dangling above her well of delights as an incentive to marry her" was the opinion of Wallas. "A sensible lad would have moved on to easier conquests. The stubborn ones are never worth the effort." Lavenci folded her arms very tightly and stared at the ground with a pained expression. The parallels with what had happened between her and myself were painfully close.
"She, I, er... that cat on your backpack!" gasped Pelmore.
"Yes?" I asked.
"It spoke."
"Well you'd not understand if I meowed," said Wallas smoothly. "Pray continue your story." "But, but—"
"Like you, Wallas has a glamour upon him. In his case, however, it is a little more drastic. So, what happened at bedtime?"
"She went straight out to the revel and announced that she was not going to consummate anything with a man whose willy looked like half a walnut."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I could not face the humiliation, so I dressed, snatched up her dowry purse, and scrambled out through the window."
"Why am I not surprised?" muttered Lavenci.
"But I found the dowry coins were copper rubbed with quicksilver to feign greater worth."
"Virtue is its own reward," I added. "A pity you have none."
"When oh when will this curse be lifted?" wailed Pelmore, raising his hands to the sky.
"Later this morning, when we reach Gatrov and call in at Norellie's house," said Lavenci.
"But she needs clearance from a field magistrate first," Pel-more pointed out.
"I passed my field-magistrate accreditation three months ago," I replied.
"What? Why did you not say so?" demanded Pelmore. "I could have postponed the wedding until tonight!"
"But I wanted you humiliated, Pelmore, just as you humiliated Lady Lavenci."
"Thank you, Inspector," said Lavenci, with a little curtsy to me.
"So, Pelmore, now the scales are in balance, so we can have Madame Norellie wipe the slate clean," I concluded. "You and Her Ladyship can go your separate ways. Come back to Gatrov with us."
"Why?"
"In case both of you have to be present for the glamour to be lifted."
"What I can't understand is why you had Norellie bind yourself to him in the first place," said Wallas as we set off for Gatrov again.
"I certainly did not!" cried Lavenci.
"Well I didn't!" retorted Pelmore.
"Four of those Lupanian fighting towers, right behind us!" yowled Wallas suddenly.
I whirled so fast that Wallas lost his grip on my backpack and fell off. Sure enough, four of the spun-glass nightmares were visible in the distance.
"That can't be!" I exclaimed. "They take two days to build."
"I count four," said Lavenci.
"What in all hells are they?" demanded Pelmore.
"The Lupanian version of mounted kavelars," I replied, "but instead of riding a horse and using a lance, they ride towers a hundred feet high and spit fire."
"I suggest we hide," said Wallas, jumping up onto my pack again as I raised my farsight.
"They are making for Thissendel," I said, feeling a deep and cold pit open up in my stomach. I unslung my cavalry
crossbow and levered the cord over the bolt clip. I pointed it at Pelmore.
"Ladyship, you can touch Pelmore, alone of all men. He must carry you."
"Death is preferable!" snapped Lavenci.
"That is the alternative. Pelmore, take Lavenci upon your back and run for Gatrov."
"No!" shouted Lavenci. "I limp or I die." With that Pelmore began to run. Wallas streaked off too, and was quickly ahead of him. Lavenci limped along behind them.
"Go to the docks, jump into the water," I shouted. "Hide beneath the pier." I was standing on a slight rise as I observed the towers stride toward the village, and although it was a mile behind us, I had quite a good view. Three of the towers moved to surround the place, while the fourth made straight for it. They made an odd, honking sound, like the call of a goose the size of a dragon. The heat beam itself was invisible, but the casting held by the tentacles belched green smoke when in use. I could not have taken more than five breaths before the entire village was blazing.
It was now that I saw something of their strategy for surrounding the village. The three outer towers began to pursue the fleeing villagers who had thus far survived, snatching them up with their tentacles and dropping them into baskets behind the lower cowl. The baskets had not been there the night before, I was sure of that. After no more than a minute, the baskets seemed full, and the remaining villagers were killed by merely being flung high into the air. Those who had fled somewhat farther were burned down. At this point I thought to turn and see how far my charges had run. Pelmore had cut across a field, and was almost at the city gates, and Wallas was nowhere to be seen. Lavenci was making remarkably good progress, considering her injured leg. I also noted that Gatrov was hidden from the towers by the hill—except for the watchtower and castle.
