Two To Conquer ELF

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “Father,” he demanded, “why does the mother of my son ride with the armies? She is no camp follower!”

  “No, she is the most skilled leronis in our service.”

  “Somehow, from what you said, I thought Lady Jerana blamed me for spoiling her for that service—”

  “Oh, she is useless for the Sight,” Dom Rafael said. “We have a maiden youth for that, not twelve years old. But for all else, Melisendra is highly skilled. I had thought of taking her for my own barragana, at one time, because Jerana is fond of her, and as you will know when you are wedded, it is useless to take a concubine who is detestable to your lawful wife. But—” he shrugged, “Jerana wished to keep her virgin for the Sight, and so I let her be; and you know what happened. I would rather have a grandson anyway. And since Melisendra has proved herself fertile to you, perhaps you should take her to wife.”

  Bard frowned with revulsion. He said, “I remind you, sir, that I have already a wife; I shall take no other woman while Carlina lives.”

  “You may certainly take Carlina for wife if you can find her,” Dom Rafael said, “but she has not been at court since her father’s death. She fled the court even before Queen Ariel took Valentine to her kinsfolk at Valeron.”

  Bard wondered if she had left court to avoid marriage to Geremy. He would certainly have seen this marriage as the best road to claim Ardrin’s throne. Was she waiting for him, somewhere, to come and claim her?

  “Where is Carlina, then?”

  “I know no more than you, my son. For all I know, she is within a Tower somewhere, learning the ways of a leronis, or even—” Dom Rafael raised his eyes to the newest group of fighters who had joined their army on the road, “she may have cropped her hair and taken the vows of the Sisterhood of the Sword.”

  “Never!” said Bard, with a shudder of dismay, looking at the women in their scarlet cloaks. Women with their hair cropped shorter than a monk’s, women without grace or beauty, women who wore the Renunciate’s dagger, not in their boots as men did, but strapped across their breasts, in token that a man who laid a hand upon them would die, and that the woman herself would die before surrendering herself as a prize of war. Under their cloaks they wore the odd garb of their sworn sisterhood, breeches and long laced jerkins to their knees, low boots tied around their ankles; their ears were pierced like those of bandits, long hoops dangling from the left earlobe.

  “I wonder, my Father, that you will have these—these bitches with us.”

  “But,” said Dom Rafael, “they are fighters of great skill, pledged to die rather than fall to an enemy; not one has ever been taken prisoner, or betrayed her oath of service.”

  “And you mean to tell me that they live without men? I do not believe it,” Bard jeered. “And what do the men think, riding with women who are not camp followers?”

  “They treat them with the same respect as the leroni,” said Dom Rafael.

  “Respect? For women in breeches, with their ears holed? I would treat them as all such women deserve who give up the decencies of their sex!”

  “I would not advise it,” Dom Rafael said, “for I have heard that if one of them is raped, and does not kill herself or her ravisher, her sisters hunt her down and kill them both. As far as any man can say, they are as chaste as the priestesses of Avarra; but no one knows for certain what goes on among them. It may simply be that they are very adept at the art of secret whoring. And they are, as I say, skilled fighters.”

  Bard could not imagine Carlina among them. He rode on, silent and moody, until they called him, in midafternoon, to examine the weapons of a band of young farmers who had joined them. One bore an heirloom sword, but the others had axes, pikes which looked as if they had been handed down for generations, pitchforks and cudgels.

  “Can you ride?” he asked the man with the sword. “If so, you may join my horsemen.”

  The young peasant shook his head. “Nay, vai dom, not even a plowing beast,” he confessed in his rude dialect. “The sword belonged to my great-grandsire, who bore it a hundred years gone at Firetop. I can fight wi’ it, a wee bit, but e’en so, I better stay wi’ my brethren.”

  Bard nodded in agreement. Weapons did not make a soldier.

  “As you wish, man, and good fortune to you. You and your brothers may join those men there. They speak your tongue.”

  “Aye, they my neighbors, vai dom,” he said, then asked shyly, “Are ye no’ the high lord’s son, the one they call the Wolf, dom?”

