“Well, we only need them to get there. If we come back, we can come back ourselves.” Fergus rubbed his hands together. “So here’s the plan–”
“If this magic can get us anywhere we want, why not just head straight for the castle courtyard?” That was one-eyed MacLinds jumping in again. “That would be the smart play—and the simplest, too.”
“I’m starting to regret asking your clan to join the battle,” the bayron replied with a frown. “And I have no idea what your warriors were thinking when they agreed to follow you.”
“You should be ashamed, Geling,” added a completely gray-haired warrior in sleeveless chainmail. His arms were covered in fine tattoos from wrist to shoulder. He looked great. “Stark MacLinds, your old man and my late friend, would have had you whipped for dishonorable words like those, even though you’re no longer a child—and he would have done it for all to see. And if you interrupt good Fergus again, who’s twice your age, and especially to suggest something like that, I’ll do it myself in memory of my friend. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Uncle Grem,” MacLinds answered, his eyes on the ground. “Forgive me, chieftains, and you, too, Bayron.”
“Don’t be angry with him, friend MacMillan,” Fergus said with a knowing smile. “Young Geling is hot-blooded and has not yet learned to control himself—we’ve all been in his shoes. Our duty is to understand and forgive.”
“No, we haven’t,” grumbled the one with the tattoos. “We respected our elders and followed the laws of honor.”
“Oh, sure, we did,” laughed the smoker. “My father told me how you, Dag MacMillan, even before you turned sixteen, stole a girl from the Kifers, the ones who live next to Lake Lokh-Targ. You told your old man that you wanted to marry her. He kicked you up one side of the city and down the other, made you return the girl to her clan, and forced you to clean pots and beat clothes for half a year as their servant. They gave you hell for every one of those six months.”
“Did he tell you what happened after that?” MacMillan asked, completely unperturbed.
“Sure—you’d have to be deaf to avoid hearing about that massacre,” the smoker said, his laugh abruptly stopping. “Your blood was just as hot back then as young Geling’s is now.”
“Enough, we’ll reminisce later,” Fergus cut in. “Here’s my plan. One scroll will send our best trackers and hunters into the forest half a league from the castle. Their job will be to sit there quietly and make sure Rennor and his henchmen don’t get away through some escape tunnel. If they do, the trackers’ job is to tie him up and kill the rest. There’s nothing dishonorable about archers and nets.”
“Good move. We should pick out a good fifty of them to make sure they can surround the castle,” the smoker nodded.
“Geling, you take your people straight to the gate,” Fergus continued with a grin. “Your blood really is boiling, so go wave your sword around a little. Just remember: the gate has to stay open, and the drawbridge has to stay lowered. And don’t make a move into the castle until I blow the horn and say what I need to say.”
“Done,” Geling replied, a bloodthirsty smile on his face. “That works for me. But how are we supposed to kill the guards without going into the castle?”
“And are you sure it’ll be honorable if you declare siege on Rennor while Geling is already killing his people?” MacMillen asked dubiously.
“The guards will attack him first,” Fergus said, seeing no problem with the plan. “Geling just needs to stand next to the gate, and they’ll jump him—why break from tradition? Answering sword with sword and not turning the other cheek are precepts handed down by other fathers, and they knew what they were doing.”
“Well, we’ll see then,” a highlander veteran said with a nod, agreeing with the bayron.
“As far as we go, we’ll take up a position on the bridge, and I’ll declare the siege on MacLynn myself,” Fergus continued. “As soon as I finish talking and the minute I give Rennor time to weigh his fate is up, we’ll make a run for the castle. Geling will already be there holding the gate and bridge. From there, it all depends on us and how smart the MacLynns try to be. I’ll give them one more chance to give up—maybe they still have some brains left.”
“An excellent plan,” MacMillan snapped. “Simple and clear. Not like some people, who can’t tell you how to get from point A to point B…”
The clan leaders nodded, smirking in agreement and looking at the pipe smoker, who was puffing away in embarrassment. He let out a cloud of smoke and pretended he had no idea what they were talking about. I definitely didn’t know, but I assumed he’d served as geltmaster at some point.
