Hein Huss cast his mind forth. “Not clearly. He knows of our passage. He is disturbed.”
Lord Faide laughed sardonically. “For excellent reason! Listen now, I will explain the plan of battle so that all may coordinate their efforts.”
“Very well.”
“We approach in a wide line. Ballant’s great weapon is of course Volcano. A decoy must wear my armor and ride in the lead. The yellow-haired apprentice is perhaps the most expendable member of the party. In this way we will learn the potentialities of Volcano. Like our own Hellmouth, it was built to repel vessels from space and cannot command the ground immediately under the keep. Therefore we will advance in dispersed formation, to regroup two hundred yards from the keep. At this point the jinxmen will impel Lord Ballant forth from the keep. You no doubt have made plans to this end.”
Hein Huss gruffly admitted that such was the case. Like other jinxmen, he enjoyed the pose that his power sufficed for extemporaneous control of any situation.
Lord Faide was in no mood for niceties and pressed for further information. Grudging each word, Hein Huss disclosed his arrangements. “I have prepared certain influences to discomfit the Ballant defenders and drive them forth. Jinxman Enterlin will sit at his cabinet, ready to retaliate if Lord Ballant orders a spell against you. Anderson Grimes undoubtedly will cast a demon—probably Everid—into the Ballant warriors; in return, Jinxman Comandore will possess an equal or a greater number of Faide warriors with the demon Keyril, who is even more ghastly and horrifying.”
“Good. What more?”
“There is need for no more, if your men fight well.”
“Can you see the future? How does today end?”
“There are many futures. Certain jinxmen—Enterlin for instance—profess to see the thread which leads through the maze; they are seldom correct.”
“Call Enterlin here.”
Hein Huss rumbled his disapproval. “Unwise, if you desire victory over Ballant Keep.”
Lord Faide inspected the massive Jinxman from under his black saturnine brows. “Why do you say this?”
“If Enterlin foretells defeat, you will be dispirited and fight poorly. If he predicts victory, you become overconfident and likewise fight poorly.”
Lord Faide made a petulant gesture. “The jinxmen are loud in their boasts until the test is made. Then they always find reasons to retract, to qualify.”
“Ha, ha!” barked Hein Huss. “You expect miracles, not honest jinxmanship. I spit—” he spat. “I predict that the spittle will strike the moss. The probabilities are high. But an insect might fly in the way. One of the First Folk might raise through the moss. The chances are slight. In the next instant there is only one future. A minute hence there are four futures. Five minutes hence, twenty futures. A billion futures could not express all the possibilities of tomorrow. Of these billion, certain are more probable than others. It is true that these probable futures sometimes send a delicate influence into the jinxman’s brain. But unless he is completely impersonal and disinterested, his own desires overwhelm this influence. Enterlin is a strange man. He hides himself, he has no appetites. Occasionally his auguries are exact. Nevertheless, I advise against consulting him. You do better to rely on the practical and real uses of jinxmanship.”
Lord Faide said nothing. The column had been marching along the bottom of a low swale; the car had been sliding easily downslope. Now they came to a rise, and the power-mechanism complained so vigorously that Lord Faide was compelled to stop the car. He considered. “Once over the crest we will be in view of Ballant Keep. Now we must disperse. Send the least valuable man in your troupe forward—the apprentice who tested out the moss. He must wear my helmet and corselet and ride in the car.”
Hein Huss alighted, returned to the wagons, and presently Sam Salazar came forward. Lord Faide eyed the round, florid face with distaste. “Come close,” he said crisply. Sam Salazar obeyed. “You will now ride in my place,” said Lord Faide. “Notice carefully. This rod impels a forward motion. This arm steers—to right, to left. To stop, return the rod to its first position.”
Sam Salazar pointed to some of the other arms, toggles, switches, and buttons. “What of these?”
“They are never used.”
“And these dials, what is their meaning?”
Lord Faide curled his lip, on the brink of one of his quick furies. “Since their use is unimportant to me, it is twenty times unimportant to you. Now. Put this cap on your head, and this helmet. See to it that you do not sweat.”
Sam Salazar gingerly settled the magnificent black and green crest of Faide on his head, with a cloth cap underneath.
“Now this corselet.”
