“I hope you’re right,” the redhead growled. “What happens if we meet Didionites?”
“It probably won’t happen too often. If it does, the Lights will go dim and squeak a warning well ahead of time. Rein up, get off the highway, and wait in the fog till the enemy riders pass. The Lights will extinguish themselves without being told.”
“Is that why we haven’t seen the others?” Saundar inquired thoughtfully. “The creatures generating all this magical fog?”
“Yes,” Snudge said. “They shine only when they want to.”
“The rest of the time,” Belamil said with grisly relish, “they lurk. And not timidly, either, like the spunkies down south in Cathra! There are thousands and thousands of them up here in the north country, infesting the swamps, waiting for unwary prey. My granny told me so.”
“The devil take your granny,” Mero grumbled.
Snudge continued. “We should reach the river by dusk—or what would be dusk if there was no fog. We’ll send our weird little friends away then, ignite torches, and proceed to the bridge as though we were a legitimate troop of dispatch riders. If the guards at Mallmouth accept our pose, we’ll ride into the city like we own the place, find a spot to hide the horses, and get on with our job. Mallburn Town is supposed to be half deserted because of the famine. Only the docks, the precinct where the rich merchants live, and the great Malle Road leading from the bridge to the palace are well lit at night.”
“What happens if the guards at the bridge gate don’t want to admit us?” Mero asked.
“We get righteously huffy, wheel smartly about, and warn them we’ll be back in the morning to make big trouble. Don’t worry. I have another way of getting us inside the city if it becomes necessary.”
“How?” Mero persisted.
“Ask me after we’re turned away—but be sure your shoulders are well limbered up for rowing against a tidal current.” He flipped the map, revealing a diagram of the bridge fortifications on its reverse side. “Now, take a careful look at this, lads. I’ve been told the Mallmouth Bridge is a great wonder of engineering, much more impressive than any bridge in Cathra. The Diddlies may be barbarians, but they’re very clever barbarians.”
The others studied the drawing in silence. The bridge was over five hundred feet long. The four fixed spans closest to the city shore were supported by three massive stone piers rising from the riverbed. Only small boats could pass beneath the arches. Taking the place of a fourth pier was a fortified tower, also with its foundations in the water. It contained the bridge gate, which consisted of two heavy iron portcullises at either end of the central passage. Within the tower was also the machinery that lifted a movable span linking the bridge to the opposite shore, where there was a small guardpost and a tollbooth.
Saundar poked the parchment with a finger. “This final section of the bridge lifts to let tall ships through. And look: when the leaf is up, the city’s neatly isolated from invaders like us coming from the south.”
“Right,” said Snudge. “The next bridge over the river is nearly sixty leagues upstream, at Mallthorpe. Between there and Mallmouth, the people must use ferryboats to cross.”
Belamil was frowning at the diagram. “But how does the movable span lift? There are no chains coming from the tower to the end of the leaf, so it can’t be a regular drawbridge. And the leaf is so long!”
Snudge nodded. “Nearly ninety feet. It’s called a bascule, and it lifts like a kind of gigantic one-sided see-saw. Look here at this smaller sketch. There’s a counterweight inside a great vault attached to the southern side of the tower, along with a pivot—something like a huge cart-axle—that enables the bridge-leaf to move up and down.”
“I see it now.” Belamil almost had his nose to the parchment. “And once we disable the counterweight machinery, the bridge gets stuck in the down position.”
The counterweight was only partly made of caged granite blocks. On its upper side was a large iron chamber that was pumped full of water or drained dry when it was time to raise or lower the bascule. It took two dozen men to operate the pumps.
“As you may have guessed,” Snudge said, “it strongly behooves us to launch the first part of our attack when the bridge is down. I could get us across the water gap in a small boat and into the tower while the bascule leaf was raised— but there’s no way just the four of us could pump out the counterweight chamber and lower the bridge again.”
“Deveron.” Saundar’s intelligent brow was deeply furrowed. “I know we promised not to question your plan—but this task seems less and less within the realm of possibility, the more you tell us about it.”
“I’ll say!” Mero chimed in.
“The task can be achieved,” Snudge insisted, “and by us. Four tarnblaze bombshells exploded within the counterweight water-chamber will crack it badly and damage the pump mechanism so that neither one can be fixed for days—even weeks. We accomplish that task first, then jam open the two portcullises of the bridge gate. They are raised and lowered with ordinary chains and windlasses located on the upper floor of the tower.”