“Okay, gelts, go pick out some trackers, and make sure they’re your best. I want six from each clan—name a leader and send them to me so I can explain where I want them near the Morrigot walls,” the bayron ordered. “That’ll be a tad more than fifty, which is fine. The main thing is to make sure Rennor doesn’t get away. Rinald, get six MacSummers and put Railin in charge.
“Consider it done, Bayron,” Rinald nodded before leaving. The leaders all followed suit.
“Well, Thane, if you have anything you need to do, wrap it up,” Fergus said to me as he rubbed his dry palms. “In another twenty minutes, we’ll send the trackers off, and half an hour after that, we’ll follow them.”
“Oh, I don’t have anything much to finish up,” I replied. “I’ll get a drink in Morrigot once we take it, I don’t see any available girls around here, and you shouldn’t eat before a battle. That’s all I can think of.”
“You really are a true warrior—I was wrong not to trust you,” the bayron said, looking at me approvingly. “Just be careful with those girls… There are lots of them out there, and medicine is expensive.”
After giving me that invaluable and, most importantly, free advice, he left, as well. I looked around and walked off in the direction of the hotel to dump the money I had with me. I wouldn’t be needing it, and risking it needlessly would have been the height of stupidity. That done, I dug around in my chest and pulled out the potions I’d gotten what seemed like ages before in Sviss’s cave. Level 60 seemed impossibly far away back then, and now… However you look at it, everything really is relative. Maybe I’ll even get to use that sword at Level 100. It had solid attributes, even if its stopping power wasn’t the best. Game balancing in action.
When I left the hotel, the enthusiastic tracker gelts were ready to roll, having already gotten their instructions. They all had bows, and they were all wearing pants instead of the usual kilts. That makes sense. I wouldn’t want to hunt in the bushes with naked…um…legs, either.
There were a good dozen players watching them as well, checking to see what was going on and wondering if there was some way to get involved or pick up a quest.
“Thane, come here,” Rinald roared, waving to me and, in so doing, grabbing the attention of the other players.
“What, did you get a hidden quest?” a high-level mage named Petronius from the Liberty Destiny clan asked. “Can I join?”
It probably would have been better if I’d ignored him, but that would have been rude.
“No, nothing hidden, just a pretty normal quest,” I said, slowing down and looking over at the group of players eyeing the gelts cautiously. The latter were discussing the more pleasing features of two female player mages.
“I’ve never heard of a quest like that,” the pushy mage said. “Is there any way to get involved?”
“Not in the quest, at least, with me,” I said, nipping that in the bud. “But you should talk to that warlord over there—I’m not sure. It’s worth a try, though I wouldn’t count on it.”
“But what are you guys up to?” an elf mage asked, her voice melodious. “What’s with the gathering?”
“We’re storming a castle,” I replied, figuring there was no point trying to keep that a secret.
“Oh, that’s all?” Petronius snorted. “You can do that nonsense without me—I’ve seen plenty
of those assaults. If you were laying siege to a clan castle, that would be one thing, but these are just NPCs…”
Muttering something under his breath, he turned and walked away. The rest slowly followed him.
“Thane!” Rinald roared. “It’s time!”
“Okay, guys, I have to go,” I called out to the players. “See you!”
“But…” One of the mage girls wanted to ask something, but I’d already run off toward the crowd of trackers.
“Okay, who am I supposed to explain how to use the portal to?” I asked Fergus, who was sitting there watching his warriors.
“Geling,” he replied. “This is his battle and his glory, so explain it to him. Those three trackers, too.”
I nodded and quickly told the four how the scroll worked, and was happy they figured it out immediately. They were a smart people. The only thing I didn’t understand was why Geling was standing there blinking.
“Geltmaster,” the one-eyed bayron said sheepishly, “I can’t use the scroll.”
