Belgarath the Sorcerer (59 page)

‘
Trust me
.'

I went to the door of my room in Aldorigen's palace. ‘I need a large current map of southern Arendia,' I told the sentry patrolling the hallway.

‘At once, Holy Belgarath,' he replied, clashing one steel-gauntleted fist against his breastplate. Mimbrates are so
noisy
!

When he returned with the map, I spread it out on the table and got down to work. The more I studied the map, the more feasible the half-formed plan in my mind began to seem. ‘
Polgara
,' I silently called my daughter, ‘
I need you
.'

It only took her a couple of minutes to reach my door. ‘Yes, father?' she said.

‘I want you to go have a talk with Eldallan,' I instructed. ‘I need a thousand or so of his archers. Beldin's still a week away, so we've got to delay Torak for five days.'

‘I don't think a thousand bowmen could quite manage that, father.'

‘They can if the people they're shooting at are out in the middle of a river trying to rebuild a bridge.' I showed her the map. ‘There are a dozen tributaries feeding down into the River Arend,' I pointed out, ‘and twenty-five years of steady rain has them all running bank-full. I'm going to have Aldorigen send out a force of Mimbrates to destroy the bridges. I want archers on the west banks of those streams. It's very hard to concentrate on building bridges when it's raining arrows. That
might
just delay Torak for the five days we need.'

‘I'd imagine so, yes. You can be a very nasty old man when you set your mind to it.'

‘I try.' I scowled at the map for a moment. ‘You'll have to stay with those archers,' I decided, ‘and I'll be with the Mimbrates. The two forces have to be coordinated, and direct contact between Mimbrates and Asturians isn't a very good idea. Get started, Pol. I'll go explain the plan to Aldorigen.'

It just so happened that the commander of the Asturian archers Pol brought down onto the eastern side of the plain of Mimbre was a fiery young nobleman, the Baron of Wildantor, and the knight who led my Mimbrate bridge-wreckers was the Baron of Vo Mandor. Garion's friend can be very obvious at times. Pol and I were careful to keep Mandorallen's ancestor some distance away from Lelldorin's. I'd devoted a lot of time to those two families, so I didn't want any accidents.

Our strategy wasn't particularly profound. We advanced eastward until we began encountering Kal Torak's scouts. The Mimbrate knights trampled them under, and we pressed on, crossing bridges every few miles. When we began to encounter stiffer resistance, the archers raked the opposing force with arrows, and
then
the Mimbrates charged.

It doesn't sound very complicated, but it kept Pol and me hopping. I had to go through the ranks of the Mimbrate knights each and every time, pointing out the fact that they were supposed to charge the Angaraks rather than the Asturians. At the same time, Pol had to remind the archers that they weren't supposed to shoot at Mimbrates.

We eventually reached a wide tributary that had several thousand Murgos camped on its east bank. I called Pol and the two barons in to discuss strategy. ‘This is about as far east as we need to go,' I told them. ‘Let's wreck the west end of the bridges crossing this river and then pull back to the next stream.'

‘I will delay their pursuit,' Wildantor declared.

‘No, actually you
won't
,' I told him firmly. ‘You're not
going to start doing that until we've crossed two more rivers.'

‘I'm sworn to delay them!' The young baron had red hair - and all that implies.

‘Listen carefully, Lord Baron,' I told him. ‘I don't want the Murgos to even know that you're here for a while yet. Mandor's Mimbrates will destroy the bridges here; then we'll pull back to the next river, and he'll do it again. Then we'll do it for the third time on the next river to the west. The Murgos will have developed a pattern by then. They'll rush forward in a mass carrying timbers with them to repair the bridges. When they come to the fourth river, you'll have
lots
of targets out there in the water. I want the surface of that river absolutely covered with the floating bodies of dead Murgos. After that, they're going to be
very
cautious when they come to a river.'

He frowned and thought it over. It took him a while. Then his eyes brightened, and his face broke into a broad grin. ‘I
like
it!' he exclaimed.

‘Though it seemeth me a most unnatural thing, my Lord of Wildantor,' the Baron of Vo Mandor said, ‘I find myself growing fond of thee. Thine exuberance is contagious, methinks.'

‘You're not so bad yourself, Mandor,' the Asturian admitted. ‘Why don't we agree not to kill each other when this is over?'

‘Doth that not violate the precepts of our religion?' Mandor said it with an absolutely straight face, and that sent Wildantor off into gales of laughter.

