###
At last came the day of battle. Kormous and I were both in trance, watching the Sapphire from opposite sides of the table. We could not see much, first because of the interference of the Paaluan wizards, and secondly because of the clouds of dust.
As far as I could see, the Syndic Laroldo attempted none of those military subtleties—deceptive maneuvers and the like—that some Prime Plane nations have developed to such a pitch of artistry. He simply lined up his army, with the Shvenites around him in the center, waved his sword, and ordered them forward. Then all was lost in the dust.
It was only a fraction of an hour later, however, that we began to glimpse fugitives—Irians, not Paaluans—running madly from the battle. We saw some Irians shot or speared by the crews on the backs of the dragon-lizards, while the lizards gobbled a few. Then, as the scene shifted, I saw His Excellency Laroldo galloping eastwards. The Syndics present at this session of scrying cried aloud, beat their breasts, tore their hair, and uttered maledictions and threats against Laroldo, whom they blamed for the defeat.
###
The banker-turned-soldier reached Ir a few hours later and staggered into Madam Roska’s home, covered with dust and blood and with several pieces of his armor dangling by single straps. He threw the stump of his broken sword on the floor and told the assembled Syndics: “We’re beaten.”
“We know that, you fool,” said Jimmon. “How bad is it?”
“Total, as far as I’m concerned,” said Laroldo. “The militia folded up at the first shock and ran like rabbits.”
“What of the Shvenites?”
“When they saw the day was lost, they formed a hollow square and marched off, presenting a hedgehog with their pikes. The enemy let them go, preferring to chase easier prey that would not fight back.”
One Syndic said: “I do notice that you saved your own precious neck. A hero would have fallen trying to rally his men.”
“By Franda’s golden locks, I’m no hero, merely a banker. And ’twould have done you no good for me to have fallen on the field. Since we were well outnumbered, the battle would have come out the same, and you’d not have had what little help I can give you. Had I consulted my own safety merely, I should have ridden off to Metouro. After ’tis over, an we still live, you may hang, shoot, or behead me as you list. Meanwhile, let’s get on with the job.” My tendrils told me that the man was sincere.
“Well said,” quoth another Syndic, for much of the Syndicates’ rancor against Laroldo had abated in the face of so huge a catastrophe. “But tell me, Master Laroldo, we’ve followed your advance by the scry stone. Why tried you not some trick maneuver—a feint or a flanking movement, for example? I’ve read how other generals have beaten superior forces by such sleights.”
“They had armies of well-trained men—veterans—whereas I had a mob of tyros. Even had I known about such maneuvers, ’twas all I could do to get my gaggle of geese lined up and all moving in the same direction at once. But now, if you crave not to be fodder for the cannibals, you needs must raise a new army. Make it of boys, grandsires, slaves, and women if need be, and arm them with brooms and bricks if swords and arrows be lacking. For those who come against us meant to salt you and ship you back to Paalua to dine on for many a moon.”
“You don’t suppose we could buy them off, eh?” said Jimmon. “Our treasury flourishes.”
“Not a chance. Their land is mostly desert and hence poor in pasture whereon to raise edible beasts. They crave flesh, and every so often they sally forth to other continents to get it. Nor do they care whether ’tis the flesh of men or of beasts. And so, right now, one good iron arrowhead is worth more to you than its weight in refined gold.”
There was a general chorus of sighs around the circle of Syndics. Jimmon said: “Ah, well, now that it’s too late, ’tis easy to see the follies of our former courses. It shall be done as Master Laroldo prescribes.”
“Can’t we seek for aid from one or another of the Twelve Cities?” said a Syndic.
Jimmon frowned in thought. “Tonio of Xylar is hostile because of his alliance with Govannian. We shall be lucky if he try not to join forces with the invaders.”
“ ’Twere like one rabbit allying himself with a wolf against another rabbit,” said a Syndic. “Both would end up in the wolf’s gut.”
