“Damn my eyes if it isn’t Snapevale Stillery malt!” The sergeant was overawed. “Booze fit for a king! But where’s that lad gone? Holla, boy!”
“Prob’ly answering nature’s call,” said one of the soldiers.
“Well, to hell with him,” said the sergeant. “Let’s get this treasure safely in. If the stupid juggins gets caught outside when we lift the bridge, it’s his lookout.”
He took the mule’s reins and led it through the gate. Snudge followed after, unseen. After a few tentative shouts for the missing “Lunn,” the sergeant ordered the drawbridge raised and the iron portcullis lowered.
Primmie clopped decorously into the bailey of Castle Redfern and was immediately surrounded by a noisy mob. Some of the men had tears of joy running down their cheeks. Snudge’s windsight had revealed to him that the garrison’s strength was small—no more than two score and ten warriors, nearly half of those either elderly or very young, and all lean to the point of emaciation. If these defenders of the realm were nearly starving, what must be the condition of the ordinary folk living in Didion’s capital city?
“You men!” bellowed the sergeant. “Hands off the kegs until His Lordship gives leave to pop the bungs! Warlo, go fetch Baron Maddick.”
Snudge waited. The unimpressive small keep was an unadorned two-storey block of stone with a single watchtower on the right and only a few little unglazed windows. After ten minutes or so the lord of the castle came striding out the entry, followed by six knights in house garb and a pair of men wearing black hooded robes who had to be the resident wind practitioners.
Snudge’s prey! But not to be slaughtered as Prince Conrig expected, if the plan succeeded.
Baron Maddick was a greying man of slight stature who possessed an incongruously loud and sonorous voice. “Have patience, all! First, let’s see whether this unexpected bounty is as advertised. Wizard Hiblesk, tap one of the kegs and sample it.”
The tallest man in black bent to the task. When the tap was in place his colleague handed over a wooden cup, which the wizard filled to the brim. Then he rose to his feet, sniffed the cup’s contents, and addressed the baron. “As you are aware, my lord, members of our sacred cohort are forbidden to quaff ardent spirits. It is only to reassure Your Lordship of the wholesomeness of this beverage that I dispense myself from the obligation.”
A few titters came from the crowd of soldiers. Hiblesk swept them with a glare, then sipped gingerly from the cup. He frowned, and grumbles of incipient dismay arose. Then he sniffed the liquor again, drained the cup in two strong pulls and lifted it high. “It’s good,” he declared, and the assembled men raised a thunderous cheer.
Baron Maddick said, “I claim this keg for my high table. The other four will be shared out immediately in equal portions to all fighting men of this garrison. Sir Evolus, supervise the distribution.” He turned on his heel amidst more cheers and returned to the keep followed by five of the knights (one carrying the tapped keg), the windvoices, and invisible Snudge.
The great hall of Castle Redfern was stark and incredibly dreary, its windows shuttered against the cold and damp. Smoking torches and hanging cressets furnished illumination. The central hearth was unlit and the floor strewn with rubbishy dried grass and trampled weeds that had obviously not been changed for weeks. Snudge trailed the two adepts to the upper floor, where they evidently had their chambers. As soon as the baron and his knights were out of earshot, a quarrel broke out between the wizards.
“You could have shared, Hiblesk!”
“Nonsense. You know the Rule.”
“Look who’s talking! You needn’t have filled your cup to the brim to do the test! And the Rule can be relaxed in times of great hardship. You know that as well as I do.”
“I’m your superior, Coxus. I’ll interpret the Rule!”
Still bickering, they reached a door at the end of the corridor. Hiblesk unlocked it, and the pair entered. Snudge slipped in after them. Most of the sizable chamber was dedicated to alchymy. It was neat enough, with tattered woven mats on the floor. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters, tables were strewn with arcane equipment made of copper and glass, and the walls were lined with shelves holding books and all sorts of containers. A huge soot-stained fireplace burned merrily, almost making the place comfortably warm. On the hearth stood a glowing charcoal brazier with an alembic distilling some potion. Both wizards went to inspect it.
When their backs were turned Snudge placed the keg that he carried on the floor and stepped away from it, uttering the visibility command in silent mind-speech: KRUF AH.
As he’d hoped, it worked… like a charm. The small wooden cask appeared out of nowhere, and when the younger wizard named Coxus turned around he caught sight of it at once.
