Darkover: First Contact

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  This was quickly agreed to.

  “Take the bowmen of the Guild,” he was told, “and Lord Lanzell’s horsemen—there are fifteen of them and they work well together and follow one man. Pick your foot soldiers yourself.”

  “Father, I do not know the men well enough, now, to find picked men so quickly.”

  “Jerrall does,” Dom Rafael said, gesturing to his banner bearer. “He has been with me twenty years. Jerrall, go with my son and obey him as you would myself!”

  Drawing up his picked men, watching the main army form up tightly to go the other way, Bard felt a queer tightening in his throat. He had been fighting since he was thirteen years old, but this was the first time he had fought under his father’s banner; and the first time since he had been sent into outlawry that he fought for a land about whose welfare he cared a sekal.

  They swept down on the ambush from behind, taking the mounted men unawares and killing half their horses before the foot soldiers could rally to them. Bard’s men formed a shield wall and shot blazing arrows toward them. The battle lasted less than half an hour, after which Bard’s men had the Serrais banner and the wounded remnant fled in all directions. Bard had lost two or three men, but they had captured or killed all of the enemy’s horses. He gave orders to cut the throats of the most gravely wounded—they would not survive being moved, in any case, and this was more merciful than leaving them for kyorebni and wolves—to take up the gear and armor.

  Rejoining the main army, they had their prisoners interrogated by a laranzu who could mind-probe. From this they learned that they would, indeed, have to fight their way through the whole Serrais army before they came to Castle Asturias. The army, outside the walls of the castle, was preparing to attack, but was ready to hold it under siege if they could not capture it by surprise attack.

  Bard nodded, grim-faced. “We must press on through the night. We cannot bring up all the supply wagons so quickly, but our best men must arrive in time to spoil the surprise those men of Serrais are planning!”

  The nightly rain of this season was already beginning, but they went on at what haste they could, even after the rain had changed to light snow, and there was some grumbling in the ranks about this.

  “Are you trying to tell us they’d attack Castle Asturias in this? They couldn’t see the walls to shoot at them!”

  It reminded Bard of the long-ago campaign, his first independent command. Melisendra, her bright hair covered by the gray hood of a leronis, reminded him, suddenly and with a stab of poignant regret, of Melora. Where was she now? Even Melisendra’s voice was like hers, as she said softly, “The weather will clear before dawn, you may be sure of that. And you may be sure that their sorcerers are well aware of it, too. Inside the castle they may think themselves secure because of the storm. But when the skies clear, there will be moonlight.”

  The man looked at her with respectful awe, and said, “Do you know that with your wizardry, domna?”

  “I know it because I know the cycles of the moons,” Melisendra laughed. “Any farmer could tell you as much. There are four moons in the sky tonight, and Liriel and Kyrrdis are at the full. It will be bright enough to fly hawks! So we must be there in time for battle; but,” she added thoughtfully, “there will be light enough for their sorcerers to work wizardry too, and we must be ready for that.”

  Bard was glad of the intelligence; but he had no liking for wizardry in battle. He preferred honest swords and spears!

  The storm grew to wild heights, so that the leroni were riding ahead, carrying lighted torches, and young Rory was spying out the trails with the Sight. Men and horses struggled along behind them, following the torches, fighting the snow and the drifts, cursing. Bard wondered if the enemy’s leroni had brought the storm. It seemed too heavy to be natural. He had no way of knowing, and resolved, resentfully, that he would not ask Melisendra!

  And then, suddenly, all was quiet; they moved out of the storm into clear night, the wind died, and overhead the great serene faces of the larger moons floated at full, pale Liriel, Kyrrdis glimmering bluish in the night. Bard heard the men’s gasps of amazement. Atop a hill, they looked into the valley surrounding the castle.

  It was eerie and quiet. He knew, from what the sorcerers had told him, that the whole army of Serrais lay there, encamped outside the castle, prepared to attack at dawn; but not a watch-fire glimmered, not a step rustled below them.