The corselet was constructed of green and black metal sequins, with a pair of scarlet dragon-heads at either side of the breast.
“Now the cloak.” Lord Faide flung the black cloak over Sam Salazar’s shoulders. “Do not venture too close to Ballant Keep. Your purpose is to attract the fire of Volcano. Maintain a lateral motion around the keep, outside of dart range. If you are killed by a dart, the whole purpose of the deception is thwarted.”
“You prefer me to be killed by Volcano?” inquired Sam Salazar.
“No. I wish to preserve the car and the crest. These are relics of great value. Evade destruction by all means possible. The ruse probably will deceive no one; but if it does, and if it draws the fire of Volcano, I must sacrifice the Faide car. Now—sit in my place.”
Sam Salazar climbed into the car, settled himself on the seat.
“Sit straight,” roared Lord Faide. “Hold your head up! You are simulating Lord Faide! You must not appear to slink!”
Sam Salazar heaved himself erect in the seat. “To simulate Lord Faide most effectively, I should walk among the warriors, with someone else riding in the car.”
Lord Faide glared, then grinned sourly. “No matter. Do as I have commanded.”
IV
Sixteen hundred years before, with war raging through space, a group of space captains, their home bases destroyed, had taken refuge on Pangborn. To protect themselves against vengeful enemies, they built great forts armed with weapons from the dismantled spaceships.
The wars receded, Pangborn was forgotten. The newcomers drove the First Folk into the forests, planted and harvested the river valleys. Ballant Keep, like Faide Keep, Gastle Cloud, Boghoten, and the rest, overlooked one of these valleys. Four squat towers of a dense black substance supported an enormous parasol roof, and were joined by walls two-thirds as high as the towers. At the peak of the roof a cupola housed Volcano, the weapon corresponding to Faide’s Hellmouth.
The Faide war party advancing over the rise found the great gates already secure, the parapets between the towers thronged with bowmen. According to Lord Faide’s strategy, the war party advanced on a broad front. At the center rode Sam Salazar, resplendent in Lord Faide’s armor. He made, however, small effort to simulate Lord Faide. Rather than sitting proudly erect, he crouched at the side of the seat, the crest canted at an angle. Lord Faide watched with disgust. Apprentice Salazar’s reluctance to be demolished was understandable: if his impersonation failed to convince Lord Ballant, at least the Faide ancestral car might be spared. For a certainty Volcano was being manned; the Ballant weapon-tender could be seen in the cupola, and the snout protruded at a menacing angle.
Apparently the tactic of dispersal, offering no single tempting target, was effective. The Faide war party advanced quickly to a point two hundred yards from the keep, below Volcano’s effective field, without drawing fire; first the knights, then the foot soldiers, then the rumbling wagons of the magicians. The slow-moving Faide car was far outdistanced; any doubt as to the nature of the ruse must now be extinguished.
Apprentice Salazar, disliking the isolation, and hoping to increase the speed of the car, twisted one of the other switches, then another. From under the floor came a thin screeching sound; the car quivered and began to rise. Sam Salazar peered over the side, threw ou
t a leg to jump. Lord Faide ran forward, gesturing and shouting. Sam Salazar hastily drew back his leg, returned the switches to their previous condition. The car dropped like a rock. He snapped the switches up again, cushioning the fall.
“Get out of that car!” roared Lord Faide. He snatched away the helmet, dealt Sam Salazar a buffet which toppled him head over heels. “Out of the armor; back to your duties!”
Sam Salazar hurried to the jinxmen’s wagons where he helped erect Isak Comandore’s black tent. Inside the tent a black carpet with red and yellow patterns was laid; Comandore’s cabinet, his chair, and his chest were carried in, and incense set burning in a censer. Directly in front of the main gate Hein Huss superintended the assembly of a rolling stage, forty feet tall and sixty feet long, the surface concealed from Ballant Keep by a tarpaulin.
Meanwhile, Lord Faide had dispatched an emissary, enjoining Lord Ballant to surrender. Lord Ballant delayed his response, hoping to delay the attack as long as possible. If he could maintain himself a day and a half, reinforcements from Gisborne Keep and Castle Cloud might force Lord Faide to retreat.
