A Man Rides Through (96 page)

Terisa didn't believe it. King Joyse's men were vulnerable to toys which threw rocks.

King Joyse obviously didn't believe it, either. After he had set his standard and cast his defiance, he called together Castellan Norge, his captains, and Prince Kragen, as well as all the Masters who weren't already deployed. Terisa, Geraden, and the lady Elega joined him in time to hear him say, "We are readier to meet the High King than he thinks—thanks to the forces of the Alend Monarch, and to the dedication of the Congery. Nevertheless he has sprung his trap well. We must find a reply to those catapults. Men who must dodge danger from the sky will not fight well on the ground."

"The best thing," Norge observed, "would be to circle around behind them. But we can't do that. I'm willing to wager Festten has the defile sealed."

"Find out," commanded the King.

With a nod, Castellan Norge sent one of his captains to lead a scouting party.

"Do you have any ideas, my lord Prince?" King Joyse asked.

Prince Kragen squinted up at the walls. Slowly, he said, "There are regions of Alend—especially among the Lieges—where the villagers cannot get to market without scaling cliffs as bad as these. I have men who are good with ropes and rock."

"My lord Prince," one of the captains objected, "Cadwal isn't going to leave those catapults unprotected. Anybody who climbs those walls is going to be defenseless on the way up—and outnumbered at the top."

"We must make the attempt in any case," King Joyse pronounced. He wasn't looking at Prince Kragen or the captains. He was looking at the gathered Masters. "Any harm we can do to those catapults will be worth the cost."

Several of the Masters shuffled their feet. Some of them studied the ground. In their robes and chasubles, they seemed decidedly unadventuresome. Without the mediator to lead—or goad—them, they had the air of men who would have preferred to be at home doing research.

After a moment, however, Master Vixix cleared his throat. "My lord King." He rubbed a nervous hand through his thatch of hair. "I have a small glass I shaped as an Apt. It shows little more than a puddle of dank water. But when I translated a bit of that water— purely as an experiment—it ate a hole in my worktable.

"I carry it to defend myself."

King Joyse nodded sharply. "Very good, Master Vixix. Can you climb?"

The Master shrugged, showing as much discomfort as his bland features allowed. "I fear not, my lord King."

"He can be carried," said Prince Kragen.

Vixix faltered for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. After all, he was old enough to remember Joyse's years of glory.

"I will do whatever I can, my lord King."

"Very good," King Joyse repeated, and turned his attention to the other Masters.

Eventually, three more Imagers admitted that they carried personal mirrors which might be useful against a catapult—or a catapult's defenders. With Master Vixix, they were hustled away by one of Prince Kragen's captains.

Geraden met Terisa's gaze and shrugged ruefully.

Elega studied the lower end of the valley as if she expected some kind of alteration to take place when the sun rose high enough, changing the churned and clotted snow until it became a setting for wonders.

The mass of the Cadwal army below the valley was plainly visible now: sunlight blocked from the valley itself caught the standards and armor of High King Festten's forces and made them shine. Twenty thousand men? Terisa wondered. They looked like more than that— more than enough to crush King Joyse's mere twelve thousand. Of course, the High King had had plenty of time to bring up reinforcements during the siege of Orison—

When were the catapults going to start?

Was she going to spend the entire battle trying to run away from falling rocks?

Abruptly, the wardrums ceased.

The absence of the beat snatched at everyone's attention.

After the silence came the hoarse, bleating call of a sackbut.

A rider left the massed front of the Cadwal army. His armor burned with sunlight as if he were clad in gold.

At the end of his spear, he displayed a flag of truce.

"An emissary," observed King Joyse. "The High King wants to speak to us. He means to offer us an opportunity to surrender."

Growling through his moustache, Prince Kragen asked, "Why does he bother?"

"He hopes to see some evidence that we are frightened."

"Will you meet him?"

"We
will, my lord Prince," the King said; his tone didn't encourage discussion. "It may surprise you to hear this, but in all my years of warfare and contest, I have never had a chance to laugh in High King Festten's face."

Elega's eyes shone at her father as if she were delighted.

The Cadwal emissary was stopped and held at Mordant's front line, and a horseman brought to the King the message that High King Festten did indeed wish to speak to him and Prince Kragen. In reply, Joyse sent back word that he and Kragen were willing to meet Festten midway between the two armies as soon as the High King wished.

Mounted on sturdy chargers which had been trained for combat, King Joyse and Prince Kragen rode down the valley, accompanied only by Castellan Norge. Before them stretched the Cadwal army, as unbreachable as a cliff. And above them on the ramparts, the catapults watched and waited, apparently oblivious to several hundred men with ropes and four Masters who were already attempting to scale the walls at a number of different points.

At the front of their army, the King and the Prince waited until they saw High King Festten emerge from his own forces.

"Watch for treachery," Norge warned, stifling a yawn.

"Treachery?" King Joyse chuckled grimly. "The High King only betrays those he fears. At the moment, I feel quite certain he does not fear us. That is his weakness." At once, he amended,
"One
of his weaknesses."