“Sounds easy as pie,” Mero said in a scathing tone, licking honey off his big fingers. “We’ll just marshal up a thousand spunkies and order ‘em to drink the blood of every foeman inside the bridge tower.”
“No,” Snudge said equably. “My plan is quite different, and it doesn’t include magical mayhem.”
“But there will be some sort of magic at work, I presume!”
“There will,” Snudge agreed.
“Then tell us what kind!” Mero demanded, jumping to his feet with hands clenched. “And what about Princess Ullanoth? Is she going to help us with sorcery?”
Snudge shook his head. “You’ll hear details of the plan when I’m ready to tell them. Do you intend to dispute my leadership, even after promising Prince Conrig you’d follow without question? Or does the thought of magic frighten you?”
The big armiger’s face went dark with fury. “Are you calling me a coward—” He broke off, his jaw dropping, as a high-pitched, wavering screech came from outside the inn. “Futter me! What the hell was that?”
Belamil dashed to the open doorway. “Nothing outside but fog. Our guiding spunkies seem to be gone.”
“The murdering wee wankers are probably killing someone,” Mero growled. “We could be next!”
Snudge said, “The Small Lights aren’t dangerous to human beings in daytime. Even at night, when they’re strongest, it takes large numbers of them to overcome a grown man or woman. Of course a small child, in thick fog…” He trailed off uncomfortably.
“Perhaps the noise was just a fox taking a hare,” Saunder said, clearly believing nothing of the sort.
“I think it’s time for us to press on,” Snudge decided. “Pack up. And collect some wood we can use for torches. I have a pot of pitch we can dip them in later.”
He folded the parchment and put it into his belt-pouch, then went outside to call the missing spunkies back from whatever mischief they had been up to.
==========
Even with the mare named Mist moving at a snail’s pace, Ullanoth arrived at the great hill-park surrounding Holt Mallburn palace in early afternoon. Its wrought-iron gates were locked, but she rode boldly up to the sentinels on duty and addressed them in cracked, querulous tones.
“How does one get an audience with King Achardus?”
The armed men regarded her with amused scorn. “These darksome days, one doesn’t,” said the sergeant. “I’m surprised you don’t know that, Gammer.”
“I’ve come a distance,” she admitted, “all the way from Highcliff hoping to appeal our baron’s unjust sentencing to death of my grandson. Poor Nallo never burnt those hayricks! They only blamed him because he’s not quite right in the head. I realize my appearance is not prepossessing, messire, but I’m not without means. I hoped His Majesty would accept a nice token from me and look kindly on my petition for clemency.”
The sergeant’s eyes shone with greed. “You could give the petition and the token to me. I’ll take it in straightaway.”
“Then His Majesty is in residence?”
“Where else would he be?” The man was getting impatient. “Well?”
She feigned concerned thought. “Oh, dear! I’d set my heart on seeing the king myself. If you could but arrange it, messire, there’d be a lovely token for you, too.”
“King Achardus doesn’t see the commonalty. Give over your petition and coin, woman, and stop wasting my time.”
“I must go back to the inn and fetch them,” she said. “Expect my return in an hour or so.”
She dug her heels into the mare’s ribs and cantered away into the fog before the guards could restrain her. “Or better yet,” she murmured to herself, “expect me when you least expect me!”
The princess turned into a narrow alley between tall, shuttered shops, a place she had scouted out before approaching the Royal Park. She dismounted and removed the fardel she had lashed to the saddle.
“Now you must go back where you belong, Mist,” she informed the dapple grey, and commanded the moonstone named Beastbidder to find the mare’s rightful home and compel her to return there.
“Small Lights?” she called on the wind. “Shanakin?”
A swarm of golden sparks with a single blue-white one among them winked into view. Yes, lady?
“I require you now to travel with this mare to her home and keep her safe from human villains.”
We would rather suck the juices from the beast, lady. And the villains, too.
“Do as I say! All of you leave me now. I intend to rest for some hours. Await my summons outside the main gatehouse of Holt Mallburn Palace at midnight.”
The mare pricked up her ears as though listening. A moment later she trotted off downhill, in the direction of the city center. The spunkies had vanished.
