A thick rope lay twisted around Bona’s waist, with three burly men braced along the rock-covered slope behind us, holding the other end. We’d had to tie four ropes together to ensure that it would be long enough, and the extra lengths lay coiled in piles along the riverbank’s ridge. I had more men there making sure the cable didn’t get tangled as it unwound.
“Remember,” I told the shivering man. “Find the stoutest tree that you can and tie that rope securely to it.”
“Yes, lord,” Bona said, his teeth chattering. The skinny messenger looked at the seething water nervously. “It’s much worse here than it was on the other side of the bridge, lord.”
I grinned and patted his bony shoulder. “That’s true. But we would be seen if we tried this there. Besides, you didn’t have that rope to save you then, now did you?”
“No, lord,” Bona agreed in a meek voice.
I turned at the sound of small rocks tumbling down the slope as Baine carefully descended in the weak moonlight. “The wounded are all away with the rest of the levy, Hadrack,” he said when he reached us.
I nodded. I had chosen only my most capable men for the attempted rescue of the king. The rest would guard the wounded as they headed back to Corwick, where I knew Haverty would do what he could for them. “And Jebido and the lords?”
“In the woods to the north, waiting for the signal to move.”
“Good,” I said. I looked to the south, where I could hear exultant cries echoing over the treetops despite the sound of the White Rock’s churning waters. An orange glow lit the sky unnaturally and I grunted in satisfaction, picturing the wild scene that I knew would be unfolding on the other side of the trees. “And the Piths at the gatehouse?”
“No change as far as I can tell,” Baine said. “But I’m sure someone must have ridden to tell Lorgen what’s happening.”
“I expect you’re right,” I agreed. We had made no secret of our intentions as we struck camp, wanting to be noticed by the men guarding the bridge. I had hoped the Piths there would relax when they saw us withdrawing and that maybe some would even abandon their posts to go join in on the ceremony. Apparently, that wasn’t happening, which, while unfortunate, would not affect my plans.
“You’re sure Lorgen won’t come after us right away?” Baine asked, looking worried.
I snorted. “In the middle of an Ascension Ceremony?” I shook my head. “Not a chance. He’ll wait until the morning.”
“If you’re wrong, we’re lost,” Baine warned.
“I’m not wrong,” I promised. “What about Lord Vestry? Is he ready?”
Baine grimaced. “He was still crying for more men, but Jebido set him straight.”
I chuckled, imagining the look on my friend’s face as he scolded the timid lord. Lord Vestry’s job was to secure Gasterny with thirty men, and despite my insisting that the fortress would have few if any Piths inside it, the older lord had pleaded for more men—men I could not afford to give him. “Then we’re ready?” I asked Baine. My friend nodded and I turned to Bona. “All right, off you go.”
Bona cautiously waded into the river, stumbling over the rocks until he was knee-deep in the surging water. The White Rock foamed and sprayed all around the messenger’s skinny legs, threatening to tear the man’s feet out from under him. But Bona pressed onward in determination anyway as the men on the bank played out the rope above him. Finally, the water reached his waist and the skinny man dove into the surge, disappearing for a moment beneath the foaming waves before his head broke the surface. Bona started to swim then, fighting the current as it worked to drag him eastward. I could see the rope around his waist snapping taut as the men holding it fought to keep him in place, and I prayed Bona was as good a swimmer as he claimed.
Agonizing minutes went by as the messenger gallantly fought the current, and more than once, the waters dragged him under, only to have him reappear moments later, flailing his arms like a giant, hooked fish. Finally, Bona reached the far bank fifty feet downriver from us and he stumbled from the waters. I expected the skinny man to drop to the ground to catch his breath—I know I would have—but he surprised me by striking out along the shore until he stood opposite us. Bona untied the thick cord around his waist, then he turned and dragged it up the bank, disappearing beneath a shadowy aspen. The messenger finally reappeared, returning to the shore and waving weakly to us in the moonlight before flopping to the ground. The rope now hung suspended four feet over the river, arcing upward to the men on our side holding the free end. At a signal from me, the men clambered down to the water’s edge, where they each looped the rope twice around their waists, then leaned backward, pulling the entire length spanning the river taught.