“Why not?” Fergus scowled. “Is this all your superstitions about magic again? Forget it—this barely qualifies as magic. It’s completely harmless.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Geling said with some frustration creeping into his voice. “I’ve only been to Morrigot once, and that was when I was a child. I don’t remember the bridge or the gate. All I remember is the banquet hall and the stable, since I ate in one and slept in the other when I got full. But those won’t work for us, at least, not at first.”
Fergus rubbed his chin. Geling’s argument was a good one.
“Bayron, I don’t see the problem,” Rinald boomed. “Even if he doesn’t remember the entrance to Morrigot, I certainly do—I remember every last nail. I’ll take them to the castle and keep an eye on young MacLinds. He’s the last of his line, after all.”
Fergus pursed his lips, glanced at Geling in disappointment, and nodded his acceptance of the warrior’s offer.
The trackers headed off, leaving us to wait the final half hour before the battle.
“Don’t go through the gate into the castle,” Fergus had said, waving his finger under Geling’s nose before he left. “Not before I finish.”
Geling nodded, clearly just counting the seconds until the battle would start. Rinald assured the bayron that he’d take care of everything—there was nothing to worry about.
None of the other leaders cared what Rinald and Fergus were trying to get through to MacLinds. They were playing some kind of game to see who could slap each other hardest in the back. It looked like some of their blows would have been enough to kill an elephant.
The warriors all watched the proceedings idly as they waited for the battle to begin. They knew what their job was, they knew which portal they’d be going through, and the rest…well, their leaders could take care of the rest.
“It’s time!” Fergus took a sword belt from Rinald, complete with a rather dangerous weapon: a long, double-edged blade with a wrist guard that took considerable experience to wield. He strapped it on and winked to me. “Let’s go, Thane!”
“Right, now what have I got for you?” I said, somewhat startled. “Here’s a scroll, and here’s one for you, Rinald—head to different sides and open them on my count. Everyone ready? Three…two…one…go!”
The two portals flashed, and warriors poured into them in an orderly and quiet manner. There weren’t any whoops or swords smacking against shields.
I jumped out of the portal right behind Fergus’s detachment, immediately stopping to look around.
The picture spread out in front of me could have come straight from a Sir Walter Scott novel or a Vallejo painting. The enormous, spire-tipped castle stood on a green plain, or, rather, its façade, moat, drawbridge, wall, gate, and everything else were set on the backdrop of the plain and surrounded by a tall forest. I imagined that was where our trackers were keeping their uncomfortable watch.
Above the towers fluttered flags, we were noticed by the guards manning the walls, and our troops also caught the eye of some shepherds taking care of large flocks. They started when they saw us. In a word, it was idyllic, and we’d come to ruin their day.
We were about four or five hundred meters from the gate, and there was a double moat. The first was closer to us and filled with brushwood, while the second and farther one was filled with snake-infested water. The bridge was long, and most of it was stationary. The fixed part ended at a defensive line right on the other side of the water. It was easy to tell what the plan was there: once attackers charged along the bridge, a few archers could run out to the defensive line and shoot some burning arrows into the brushwood. The wood and bridge would both burn, leaving the attackers the choice of swimming with the snakes or burning in the fire. It wasn’t a bad plan—that MacLynn had thought long and hard about his security. Unlike Lane…
We could hear swords clashing near the gate, the bridge was creaking, and there were death wails coming from the other side. Right then MacSummers bellowed over the din with a surprisingly loud voice.
“Rennor MacLynn, your dishonorable deeds have filled the cup of our patience to overflowing, and the council of the clans has decided that there is no place for you in our lands. If you wish to keep your life, you have one minute to come out onto the castle wall and throw your sword down. If you fail to do so, we will put the castle to the sword, spilling the blood of many good gelts. Think about it! Your time starts now.”
“Do they really think Rennor has enough time to figure out what’s happening, run up to the top of the wall, and toss his sword over?”