Ullanoth replaced Beastbidder and readied Interpenetrator. It would make short work of the iron fence around the park—to say nothing of the palace walls.
Yes, she would rest—but not before using the enhanced viewing powers of Subtle Loophole to study everyone who interested her. Too much time had passed without her being able to scrutinze the play-actors in her great drama and make certain that all was well.
She intended to oversee Achardus in his palace, her wicked little brother Beynor, King Olmigon of Cathra, the fleet of Tarnian mercenaries, the distant Southern Continent where the corsairs of Foraile and Stippen were gathering, Crown Prince Honigalus and his armada, and Conrig and his invasion force.
It would be an uncomfortable session that might lay her low for hours, but performing the difficult oversight within Holt Mallburn itself would be deliciously satisfying. Before undertaking the work she’d savor fine food and drink from the royal kitchen and buttery, take a much-needed bath, and wash her hair. Snooping about hidden by Concealer, she’d surely be able to find suitable fresh garments for herself in the wardrobe of one of the Didionite princesses. It would never do to welcome Conrig wearing the rags of Witch Walanoth. Later, when the ordeal of scrying was over, she’d take her repose in one of the palace’s elegant guest rooms.
How ironic it was that she should come so harmlessly into the innermost stronghold of Didion! Invisible, able to pass through the thickest wall or the most secure door, she could kill Achardus Mallburn as easily as a rabbit, opening the veins of the giant monarch’s throat with his own purloined dagger. But she would not. Such a gross deed was not fitting for a future Conjure-Queen, nor did she have any personal animosity towards Didion’s king. Vengeance belonged to Conrig Wincantor. All Ullanoth intended to do was make that vengeance possible, with the help of her friends.
==========
Subtle Loophole showed Achardus Mallburn, his Privy Council, Archwizard Ilingus, and Queen Siry Boarsden wrangling over penalties to be imposed on the treacherous timberlords of Firedrake Water, who had refused to send troops to join Prince Somarus’s defense force at Great Pass. How boring! But it was interesting that the tall queen favored the most drastic punishment of the rebels, and the men seemed inclined to let her have her way. The royal women of Didion were far from being mere political pawns or broodstock…
Beynor lay unconscious in his bed, tended by Zimroth, Master Ridcanndal, and the Royal Physician, who had been granted permission to penetrate the spells of couverture generated by his two Fortress sigils. Her brother was in a sorry state after using his Weathermaker to conjure a strong fair wind to speed the Didionite armada and a strong foul one to delay the Tarnians. The doctor opined that the Conjure-King might not recover for two days. Good! Beynor’s antics would not distract her during the battle for Holt Mallburn…
The sigil showed King Olmigon of Cathra looking like a man at death’s door, but nonetheless giving crackling orders to his anxious windvoices. He was attempting to regroup the divided Cathran navy into a single force, and complained bitterly about the alchymists’ inability to maintain reliable communication with ships on the high seas. Vra-Sulkorig blamed malignant magic. King Olmigon himself voiced suspicions that his admirals were determined to fight the Didionites in their own fashion, without being distracted by royal meddling…
The Tarnian frigates were shortening sail and putting out sea-anchors to counter the savage tempest now assaulting them off the Stormy Isles. Viewing them with concern, Ullanoth hoped she would not have to use her own Weathermaker to help them reach Cathra in time…
The Continental ships were gathered in the Stippenese port of Nis-Gata, their crews carousing ashore and their captains showing no immediate intention of putting out to sea. Strange…
Crown Prince Honigalus and Fleet Admiral Galbus Peel were playing chess and chewing hard ship’s biscuit aboard the south-charging Casabarela Regnant. Peel was winning the game, but the prince didn’t seem to mind. During the brief time of her oversight, neither man discussed the upcoming sea battle, except to say that it might take place on the morrow if Beynor’s driving gale remained constant…
Last of all (as she thought), she focused the sigil on Conrig. Her breath quickened and her heart leapt when she saw him again. She wondered how she could ever have forgotten his face. His uncovered wheat-colored hair sparkled with droplets of moisture as he conferred with the leading nobles of the invasion force in the ward of Redfern Castle. His cheeks were flushed, his lips bore a confident smile, and his dark eyes blazed with confidence as he reviewed tactical assignments. She felt a deep warmth stirring within herself and recalled how good it had been when they were together.