“That was the easy part,” I grunted to Baine as we headed up the riverbank.
Niko was waiting for us as instructed, wearing another length of rope around his waist that trailed behind him the same as Bona’s had. I nodded and the youth hurried down the slope and started across the river, dragging himself hand over hand along the stretched cable. The hostile water from before that had so resisted Bona was now an asset as it helped buoy Niko’s weight, though that didn’t stop the White Rock from trying to sweep the youth away. I knew any man who lost his grip during the crossing would be as good as dead.
I watched Niko’s progress until he made it safely to the other side, then turned to the next man waiting with more rope. “Your turn.”
Half an hour later, we had a total of five cables stretched across the White Rock, with burly men from the levy anchoring each one. I would have preferred trees to tie the ropes to, of course, but the banks on our side of the river were barren of anything useful, so muscle power would have to do.
“All right,” I said, keeping my voice low. I had fifty men-at-arms and a hundred archers—including my Wolf’s Teeth—organized into five lines that disappeared into the darkness. The lead man in each line turned and passed my words on to the next. “Make sure your arrows and strings stay dry. We go one at a time across the rope. Once you get to the other side, you wait in the forest on the ridge for instructions. No one is to talk. If the Piths suspect anything, then we are all dead.” I moved to order the men down the slope, then I paused. “One more thing,” I said, pointing to the glowing sky. “You are probably going to see things over there that you’ve never even dreamed of.” I waited until those words had been passed along, then I continued, “Pith men and women will be humping like beasts and doing all manner of things to each other. Do not let that sway you. We have one objective, and that is to rescue the king. If you stand there ogling the tits on one of those Pith archers, then I guarantee you those tits will be the last ones you ever see.” I stepped out of the way and swept my hand forward. “Now, let’s move.”
I had allotted each man five minutes to get across the White Rock, so by my calculations, with five men crossing every five minutes, it would take several hours to get them all to the other bank. Would the ceremony still be going on by then? A lot of Piths had died in the battle earlier, and I could only hope and pray that it would take all night to Ascend them. Otherwise, we were going to be in big trouble.
Baine and I stood along the bank's ridge, watching as our men began to cross the moonlit water. Half an hour went by with no major incidents, and finally, I turned to my friend. “I think it’s time.”
Baine nodded and I held out my hand. He snorted, then drew me into an embrace. “Be careful,” he whispered into my ear.
I grinned and patted his helmet. “I always am.”
I turned and made my way down the slope again, motioning one of the archers about to step into the water aside. I took his place, steadying myself on the rope before taking a cautious step forward. The White Rock welcomed my approach with eagerness, foaming around my boots and sending up sheets of spray that quickly drenched my face and armor. I shook the wetness from my eyes and moved deeper into the river, surprised at how cold the water was. I could feel the power of the surge tugging at me as it ro
se over my hips, and I tightened my grip on the line just as a rock rolled out from beneath my feet. My legs instantly shot out from under me as the river howled in triumph and tried to rip the rope from my hands.
“No, you don’t, you bastard,” I said through clenched teeth. The cable was flexing back and forth like an angry snake in my hands as I moved forward one arm length at a time, drawing myself along with sheer willpower as the frothing water raged against me. Finally, I made it to the southern bank as eager hands reached out to drag me to the shore.
“You had me worried there for a moment, lord.”
I looked up at Berwin’s grinning face. “You and me both,” I said, panting.
I took a few minutes to regain my breath, then climbed through the trees up to the ridge where Tyris and my men who had already crossed were waiting. Most of those men looked nervous as they waited in the shadows beneath tall oaks and spindly white birch. I couldn’t blame them for that, I suppose, considering two thousand blood-thirsty warriors bent on their destruction were massed only a few hundred yards away. I could hear the cries of the rutting Piths better now, echoing through the forest, and could even make out the ancient words coming from a Pathfinder chanting to the Master.