Estimating that I would catch up with Lavenci as she reached the city gates, I began to run. I reached her no more than a hundred yards from the walls of the town. At this point someone in the watchtower must have noticed what was going on at the village, for they began to ring a bell. The bell tolled approximately nine times before one of the Lupanians noticed and thought to do something about it. The watchtower's crowning gallery was hit squarely by the heat weapon, and it disintegrated in a messy cloud of blazing fragments.
"The range of that thing is at least two miles," I gasped to Lavenci as we ran.
Now the heat weapons were trained on the castle, setting the thatch roofing and the soldiers on the battlements ablaze. We reached the town's gates, and were only admitted because I waved my Wayfarer crest plate at the guards and said that we had to warn the commander of militia about the Lupanians. They were closing the gates behind us as the Lupanians reached the hill, and a single blast of the heat weapon had both gates and guards reduced to ash and smoking fragments. Rooftops all around us began to explode into flames and billowing smoke as we ran for the river.
"The piers, hide under the piers!" I cried between gasps as I ran, but nobody heeded me.
The wreckage of the tower's gallery had fallen into the river, where it lay half-submerged like a vanquished warship. Ahead of us, Wallas and Pelmore were waiting at the edge of the wharf. Pelmore said something about not being able to swim, but I merely pushed him in the chest, then flung Wallas after him. I dropped my pack and the two crossbows on the edge of the wharf. The pier had been built of stone arches overlaid with timber, and the water was shallow enough for an adult to stand on the bottom. Wallas swam for Pelmore and clambered onto his shoulder. Moments later two more figures came running over. It was Riellen and Azorian.
"Sir!" she gasped. "The Lupanians can crawl really fast on their tentacles. They have reached the town."
"They have machines," I explained. "Jump for the water. Hide under the pier."
"I tried to hold a rally and organize a citizen's information network to spread word of the danger, but nobody would listen."
"Constable, get down there, guard the others."
I was aware of something crawling up my leg as I set off across Wharfway Plaza, and a voice piped out, "Constable Solonor reportin'!" Without saying a word I snatched the gnome from my trouser leg and stuffed him into my coat pocket. I suppose my first thought was to get people off the cobblestone plaza and into the water before the tripod towers arrived, but none of the frantic folk there paid me any attention. Then I saw some militiamen pushing a large, heavy wagon out of the double doors of what I had taken to be a storehouse. Mounted on the tray was a ballista, which was basically a huge crossbow that fired clay pots of hellfire oil. I cannot say why I abandoned any thought of telling people where to take refuge, and joined the crew
of the ballista. I have only vague memories of what I shouted at them, but it was to the effect that their target was a hundred feet high and could shoot something hotter than hellfire farther than two miles. They were inclined to believe me, having just seen the town's watchtower cut down by something so far away that nobody knew where it was.
"Will you stay, sir?" barked the ballista captain as his men began to wind back a bowstring thicker than my arm. "Seeing as you know the enemy's size and speed."
"I've no training for ballistas," I cried back. "I'm only a Wayfarer."
"Can you stand with us and call the range, sir?" demanded the captain.
"That I can, sir."
"Then give height and range. What is your name?" "Scryverin, Wayfarers, Inspector." "Danzar, militia, Captain."
Of what came next I have only impressions, because so much was assailing my senses. There was a thunderous hooting and ululating, the screams of an entire town, bells and gongs sounding, and the rumble of buildings collapsing. We were on the wharf, facing out across the Alber River. Five barges were on the water, with those aboard frantically working the long sweep oars. Then we saw it, a tripod, already in the water, wading for the barges, a vast, glittering spider and octopus all in one, still taller than any building in Gatrov even though it was partly submerged.