“Great God of the Heights and Depths!” he bleated. “A miracle!”
With his hood lowered, Hiblesk proved to be a bald, eagle-beaked man, having very little chin, a defect he had attempted to remedy by growing a little white goat beard. His pale eyes bulged as he spotted the keg and he struck a magical pose, held out hands with stiffened fingers aimed at the eldritch container, and pronounced a lengthy spell to banish demonic illusions.
The keg of spirits remained in place.
“It’s real!” Coxus knelt reverently beside it. “And it’s ours.”
Snudge held his breath. Would Hiblesk succumb to temptation?
“We must report this singular occurrence to Baron Maddick at once!” the bald wizard intoned.
“Codders,” Snudge muttered in disgust. He pulled out the sock full of coins he’d prepared and coshed the bald alchymist neatly behind his ear. The man dropped to the floor, moaning. “Stand still, Coxus,” the invisible boy said. “Clasp your hands behind your head and don’t dare to speak on the wind or you will die.”
The young wizard, paralyzed by fright, gibbered, “Who—who are you?”
“A mighty sorcerer, come to give you a choice. Your colleague has already chosen wrongly, by the way, and when he wakes up he faces a very unpleasant fate unless he changes his mind.”
“W-what k-k-kind of choice?”
“I must prevent both of you from windspeaking for two days. A sure way to do this would be to strangle you.” Snudge flung a length of the invisible rawhide lashing around the wizard’s neck and tightened it gently. The man stood stock still, hands at his sides.
“I p-presume there is an alternative.”
“Oh, yes.” Removing the thong. “From personal experience, I know how the arcane talents are gummixed up by the consumption of spirits. But perhaps the prospect of a two-day spree violates your tender conscience.”
“I wouldn’t say that!” The young wizard smirked. He would have been handsome had his face not been scarred by acne. “Why do you want Hiblesk and me windsilent?”
“None of your business. But I promise you’ll be better off for it in the long run. Do you have your beds in this room?”
“Behind yon curtain.”
“Help me carry your friend. Take his shoulders.”
“He’s not my friend, he’s my boss. And a bloody-minded one, at that.”
Snudge and Coxus took Hiblesk by the arms and legs and dumped him on one of the narrow raised palliasses. He was already regaining consciousness, and he whimpered and struggled weakly as the invisible boy bound his crossed wrists and ankles securely with the rawhide.
“I’ll have to tie you up, too,” Snudge told Coxus. “Just sit on the edge of the bed. When you’re wrapped tight I’ll give you a nice big beaker of booze, and you can savor it at your leisure while I deal with your master.” To be on the safe side, he intended to pour them twice as much as he had drunk the night he’d killed Iscannon. Men unaccustomed to strong drink would either puke it up or fall asleep. Snudge devoutly hoped for the latter.
“You’ll never get old Hiblesk to swallow any liquor if he sets his mind against it,” Coxus warned.
“Maybe not. But I noticed some soft tubing and a funnel amongst your alchymical equipment. They’ll do the job for me if he decides to balk. But I reckon he won’t.”
Hiblesk didn’t. When he came to his senses and the horrid alternative was explained to him he capitulated without argument, swilled the fine malt with a fatalistic shrug, suffered a brief bout of hiccoughs, relaxed on his pillow, and began to snore. Coxus drank more slowly, smacking his lips and humming.
“I know who you are!” he said in a playful sing-song tone, as Snudge retrieved the empty beaker from him. “Y’re invashioners! Cathran booze, Cathran invashioners. Right?”
“Right,” said the boy amiably. “And when Didion joins our new Sovereignty, we’ll see that all of you starvelings get decent food as soon as possible.”
The young wizard giggled. “Food and drink!”
“I’m going to lock your door, but someone will come and look in on you in a few hours, after we’ve stormed the castle. You’ll be well taken care of.”
Coxus didn’t reply. He had passed out and was snoring in chorus with his colleague.
Snudge paused for a moment, closing his eyes, and windwatched the area of the drawbridge ramp in front of the castle. There were bulky shadows lurking out there, and a myriad of faint little golden lights. The advance force led by Prince Conrig had arrived.
“Time to go,” he told himself. “I hope most of the garrison has a nice buzz on by now. Maybe they’ll surrender instead of taking a futile stand.”