“I’ll meet you in the trees near the center of the camp once everyone is across,” I told Tyris in a low voice. I glanced at the men, who were clearly entranced by the sounds coming from the west. “Keep them quiet and focused, Tyris, and whatever you do, don’t let them get anywhere near the treeline until you have to.”
“Yes, lord,” Tyris said with a grim nod. “No need to worry about that, lord.”
Despite my words of warning to my men, I still didn’t trust them to look upon the humping Piths without reacting with desire. But, I had seen it before and knew what to expect, so I made my way west through the underbrush to see how far along the ceremony was. I reached the edge of the forest and crouched on my hands and knees, pushing my way forward through the leaves and bracken until I could see. Then I gaped in surprise at the sight that awaited me.
I had been involved in two Ascension Ceremonies—one after the escape from Father’s Arse, and the other in Gasterny for a warrior who had been kicked in the head by a horse. But this, this was something beyond even my imagination. Piths of all shapes and sizes lay within the Rutting Rings, their naked skin gleaming red from the flames as the bodies of the dead burned and smoked above them. A purple-robed Pathfinder stood in the center of the circles, chanting with his hands held to the sky while hundreds of naked Piths stood in groups, laughing and talking as they awaited their turn. Many of the circles were filled by a man and woman, but I could also see three or four women together, or sometimes one man with two women or more, as well as groups of men with men. Some of the Piths were lashing each other with horsehair whips while they humped, or using knives to slice open skin, or even dripping hot candle wax on each others’ flesh. I felt my stomach twist with disgust, thankful that my farm boys and men-at-arms wouldn’t have to bear witness to this kind of depravity. I’d thought after having lived with the Piths’ perversions for over a year that I had seen everything there was to see, but now I knew better.
“Amenti,” I spat with distaste as I pulled back from the forest’s edge and turned south, trying to shake away the images of what I had just seen from my head.
I pushed my way through the trees until I thought that I had gone far enough, then made my way to the treeline again, staring through the branches as glowing flames from metal braziers lit up the campgrounds. Several rows of round canvas tents with sharply slanted walls stood in front of me, many of them decked out in brightly colored reds, yellows, blues, or greens. Beyond those tents were open campfires, some with Piths around them drinking and roasting meat over the flames. I kept moving along the treeline as more tents arose, until finally I saw what I wanted. I crouched behind the trunk of a twisted cedar surrounded by low bushes to wait for my men as I studied our target.
I was looking at a large red and yellow pavilion tent, surrounded by four smaller ones that I knew housed the men sworn to protect the chieftain. Lorgen Three-Fingers’ bear banner fluttered from a mast at the top of the bigger tent, with two Amenti guarding the entrance covered by a bright blue canvas overhang supported by poles and strengthened with guy-lines. I dearly hoped the guards meant that Tyden was being held inside. More of the round tents rose to the south, then a vast open field where the Piths had picketed their horses with ropes for the night.
I could see Pith warriors sitting around a fire in the open fifty yards away from Lorgen’s tent. The men were laughing and appeared quite drunk as two of them began to wrestle good-naturedly over a bottle. Somewhere along the camp's western perimeter would be sentries, I knew, but they were invisible to my eyes in the darkness beyond the fires. We would deal with them when the time came. A shadowy trench sat ten feet back from the forest line a hundred yards to my right. I wrinkled my nose at the smell as a Pith with his trousers around his ankles squatted over the hole.
I waited, glancing up occasionally at the faint quarter moon as it slowly traversed the sky, until finally dark forms began to appear through the trees like wraiths behind me. I bird-whistled low and quick, knowing that it would be impossible for my men to see me where I was. I heard an answering whistle, then Tyris pushed his way through the bushes to crouch down beside me.
“Everyone is across, my lord,” the blond archer said.
“Any losses?”