I looked around to see who was talking, and it turned out to be a Level 57 warrior named Rex99. He had apparently slipped through the portal with us. One of the mages, a girl named Tissa at around the same level, had also joined the party. They were enjoying watching and discussing what was going on.
“Of course, he won’t have time,” I explained to the warrior as I tried to figure out what I should do with them. “And he won’t throw his sword over. He may be a bastard, but he’s no coward, so he’s hoping to fight off the attack or just make a run for it. And he’ll use this minute to arrange his forces and, if he’s lucky, set up a defense of the gate.”
The fight by the castle wall was picking up steam, death was collecting her hefty toll, and the bridge jumped up and down a few times as the lift mechanism changed hands.
“You chose your fate!” yelled Fergus. His broadsword flashed in the sun. “Onward, gelts—death to the MacLynns!”
“Death!” the warriors shouted shortly as they sprinted along the bridge.
Arrows hissed down from above, knocking half a dozen warriors into the moat. The rest of them made it to the arched gate unharmed and poured through it into the castle.
“Don’t go in there yet,” I said to the nosey players, both of them intrigued by what was happening. “Really, listen to what I’m telling you. There’s going to be a massacre, and those guys in there aren’t going to take much time working out who’s who. Also, you, my good man, have a sword, which means they could come at you from both sides. As for you, they aren’t the biggest fans of mages—they don’t burn them at the stake, but they don’t like them, either. Wait for the end of the battle, and then head in.”
“But…” Tissa squeaked, apparently about to explain that they’d miss the whole spectacle, though I glared at her and she saw something in my glance that made her hold her tongue.
“Think about my warning,” I said before running after the last detachment. It was led by the smoker, who still had his pipe clenched between his teeth. Every once in a while he’d let out a puff of smoke.
The passageway from the bridge to the castle was where most of the fight for control of the lift mechanism had gone down, and there were a good thirty bodies lying there. From what I could tell, swords had given way to knives and daggers—there just wasn’t enough room to move around. And it didn’t look like the guards had sold their live
s cheaply: at least a dozen of the bodies, and maybe more, were ours.
The castle courtyard was the scene of bedlam, with cursing, the clash of steel, and some of those there, by the sound of it, heading off on their final journey. Remembering that my job was to both get the warriors to the castle and help them seize it, I hurriedly thrust my sword into a soldier who very conveniently presented his back to me. He wasn’t one of ours, which I could tell from the fact that he wasn’t wearing a kilt. Besides myself and the trackers, only our forces were wearing them.
“Gelts,” I heard MacSummers call, “we don’t need your lives, the lives of your wives, or the lives of your children. We need Rennor MacLynn and his nephew Flank, the ones who brought lies and betrayal to our lands and violated the law. Let them come and fight us. If they beat the warriors we nominate, we’ll leave; if ours win, we’ll take their heads, and you can pick a new clan head. That is the law of the Borderlands.”
“That’s a fair offer, MacLynns,” someone shouted. “It is, indeed, the law, one our leader has trampled underfoot, to our great shame. But we do not have to follow in his footsteps—let it be so! Swords to the skies, MacLynns, swords to the skies! It’s no cowardice; it’s simply respect for the laws of the Borderlands.”
The sound of steel died away as the battle finished. Somewhere off in the corner, a few people kept fighting, but nobody paid them much mind. Everyone watched Fergus MacSummers and the tall, gray-haired warrior who had apparently put a stop to the carnage.
“Ah-h,” called a voice from somewhere over the wall. “You always were a coward, my older brother Rufus—as long as I’ve known you.”
A knife whistled through the air and thudded into the chest of the gray-haired warrior. He dropped like a rock.
“Flank!” several warriors called at once. “Flank, you’re mad! Why did you kill him? He was your brother!”
“Yes!” Looking up, I saw a muscular man standing on the wall practically on top of me. He was naked from the waist up, his dark hair was tied back, and he had a claymore dripping with blood in his hands. “Yes, brother killed brother, and now I alone am left. The last of my line!”
Sicilian Defense Page 31