Lord Faide waited only until the jinxmen had completed their preparations, then sent another messenger, offering two more minutes in which to surrender.
One minute passed, two minutes. The envoys turned on their heels, marched back to the camp.
Lord Faide spoke to Hein Huss. “You are prepared?”
“I am prepared,” rumbled Hein Huss.
“Drive them forth.”
Huss raised his arm; the tarpaulin dropped from the face of his great display, to reveal a painted representation of Ballant Keep.
Huss retired to his tent, and pulled the flaps together. Braziers burnt fiercely, illuminating the faces of Adam McAdam, eight cabalmen, and six of the most advanced spellbinders. Each worked at a bench supporting several dozen dolls and a small glowing brazier. The cabalmen and spellbinders worked with dolls representing Ballant men-at-arms; Huss and Adam McAdam employed simulacra of the Ballant knights. Lord Ballant would not be hoodooed unless he ordered a jinx against Lord Faide—a courtesy the keep-lords extended each other.
Huss called out: “Sebastian!”
Sebastian, one of Huss’s spellbinders, waiting at the flap to the tent, replied, “Ready, sir.”
“Begin the display.”
Sebastian ran to the stage, struck fire to a fuse. Watchers inside Ballant Keep saw the depicted keep take fire. Flame erupted from the windows, the roof glowed and crumbled. Inside the tent the two jinxmen, the cabalmen, and the spellbinders methodically took dolls, dipped them into the heat of the braziers, concentrating, reaching out for the mind of the man whose doll they burnt. Within the keep men became uneasy. Many began to imagine burning sensations, which became more severe as their minds grew more sensitive to the idea of fire. Lord Ballant noted the uneasiness. He signaled to his chief jinxman Anderson Grimes. “Begin the counterspell.”
Down the front of the keep unrolled a display even larger than Hein Muss’s, depicting a hideous beast. It stood on four legs and was shown picking up two men in a pair of hands, biting off their heads. Grimes’ cabalmen meanwhile took up dolls representing the Faide warriors, inserted them into models of the depicted beast, and closed the hinged jaws, all the while projecting ideas of fear and disgust. And the Faide warriors, staring at the depicted monster, felt a sense of horror and weakness.
Inside Huss’s tent, censers and braziers reeked and dolls smoked. Eyes stared, brows glistened. From time to time one of the workers gasped—signaling the entry of his projection into an enemy mind. Within the keep warriors began to mutter, to slap at burning skin, to eye each other fearfully, noting each other’s symptoms. Finally one cried out, and tore at his armor. “I burn! The cursed witches burn me!” His pain aggravated the discomfort of the others; there was a growing sound throughout the keep.
Lord Ballant’s oldest son, his mind penetrated by Hein Huss himself, struck his shield with his mailed fist. “They burn me! They burn us all! Better to fight than bum!”
“Fight! Fight!” came the voices of the tormented men.
Lord Ballant looked around at the twisted faces, some displaying blisters, scaldmarks. “Our own spell terrifies them; wait yet a moment!” he pleaded.
His brother alled hoarsely, “It is not your belly that Hein Huss toasts in the flames, it is mine! We cannot win a battle of hoodoos; we must win a battle of arms!”
Lord Ballant cried desperately, “Wait, our own effects are working! They will flee in terror; wait, wait!”
His cousin tore off his corselet. “It’s Hein Huss! I feel him! My leg’s in the fire, the devil laughs at me. Next my head, he says. Fight, or I go forth to fight alone!”
“Very well,” said Lord Ballant in a fateful voice. “We go forth to fight. First—the beast goes forth. Then we follow and smite them in their terror.”
The gates to the keep swung suddenly wide. Out sprang what appeared to be the depicted monster; legs moving, arms waving, eyes rolling, issuing evil sounds. Normally the Faide warriors would have seen the monster for what it was; a model carried on the backs of three horses. But their minds had been influenced: they had been infected with horror; they drew back with arms hanging flaccid. From behind the monster the Ballant knights galloped, followed by the Ballant foot soldiers. The charge gathered momentum, tore into the Faide center. Lord Faide bellowed orders; discipline asserted itself. The Faide knights disengaged, divided into three platoons, and engulfed the Ballant charge, while the foot soldiers poured darts into the advancing ranks.