  Bard said, “I have been called so.”

  “What be ye doin’ here, dom? I heard ye were outlawed, in foreign parts—”

  Bard chuckled. “He who made me outlaw has gone to explain it in hell. Are you going to try to kill me for the head-prize, man?”

  “Nay, no such thing,” said the young peasant, his eyes round in dismay. “Not to the high lord’s son. Only, with you to lead us, we canna’ do other than win, dom Wolf.”

  Bard said, “May all the Serrais foxes and wild men think so, man,” and watched as the peasants joined their own group. His eyes were thoughtful as he rode forward to join his father. Here and there he heard a snatch of conversation: the Wolf, the Kilghard Wolf has come to lead us. Well, perhaps it would serve them well.

  When he joined his father, Dom Rafael gestured at the youngest of the leroni, a fresh-faced freckled boy, his hair blazing under the gray hood; he was only twelve or so. “Rory has seen something, Bard. Tell my son what you have seen, lad.”

  “Beyond the wood, Dom Wolf—Dom Bard,” he amended quickly, “a party of men coming to ambush us.”

  Bard’s eyes narrowed. “You saw this. With the Sight?”

  The laranzu said, “I could not see so well, riding, as in the crystal, or in a pool of clear water. But they are there.”

  “How many? Where? How are they drawn up?” He fired questions at the boy. Rory got down from his pony, and taking up a twig, began to draw a pattern in the dust.

  “Four, maybe five dozen men. About ten mounted, like this—” He sketched a line at an angle to the rest. “Some of the rest have bows…”

  Melisendra bent over the boy and said, “Are there leroni with them?”

  “I think not, domna. It is hard to see…”

  Bard looked quickly around at the great body of men straggling along behind them. Damn! He had not thought it necessary, yet, to form them up; but if they were taken on the flank this way, even a few men could do dreadful damage! Even before he thought seriously about the ambush, he snapped, “Rory, see this! Are there men following us?”

  The boy squinted his eyes and said, “No, Dom Wolf, the road is clear behind us all the way to Dom Rafael’s stronghold and as far as the borders of Marenji.”

  That meant that the invading army from Serrais was somewhere between them and Castle Asturias. Would they have to fight their way through it, and find the castle under siege? Perhaps the invaders could wear out Geremy Hastur before they ever got there. No, that was no way to talk about an ally under truce. And meanwhile there was an ambush waiting for his army. A laughably small one, intended—he was sure—only to delay them awhile, so they would halt to tend their wounded, not arrive at the Castle till after nightfall, or perhaps the next day. Which would mean an attack was planned for that night. An army of this size could not escape observation; if they had sentry birds or leroni with the Sight, the army of Serrais must surely know that they were on the way, and have some special interest in keeping them away for another day.

  He said something of this to his father, and Dom Rafael nodded in agreement. “But what shall we do?”

  “A pity we cannot get around them somewhere,” Bard said, “and leave the men of this ambush to watch here like a cat at an empty mousehole. But we cannot take an army this size past this wood unseen. Rory says there is no leronis with them, but that does not mean there is no leronis in rapport with one of their leaders, seeing through his eyes. So we cannot attack them without also alerting the main army of Serrais.” He consi
dered for a time. “And if we do so, even though we annihilate them quickly—four dozen men cannot stand against all our army—it would give time for leronis or sentry bird to spy out our numbers and how we are positioned and weaponed. But what a leronis does not witness she cannot report. I think the main army must go past the wood where the ambushers will not see them. Father, give some man your cloak and let him ride your horse, and send him with me, with your banner, while you take the main army around the wood. Meanwhile, give me—” he paused to consider, “ten or twelve picked horsemen, and a dozen swordsmen with tall shields; and a couple of dozen bowmen. We will go the main path; and if we are fortunate, the watchers in rapport with the ambush will think that is all we have to lift the siege of Castle Asturias. Take all the leroni with you, and when you are past this wood, sit down with them and their sentry birds, and let them tell us what manner of army Serrais has sent against us this time.”

  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 and—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 rearguard. 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 surrender. 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.”