Knights Magi (Book 4) (70 page)

Rondal pointed his mageblade at the goblins lined up before him and threw a solid sheet of painful magical force from it.  The invisible spell lanced out from his sword point and suddenly the bulk of them began to stumble and scream. 

While that was gratifying, it did little real damage.  The damage was being done by thirst-crazed prisoners who were freeing and arming themselves – and throwing themselves at their captors with vengeance in their eyes.  Writhing in pain was a poor defensive posture, even against such poorly armed foes, and the goblins died quickly.

Rondal continued to walk steadily through the tumult, his mageblade in one hand, a warwand in the other, doing what he could to help the prisoner uprising.  A blast from a wand or a timely slice with his blade settled many contests, and the grateful victors were quick to distribute looted weapons to other prisoners.   Twice he fought in protracted duels, once with a grim-faced human collaborator with an axe and once with a snarling goblin warrior wielding a short stabbing sword with impressive ferocity.  In each case he used an unexpected blast from wand or blade to end the contest.

Just as he was wondering where Tyndal was, he heard a bravado-filled cry, and watched in horror as his fellow apprentice repelled down the tower he’d been safely in and leap onto the back of the siege beast.  The great worm did not notice him in the slightest, thanks to the distraction of a riot in front of it.  The animal was dull-witted, either naturally or from domesticated service, but it wasn’t unresponsive.  Tyndal fell onto the upper torso of the thing, ahead of the empty wooden castle saddled on its back, and began firing at the goblin attendants desperately attempting to keep the creature from bolting.

Then another knot of goblins charged, attempting to restore order with spear hafts and clubs against unarmed, starving, and weakened prisoners.  Rondal gave them a fully-armed and armored, well-fed and well-rested knight mage to contend with instead. 

When the last body slipped from his blade he looked up to see that his foes were getting themselves better organized.  The thin, reedy horns the gurvani favored bellowed, summoning more reinforcements, and someone was gathering a force of them in front of the great hall.  There were a score there already, and more were fleeing from individual engagements with the enraged prisoners to find safety in regrouping.

Tyndal, quit messing around!
Rondal sent through their link. 
They’re going to have those fell hounds in here shortly, and then they’ll all be torn to shreds!

What do you think I’m trying to do!  Do they still hold the gatehouse?

Rondal spared a quick glance.  The nearest organized – if that term could be used – band of prisoners was still hundreds of feet from the gatehouse, and it seemed to be held in force.  The portcullis was down, and the drawbridge seemed to be up.  Rondal could see dozens of little black furry figures inside, frantically trying to secure their station.

They still hold it,
Rondal agreed
.  It’s going to take a lot to get through that, too,
he added. 
And we have fresh resistance pouring out from the great hall.

Lovely.  Well, I have an idea.

I’m terrified
, Rondal said, parrying a quick blow that would have taken his knee, and then slicing neatly and efficiently through the goblin’s neck. 
What is it?

It occurs to me,
Tyndal began, quoting a signature Sire Cei line,
that we happen to have a fully-operational siege beast here.

Which you cannot control,
Rondal pointed out.

I won’t need to,
Tyndal explained.  Rondal watched as he ran up the beasts neck toward its head, where a goblin drover had managed to find a perch.  A flash of light sent the goblin flying to his doom. 
I just need to get it moving.  If it can break into a castle, it can break out of one. 

Rondal was about to object to the possibility of such mass carnage when he heard the baying of those foul hounds from behind the great hall. 
Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick!  Or we’re looking at a really furry bloodbath!

As you wish, Commander,
Tyndal said.  Rondal could almost hear the cocky grin.  A few moments later there was a pop, another flash . . . and a monstrous bellow that stopped the entire battle for a brief moment of terror.

I think I pissed it off,
Tyndal said quietly in Rondal’s mind.

You tend to have that affect,
agreed Rondal. 
Is it moving?

Before Tyndal could answer, the ground shook, and then shook again.  The great beast strained against the chains that held it . . . until Tyndal helpfully blasted them.  Then the huge, lizard-like animal began pushing toward the front entrance of the castle, anxious to escape whatever it was that irritated it.

It’s moving,
Tyndal agreed. 
Headed your way.  I’d move, if I were you.

“EVERYONE CLEAR THE WAY!” Rondal bellowed in his best battlefield voice. 
“NOW!”

Only a few of the prisoners heeded his warning, at first, but the moment the siege beast’s gigantic head loomed overhead, everyone – goblin and human alike – fled its path.  Not all were lucky enough to do so, and the hideous monster left red-smeared footprints all the way across the courtyard.

“Follow the beast out!” commanded Rondal.  He looked over to the battered and bloodied knight, Sir Darduin, who had lost his axe but kept his shield and had liberated a cavalry sword from somewhere.  “Sire!  You are the rear-guard!  Get your men to keep the goblins from hindering our escape!”  The knight wordlessly saluted to acknowledge the order and turned to give some of his own.

That was about the best Rondal could do, as he moved himself out of the way of the huge creature.  Tyndal was still riding atop it, grinning maniacally and successfully keeping the goblin drovers from recapturing the worm.  He waved from its back as he passed by Rondal, as if he was in a parade.

You had better get off that thing before it hits the gate,
warned Rondal as he directed more prisoners to follow the beast, not flee from it.

I want to see what it does,
protested Tyndal.

We know what it does,
countered Rondal. 
It smashes, crashes, and destroys.  Or were you planning on seducing it, too?  Tired of goats already?

All right, all right,
grumbled the other wizard. 
I’m off of it now, about ten yards from the gatehouse on the left.  Join me?

I’ll be there momentarily,
he said, and turned back to Sir Darduin.  “Lead them out through the breach,” he instructed.  “Keep the goblins off of them until they’re clear of the gate, then run for your lives south.”