There was the clatter and surge of battle; Lord Ballant, seeing that his sally had failed to overwhelm the Faide forces, and thinking to conserve his own forces, ordered a retreat. In good order the Ballant warriors began to back up toward the keep. The Faide knights held close contact, hoping to win to the courtyard. Close behind came a heavily loaded wagon pushed by armored horses, to be wedged against the gate.
Lord Faide called an order; a reserve platoon of ten knights charged from the side, thrust behind the main body of Ballant horsemen, rode through the foot soldiers, fought into the keep, cut down the gate-tenders.
Lord Ballant bellowed to Anderson Grimes, “They have won inside; quick with your cursed demon! If he can help us, let him do so now!”
“Demon-possession is not a matter of an instant,” muttered the jinxman. “I need time.”
“You have no time! Ten minutes and we’re all dead!”
“I will do my best. Everid, Everid, come swift!”
He hastened into his workroom, donned his demonmask, tossed handful after handful of incense into the brazier. Against one wall stood a great form: black, slit-eyed, noseless. Great white fangs hung from its upper palate; it stood on heavy bent legs, arms reached forward to grasp. Anderson Grimes swallowed a cup of syrup, paced slowly back and forth. A moment passed.
“Grimes!” came Ballant’s call from outside. “Grimes!”
A voice spoke. “Enter without fear.”
Lord Ballant, carrying his ancestral side arm, entered. He drew back with an involuntary sound. “Grimes!” he whispered.
“Grimes is not here,” said the voice. “I am here. Enter.”
Lord Ballant came forward stiff-legged. The room was dark except for the feeble glimmer of the brazier. Anderson Grimes crouched in a corner, head bowed under his demonmask. The shadows twisted and pulsed with shapes and faces, forms struggling to become solid. The black image seemed to vibrate with life.
“Bring in your warriors,” said the voice. “Bring them in five at a time, bid them look only at the floor until commanded to raise their eyes.”
Lord Ballant retreated; there was no sound in the room.
A moment passed; then five limp and exhausted warriors filed into the room, eyes low.
“Look slowly up,” said the voice. “Look at the orange fire. Breathe deeply. Then look at me. I am Everid, Demon of Hate. Look at me. Who am I?”
“You are Everid, De
mon of Hate,” quavered the warriors.
“I stand all around you, in a dozen forms…I come closer. Where am I?”
“You are close.”
“Now I am you. We are together.”
There was a sudden quiver of motion. The warriors stood straighter, their faces distorted.
“Go forth,” said the voice. “Go quietly into the court. In a few minutes we march forth to slay.”
The five stalked forth. Five more entered.
Outside the wall, the Ballant knights had retreated as far as the gate; within, seven Faide knights still survived, and with their backs to the wall held the Ballant warriors away from the gate mechanism.
In the Faide camp, Huss called to Comandore, “Everid is walking. Bring forth Keyril.”
“Send the men,” came Comandore’s voice, low and harsh. “Send the men to me. I am Keyril.”
Within the keep twenty warriors came marching into the courtyard. Their steps were cautious, tentative, slow. Their faces had lost individuality, they were twisted and distorted, curiously alike.
“Bewitched!” whispered the Ballant soldiers, drawing back. The seven Faide knights watched with sudden fright. But the twenty warriors, paying them no heed, marched out the gate. The Ballant knights parted; for an instant there was a lull in the fighting. The twenty sprang like tigers. Their swords glistened, twinkling in water-bright arcs. They crouched, jerked, jumped; Faide arms, legs, heads were hewed off. The twenty were cut and battered, but the blows seemed to have no effect.
The Faide attack faltered, collapsed. The knights, whose armor was no protection against the demoniac swords, retreated. The twenty possessed warriors raced out into the open toward the foot soldiers, running with great strides, slashing and rending. The Faide foot soldiers fought for a moment, then they too gave way and turned to flee.
From behind Comandore’s tent appeared thirty Faide warriors, marching stiffly, slowly. Like the Ballant twenty, their faces were alike—but between the Everid-possessed and the Keyril-possessed was the difference between the face of Everid and the face of Keyril.
There Will Be War Volume III Page 20
