Knights Magi (Book 4)

by Terry Mancour

  “All right, let’s get them moving,” Rondal said in a louder voice, once he was done. “Sire Darduin, there is a cache of siege spears down that passageway. Can I trust you to select the twenty men best able to use them, and return to this hall?”

  “To what purpose? And what did you do to the door?”

  “I am a knight mage,” Rondal explained, dismissively. “I spellbound it and proofed it against sound. We have a little time and freedom, now. “

  He realized something was bothering him. He took his water bottle from his pack and handed it to the knight, who gratefully took a swallow – but only one – and passed it to the weaver, who did likewise. “If we can get a few stalwarts with spears here to act as a rear-guard, we can ensure your people have the best chance at escape. In addition,” he said, cagily, “once our diversion begins, it may be helpful to suddenly have an organized force to deploy against them.” He looked at the knight and the weaver appraisingly. “Can I count on you gentlemen to lead that force?”

  They conferred quietly, but quickly. “I will lead the spears,” declared Darduin, “while Master Gil will lead the prisoners away, if that be permitted.”

  “I know a village nearby where we might hide through the night,” he explained.

  “Good,” nodded Rondal. “After that, make for the southern horizon. We have a hidden outpost at Maramor Manor, and we have a cache at Farune Hall, so if you can make it to one of those places we might be able to speed you further, but . . .”

  “A chance is all we ask for,” the weaver assured him.

  It took nearly twenty minutes to pass the word and get the prisoners sorted out, but things went more efficiently than Rondal had anticipated. Sire Darduin brooked no resistance to his authority, and Master Gil was persuasive and insistent. Between the two men and a few lieutenants, they had ushered the majority of the frightened people out of the wretched hall and into the escape prepared for them, without detection.

  Meanwhile some had been sent back for arms, and in addition to the spears had brought out a few helmets, a few axes, knives, and other weapons they’d found roaming the other hidden passages. Rondal feared that one of them would inadvertently alert the foe, but that was an increasingly moot point: Tyndal was almost in position.

  This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, he complained.

  I’m trying to keep a hundred thirst-crazed prisoners from rioting and organizing an escape, Rondal shot back. So glad that I gave you the difficult task.

  The men who were remained, willing to fight, were a mixed collection of peasants, tradesmen, and a few men-at-arms, many with some militia training or war experience. Sire Duin detailed an older man to organize the makeshift squad while Master Gil bid Rondal good-bye.

  “Can you use a bow?” he asked, suddenly. “Take mine,” he offered, pushing it and his quiver into the weaver’s hands.

  “I’ve plucked a few strings in my life,” the man said with amusement as he accepted the weapon. “Thank you, Sir Rondal, and the blessing of Duin go with you!”

  To Sire Darduin he gave his roundshield, and the knight armed himself with a short axe someone had uncovered in the passageways. He looked valiant and grim as he swung the axe through the air a few times.

  “I thank you for giving me a chance to die on my feet like a man,” he said quietly. “Those scrugs killed my wife in front of me and led me and my people away in chains. Would that I had died in that attack. Many a time I have prayed to Duin for one last opportunity to strike at them, and lo! The Destroyer has heard my prayer!”

  Rondal wasn’t terribly comfortable being viewed as an agent of divine will, so he returned to more practical matters. He drew his mageblade and sketched out the situation on the other side of the door under a dim magelight, until the men felt they had a good grasp of what they faced. None looked particularly hale, but they all seemed enthusiastic.

  Since they were all probably about to die, that was probably fortunate, if foolish.

  I’m in position, Tyndal finally reported. As soon as I catch my breath, I’ll start. How are things looking down there?

  While you were gaily skipping across rooftops, I made a couple of squads of light infantry. After you soak the courtyard, we’ll wait until things get nasty. Then these fellows will attack whatever organized response they put together from an unexpected direction.

  And . . . then what?

  That was a good question. What happened after they stirred this chamberpot of horrors into deadly chaos? A good plan usually has a point, he chided himself.