 

It wasn't much, but it was a start in the right direction.

 

My rudimentary plan worked surprisingly well - although, given the limited mentality of Murgos, I don't know why I was surprised. Lulled into a sense of security by the lack of any opposition to their bridge-building operations, the Murgos, as I'd predicted, rushed whole regiments carrying
timbers to the east bank of the fourth river. Wildantor held his archers in check until the Murgos had their spans reaching out to the middle of the river. Then he sounded his horn as a signal to his hidden archers.

The Asturian arrows arched overhead like a slithering rainbow, and the Murgos quite literally melted off their half-completed bridges to fill the river with floating corpses.

Then Wildantor waited, exercising remarkable self-control for an Arend.

The Murgos left on the banks crept fearfully forward, their shields held protectively over their heads.

Still Wildantor waited.

Eventually, the Murgos decided that the archers had withdrawn, and they resumed their construction.

Then the second rainbow of arrows swept the bridges clean again.

The surviving Murgos gathered on the east bank, screaming curses at the still unseen archers.

It was at that point that the Baron of Wildantor gave the shrieking Murgos a pointed demonstration of the incredible range of the Asturian longbow. His third rainbow piled heaps of dead Murgos along the east bank of a river that was fully two hundred paces wide.

‘Splendid!' Mandor cheered. ‘Capital!'

Then we withdrew again, retreating back to the fifth tributary of the River Arend. Wildantor and his archers brought up the rear, pausing every few hundred paces to rake the pursuing Murgos with yard-long arrows, thus giving the Mimbrate knights time to tear down all the bridges except one. Then the Asturians sprayed the Murgos with a prolonged arrow-storm, closed up shop, and retreated across the lone remaining bridge.

As you might expect, Wildantor stood his ground at the east end of the bridge until all his men were safely across. His hands seemed almost to blur as he loosed arrow after arrow into the faces of the advancing Murgos. Then he ran
out of arrows, turned, and started across the bridge.

The Mimbrate knights had weakened the bridge timbers to the point that a good healthy sneeze would have made the whole thing collapse, and somewhere up in the mountains to the northeast, Garion's friend sneezed. A cloudburst, one of the last gasps of that quarter-century-long rainstorm, had filled every ravine and gully with rushing water; it all came down that tributary in a ten-foot wave.

The bridge dissolved under Wildantor's feet.

I rushed to the west bank, drawing in my Will.

‘Stay out of it, father!' Pol snapped at me.

‘But -'

‘It's already been taken care of.'

The Baron of Vo Mandor set his spurs to his horse's flanks, galloped down to the next bridge, and rolled out of his saddle with a vast clanking of armor. He ran out on the shattered remnants of that wrecked bridge to its very teetering end, knelt and stretched his arm down toward the seething water. ‘
Wildantor
!' he bellowed in a voice they probably heard in Vo Mimbre, ‘
to me
!'

The red-haired Asturian was being carried down-river at a ferocious speed, but he angled across the current and reached up his arm as he was swept past the splintered end of the ruined bridge. The hands of the two men came together with a resounding smack, and the Mimbrate leaned back, literally jerking the Asturian up out of the current. Then, he caught hold of the back of Wildantor's tunic and swung him up to safety.

Wildantor lay face down for a minute or two, spluttering, coughing and spitting out a quart or so of muddy water. Then he raised his face with a broad grin. ‘You've got a nice firm grip there, Mandor,' he said. ‘You could probably break rocks without using a hammer.' He sat up, massaged the hand the Mimbrate had nearly crushed, and looked around. ‘I guess I'd better get my bowmen in place,' he said as if nothing had happened. ‘We'll hold off the Murgos
while you and your knights go tear down some more bridges.'

‘Right,' Mandor said. He rose, clanking, pulled Wildantor to his feet, and went back to his horse.

Neither of them ever spoke of the incident again, but the sound of that resounding smack when their hands met still seemed to echo in my mind, and it somehow gave me hope for the future.

We continued our slow withdrawal, but after that fifth tributary, where Wildantor's archers took a dreadful toll on the advancing Murgos, King Ad Rak Cthoros of Murgodom found something very pressing for his soldiers to do elsewhere, and the Thulls were given the chore of rebuilding bridges. Somehow it always seems to work out that way in Angarak society.