“True, but try to tell King Tonio that,” said Jimmon. “Govannian is hopeless for the same reason. Metouro is friendly, but their army is mobilized on the border of Govannian, to meet the threat from there. Besides which, the Faceless Five have become suspicious of their own army of late, because a revolutionary conspiracy amongst the officers has come to light. Nay, I fear no help is to be looked for thence.”
“How about Solymbria?”
“Solymbria’s policy of neutrality might possibly be bent—if Solymbria were not under that addlepate Gavindos.”
“The gods must have meant to chastise Solymbria when they caused the lot to fall upon him,” said Roska. “My bondsman Zdim were a better archon than he.”
Jimmon stared at me, his eyes slits in his fat, round face. “That gives me an idea. O Zdim!”
“Aye, sir?”
“As an outlander, an indentured servant, and not even human, you are in no position to command those of this plane. Natheless, when I have heard you speak, meseemed that you made better sense than many of our wise men. What course would you suggest?”
“You ask me, sir?”
“Yes, yes. What would you say, eh?”
“Well, sir, I strive to give satisfaction . . .” I thought a while, during which the Syndics watched me like gamblers watching the spin of the wheel. “First of all, did I understand Master Laroldo to be a banker?”
“Aye,” grunted Laroldo, who was gulping a flagon of Roska’s fine wine as if it had been small beer. “None surpasses me at low interest on loans and high on deposits. Would you borrow or lend?”
“Neither, Your Excellency. But enlighten my ignorance, pray: have you in sooth had no warlike experience ere this?”
“Nay; why should I? We’ve been at war with no one. ’Tis usual for one Syndic to command the forces. Since I was the youngest and most active, they chose me.”
“Well, sirs, on our plane, for any enterprise where the results of error be so perilous, we prefer to choose as captain a demon with practice in that line. We have a saying, that experience is the best teacher. Is there nobody in Ir who has fought with weapons?”
A Syndic said: “There’s old Segovian, the drill-master. He would have marched with the army, but we commanded him to stay in Ir and train recruits. He’s no blaze of brilliance, but at least he knows which end of a spear to poke with.”
“Humph,” said Jimmon. “Suppose we make Segovian commander, and he raise another militia? There ought to be enough lusty farm lads amongst the refugees who’ve swarmed in upon us. Then the Paaluans arrive. They can’t get in against even feeble resistance, so strong our position is; but neither can we break out. No matter how lavish our supplies of food and water, they’ll run short in time. What then?”
“Well, sir—” I thought some more. “You say there is plenty of money in the treasury, yes?”
“Aye.”
“You hired a corps of barbarians from Shven—those tall, yellow-haired fellows—did you not?”
“The bastards deserted us,” growled Laroldo.
“One can’t blame them overmuch,” said Jimmon. “When they saw the day was lost, why should they march back hither and put their heads in the noose by reentering the city? Go on, Zdim.”
“Well then, whence came these men? I know in a general way that Shven lies beyond mountains to the north, but where exactly got you these fellows?”
“They were recruited from the Hruntings,” said a Syndic.
“Where, exactly, are they?”
“The Hruntings dwell across the Ellornas from Solymbria. Their cham is Theorik, son of Gondomerik.”
“If,” said I, “you could get a messenger
to this Theorik with a promise of much gold, could he fetch back an army large enough to vanquish the Paaluans?”
“It might be worth the trying,” said a Syndic.
“Hopeless,” said another. “We should do better to clear out and flee to Metouro, leaving the Paaluans to loot an empty city.”
Another long wrangle arose. Some were for sending an offer to the barbarian ruler. Some protested that it would cost too much, to which the first replied that all the money in the world would do them no good when they were quietly digesting in Paaluan stomachs. Some favored a general flight; they hoped that if they could not defeat the Paaluans, they could at least outrun them.
In the midst of these wrangles, in came a militiaman, crying: “Your Excellencies! The foe is in sight!”
“In what sort?” asked Laroldo.
“Their scouts, mounted on beasts that look like huge, long-tailed rabbits, approach the wall of Ardyman’s Tower.”