  I’ll look toward the prisoners, Rondal decided. You tackle that siege worm.

  Me? There’s just one of me!

  And there’s only the one siege worm. What could be more glorious? Rondal shot back, amused. You wanted a challenge—

  I didn’t want a bloody suicide mission!

  Don’t be such a baby. I don’t expect you to slay it. Just test it. See what it responds to, what its weaknesses are, what it is resistant to. Stuff that would be useful to know the next time we face one.

  That’s a pretty big order.

  That’s the only kind knights magi get. Just try not to get yourself killed. Challenge it, test it, but don’t try to kill it, if it’s too much problem. Or do you want to trade positions and have me go after the worm? he challenged.

  I can only guess that this is part of your elaborate plan to become senior apprentice, Tyndal said. All right, I’ve caught my breath. I’m in position. I’ve got a wand pointed right at the wooden drain. The water . . . well, it’s cistern water.

  I’m guessing the dying prisoners won’t be picky. Wait for my order.

  Yes, Commander.

  Damn. Rondal thought he almost sounded serious in his response.

  “Prepare your men for action, Sire,” he told the axe-wielding knight. “When I give the word, charge out that door and slay every goblin in sight. Free other prisoners, arm them, and keep fighting until you’re free.”

  “Duin’s blessing go with you, Sir Rondal!” the big knight called as Rondal went back into the secret chamber, after lifting the spellbinding from the banquet hall. He wanted to be able to provide better direction, and as much fun as leading a ragtag infantry squad into battle against desperate odds would be, he had other responsibilities.

  He took position behind the door that led to the bailey and peered out of the peep hole. He could see the rump of the six-legged siege worm, huddled prisoners, sleepy goblins, sinister-looking human collaborators.

  He watched one of the cutthroats who had taken the Dead God’s coin to war against his own kind look appraisingly over one knot of prisoners, mostly women, tied up in front of what was once the castle’s herb house. A nasty, rat-like man with a hooked nose looked over the prisoners before selecting one, a young woman who looked so dazed with thirst she did not know what was happening. With a leering eye he forced her to her feet, his intentions clear.

  Now, Rondal said to Tyndal, without thinking, do it now!

  It seemed to take hours for anything to happen – the rat-like man was almost out of sight, the poor girl he’d taken as his prize led away like a dog – when a rumble and geyser from the drainway began spilling a torrent of water down into the bailey, over the heads of some surprised prisoners . . . and within sight of all the rest.

  There, he heard Tyndal report. If that’s all you require of me . . .

  Go fight your worm, Rondal ordered. As soon as you’re able to get free, cut out. I’ll meet you back where we left the horses.

  The sudden appearance of life-giving water had the desired effect. Already there was a riot brewing in the bailey, he could see through the port. The prisoners who were not directly under the spout saw the water and went mad. Ignoring the guards, the goblins, the worm, even their own bonds, they surged toward the unexpected blessing with incredible force and speed. People were shouting with joy and terror as the bewildered guards frantically tried to keep order.

  The human confederat
es shrank back against so many of their fellows, and a few of the prisoners took advantage of the chaos to strike down their captors. But most continued toward the water, even as it splashed across the bailey toward them.

  It only took moments for the goblin guards to wake their sleeping comrades, and soon fresh troops were pouring in from the gatehouse and various dens around the castle. A line of them formed behind the crowd – directly in front of the door where the newly-armed former prisoners awaited.

  “Attack!” Rondal shouted at the men. They opened the door and charged out, spears held ready, and crashed into the back of the goblin line with a savage growl. The freed prisoners fought ferociously, stabbing and slashing with their spears like fanatics. More came behind them, arming themselves and other prisoners from the fallen goblins. As the gurvani turned to face this unexpected threat, Rondal realized that he was in a very good position to attack their flank. All by himself.

