by Glen Cook
That little shit Goblin was standing on his saddle. He was bent over with his pants down, telling the world what he thought of the Shadowmasters and their boys.
Naturally, those folks took exception. As they say in the chansons, the sky darkened with arrows.
I was certain fate would take its cut now. But we had moved far and fast enough. The arrowstorm fell behind us. Goblin howled mockingly.
That irritated somebody bigger.
A bolt of lightning from nowhere struck ahead, ripping a steaming hole in the turf. Murgen leapt it. So did I, with my stomach creeping toward my throat. I was sure the next shot would fry somebody in his boots.
Goblin went right on mooning Stormgard. Horsemen began pouring out of the camp. They were no problem. We could outrun them. I tried to concentrate on the wall. Just in case I got out of this alive.
A second bolt seared the backs of my eyeballs. But it too went astray — though I think it shifted course just before it hit.
When my sight cleared I spied a giant wolf racing in from our right, covering ground in strides that beggared those of our black stallions. My old pal Shifter. Right on time.
Another two bolts missed. The gardner was going to be pissed about all the divots knocked out of his lawn. We completed our circuit and headed for camp. Our pursuers gave up.
As we dismounted Mogaba said, “We’ve drawn fire. Now we know what we’re up against.”
“One of the Shadowmasters is in there.”
“There may be another in that camp,” Lady said. “I felt something...”
“Where’d Shifter get to?” He had disappeared again. Everybody shrugged. “I hoped he’d sit in on a brain-storming session. Goblin, that was a dumb stunt.”
“It sure was. Made me feel forty years younger.”
“Wish I’d thought of it,” One-Eye grumbled.
“Well, they know we’re here and they know we’re bad, but I don’t see them making a run for it. Guess we’ll have to figure out how to kick their butts.”
Mogaba said, “Evidently they mean to fight outside the walls. Otherwise that encampment would not be there.”
“Yeah.” Things skipped through my mind. Stunts, tricks, strategies. As though I’d been born to come up with them by the hundred. “We’ll leave them alone tonight. We’ll form up and offer battle in the morning but let them come to us. Where are those city maps? I got a notion.”
We talked for hours while the chaos of a camp still settling raged around us. After dark I sent men out to rig a few tricks and plant stakes on which the legions could form and guide their advance. I said, “We shouldn’t bother ourselves too much. I don’t think they’ll fight us unless we get in close to the walls. Get some sleep. We’ll see what happens in the morning.”
Many pairs of eyes looked at me all at once, then, in cadence, shifted to Lady. A swarm of smiles came and went. Then everyone went away behind their smiles, leaving us alone.
Big Bucket and those guys don’t fool around. They had gone into the hills and diverted one of the irrigation canals to bring water to the camp. I figured it in my head. To give every man in the mob one cup we needed about 2 gallons. With the animals run it to 3. But man and beast need more than a cup to get by. I don’t know what the flow was on the canal but not a lot of water was getting wasted.
Not much manpower was going to waste, either. The boys from Opal had dug some holding ponds. One they set aside for bathing. Being the boss wazoo I crowded the line.
Still soggy, I made sure Mogaba had done all the things I didn’t really have to check. Sentries out. Barricade manned. Night orders posted. One-Eye working Frogface on scouting missions instead of loafing. What have you.
I was stalling.
This was The Night.
I ran out of busybodying so finally went to my tent. I got out my map of Stormgard, studied it again, then got to work transcribing these Annals. They have grown more spare than I like but that has been the price of keeping up. Maybe Murgen will get me to let go... I did three pages and some lines and began to relax, thinking she would not come after all, but then she came in.
She had bathed, too. Her hair was damp. A ghost of lavender or lilac or something hung around her. She was a little pale and a little shaky and not quite able to meet my eye, at a loss what to do or say now that she was here. She buttoned the tent flap.
I closed this book. It went into a brass-bound chest. I closed my ink and cleaned my pen. I could think of nothing to say, either.
The whole shy routine was dumb. We had been playing around like this, and getting older, for over a year. Hell. We were grown-up people. I was old enough to be a grandfather. Might even be one, for all I knew. And she was old enough to be everybody’s grandmother.
Somebody had to take the bull by the horns. We couldn’t go on forever both of us waiting for the other one to make a move.
So why didn’t she do something?
You the guy, Croaker.
Yeah.
I killed the candles, went and took her hand. It was not that dark in there. Plenty of firelight leaked through the fabric of the tent.
She shivered like a captive mouse at first, but it did not take her long to reach a point of no turning back. And for goddamned once nothing happened to interrupt.
The old general amazed himself. The woman amazed him even more.
Sometime in the wee hours the exhausted boss general promised, “Tomorrow night again. Within the walls of Stormgard. Maybe in Stormshadow’s own bed.”
She wanted to know the basis for his confidence. As time labored on she just got more awake and lively. But the old man fell asleep on her.
Chapter Thirty-nine: STORMGARD (FORMERLY DEJAGORE)
Even I grumbled about the time of day I got everybody up. We all ate hurriedly, my valiant commanders in a clique so they could pester me about my plans. A crow perched on the tent pole at the front of my tent, one eye cocked my way, or maybe Lady’s. The bastard was leering, I thought. Really! Weren’t we getting enough of that from the others?
