The web of wizardry (28 page)

The caravan wheeled out, Danaer's units first, past infantry and other cavalry lines, forming up at the head of the column. The dignitaries had come out from the walls and Yistar was exchanging courtesies with them. Danaer watched the proceedings sidelong. Lorzosh-Fila looked thinner than he had at the Destre council; his gaudy Clarique-fashioned sleeved cloak all but hung on his gaunt frame. By his side was a younger Destre, a close attendant or some fellow Siirn; that man's hair was a light brown and his eyes were very dark, perhaps black. After studying him surreptitiously a few minutes, Danaer looked at his mantle to identify his tribe: Ve-Nya. Of course; he was Patkin, brother to Lasiirnte Kandra. It was his life she had feared for when first she had heard news of Markuand and the assault of Deki. He was young,

but he looked capable. Danaer felt sure he would acquit himself with honor in the battle to come.

The formahties were lengthy. The alliance was very new and must be treated delicately. The proprieties must be observed, on both sides, with much care that no offense was given to customs of Destre or the army.

At last the flags went up, fluttering colorfully, spelling out this combined force in silk and wool. The red, black, and gold crossed lightnings of The Interior and the green half-moon of Deki stood side by side—the flags, and the warriors they represented. Hard-faced Destre galloped in to join Gordyan's men alongside the wagons. The teamsters eyed them uneasily, preferring their own soldiery as escort. But now the wagons had been delivered to Lorzosh-Fila, and Deki's militia of plainsmen would guard their contents henceforth.

"Forward at a walk. Troop Leaders," Branra said calmly as the Captain and his staff and the Dekans rode toward the gates.

It was pleasing to see improved horsemanship and an even pace. Wagons and foot troops and cavalry went smoothly down the gentle incline. No trees obscured the view now, for the wood nearest the walls had been felled generations ago to fuel the cook fires of Deki. The gates had been opened to welcome the caravan. Like some immense gray woman of stone, the walls flung wide their arms to embrace the army of Krantin.

Danaer sought out Lira's form among those of the dignitaries. Now and then he caught a glimpse of her yellow gown and headband. But she and her mare were so small that they were often hidden behind an official or a staff officer.

The gates loomed frighteningly large, and Danaer was gripped by a strange illusion that the walls had begun to lean outward. Presently they must topple down on the puny caravan below! It was only a trick of his eyes, but most vivid. He looked away from the towering heights and concentrated on the gates. Determinedly, he pulled his Ups into a firm line, for it

would not do to ride into Deki with his jaw agape like some rude peasant.

Pennants and banners waved, then passed under the massive arch. An audience of eager Dekans craned their necks to peer out of the city and see the oncoming parade. They gawked at their Siirn and Captain Yistar and Lira.

Then Danaer was riding under the arch, through the gates, and into Deki. It was like coming out of blinding sunlight into a windowless cell. The buildings soared above him, sometimes touching above the crooked, narrow street. Everything within Deki was constructed of the same heavy gray stone as the outer walls—like a city made out of a hideous dark fungus which had turned to rock.

He felt momentary panic, thinking of entombment, that peculiar custom the lit used to honor their dead, burying them in their mountains. What if he should never see the sky again?

This was no way to fight battle. A man should ride on the plains, over hills and valleys with space for a roan to run and slopes to give impetus to lance charge or hurtling sling stone. How could a warrior fight here inside these walls, in these cramped and tortuous alleyways? There was no room here for even a small unit of soldiers to maneuver.

Despite his promise to himself, Danaer looked up apprehensively at the looming structures and his mouth opened in dread. The city was dressed in gray, color of death, like some stony corpse. Osyta's prophecy roared in his mind, and Malol's warnings.

You go into danger, Destre-Y . . .

/ do not believe we can save Deki, but we must try...

Now that he rode through these impossibly close quarters, Danaer's spirits sank. The only hope for victory lay in keeping Markuand safely outside Deki's walls. If they breached the barricade and entered the city, there would be slaughter to equal the carnage at Jlandla Hill, and worse.

Truly, how could a man fight in these cold stone streets?

The answer was obvious, and chilling. A man would not be able to fight long here at all. Surrounded by pitiless gray walls, he could die swiftly, and without any hope of vengeance.

XV

Markuand Will Come like A Flood

"They are taking out the wagons!" one of the infantrymen shouted, and a ripple of dismay ran through the marching lines.

"Keep moving," Danaer ordered sternly. They obeyed, but continued to watch with anxious eyes as a stream of civilian refugees moved past them toward Deki's western gates.

"Those . . . those are army wagons," the soldiers protested.

"Ai, the ones in worst shape." Danaer was unsympathetic with their fear. "The passengers are women and babes, now that the suppUes are all emptied."

"But they are abandoning us here, with no way to get back across the wasteland!"