“Thank you for the opportunity to avenge my kin,” the knight said, gravely.  “I shall never forget you, Sir Rondal!”

“Duin’s blessing, Sire Darduin!” Rondal said, clasping the older man’s shoulder before he moved on.

Tyndal was standing next to the gate as the beast demolished it in a blind, animalistic rage.

“I’ve been irritating its hindquarters with magic,” he explained.  “I kept thinking about that poop, and what would irritate a three-feet wide butt-hole.  I figured that the tender parts wouldn’t be armored, and I was right.  I gave it a nasty case of magically stinging rectum.”

“Well, if anyone knows how to be a pain in the ass, it’s you,” Rondal agreed.  Tyndal ignored the jibe.  “I think we’ve done everything we can here.  We should be going.”  The siege worm lunged aggressively against the gatehouse one final time, toppling the masonry and creating a breach large enough to escape through.  A flood of terrified prisoners trailed behind, some stopping to finish off the gurvani trapped by the rubble.

“As soon as the gate is clear,” Tyndal agreed.  “You lost your shield,” he observed.

“Someone else needed it more than I,” dismissed Rondal.  “And we’ll travel faster without it.  We bolt for the horses, then make our way back to Maramor.  We need to make a full report of this to Commander Terleman.”

“This might help,” Tyndal said, hefting an odd-looking contraption of beads, ropes, leather and bone.  “This was the magical device controlling the beast, I think.  We can learn a lot from it.”

“That . . . was actually a really good idea,” Rondal admitted, as he looked around.  The baying of the hounds was coming closer.  “Stow it away, and help me think of a way to keep these curs off of our people.”

Tyndal nodded, and obediently did as he asked.  Rondal was amazed.  No argument, no banter, no discourse on his shortcomings . . . Tyndal just did as he was ordered.

Rondal struggled with that a moment.  A year ago, that just would not have happened.  He couldn’t have said the sky was blue without getting an argument.  Now . . . now he wasn’t sure if the change had been wrought in Tyndal, or in himself, but he was sure he liked it.  Even if he was uncomfortable with it.

They elected to do a quick field of sigils, a variation of a simple spellmonger’s enchantment to keep stray dogs out of chicken coops.  With the power of two witchstones at their command the effect was far more severe.  When the squadron of gurvani cavalry loped around the corner of the hall, they ran into the field and their canine mounts immediately began whining and howling, not chasing their prey with eagerness.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tyndal said.  “It won’t take long for them to find a way around that.”

They climbed through the breach, dispensing advice and encouragement to the half-starved prisoners until they had cleared the debris-filled moat in the wake of the beast.  The worm was plodding across country now, moving slowly but irresistibly east across the barren fields, trailing a few screaming gurvani drovers who were desperately trying to bring their charge under control.

The two young knights made good time, once they reached the road.  Most of the prisoners had fanned out and taken off cross-country, now, so there was little to slow them down.  Using warmagic to improve their endurance and speed, they had made it back to where their horses were hidden without incident . . . when the baying of the fell hounds sounded again.

“Looks like the bad puppy spell wasn’t that effective,” Tyndal said, discouraged, as he mounted.

“We’re here, aren’t we?  And if it’s any consolation, I doubt they pooped in the area of effect.  The spell was a complete success.  It was just not the best spell for the job.”

“Let’s not dally with experimentation today, all right?” asked Tyndal as they spurred their horses.  “I used the last charge on my last wand attacking that beast, and I lost Slasher.”

“Ouch!” Rondal winced.  “That’s not going to please Master Min!”

“Either would my corpse, I’m guessing.  I picked up a sword on the way out from one of the collaborators,” he said, gesturing to the plain-hilted blade at his side.   They wasted no more words as they sped toward where their friends were hidden, waiting for them.

Unfortunately, before they could arrive there the first of their pursuers were after them.  The large dogs that made up the gurvani cavalry were fast, and they moved in packs through terrain a horse would avoid.  Each one had a small, vicious-looking goblin with a slashing spear or sword on its back, as well as being well armed with tooth and claw.  As they raced with his courser he spared them quick glances to size up his foes.

Tyndal noted with professional interest that they had a feral cunning in their small black eyes, unlike any dog or wolf he’d had ever seen.  Their fur was thick and matted, black and gray and brown, and their faces were squatter than the hounds of Sevendor.   Thick, sharp teeth protruded from their shaggy muzzles, fangs as cruel as daggers.

And they were fast.  Before they knew it, there was one dogging Rondal’s left stirrup, trying to slash at his mount’s legs with his spear.  Rondal kicked him in
the face with his boot and sent the goblin flying.  The hound, however, kept up his pursuit until a quick thrust with his mageblade ended the chase.  Another replaced him almost at once, weaving between them and going after Tyndal. 

Rondal tossed Tyndal a warwand and mentally told him the command word and mentioned it only had a single charge, and Tyndal blasted it and then threw the empty stick at the next mutt.  There were a half-dozen canines keeping pace behind them, snarling and baying.  For a terrified moment he was very sympathetic to the fox who was victim to the hunt.

We’re not going to be able to keep this up forever,
Rondal sent to Tyndal as they rode for their lives.  Mind-to-mind communication was actually easier than shouting over the hoofbeats and pounding of his heart.

That’s what they’re counting on,
Tyndal realized. 
Horses can run a long way, but a dog pack can run in relays.  You remember how the mountain wolves could chase a cow down . . .

They must have bred wolves with those Minden’s farm dogs,
Rondal suggested. 
They have the same bone structure and coloration.  But those legs and tail, that’s all wolf.

I hadn’t noticed,
Tyndal said, dryly. 
If we don’t lose them soon, then the horses will lather.  Then they’ll slow, and then . . .