I felt great. Lady, though, seemed to be having trouble moving with her usual fluid grace. And everybody knew what that meant, the smirking freaks.
“I don’t understand you, Captain,” Mogaba protested. “Why won’t you lay it all out?”
“What only I know inside my head only I can betray. Just assemble up on the stakes I had put out and offer battle. If they accept, we’ll see how it goes. If they don’t kick our butts, we’ll worry about the next step.”
Mogaba’s lips tightened into a prune. He did not like me much right then. Thought I didn’t trust him. He glanced over to where Cletus and his bunch were trying to assemble shovels and baskets and bags in numbers enough for an army. They had a thousand men out scouring the hill farms for tools and more baskets and buckets and had men sewing bags cut from the canvas coverings from the wagons.
They knew only that I had told them to get ready for some major, massive earthmoving.
Another thousand men were out trying to forage timber. You need a lot of timber to invest a city.
“Patience, my friend. Patience. All will be clear in due time.” I chuckled.
One-Eye muttered, “He learned his trade from our old Captain. Don’t tell nobody nothing till you find some gink trying to shove a spear up your butt.”
They could not get to me this morning. He and Goblin could have had them a fuss as bad as back in Taglios and I’d have just grinned. I used a wad of bread to finish soaking up the grease on my plate. “All right, let’s get dressed and go kick some ass.”
Two things to be observed about being the only guy in forty thousand to get some the night before. Thirty-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine guys are so envious they hate your guts. But you’re in such a positive mood it becomes infectious.
And you can always tell them their share is behind those walls over there.
Scouts reported while I was getting into my Widowmaker rig. They said the enemy was coming out of the c
amp and the city both. And there were a lot of the bastards. At least ten thousand in the camp, and maybe every man from the city who could be armed.
That bunch would not be thrilled to be headed into a fight. And they weren’t likely to be experienced.
I arrayed Mogaba’s legion on the left, Ochiba’s on the right, and put Sindawe’s new outfit in the middle. Behind them I put all the former prisoners we’d been able to arm and hoped they did not look too much like a rabble. The front formations looked good in their white, organized and professional and ready.
Intimidation games.
I had each legion arrayed by hundreds, with aisles between the companies. I hoped the other side would not be smart enough to jump on that right away.
Lady grabbed my hand before she mounted up, squeezed. “Tonight in Stormgard.”
“Right.” I kissed her cheek.
She whispered, “I don’t think I can stand to sit on this saddle. I’m sore.”
“Curse of being a woman.”
I mounted up.
Two big black crows dropped onto my shoulders immediately, their sudden weight startling me. Everybody gawked. I scanned the hills but saw no sign of my walking stump. But we were making some kind of headway here. This was the second time everybody else saw the crows.
I donned my helmet. One-Eye stoked the fires of illusion. I assumed my post in front of Mogaba’s legion. Lady moved out in front of Ochiba’s bunch. Murgen planted the standard in front of Sindawe’s legion, ten paces in front of everyone else.
I was tempted to charge right then. The other side was having a fire drill trying to get organized. But I gave them a while. From the looks of them most of the ones out of Stormgard did not want to be there. Let them look at us, all in neat array, all in white, all ready to carve them up. Let them think about how nice it would be to get back inside those incredible walls.
I signalled Murgen. He trotted forward, galloped along the face of the enemy showing the standard. Arrows flew and missed. He shouted mockeries. They were not terrified into running for it.
My two crows flapped after him, and were joined by thousands more who came from the gods knew where. The brotherhood of death, winging it over the doomed. Nice touch, old stump. But not enough to make anybody run away.
My two crows returned to my shoulders. I felt like a monument. I hoped crows had better manners than pigeons.
Murgen did not get enough of a rise first pass so he rode back the other direction, yelling louder.
I noted a disturbance in the enemy formation, moving forward. Someone or something seated in the lotus position, all in black, floating five feet off the ground, drifted to a halt a dozen yards in front of the other army. Shadowmaster? Had to be. I got a creepy feeling just looking at it. Me there in my spiffy but fake outfit.
Murgen’s taunts got somebody’s goat. A handful of horsemen, then a bunch, lit out after him. He turned in the saddle and shouted at them. There was no way they could catch him, of course. Not when he was on that horse.
I grumbled. The indiscipline was not as general as I wanted.
Murgen dawdled, letting them come closer and closer — then took off when they were only a dozen yards away. They chased him right into the maze of tripwires I’d had woven into the grass during the night.
Men and horses sprawled. More horses tripped on animals already down. My archers lofted arrows that fell straight down and slaughtered most of the men and horses.
I drew my sword, which smoked and smoldered, and signalled the advance. The drums beat the slow cadence. The men in the front rank slashed the tripwires, finished the wounded. Otto and Hagop, on the flanks, had trumpets sounded but did not charge. Not yet.
My boys could march in a straight line. On that nice flat ground they kept their dress all across their front. That had to be an impressive sight from across the way, where they still had guys who hadn’t found their places in ranks.