  “Yet they are there,” Melisendra said at his side, and through her mind he picked up the image of the valley below, not dark as he saw it, but lighted with strange flickers which, he knew, were men, and horses, and engines of war.

  “How is it that you can see that, Melisendra?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps my starstone feels the heat of their bodies, and translates it into a picture my mind can see . . . everyone sees it differently. Rory told me that he could hear them; perhaps he feels the movement of their breath, or feels the crying of the grass as their feet crush it.”

  Bard shivered, wishing he had not asked. He had possessed this woman, she had borne him a son, yet he knew nothing of her, and he was afraid of her. He had heard of a laran gift which could kill with a thought. Did she possess it? No, or she would surely have struck him down in defense of her chastity....

  “Do their leroni know we are coming?”

  “I am sure they know we are somewhere about. The presence of all these men and beasts cannot be hidden from anyone with laran. But Rory and I have closed down our Gifts as much as we can, and hopefully, they think us much farther away than we are. We left old Master Ricot, and Dame Arbella, with the supply wagons, and instructed them to send out false pictures, as if the army were still there with them. . . . All we can do is wait and see.”

  They waited. Kyrrdis was lowering toward the horizon and the eastern sky was just beginning to flush red when Melisendra touched Bard’s arm and said, “The word has been passed for attack, down there.”

  Bard said grimly, “Then we will attack them first.” He beckoned to his page and gave the word. He was not weary, though he had slept but little for three nights. He gnawed at a hard bread roll with meat baked inside. It tasted like leather, but he knew from experience that if he went into battle with his stomach empty he would get dizzy or squeamish. Other men, he knew, were the other way round, Beltran always said that if he touched a bite of food he would spew it up like a breeding woman—why was he thinking of Beltran now? Why must that ghost come to sit on his shoulder?

  So they would cut through the invading Serrais army to save Castle Asturias, and Geremy Hastur’s worthless life. And then would they attack again? With Dom Rafael’s army there, did Geremy really think he could make good his claim to the throne? Did Geremy think the truce would last any longer than Dom Rafael found it convenient? Yet he had asked Dom Rafael to bring his army here.

  How many of the army would stand for Dom Rafael? Probably most of them were as unwilling to see a Hastur on the throne, as was their leader.

  Below him a glimmer flashed, and he gave a quick command.

  “Lights!”

  From everywhere, torches were brought from behind their shielding. A fire arrow blazed a long, screaming comet tail into the midst of the Serrais army.

  “Attack!” Bard shouted.

  Screaming the ancient battle cries of di Asturien, the army charged down the hill toward the army of Serrais, taking them from behind as they charged upon the walls of Asturias.

  By the time the red sun came dripping up over the eastern hills, the Serrais army lay cut to pieces, the remnant fleeing in confusion; the heart had gone out of them with Bard’s first charge, which had killed and wounded half of their rear-guard. They had never managed to bring up a single catapult or war engine, nor to get their clingfire alight; Bard had captured it all. Then some clingfire shells had been set to burn among them, fragile, exploding everywhere and bursting among their remaining horses, stampeding them in frenzy; and then it was all over but the slaughter, and the final su
rrender. The armed men inside the castle had covered them with bowmen from the walls, and at the end the leroni had massed to spread terror among the Serrais army, so that the rest of them fled shrieking as if all the demons in all of Zandru’s nine hells were after them. Bard thought, having fought against laran terror himself, that the devils probably were—or at least the Serrais men thought they were, which amounted to the same thing.

  Dom Eiric Ridenow of Serrais had been captured, and by the time Bard rode with his banner bearers into the castle, they were already debating whether to hold him as hostage for the good behavior of the other Serrais lords, ransom him and send him home after accepting an oath of neutrality or hang him from the castle walls as an example to others who might try to cross the borders of Asturias under arms.