He poured himself a small tot from the broached keg, tossed it down, and went to lower the drawbridge.
twenty-four
Leading the force of fifty knights on his ebony courser, Conrig thundered over the drawbridge of Castle Redfern as the gates swung wide. Like the other charging warriors, he howled “Cathra!” at the top of his lungs and swung the curved blade of his varg in deadly arcs. The slightly tipsy garrison, taken completely by surprise when Snudge did his work invisibly in the gatehouse, had only begun to scramble for their weapons when the invading knights trampled them in a screaming melee, exulting in the first taste of battle. The active defenders were hacked down without mercy until a trumpet-like voice cried out: “We yield!”
Baron Maddick had appeared in the open entryway of the keep, sword in hand, transfixed by horror at the carnage in the bailey and the rampaging invaders on horseback. He cast down his blade and raised both hands, shouting again, “We yield! Redfern yields!” Six white-faced knights of the household, standing behind him, also threw down their unbloodied swords and fell to their knees.
The prince wheeled his mount about and cried, “Cathra! Leave off! Have done! They have surrendered.” He rode up to the lord of the castle, who still stood on his feet. “I am Prince Heritor Conrig Wincantor, and I claim this fortress as the first prize of the Sovereignty of High Blenholme.”
“I am Maddick Redfern, holder of the fief. We yield without condition. Will you grant mercy and allow us to tend our wounded?”
“I will indeed… On your honor, my lord: how many gates in your curtain wall?”
“Besides the main gate, only a small postern on the downstream end of the bailey near the kitchen shed, through which we cast refuse and slops.”
Conrig turned to Lords Catclaw and Cloudfell, who sat their horses close by. Both were grinning and splattered with gore. “Tinnis, have your men seal the postern shut and collect the weaponry. Wanstan, set a close guard at the drawbridge and send off a messenger to inform our force of the victory. Have them advance with all speed.” Then to Maddick: “Where are your wizards?”
The baron shrugged. “In their chambers, I suppose, squawking on the wind like rooks warning of a falcon’s presence.”
“Not so, Your Grace,” a quiet young voice said. Snudge stepped out of the shadows of the stable annex. “I’ve seen them to their rest.”
“You!” Maddick uttered a groan. “The lad with the lovely presents! But how in hell did you lift the portcullis and let down the bridge with six men on guard in the gatehouse? Even half-drunk from your gift, they should have been a match for you. How did such a young sprout overcome them?”
“How indeed?” murmured the prince.
But Snudge only smiled.
==========
Much later, when the main body of the Cathran army was safely ensconced in the secured castle, Conrig sent for his intelligencer. Snudge found the prince walking the torchlit battlements above the drawbridge, watching as ten gangleshanked nags and two draft oxen with ribs as prominent as slats—the sole occupants of Redfern’s stables—were led outside into the mists.
“You summoned me, Your Grace.”
“There’s something important to discuss. Have you spread word of Princess Ullanoth’s secret departure, as I asked?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It wasn’t possible for me to deny being here and assign the princess total responsibility for opening the castle. Too many of the defenders had already spread the tale of the lad with the booze-laden mule. But I gave the lady credit for silencing the windvoices and pretended she helped me subdue the men guarding the gate. Only Duke Tanaby knows that Ullanoth was never here. I had to tell him the truth this morning before he would give me the casks of spirits.”
The prince grunted, turning away to gaze over the battlement. “Look down there.”
The boy peered through one of the crenels. Cathran thanes were turning the scrawny animals loose into the gorge, where the foggy gloom was eerily illuminated by thousands of bobbing golden sparks. The oxen lowed and plodded off once the ropes were removed from their nose rings, but the castle’s horses pawed and snorted and hung about the bridge nervously until given whacks on the rump, after which they trotted off to temporary freedom.
“We would have had to dispose of the enemy’s mounts anyhow,” the prince said somberly. “Can’t have one of the resident knights galloping off and giving the alarm when we quit this place tomorrow. So I decided to give our uncanny guides a small treat. Can you hear them on the wind? My own talent is too feeble to distinguish more than a horrid faint piping sound that causes my flesh to creep.”
Snudge heard only too well. “They say they’re hungry, Your Grace. These mountains lack their natural prey, the night creatures of the fens, ponds, and ditches. And creating the fog has made them more ravenous than usual.” He hesitated. “Are you aware that our thanes have learned that Sir Ruabon was killed by the Small Lights?”