"My lord King," Prince Kragen said like a salute, "I admire your confidence."

King Joyse gave his ally a fierce grin. "You justify it, my lord Prince."

When they saw the High King leave his guards behind, they rode out alone to meet him, crossing clean, white snow unmarked except by the emissary's passage.

At the agreed spot—a long bowshot from both armies—the three men came together. No one offered to dismount; and High King Festten kept some distance between himself and his enemies, as if he expected them to do something desperate. The stamping of the horses raised gusts of dry snow around the riders.

He was a short man—too short, really, for all the power he wielded. He compensated for his shortness, however, by wearing a golden helmet topped with a long spike and an elaborate plume. Between the cheekplates of his helmet, his eyes were stark, as if he had outlined them with kohl to give them force. His beard as it curled against the gold breastplate of his armor was dark and lustrous, probably dyed; only the lines and wrinkles hidden under his whiskers betrayed that he was older than King Joyse—and dedicated to his pleasures.

Ignoring Prince Kragen, he said, "Well, Joyse," as if he and the King were intimately familiar, despite the fact that they had never met, "after years of success you have come to a sorry end."

"Do you think so?" King Joyse smiled a smile which held no innocence at all. "
I
am rather pleased with myself. At last I have a chance to deal with all my enemies at once. It was only with the greatest reluctance that I allowed the Alend Contender to persuade me to offer you this one last chance for surrender."

If this remark surprised Prince Kragen, he didn't show it.

"'Surrender'?" spat the High King. Clearly, King Joyse had caught him off balance. "You wish
me
to surrender?"

King Joyse shrugged as if only his sense of humor kept him from losing interest in the conversation altogether. "Why not? You cannot win this war. The best you can hope for is the chance to save your life by throwing yourself on my mercy.

"You may be unaware," he went on before High King Festten could sputter a retort, "that your Master Eremis has offered me an alliance against you—which I have accepted."

"That is a lie!" the High King shouted, momentarily apoplectic. Quickly, however, he regained control of himself. In a colder voice, a tone unacquainted with pity, he said, "Master Eremis is mendacious, of course. But I have not trusted him blindly. Gart is with him. And he knows that I have commanded Gart to gut him at the slightest hint of treachery. Also he is aware that I no longer need him. I can
crush
you now"—he knotted his fist in the air—"without Imagery.

"You have no alliance with him. And the strength of Alend is as paltry as your own.

"No, Joyse, it is
you
who must surrender. And you must surrender
now,
or the chance will be lost. You have thwarted me for years, denied me for decades. The rule which is my
right
you have cut apart and dissipated and limited. You have opposed my will, killed my strength—
you have denied me Imagery.
There is no day of my life which you have not made less. If you do not capitulate to me
here,
I will exterminate you and all you have ever loved as easily as I exterminate
rats!"

At that, King Joyse looked over at Prince Kragen. Mock-seriously, he said, "Come, my lord Prince. This discussion is pointless. The High King insists on jesting with us. In all the world, no one has ever succeeded at exterminating rats."

Casually, he turned his horse away.

His dark eyes gleaming, Prince Kragen did the same.

Together they rode back to their troops. The High King was left so furious that he seemed to froth at the mouth.

That was Joyse's way of laughing in his face.

Behind them, the sackbut blared again—and again. With a palpable thud, the wardrums resumed their labor.

Around the valley rim, all the catapults began to cock their arms.

"Now," said King Joyse to the Prince and Castellan Norge, "If Master Barsonage is ready, we are ready. I do not doubt that High King Festten and Master Eremis have a number of unpleasant surprises in store for us. For the present, however, we will stand or fall according to our success against those engines."

Prince Kragen considered what could be seen of the men climbing the walls. Quite a few of them were out of sight, concealed among the complex rocks. That was a good sign: perhaps the men would also be hard to spot from above.

Grimly, the Prince reported, "Each catapult will be able to throw at least twice before it is threatened."

King Joyse nodded. "Castellan, only the front lines are required for battle—say three thousand men. Unless Master Barsonage miscalculates. Instruct the rest of the men to watch the catapults and protect themselves as best they can.

"Oh, and ready the physicians," he added before Norge could ride off. "Provide horses for litters. Tell them we will use Esmerel as our infirmary. It is unpleasant, but we have no other shelter to offer the injured."

"Yes, my lord King." Castellan Norge spurred away.

The King and Prince Kragen returned to the pennon, where Terisa, Geraden, and Elega waited, fretting.

The massed front of the Cadwal army was in motion, marching to the insistence of the wardrums.

As that army approached the foot of the valley, it took on its attacking formation: a core of horsemen like the shaft and point of an arrow; flanks of foot soldiers on both sides to provide the cutting edges of the arrowhead.

The pulse of the drums quickened slightly. The army increased its pace. All the catapults were cocked; now they took on their loads. Apparently, High King Festten wanted to time his charge so that it coincided with the first throw of the engines.