"Stone me knackers!" cried someone behind me.
"What range?" shouted the captain, doggedly focused on firing his machine and hitting the target. "Call the range, Inspector!" I held out my arm, my thumb raised against the tripod tower. "Four hundred yards, it looks to be half submerged," I estimated.
"What height?"
"Fifty feet above the water, at a guess."
As we watched, its tentacles raised the heat weapon casting and slashed at the closest barge. It flashed into flame, broke up, then sank within only a dozen or so heartbeats. Briskly and methodically, the tower dispatched the other barges the same way.
"Can't we help?" I shouted. "Can't we do anything?"
"Out of range," replied Captain Danzar. "Stand firm, call range."
"Three hundred yards, and looks to be fifty feet of it out of the water."
"Which of those pods at the top is the better target, Inspector Scryverin?"
"Either, I don't know."
"Marshal, track the top pod on the inspector's call," called the captain.
"Inspector, continue to call the range." "It's coming this way," I babbled.
"Call the range, sir!"
"Two hundred and seventy yards, sixty feet clear of the surface." The tripod tower was advancing on the wharf from the river, methodically raking the buildings with its heat weapon as it waded. The fact that it was concentrating on a yard-by-yard annihilation of everything and everyone was what gave us our chance. Ours was only one of five ballistas installed on the wharf. The crews of two others must have rolled out their weapons for a shot as well, because I saw the smoky blur of a pot arcing across the sky to splash near the tripod's legs. The Lupanian machine's hood whipped about with astounding speed for something so big, and it slashed the wharf's south side with its heat weapon. Another pot flew, but this one went wild by at least thirty yards. The hood turned again, and raked another part of the wharf with fire.
"Two hundred and fifty yards, about seventy feet clear of the water," I estimated.
Range is in yards, elevation in feet, I clung to that fact of ar-tillery convention while terror clawed at me and forge-hot death scythed buildings and people down.
"Two hundred yards, ninety feet clear—"
"Fire!" called the captain.
I have no recollection of the ballista firing, but I clearly remember the top hood of the tower swinging around to face us just as the hard, heavy ceramic pot of hellfire oil arrived. The smoking pot struck it full in the faceplate, bursting in a great gout of flames, and apparendy smashing through the mirrorlike plate and splashing fire into the cabin within. The tripod tower kept walking, and for a moment I thought that we had hit nothing vital, then I realized that it was just striding along undirected, like a chicken relieved of its head. One of the legs struck part of the wreckage of the port's watchtower, then the tripod toppled and fell headlong. Its heat weapon struck the river, and the resulting explosion smothered us in steam and showered the wharf in hot water.
"Reload, at the double!" screamed Captain Danzar. "Stand by your posts! Wind and load! Wind and load!"
"There's three more," I called, backing away from the ballista and looking about frantically.
"Stand by your post, sir!" shouted Danzar. "Sight target and call range."
"Directly overhead!" I shrieked as a tripod tower's leg came down not two yards from where I stood.
I stumbled backward until I came up against the wall of the Bargeman's Barrel. Whatever was directing the fighting tripod was apparently unaware that the ballista was directly beneath it. It stood above us, sweeping the cobblestone wharf with its heat weapon. Buildings blazed up like handfuls of straw thrown on red hot coals, people burst like ripe tomatoes flung against a stone wall. Then the nightmare really began. I saw Roval, Mervielle, and several other people come running out of a lane and dash for the edge of the wharf. I prayed to no gods in particular that the thing would not look down, but in the next heartbeat the girl who had tried to share my bed only the day before burst into a smoky cloud of black fragments as the heat beam struck her. At the edge of the wharf I saw Lavenci clamber over the edge. Riellen was behind her, trying to drag her back, but the albino turned and punched her in the face, sending her plunging back into the water.
"The leg, aim for the leg!" cried Captain Danzar, and through the smoke and rain of ashes I saw his crew aiming point blank at the tower's nearest latticework leg.
"Oi, Inspector, is it always this rough in the Wayfarers?" called a small voice from somewhere in my coat, then I saw the trigger marshal heave a lever back.