  He pushed the concealed door open. It had been so long since it had been used he had to put his shoulder behind it, hard, but it soon swung open, spilling him into the bright courtyard. All around him there was screams and tumult, and the smell of blood was starting to linger in the air as the battle to his left matured. There were over a score of freed prisoners armed well enough to give fight to the confused and increasingly panicked goblins.

  Rondal pointed his mageblade at the goblins lined up before him and threw a solid sheet of painful magical force from it. The invisible spell lanced out from his sword point and suddenly the bulk of them began to stumble and scream.

  While that was gratifying, it did little real damage. The damage was being done by thirst-crazed prisoners who were freeing and arming themselves – and throwing themselves at their captors with vengeance in their eyes. Writhing in pain was a poor defensive posture, even against such poorly armed foes, and the goblins died quickly.

  Rondal continued to walk steadily through the tumult, his mageblade in one hand, a warwand in the other, doing what he could to help the prisoner uprising. A blast from a wand or a timely slice with his blade settled many contests, and the grateful victors were quick to distribute looted weapons to other prisoners. Twice he fought in protracted duels, once with a grim-faced human collaborator with an axe and once with a snarling goblin warrior wielding a short stabbing sword with impressive ferocity. In each case he used an unexpected blast from wand or blade to end the contest.

  Just as he was wondering where Tyndal was, he heard a bravado-filled cry, and watched in horror as his fellow apprentice repelled down the tower he’d been safely in and leap onto the back of the siege beast. The great worm did not notice him in the slightest, thanks to the distraction of a riot in front of it. The animal was dull-witted, either naturally or from domesticated service, but it wasn’t unresponsive. Tyndal fell onto the upper torso of the thing, ahead of the empty wooden castle saddled on its back, and began firing at the goblin attendants desperately attempting to keep the creature from bolting.

  Then another knot of goblins charged, attempting to restore order with spear hafts and clubs against unarmed, starving, and weakened prisoners. Rondal gave them a fully-armed and armored, well-fed and well-rested knight mage to contend with instead.

  When the last body slipped from his blade he looked up to see that his foes were getting themselves better organized. The thin, reedy horns the gurvani favored bellowed, summoning more reinforcements, and someone was gathering a force of them in front of the great hall. There were a score there already, and more were fleeing from individual engagements with the enraged prisoners to find safety in regrouping.

  Tyndal, quit messing around! Rondal sent through their link. They’re going to have those fell hounds in here shortly, and then they’ll all be torn to shreds!

  What do you think I’m trying to do! Do they still hold the gatehouse?

  Rondal spared a quick glance. The nearest organized – if that term could be used – band of prisoners was still hundreds of feet from the gatehouse, and it seemed to be held in force. The portcullis was down, and the drawbridge seemed to be up. Rondal could see dozens of little black furry figures inside, frantically trying to secure their station.

  They still hold it, Rondal agreed. It’s going to take a lot to get through that, too, he added. And we have fresh resistance pouring out from the great hall.

  Lovely. Well, I have an idea.

  I’m terrified, Rondal said, parrying a quick blow that would have taken his knee, and then slicing neatly and efficiently through the goblin’s neck. What is it?

  It occurs to me, Tyndal began, quoting a signature Sire Cei line, that we happen to have a fully-operational siege beast here.

  Which you cannot control, Rondal pointed out.

  I won’t need to, Tyndal explained. Rondal watched as he ran up the beasts neck toward its head, where a goblin drover had managed to find a perch. A flash of light sent the goblin flying to his doom. I just need to get it moving. If it can break into a castle, it can break out of one.

  Rondal was about to object to the possibility of such mass carnage when he heard the baying of those foul hounds from behind the great hall. Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick! Or we’re looking at a really furry bloodbath!

  As you wish, Commander, Tyndal said. Rondal could almost hear the cocky grin. A few moments later there was a pop, another flash . . . and a monstrous bellow that stopped the entire battle for a brief moment of terror.

  I think I pissed it off, Tyndal said quietly in Rondal’s mind.

  You tend to have that affect, agreed Rondal. Is it moving?