 

All right, our little exercise wasn't really very creative, but it slowed Kal Torak's advance for the requisite five days. Always look for the simplest solution to any problem. It's when you start getting exotic that things begin to go wrong.

 

The clouds began to blow off during the afternoon of the day when the Thulls finished repairing the bridges crossing the last remaining tributary of the River Arend. Pol and I decided that there wasn't much point in wasting lives trying to hold back the advancing Angaraks any more. We'd achieved the delay we needed, so we took our forces inside the walls of Vo Mimbre and closed the gates behind us.

The sunset that evening was glorious, and it promised that we'd have clear, sunny skies for the first day of the Battle of Vo Mimbre.

The southern wall of the city of Vo Mimbre rises out of the River Arend, and the seemingly endless rains of the past quarter-century had filled the river to overflowing. That made an attack from that quarter highly unlikely, so we only had three sides to defend.

I'm sure it wasn't really necessary, but I went along the top of the golden walls as dusk gathered over Vo Mimbre to check the defenses before I settled in for the night. I'm sure the Mimbrates knew what they were doing, but it never hurts to make sure, particularly when you're dealing with Arends. I found my two barons, Mandor and Wildantor, standing on the parapet over the main gate looking out gravely at the gradually darkening plain. ‘Is One-eye moving at all?' I asked them.

‘A few advance parties is all,' the green-tuniced Wildantor replied. ‘He'll probably wait until after dark to take up his positions. If we get a decent moon tonight, my archers can make camping right under our wall very expensive for him.'

‘Save your arrows,' I told him. ‘There'll be plenty of targets when the sun comes up.'

‘We've got lots of arrows, Belgarath. Mandor here's got Mimbrate fletchers turning them out for us by the barrel-full.'

‘I did note that Asturian arrows are much longer than ours by reason of the extreme length of the Asturian bow,' Mandor noted, shifting his armor. ‘Since we are temporarily allies, it seemèd me provident to give our friends an ample supply.'

‘Isn't he a
nice
boy?' Wildantor said outrageously, flashing his friend that infectious grin of his.

Mandor laughed. The impudent young red-head seemed to charm him to the point that he was willing to lay aside two eons of hereditary enmity. I approved of that. Their friendship was a good sign of things to come. ‘You gentlemen might as well get some sleep,' I told them. ‘Tomorrow's going to be a long day.' Then I left them and went on down to my room.

Polgara was sitting by the fire waiting for me. ‘Where have you been?' she asked me.

I shrugged. ‘Having a look at the defenses.'

‘The Mimbrates have been preparing for a siege of this city for over two thousand years, father. They know what they're doing. I'm going to be gone for a while.'

‘Be careful out there.'

‘Of course. Are you going to bed?'

‘Why bother? I'm not going to be able to sleep. I want to talk with Beldin anyway. Don't be out all night.' How many fathers have ever said that?

She nodded a bit distantly, and then she left.

‘
Beldin
,' I sent out the thought, ‘
are you making any progress?
'

‘
We're at Tol Honeth
,' he replied. ‘
We'll start down-river in the morning. How are things going there?
'

‘
We managed to delay Torak. We're inside the city now. I expect he'll try to pay us a call first thing in the morning. Are you going to make it in time?
'

‘
It shouldn't be any problem. It's only forty leagues down the river and another forty to Tol Vordue. We should reach the mouth of the River Arend sometime day after tomorrow
.'

‘
You won't be able to count on a following wind when you start up the river, you know
.'

‘
Then we'll row. That's why oars were invented. Do me a favor and keep Torak out of Vo Mimbre. We're working on a tight schedule, so I won't have time to take the city back from him. Don't pester me any more, Belgarath. I'm busy
.'

I grunted and wandered down the hall to talk with the twins. I didn't really have anything important to say to them, but I was feeling edgy, and I needed some company.

It was well past midnight when Polgara returned. ‘He's bringing up his siege-engines,' she informed us.

‘Do you think the walls'll hold?' Beltira asked me.

‘Probably,' I replied. ‘Vo Mimbre's not
quite
as impregnable as the Algarian Stronghold, but it comes fairly close. I think it's secure - as long as Torak doesn't start getting exotic. He could knock down a mountain if he really wanted to.'

‘That's forbidden,' Belkira assured me. ‘The Necessities have agreed on that point.'