The pot of hellfire oil burst amid the latticework of the leg, ten feet below the hood. As far as I could tell, it did no damage whatever, although the oil burned fiercely. The shot did secure the Lupanian's attention, however, and the tentacles came around with the heat weapon.
"Danol, run!" called a female voice as I began to run for the edge of the wharf. "I'll give cover."
Lavenci was standing with one of my little cavalry crossbows between her boots, trying to draw the string back with her good hand. As I ran for her, the heat weapon's beam must have sliced through the tender wagon loaded with pots of hell-fire oil. The explosion of the air-oil mixture swept me into Lavenci and over the edge of the wharf. My head collided with the stock of her crossbow, and I remember no more.
Chapter Eleven
DEAD GATROV
I came to my senses quite some time later. It was nearly noon, and my head felt as if it had been split open. Captain Danzar was splashing water on my face, and Lavenci and Riellen were kneeling to either side of him and looking very anxious.
"Awake at last," said the captain. "Danol, can you speak?" "Dreams ..." I responded. "Nightmares." "All real, I regret to say," said Lavenci in a very ragged voice.
"Kavelen Lavenci disobeyed your orders," said Riellen sullenly.
"I am not a Wayfarer, he has no authority over me," retorted Lavenci with a sideways glare at Riellen.
"Ladies!" snapped Danzar impatiently, and they fell silent. "Inspector, do you remember anything?"
"I remember much," I said as I tried to sit up. "I want to remember very little. Mervielle, I..."
Both Lavenci and Riellen winced at the mention of her name. That was enough.
"Died instantly," said Danzar firmly. "We gathered up what there was of her and dropped the bundle in the shallows, weighted with stones."
"She was only eighteen" was all that I could say. Miraculously, I had no injury other than a large lump on the head, some shallow cuts, and several spectacular bruises.
"You have been senseless for three hours," said Danzar as he and Riellen helped me up. "I checked the town an
d casde. Every structure has been razed or burned out, and the few survivors have fled for the forest." There was a dull, numb tone to Danzar's voice, and it was plain that he was coping by not thinking upon the full enormity of what had happened. I resolved to do the same.
"Well then, who has remained?" I asked.
"Those gathered here are Lady Lavenci, Constable Riellen, Constable Roval, Pelmore Haftbrace, a grass gnome, a cat that talks, a foreign student, Commander Halland, you, and me."
"Not Norellie Witchway?" I asked, with a sense of disappointment whose intensity surprised me.
"There is a very large crater where Madame Norellie's house once stood," said Lavenci.
"What manner of weapon caused that?" I asked.
"Certain adepts in sorcery can store etheric potential in amulets," Lavenci explained, her arms folded tightly and her expression grim. "They channel it into charmed things, control it, and hold it in reserve."
"Like those who become glass dragons?"
"In a fashion, yes, but those sorcerers who become glass dragons can actually weave the energies into vast bodies of force. When they are killed, well, the liberated energies could destroy a city the size of Alberin. Destroy some lesser amulet, such as Norellie had, and you get a lesser explosion. Nevertheless, it is not a good idea to be standing close by. The Lupanian who killed Norellie doubtless got quite a surprise."
"Was the Lupanian's leg damaged?" I asked hopefully.
"No. We saw three come to the wharf to carry off the fallen tower. Their legs seem to be very tough."
What Lavenci did not say was that her last chance to have the constancy glamour lifted had vanished when Norellie died.
"We put up a hell of a fight," said Captain Danzar. "One tower down. The faceplates are their weakness, but their magic deflects metal weapons."
"Lady Fortune must have been in an exceptionally good mood for our hellfire pot to find such a target," I commented.
Roval and Pelmore returned from checking the remains of the market, and reported that food was still to be found there. They also said that there were surprisingly few bodies, presumably because people had died while hiding in buildings that had been set alight. Commander Halland arrived to check on me. He had been returning from the first cylinder's empty pit when the tripods attacked Gatrov.
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