We passed the first of the several low mounds that spotted the plain. The artillery was supposed to get up on that one and mass fire wherever it seemed appropriate. I hoped Cletus and the boys had sense enough to harass the Shadowmaster.
That critter was the big unknown quantity here.
I hoped Shifter was around somewhere. This whole thing could go to hell if he wasn’t and that bastard over there cut loose.
Two hundred yards away. Their archers lofted poorly aimed shafts at Lady and me. I halted, gave another signal. The legions halted, too. Very good. The Nar were paying attention.
Gods, there were a lot of them over there.
And that Shadowmaster, just floating there, maybe waiting for me to stick my foot in it. Seemed like I was staring up his nostrils.
But he did not do anything.
The ground shuddered. The enemy ranks stirred. They saw it coming and it was too late for them to do anything.
The elephants thundered up the aisles through the legions, gaining momentum. When those monsters passed me the guys over there were already yelling and looking for somewhere to run.
A salvo of twelve ballistae shafts ripped overhead and spattered around the Shadowmaster. They were well aimed. Four actually struck him. They encountered protective sorceries but battered him around. Very sluggish, the Shadowmaster. Keeping himself alive seemed to be his limit.
A second salvo hit him an instant before the elephants reached his men. The ballistae had been laid even more carefully.
I gave the signal that sent my front four thousand men, and the cavalry, howling forward.
The remainder of the men formed a normal front, then advanced.
The carnage was incredible.
We drove them back and back and back, but there were so damned many of them we never really broke them. When they did flee the majority made it into the camp. None got back into Stormgard. The city had closed its gates on them. They dragged their Shadowmaster champion with them. I would not have bothered. He had been useless as tits on a boar hog.
Of course, one of the second flight of ballistae shafts had gotten through his protection. I suppose that distracted him.
His ineffectuality had to be Shifter’s doing.
They left maybe five thousand men behind. The warlord side of me was disappointed. I’d hoped to do more damage. I was not going to storm the camp to do it, though. I backed the men off, set men to police up our casualties, placed cavalry to meet anyone coming out of camp or city, then got on with business.
I planted my right wing yards from the road we had followed down to Stormgard, just out of bowshot of the barbican at the gate it entered. My line ran at right angles to the road. I let the men relax.
My levee builders got to work putting their training to use. On the far side of the road they began digging a trench. It started a bowshot from the wall and ran to the foot of the hills. It would be wide and deep and would shield my flank.
The workers carried the earth to the road and began building a ramp. Others began building mantlets to protect the ramp builders as they approached the wall.
That many men can move a lot of earth. The defenders saw we would have a ramp right up to the wall in just a few days. They were not pleased. But they had no means to stop us.
Men scurried like ants. The former prisoners had scores to even and went at it like they wanted blood by sundown.
By mid-afternoon they were taking the city end of the trench downward, deep, and toward the wall, not hiding the fact that they were mining, aiming to go under as well as over. And they had begun breaking ground for a trench on my left flank as well.
In three days my army would be protected by a pair of deep trenches that would funnel my attack up the ramp and over the wall. There would be no stopping us.
They had to do something in there.
I hoped to do something to them before they thought of something to do to me.
Late afternoon. The sky began clouding over. Lightning frolicked behind the hills to the south. Not a good sign. A storm would be tougher on my gu
ys than on theirs.
Even so, despite the cold wind and scattered sprinkles moving in, the builders only broke for a spartan supper before setting out lanterns and building bonfires so they could continue after dark. I posted pickets so there would be no surprises, began rotating my troops out of position for food and rest.
Some day. All I’d had to do was sit in one place and look elegant and give orders I’d already worked out in my head.
And think about what last night had meant, in its highly anticlimactic fashion.
It had been a night of nights of nights, but it had not lived up to the anticipation. Had even been, in a well-we’ve-finally-gotten-around-to-it way, something of a disappointment.
Not that I would trade it in or take it back. Never.
Someday, when I’m old and retired and have nothing better to do than philosophize, I’m going to sit down for a year and figure out why it’s always better in the anticipation than in the consummation.
I sent Frogface flitting around checking the enemy’s mood. That was black. They wanted no more fighting after duking it out with elephants.
Stormgard’s walls were not heavily patrolled. Most of the male population had marched out in the morning and not made it back. But Frogface reported no great distress around the central citadel, where another Shadowmaster was in residence. In fact, he thought he sensed confidence in the eventual outcome.
The storm marched north. And it was a bitch kitty. I gathered my captains. “We got a mean storm coming. Might make what we’re going to try tricky, but we’re going to do it anyway. Be even less expected. Goblin. One-Eye. Get the dust off your old reliable snooze spell.”
They eyed me suspiciously. Goblin muttered, “Here it comes. Some damnfool reason for not getting any sleep again tonight.”
One-Eye told him, “I’m going to use that spell on him one of these first days.” Louder, “Right, Croaker. What’s up?”
“Us. Up and over those walls and open the gate after you put the sentries to sleep.”
Even Lady was surprised. “You’re going to waste all that work on that ramp?”