Shaartre rode back along the line, adding his voice to Danaer's. Both Troop Leaders wanted to forestall malingering and panic. "What is this nonsense?" Shaartre yelled at them. "Why did you think we came to Deki, soldier? To turn and run immediately? Move! Move!"

Mumbling complaints, they trudged on through the darkening streets. These were the last of the troops to be led to makeshift barracks Deki had provided for the army. Danaer was beginning to wish he had left this lot of puhng whiners back at the intersection where he and Shaartre had taken them in hand. The

infantrymen had been lolling about, tired and confused, their own Troop Leader having wandered oS somewhere. His men were ripe targets for any of the less savory locals who coveted their gear and arms.

If Deki was menacing by Hght of day, it seemed a maze of stone by night. Blackness filled narrow, winding streets, broken only occasionally by the gleam of smoking torches or lamplight escaping from below-streets doorways. Many Dekans were abroad, towing small carts or toting their meager belonging on heads and backs. A great number seemed to be hurrying to escape the city, willing to risk the dangers of the open lowlands and the Sink beyond.

"This way! Lively, now! Move, you sluggards!" Shaartre guided the ragged group into what was once a large stable belonging to a Dekan merchant. When the newcomers saw some of their comrades awaiting them here, some of their uneasiness dissipated. Shaartre craned his neck and looked back down the street. *Ts that the last of them?"

"No stragglers," Danaer assured him.

"Bah! I heard some of these same wet-ears bragging that they wanted to go into Vidik. They boasted, then, that they would have Destre women and would kill any Destre who opposed them. Look at them now. I am glad we are quartered on another street, not rubbing elbows with this bag of fools." Shaartre sighed. "Well, we have them safely tucked in, at least. I had best report to Yistar. You go get some sleep."

"I think I will come with you, just to see a bit more of Deki."

A gap-toothed grin was Danaer's reward for that. "Huh! And to see the wizard woman, eh?"

"Is the Lady Nalu quartered with the Captain's staff?" Danaer asked innocently, and Shaartre's laughter rang off damp stone walls.

It was not far to the command post. Siim Lorzosh-Fila had given over for Yistar's use a large inn. Danaer could well imagine the outrage that confiscation had caused in a Destre city long unused to the presence of any large body of army men. But he would cast his wager on the side of Yistar and Deki's Siim against

any merchant's objections, no matter how wealthy the tradesman might be.

When Danaer and Shaartre arrived at the inn, they were almost bowled over by a courier. The soldier ran out the open doors and leaped on his horse, then raced off on a near collision course with the two Troop Leaders. They gazed after him a moment, then at the steady traffic of officers, and orderlies going and coming from the inn. Everyone seemed bent on important errands. "I will report," Shaartre said, "but I suspect the Captain will not have much time to waste hearing of petty details like ours."

There was a babble of conversation in the main room of the commandeered inn. Messages were dispatched and arguments raged between aides and minor oflScials of Deki's hierarchy. There were army uniforms and those of Deki's militia, marked by vests stitched with the green half-moon symbol of the city. A few Siank Destre were there as well, and Gordyan most definitely was present. His strong voice overbore many of the others'. The big man was regaling younger members of Yistar's staff. Danaer had heard some of the tales before and smiled at the awe in the junior officers' faces and the way they flinched when Gordyan buffeted them to punctuate his stories.

Then Gordyan saw Danaer and greeted him heartily. He left his audience and led his friend aside, speaking low. "Do you remember what occurred that night near Vidik, hyidu?" His mood was quite altered now, very somber.

Danaer shot a wary look around the room. "Is Hablit here?"

"There are rumors of it. Lorzosh-Fila has set agents to seek him out with all diligence. If he or his traitorous minions lurk in Deki, they will find him. I must soon ride out to the bluffs north of here, so guard your back well while I am gone, eh? What do you here at Straedanfi's little fort?"

"My fellow Troop Leader must report..."

"Ah! Long-Fang's snarling of late. It seems Yistar did not win the race against Ti-Mori after all," Gordyan said.

Danaer followed Gordyan's nod. Across the room a curtain was being flung back, revealing an alcove where high oflicers had conferred in private. Now they came out into the room and much of the chatter ceased. Leading the group were a strong-faced young woman and a strutting bantam of a Sarli. The man was Qhorda, the brigand who ruled the river marshes south of Deki. A notorious thief, he was also a patriot who had struck an alliance with those who had been his enemies, the better to fight Markuand. The woman at his side was taller than he, for she was a Krantin of noble blood. Many had called her mad, but none had gainsaid Ti-Mori when she raised an army to go to the aid of beleaguered Clarique. Long ere most in her own land had sensed the danger of Markuand, she had reacted to this holy cause, trading the luxuries of her rank for the skirted knee breeches and close-fitting tunic of Clarique's army—a uniform now frayed and stained with blood and dirt. The clothes did not conceal a woman's body, but she had cropped her hair and put by all else that might mark her for female. Had her father sired a son, he could not have wished for a more valiant one. But because she denied her sex and birthright, her kindred knew shame. The minstrels, though, already proclaimed Ti-Mori a heroine.