‘I think we're relatively safe on that score, father,' Pol said. ‘If Torak were going to knock down mountains, he'd have knocked down the Stronghold. He hasn't once been out of that iron pavilion since his army crossed the land-bridge.'

‘How do you know that?' I asked her.

‘He and Zedar were talking about it this evening, and I was eavesdropping.' She smiled faintly. ‘I definitely wouldn't want to be in Urvon's shoes - or Ctuchik's. Torak's really put out with both of them. He was
really
counting on Urvon's second army. Zedar seems fairly smug, though. Now that Urvon and Ctuchik are in disfavor, he's the cock of the walk.' She paused reflectively. ‘I think we'll have to keep an eye on Zedar, father.
Torak
might abide by the prohibition, but Zedar might
not
. If things start going badly, Zedar's probably going to break a few rules.'

‘My brother and I'll keep an eye on him,' Beltira promised.

‘What else were the two of them talking about?' I asked Pol.

‘Their instructions, for the most part,' she replied. ‘Evidently the Ashabine Oracles gave Torak far more in the way of details than the Mrin Codex gives us. He knows that Eldrig's bringing the legions, for example, and he
knows that there's not a great deal he can do about it. He also knows that the EVENT's going to take place in three days. He's known about that for a long time now. He doesn't really want to meet Brand. Apparently there's some bad news for him in the Oracles. When he came across the land-bridge and gathered up the western Angaraks, there was no way we could have matched his numbers, but his campaigns in Drasnia and Algaria and his trek across Ulgoland have cost him at least half his army. I guess Zedar went out and counted noses. If the legions get here in time, the numbers are going to be fairly even. At that point, Torak won't have any choice but to accept Brand's challenge.'

‘Well, now,' I said, ‘isn't
that
interesting?'

‘Don't start gloating, father. Torak's ordered Zedar to throw everything they've got at Vo Mimbre here. If they can take the city, the advantage swings back his way, and he'll be able to ignore Brand's challenge. Once we go past that third day, we go into an entirely different EVENT. Torak knows what it is, but we don't. He seemed a bit smug about it, though.'

‘That suggests that he'll win if this goes into the fourth day,' Belkira said.

‘And the corollary to that is that
we'll
win if the EVENT takes place on the third day,' Beltira added. He frowned. ‘Did they talk at all about trying to delay the war-boats on their way upriver, Pol?'

‘Zedar suggested it,' she replied, ‘but Torak said no. He's not going to split his forces. He wants Vo Mimbre, and that's going to take every man he's got. How long is it until morning?'

‘Three or four hours,' I told her.

‘I'll have time for a bath, then. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll go see to that.'

The night seemed to drag on forever. I wound up prowling the top of the walls and staring out into the darkness. The stars overhead were very bright, but there was
no moon. Poets rhapsodize about starlight, but you really can't see very much by it.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, a faint stain of light touched the eastern horizon. It grew and gradually began to wash out the stars with its steely luminescence. At first, all I could see on the plain before the walls of Vo Mimbre were dark masses. Far out on the rim of Kal Torak's army, twinkling watch-fires glowed like fireflies. Torak's generals had just come through Ulgoland, and the cat-eyed Ulgos made them nervous.

I joined Mandor and Wildantor on the wall above the massive main gate, and we waited.

‘It looks like we'll have good weather,' Wildantor observed in that quiet voice men use when it's very early in the day.

‘If it doth not rain,' Mandor added. I don't think he was trying to be funny, but his remark set Wildantor to laughing.

The dawn light grew gradually stronger, and details began to emerge. The siege-engines Pol had mentioned looked very much like large, spindly black insects with slender limbs; long, arched-back necks; and small, bucket-shaped heads. They encircled the city about a hundred and fifty paces out from the walls, and the dark bulky forms of the Thulls who manned them swarmed around them like clusters of fleas.

Wildantor chuckled.

‘Something funny?' I asked him.

‘I don't think the Thulls are going to laugh very much,' he replied. ‘They've set up their siege-engines within bow-shot of the walls. Thulls seem to have trouble learning from experience, don't they? When we were coming down the valley, we were picking them off at half-again that range. Give the word, Belgarath, and I'll have my archers educate them some more.'

I considered it. ‘Let's hold off on that,' I decided. ‘When they start shooting rocks at us, their assault troops are likely
to start massing up behind the engines. That's going to impede escape-routes for the Thulls manning the engines and create a great deal of confusion.'