“Well, so much for your scheme of fleeing the city,” said Jimmon. “Now must we stand, to do or die. Come on, everybody: let’s view these cultured cannibals.”
###
At the entrance to this cave-city, we found that Segovian, not waiting upon his official appointment, was already managing the defense. The main gate and the little portal above it had been closed and barred, and timbers had been propped against them to hold them shut.
We climbed the stairways up to the roof. The stouter Syndics went slowly, stopping to puff. At the top, we found a crowd of militiamen being ordered about by Segovian. He was placing one behind each merlon of the parapet with a bow, an arbalest, or a sling.
“Now hear this!” he roared. “Get your weapon ready to shoot, then pop out and discharge it through the crenel beside you. Linger not in the embrasure, lest you get a return shaft through your weasand, but duck back behind the merlon. No heroics, now; this is serious business. Pick your targets; waste not your missiles on the countryside—”
An arrow arched over the wall, to fall with a clatter on the flagstones. Segovian sighted the Syndics and bustled over.
“What are you fellows doing up here, without the least protection?” he yelled, unawed by his visitors’ wealth and station. “Everyone up here is to wear a headpiece and a cuirass, though they be nought but boiled leather!”
Jimmon cleared his throat. “We have come to inform you, Master Segovian, that we have chosen you our commander-in-chief.”
“Good of you, good of you,” snapped Segovian. “Now off you go—”
“But pray, General!” said a Syndic. “At least let us catch a glimpse of those we fight against.”
“Oh, very well; I suppose I can allow you that much,” grumbled the new general. He hustled them about like an angry sheep dog, barking at them if they held their heads too long in the crenels.
Down below, a crowd of yelling Paaluan scouts milled about on their bouncers, as we called their mounts. (The native name is something like “kangaroo.”) They shot arrows from short bows, but such was the height of Ardyman’s Tower that the shafts arrived with little force. Our missiles, shot from above, could have been much more effective, but our warriors’ inexperience made them miss. At last a crossbow bolt struck a Paaluan, who fell from his saddle. Thereupon the rest went bouncing off to a safer distance.
A vast cloud of dust in the distance heralded the approach of the main Paaluan army. The onlookers atop Ardyman’s Tower burst into cries of dismay as the dragon-lizards came in sight, swinging their limbs out and around at each stride of their lizardly, spraddle-legged gait. After them came rank upon rank of footmen, mostly pikemen and archers. They did not seem to have crossbows, which gave us some advantage.
So began the siege of Ir. Since there was now no more question of mass flight, we had either to beat the Paaluans or perish trying. At this time I thought of the Irians and myself as “we,” since my fate was linked willy-nilly with theirs.
###
Segovian proved a surprisingly effective general, considering the material he had to work with. Within a few days, Ardyman’s Tower was defended by another five thousand militiamen, even though most were armed with improvised weapons, such as hatchets and hammers. But the forges glowed and the anvils clanged day and night, slowly building up our stock of arms. Things like iron window gratings were melted up.
In accordance with the Syndicate’s policy of enlisting all slaves and bondsmen, promising them freedom after victory, I was enrolled in the artillery. Being so much stronger than the ordinary Prime Planer, I could crank the windlass of a catapult twice as fast as a pair of them, thus doubling the engine’s rate of discharge.
The Paaluans set up their camp just out of bowshot of the tower. When they had it all neatly built, Segovian ordered us to open on them with our longest-ranged catapults. The darts and stone balls we sent whistling into their camp, skewering and mashing their warriors, so galled them that after a few days they struck the whole camp and moved it back out of range.
Meantime, they extended a line of earthworks around Ardyman’s Tower, up Mount Ir behind the tower and down again. The hillside gave them an advantage in archery, which they were not slow to exploit. They showered us with shafts, shot from a height equal to our own, until Segovian erected a set of massive leathern awnings, like sails, along the parapet on that side to catch the arrows as they slanted down upon us. The Paaluan wizards sent illusions in the form of gigantic bats and birds swooping at our battlements, but our men learnt to ignore them.