“Just one, lord. One of Lord Fitzery’s archers. He lost his grip and was swept away.”
I nodded, having expected worse. “I’ll handle the two guards at the tent,” I said. I gestured to the drunken Piths around the fire. “As soon as you see me move, you drop them. Keep your eyes open for the sentries.”
“It will be done, lord,” Tyris promised as Berwin crouched down beside us.
“The men are in position, lord,” Berwin said.
I knew there would be Pith youths who were on their first raid tending to the horses, and twenty of my men-at-arms were tasked with eliminating them once the attack started. The other thirty would set up a protective cordon around Tyden once I located and freed him.
“Then let’s do this,” I grunted.
I stood, removing the yellow and red Pith shield from my back. One of my men had lost his shield during the fighting earlier that day, and he’d picked up the garishly painted Pith one to replace it. Now, I hoped the warriors would see me with it and believe that they were looking at a brother. I‘d also braided my beard and hair in the Pith way and rubbed dirt on my face to add to the disguise. I was fairly confident that no one would recognize me from earlier in the day when I had spoken with Lorgen Three-Fingers. I waited until I was sure none of the Piths were looking my way or using the latrine, then I stepped out from the protection of the trees. I started to angle my way toward Lorgen’s tent as I stumbled along, humming to myself.
“Brother!” one of the Piths around the fire cried when he saw me. He stood and made his way unsteadily toward me, pressing a bottle into my hand. “You look thirsty!”
“I’m always thirsty, brother,” I said with a laugh. I raised the bottle to my lips and drank, surprised it contained a thick, honey-sweetened mead. Piths usually preferred ale or wine. I handed the bottle back, swaying as I nodded in gratitude. “My thanks to you, brother.”
The Pith stared at me, his face clouding. “I don’t know you.”
I chuckled. “Maybe not, but your sister and mother know me well. I’m Garles. Surely they have spoken about my prowess in bed?”
The Pith’s eyes narrowed as he debated whether I was serious or not, then his face broke out into a wide grin. “I’ve heard them speak of a Garles. But all they said was he had a shriveled maggot hanging between his legs. Would that be you?”
I laughed and shook my head. “That must be a different Garles, brother. Your mother and sister spread their legs for so many men that they probably got us mixed up.”
The
Pith chuckled. “You bastard,” he said. “I would knock you on your ass for that, except everything you just said is the truth!”
I grinned, glancing casually over my shoulder toward Lorgen’s tent. Then I stiffened, my hand dropping to my sword.
“What is it, brother?”
“That man there,” I growled. “He owes me two fingers of silver.”
The drunken Pith peered at the tent in confusion. “Which one? Dack, or Gafin?”
“Dack,” I grunted as I started to walk away. “And I’m going to collect it.”
I could hear the Pith protesting behind me, but I ignored him as I strode toward the tent.
I was less than twenty feet away when one of the guards spoke. “Turn around, brother,” he said, his voice sounding calm, almost bored. “You don’t want Three-Fingers seeing you so close to his pet king.”
I paused, wobbling as I peered at the man who had spoken. “Is that you, Dack?” I slurred. The man didn’t deny it, and I waved the shield on my arm, stumbling and almost falling. “You bastard! You still owe me for last night’s game.” I moved several steps closer. “You said I couldn’t hit three out of four, you whore’s whelp!” I laughed as I took another step. “And you were right! I didn’t. I hit four out of four, you worthless turd! Remember? Now pay me what you owe me!”
“Brother,” the second guard said, raising a hand to stop me. “You know you can’t be here. Turn around and walk away before you get hurt.”
“You piece of weasel shit!” I spat at Dack. I drew my sword and waved it wildly about me. “You’re trying to rob me!” I could hear the drunk warriors around the fire laughing and encouraging me as I pointed Wolf’s Head at the other man. “And you, Gafin, are no brother to me. You’re in league with a liar and a cheat. I’ll rip both of your foul hearts out from your stinking arseholes, you greedy bastards!”
The Wolf At War Page 18