  Before Tyndal could answer, the ground shook, and then shook again. The great beast strained against the chains that held it . . . until Tyndal helpfully blasted them. Then the huge, lizard-like animal began pushing toward the front entrance of the castle, anxious to escape whatever it was that irritated it.

  It’s moving, Tyndal agreed. Headed your way. I’d move, if I were you.

  “EVERYONE CLEAR THE WAY!” Rondal bellowed in his best battlefield voice. “NOW!”

  Only a few of the prisoners heeded his warning, at first, but the moment the siege beast’s gigantic head loomed overhead, everyone – goblin and human alike – fled its path. Not all were lucky enough to do so, and the hideous monster left red-smeared footprints all the way across the courtyard.

  “Follow the beast out!” commanded Rondal. He looked over to the battered and bloodied knight, Sir Darduin, who had lost his axe but kept his shield and had liberated a cavalry sword from somewhere. “Sire! You are the rear-guard! Get your men to keep the goblins from hindering our escape!” The knight wordlessly saluted to acknowledge the order and turned to give some of his own.

  That was about the best Rondal could do, as he moved himself out of the way of the huge creature. Tyndal was still riding atop it, grinning maniacally and successfully keeping the goblin drovers from recapturing the worm. He waved from its back as he passed by Rondal, as if he was in a parade.

  You had better get off that thing before it hits the gate, warned Rondal as he directed more prisoners to follow the beast, not flee from it.

  I want to see what it does, protested Tyndal.

  We know what it does, countered Rondal. It smashes, crashes, and destroys. Or were you planning on seducing it, too? Tired of goats already?

  All right, all right, grumbled the other wizard. I’m off of it now, about ten yards from the gatehouse on the left. Join me?

  I’ll be there momentarily, he said, and turned back to Sir Darduin. “Lead them out through the breach,” he instructed. “Keep the goblins off of them until they’re clear of the gate, then run for your lives south.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity to avenge my kin,” the knight said, gravely. “I shall never forget you, Sir Rondal!”

  “Duin’s blessing, Sire Darduin!” Rondal said, clasping the older man’s shoulder before he moved on.

  Tyndal was standing next to the gate as the beast demolished it in a blind, an
imalistic rage.

  “I’ve been irritating its hindquarters with magic,” he explained. “I kept thinking about that poop, and what would irritate a three-feet wide butt-hole. I figured that the tender parts wouldn’t be armored, and I was right. I gave it a nasty case of magically stinging rectum.”

  “Well, if anyone knows how to be a pain in the ass, it’s you,” Rondal agreed. Tyndal ignored the jibe. “I think we’ve done everything we can here. We should be going.” The siege worm lunged aggressively against the gatehouse one final time, toppling the masonry and creating a breach large enough to escape through. A flood of terrified prisoners trailed behind, some stopping to finish off the gurvani trapped by the rubble.

  “As soon as the gate is clear,” Tyndal agreed. “You lost your shield,” he observed.

  “Someone else needed it more than I,” dismissed Rondal. “And we’ll travel faster without it. We bolt for the horses, then make our way back to Maramor. We need to make a full report of this to Commander Terleman.”

  “This might help,” Tyndal said, hefting an odd-looking contraption of beads, ropes, leather and bone. “This was the magical device controlling the beast, I think. We can learn a lot from it.”

  “That . . . was actually a really good idea,” Rondal admitted, as he looked around. The baying of the hounds was coming closer. “Stow it away, and help me think of a way to keep these curs off of our people.”

  Tyndal nodded, and obediently did as he asked. Rondal was amazed. No argument, no banter, no discourse on his shortcomings . . . Tyndal just did as he was ordered.

  Rondal struggled with that a moment. A year ago, that just would not have happened. He couldn’t have said the sky was blue without getting an argument. Now . . . now he wasn’t sure if the change had been wrought in Tyndal, or in himself, but he was sure he liked it. Even if he was uncomfortable with it.