The Syndicate sent out a messenger to go to Metouro for help. The man was lowered by a rope from the tower on a moonless night and tried to steal through the hostile lines. The next day, the sun arose to show the messenger tied to a stake in front of the camp. The Paaluans spent the day in putting the man to death with exquisite refinements.
A second messenger, commanded to try to break through to Solymbria, fared likewise. After that, it became hard to find volunteers for such missions.
The Paaluans began to build a catapult of their own, felling trees in the neighborhood for their timber. Their engine was a mighty one with a long, counterweighted boom. Segovian studied their progress through a spyglass. This was the only such instrument in Ir, since it was a new invention recently made in the far southern city of Iraz.
Segovian muttered: “Methinks I see a light-skinned fellow directing that crew. That explains how these folk, who were never known to use catapults before, can do so now. One of our Novarian engineers has gone over to them. If I ever catch the losel . . .”
I could not quite hear what it was that Segovian would do to the renegade engineer, but perhaps that was just as well. He went on: “They’re lining that thing up with our main mirror. Doubtless they seek to smash it, which would plunge our city in darkness save what light the lamps and candles can furnish. And the supply of those won’t last for ay.”
Luckily for us, the Paaluans—or their Novarian engineer—were not the most expert catapult builders. The first time they cranked up the device and let fly, one of the uprights holding the shaft on which the boom turned broke with a tremendous crash. Timbers from the wrecked machine flew hither and yon, slaying several Paaluans.
They began construction of a second and sturdier engine. Segovian called several hundred of his troops together and asked for volunteers to make a sortie and destroy this machine. When I was a little bashful about raising my hand, Segovian said: “O Zdim, we need your strength and toughness of hide. You are fain to volunteer, are you not?”
“Well—” said I, but Segovian continued: “That’s fine. Have you practiced with the hand weapons of this plane?”
“Nay, sir; it has not been demanded of me—”
“Then learn. Sergeant Chavral, take Artilleryman Zdim and try him out with various weapons to see which one suits his talents.”
I went with Chavral to the courtyard of Ardyman’s Tower. The courtyard had been converted to a training ground, since there was no room inside Ir for such activities. The place w
as crowded. One section was cordoned off for an archery range; another was used as a drill ground.
Chavral took me to the section where several thick wooden posts had been set up. The wielders of swords and axes tried their blows on these. In an adjacent space, pairs of fighters, heavily padded, fought each other with blunted weapons, while another sergeant barked commands and criticisms at them.
Chavral handed me a broadsword. “Take a good swing at yonder pell,” he said, pointing to one of the posts.
“Like this, sir?” I said, and swung. The blade bit deeply into the scarred wood and broke at the hilt, leaving me staring at the hilt in my hand.
Chavral frowned. “That must have been a flawed blade. A lot of this stuff is turned out in haste by amateur smiths. Here, try this one.”
I took the second blade and swung again. Again the blade broke.
“By Astis’ coynte, you know not your own strength!” cried Chavral. “We needs must find you a stouter armature.” After some examination of weapons, he handed me a mace. This was a mighty club, with an iron shaft and a head that bristled with spikes.
“Now smite the pell with that ballow!” he commanded.
I did. This time the post broke, and the broken-off part bounded end over end across the drill yard.
“Now you need some practice in giving and parrying blows,” he said. “Don this suit of padding, and I will do likewise.”
Chavral lectured me on how to hold one’s shield, how to feint, parry, circle, advance, retreat, duck, leap over a low swing, and so on.
“Now let’s fight!” he said. “Two out of three knocks on the head or body win the bout.”
We squared off with shields and padded clubs, weighted so that they did not much differ in heft from my iron mace. Chavral feinted and got a solid blow in against my helmet. He grinned through the bars of his helm.
“Come on, hit me!” he cried. “Art asleep? Art afraid?”
I feinted as I had seen him do and then aimed a forehand blow at his head. He got his shield up in time to catch it, but the wooden frame of the shield cracked under the blow, leaving the shield stove in. Chavral, suddenly pale, staggered back and dropped his shield.
The Fallable Fiend Page 7