  “Do your worst,” said the old man, setting his teeth so fiercely that his blond beard wagged. “Do you think my sons will not march on Asturias with all their might, now that they know what happened to their advance guard?”

  “He is lying,” said a young laranzu. “This army was no advance guard; it was made up of every man he could put into the field. His sons are not of an age to fight. They risked all on one throw of the dice.”

  “And they would have succeeded, had it not been for your efforts, kinsman,” said Geremy Hastur to Dom Rafael. He was wearing a long robe, a scholar’s robe of purple so deep that it was almost black. He was unweaponed save for a small dagger. The long robe hid the ungainly lameness, but could not conceal the uneven stance or his halting step, supported on a crutch like a man four times his age. His red hair was already graying at the temples, and he had begun, like an old man, to wear a fringe of beard at his jaws. Bard thought, with contempt, that his foster-brother looked less like a warrior than one of those Renunciates who had fought in his army!

  Dom Rafael and Geremy embraced as kinsmen, but then they broke apart; Geremy’s eyes fell on Bard where he stood two paces behind his father.

  “You!”

  “Are you surprised to see me, kinsman?”

  “You were outlawed in this realm for seven years, Bard; and there is the blood of the royal house on your hands now. Your life is doubly forfeit here. Give me a single good reason I should not tell my men to take you out and hang you from the walls!”

  Bard said hotly, “You know by what betrayal that blood came on my hands—” but Dom Rafael silenced him with a gesture.

  “Is this gratitude, cousin Geremy? Bard led the assault which saved Castle Asturias from falling into Serrais hands. Had he not come, your head would now be hanging for a popinjay, for Dom Eiric’s men to use at target practice!”

  Geremy’s mouth tightened.

  “I have never doubted that my cousin was brave,” he said, “and so, I suppose, I must grant him amnesty, life for life. Be it so, Bard; come and go in this realm as your lawful duties warrant. But not in my presence. When the army goes, go you with them, and do not come into my court for your life’s span, for on the day I set eyes on you again, I will certainly have you killed.”

  “As for that,” Bard began, but Dom Rafael cut in.

  “Enough. Before you go to passing sentences of death or banishment, Hastur, you had better have a throne to speak from. On what grounds do you claim to reign here?”

  “As regent for Valentine, son of Ardrin, at Queen Ariel’s request; and as warden for these lands, which have been, since time out of mind, a part of the Hastur Domains, and shall be again, when these years of anarchy are past. The Hasturs of Carcosa are a peaceful folk, and will let the di Asturiens reign here, as long as they swear allegiance to the Domain of Hastur, and Valentine has already done so.”

  “Oh, brave!” retorted Dom Rafael, “Great glory and gallant deeds are yours, Geremy Hester, to extort an oath from a babe not five years old! Did you promise the child a toy sword and a new pony, or did you get it cheaply from him for a sugared cake and a handful of candies?”

  Geremy flinched at the sarcasm. “He listened to the persuasion of his mother, Queen Ariel,” he said. “She knew well that I would guard the boy’s rights till he was grown; at which time, he said to me, he would take oath as a man, to reign here as warden for the Hasturs.”

  Dom Rafael said fiercely, “We want no Hasturs in this land which the di Asturiens have held since they won it from the cat-folk ages ago!”

  “The men of this land will follow Valentine, their rightful lord, in allegiance to the lawful Hastur King,” Geremy said.

  “Will they? If you believe it, you had better ask them, my lord.”

  “I had believed,” Geremy said, holding his temper with obvious effort, “that we were under truce, Dom Rafael.”

  “Truce while the Serrais armies held you here; but behold, that army lies in ruins, and I doubt if Dom Eiric will muster enough men to put an army in the field for ten years or more! Even if we let him live! And as for that,” he added, signaling to one of his bodyguards, “take Dom Eiric away and keep him secure.”

  “In a dungeon, my lord?”