The sky gradually began to take on some color. It was blue off to the east above the mountains of Ulgoland now.

‘Why do they wait?' Mandor asked.

‘Time's a part of the EVENT, my friend,' I explained. ‘Torak's waiting for a specific moment to begin. The first rock he throws at us starts the battle, and if he's off by so much as a second, he'll lose.'

‘Methinks he will lose anyway,' Mandor said.

‘We can hope, I guess.'

Then, just as the upper rim of the sun rose above the mountains of Holy Ulgo, a deep-toned horn sounded from the black iron pavilion that headquartered Kal Torak of Mallorea, the siege-engines all lashed forward like striking snakes, and a veritable cloud of large rocks arched upward to crash against the golden walls of Vo Mimbre.

The battle had begun.

There was a lot of confusion, of course - people shouting and cursing and running for cover. A fair number of the rocks those engines were hurling at us
did
fall inside the city, but that was only incidental, and probably the result of poor aiming. Torak wasn't trying to kill people with his engines; he was trying to batter down the walls. After the first few volleys, his engineers adjusted their aim, and the whole business settled down to the clash and rattle of large rocks striking the outer walls of the city. It was noisy, but it didn't really accomplish much. The walls held.

As I'd anticipated, masses of assault troops began to move battering-rams, assault towers and scaling-ladders up into position just behind the siege-engines in preparation for an attack on the walls. It was about mid-morning, after four hours or so of steady pounding, when I turned to Wildantor. ‘I think this might be a good time for you to give our Thullish friends out there some idea of the range of your longbows,' I suggested.

‘I thought you'd never ask.'

The fact that the Asturian archers were shooting from the top of a very high wall added more distance to the range of their bows, and the effect of their arrows devastated the Thulls manning the siege-engines. The bombardment stopped immediately. The air between the engines and the walls had been littered with rocks coming our way all morning. Now it was filled with a glowing arch of slender arrows all going the other way. The survivors of those engine crews turned and fled back into the very teeth of the assault forces massed behind them with the arrows relentlessly following them. Kal Torak's army flinched in on itself and pulled back about a quarter of a mile. The insect-like siege-engines stood silent and unmoving with windrows of dead Thulls heaped around them.

‘What thinkest thou will be their next move, Ancient One?' Mandor asked me.

‘They're going to have to retrieve those engines,' I speculated. ‘They're not going to be able to tear down these walls with their bare hands.'

‘My very thought,' he agreed. Then he raised that horn he always carried at his side and blew a strident note on it.

The main gate crashed open and a couple thousand armored Mimbrate knights mounted on huge horses charged out.

‘What are you
doing?
' I almost screamed at him.

‘The Angaraks have withdrawn in fearful confusion, Holy One,' he explained in an infuriatingly reasonable tone of voice. ‘Their engines stand unmanned and unguarded. I find those engines irritating. 'Twere best, methinks, to seize this opportunity to destroy them.'

I couldn't fault his reasoning, but I
wished
that he'd told me about his plan before he'd opened those gates. I was getting older, and my veins weren't as good as they used to be.

The Mimbrate knights were armed with battle-axes, and
they swept out of that gate like two great scythes, one cutting to the left and one to the right. They didn't
exactly
reduce the Angarak siege-engines to kindling wood, but they came close, then they circled back, pounded, cheering, along the foot of the walls, re-entered the city, and slammed the gates behind them.

‘Nice job, Mandor,' Wildantor complimented his friend.

Mandor smiled with becoming modesty.

Kal Torak, however, probably
wasn't
smiling. His iron pavilion was at least a mile out on the plain, but the sound of his raging came to us quite clearly.

‘What'll he do now?' Wildantor asked me.

‘Something foolish, most likely,' I replied. ‘Kal Torak doesn't think very clearly when he's angry.'

With the loss of his siege-engines, Torak's chances of broaching the walls of Vo Mimbre were reduced to almost zero. He really didn't have any choice but to try a frontal assault on the main gates at that point. The battering-rams crept forward, and the tall, swaying assault towers came lumbering toward us. Hordes of Murgos, Nadraks, and Malloreans ran at the walls carrying scaling-ladders. The Asturian archers picked them off in droves as they rushed forward, and when they got closer, Mimbrates joined in with their shorter-limbed bows. When the Angaraks reached the walls, we dropped boulders on them and poured boiling pitch on their heads. Fire arrows into the pitch added confusion and smoke.