  Dom Rafael looked Eiric Ridenow up and down. “No,” he said. “That would be over hard on his old bones. If he will give oath under truthspell not to attempt escape until we have determined his fate, we will house him in comfort befitting his rank and his gray hairs.”

  “For every gray hair on my head,” Dom Eiric said truthfully, “there are ten on yours, Rafael di Asturien!”

  “Even so, I shall house you in comfort till your sons can ransom you, for they will need you at home till they are grown. Little boys are impetuous, and they might try something too dangerous for them.”

  Dom Eiric glared, but at last he said, “Bring our leronis. I will swear by the walls of Serrais that I will not leave this place till you yourself dismiss me, dead or alive.”

  Bard laughed harshly. He said, “Take from him some oath stronger than the walls of Serrais, Father, for I can go and break those whenever I will.”

  Dom Eiric glowered, but he did not speak, for what Bard said was true, and he knew it. Dom Rafael said to his guard, “Take him to some comfortable chamber, and keep him there secure until I can take his oath. Your life for it if he escapes before a leronis has his oath.”

  Geremy Hastur scowled as the old lord was led away. “Don’t presume too far on my gratitude, cousin. You are over free, it seems to me, in disposing of my prisoners.”

  “Your prisoners? When will you face the truth, cousin?” Dom Rafael asked. “Your rule here is ended, and I shall prove it to you.” He gestured to Bard, who stepped out on the balcony.

  In the courtyard below, where the army was quartered, he heard a wild outburst of cheering.

  “The Wolf! The Kilghard Wolf!”

  “Our general! He led us to victory!”

  “Dom Rafael’s son! Long live the house of di Asturien!”

  Dom Rafael stepped out on the balcony, calling, “Listen to me, men! You have won freedom from Serrais. Will you turn Asturias over to the Hasturs? I claim that throne for the house of di Asturien; not for myself, but in ward for my son Alaric!”

  Wild cheering drowned out his words. When there was quiet, he said, “Your turn, my lord Geremy. Ask if there are any men down there who wish to live for twelve years or so under the rule of Hastur while Ardrin’s son Valentine grows to manhood.”

  Bard felt that he could taste Geremy’s hate and wrath, it was so thick around them; but the young man did not speak, only stepped out on the balcony. There were one or two cries of “No Hasturs!” “Down with the Hastur tyrants!” but after a moment they quieted.

  “Men of di Asturien,” he called out. His voice was a strong, resonant bass which gave the lie to the frail body containing it. “In days past, Hastur, son of Light, won this realm and set the di Asturiens over it, in wardship! I stand here for King Valentine, son of Ardrin. Are you traitors, men, to rebel against your rightful king?”

  “Where’s that king, then?” shouted one man in the crowd. “If he’s our rightful king, why isn’t he here, being broug
ht up among his lawful subjects?”

  “No Hastur puppet kings here,” another one shouted. “Get back to Hali where you belong, Hastur!”

  “We’ll have a real di Asturien on the throne, not a Hastur flunkey!”

  “We’ll kiss no Hastur arses in Asturias!”

  Bard listened, with growing satisfaction, as the cries grew louder. Someone threw a stone. Geremy did not flinch; he flung up a hand and the stone exploded in a flare of blue light. There was a gasp and a yell of rage.

  “No wizard kings in Asturias!”

  “We’ll have a soldier, not a damned laranzu!”

  “Dom Rafael! Dom Rafael! Who stands for King Alaric?” they yelled, and there were even a few cries of “Bard! Bard di Asturien! We’ll have the Kilghard Wolf!”

  Someone threw another stone, which did not pass within a hand-span of Geremy. He did not bother to deflect this one. Then someone threw a handful of courtyard horse dung which splattered on the purple robe. Geremy’s paxman caught him by the elbow and dragged him away from the balcony.

  Dom Rafael said, “Do you still think you can claim the throne of Asturias, Dom Geremy? Perhaps I should send your head back to Queen Ariel and the folk at Carcosa, as warning to the lady to choose her servants more carefully.”