Ofl&cers bowed respectfully to them both. The Sarli accepted their homage and preened. Ti-Mori ignored it. But her rapid progress through the room came to an abrupt halt as she noticed Danaer and Gordyan. Qhorda looked them over idly, but Ti-Mori's scrutiny was sharp. "You are Destre, but what are you?" she demanded of Danaer. It was not a hostile question, though startling in its bluntness.

"Troop Leader Danaer, in the service of Captain Yistar, my lady .. ."

"General. Call me General." Ti-Mori continued to study him. She reminded him of Branra in her method of assessing a man to see if he was worth the food he consumed and what manner of fighter he would be. Indeed, m her own way, her fame approached Branra's. "Yistar's scout. I think he said he owned

one. A useful thing, no doubt, scouring the Vrastre clean of bandit tribes."

She made no concessions to her surroundings or to Gordyan's frown. Qhorda smirked and said, "But bandits can sometimes be useful, eh. General? Do not my men cle^r the route for your army to control the river marshes?" It was her turn to glower at her ally of the moment.

"Come. We must present our findings to the Captain," Ti-Mori said brusquely, losing interest in Danaer, or in anyone else in the room.

As they left, Gordyan said with a snort, "If I must fight beside a warrior woman, I will take Wyaela, who is not afraid to be a female . .."

"Or Lasiirnte Kandra?" Danaer teased. The big man actually blushed a bit. "Go tell some more Hes to those wet-ears. Maybe it will inspire them as much as Ti-Mbri does."

Gordyan returned to entertaining the staff, and Danaer wended through the milling crowd. He toured the main room, peeping through curtains and doors left ajar, but failed to find Lira. Two sentries guarded a wide staircase leading to the upper storey. They did not challenge Danaer when he started up the steps. He feared that laxness boded ill for defenses against spies; neither man had seen him before, and he could have been a Markuand in disguise for all they knew.

Upstairs, more orderlies and aides bustled about, and Danaer carefully kept out of their way as he searched more rooms. At the fifth door he stopped. Lira stood within, reading parchments, her expression deeply introspective. She looked careworn far beyond her tender years. Danaer hesitated to intrude, but as he paused on the threshold, she looked up at him. For a frightening instant she seemed to stare through him. Her mind was someplace impossibly distant from her body.

Warily Danaer approached her, glancing at the parchment she had dropped on a table. Most of the writing was a busy scrawl far beyond his learning. But he could read a few names, ones all too familiar: Hablit and Diilbok. The scribbling was enclosed by a

strangely drawn tracery, an intricate and magical net of ink. Looking at it made Danaer dizzy. The dread emptiness had left Lira's eyes now, and she managed a wan smile. "Danaer ... is it ... is it well with you?"

It was not her normal tone. She seemed to be returning from wherever her mind had been, a place Danaer had no wish to know. "Ai. Shaartre reports to the Captain, and I hoped to steal some time with you while he does."

"I am glad you did." But her face did not reflect that. Her shoulders slumped and Danaer tried to embrace her. Lira pulled away irritably. "It is these . . . these workings of the Markuand wizard. I had not imagined anyone could be so powerful, and so evil!"

"Let me lend you my strength, qedra," Danaer began. She tensed and shook her head. Yet he felt in her a desire to yield to his protection, a desire she dared not submit to.

"Do you guard the walls tonight?" she asked.

"At midwatch. I am to be Branra's lookout."

She allowed him to take her hands, but still refused his embrace. Danaer had feared that her fingers would be cold, but they were warm, unmoving within his own.

"Warn the Lieutenant to be most alert. I have already spoken to him and Yistar, but I fear they do not quite understand just what threatens us. I have warned the officers so frequently, but I know that in the military sometimes such words are lost along the way."

Her womanly phrasing of a Troop Leader's classic complaint made Danaer smile. "I will warn Branra, and I will be your defender against this wicked Markuand sorcerer."

She trembled violently, resisting his devotion. He sensed that in some unfathomed manner she attempted to protect him. Visibly she retreated within herself, to a sanctuary he could not reach. "My Web will defend me,"

"Here? So far from Ulodovol?"

Fear flared in her countenance. "Yes! Do not be concerned for me. I am a sorkra, and you do not know

our arts in these things. I will be all right. Please go now, and . . . and beware of the unexpected, qedra."

Reluctantly he obeyed. In the doorway he looked back and saw Lira again staring down at the magical parchment, her lips moving. Muttering in his anger and helplessness against these things, Danaer went to find Shaartre and get back to their barracks.

His sour humor did not abate, nor did troublesome thoughts leave when he lay down on his pallet. The straw seemed filled with rocks and crawling with vermin. He tossed restlessly, his dreams ominous. When Shaartre began kicking the men awake at mid-watch, Danaer found a bitter taste in his mouth. Shaartre only laughed when he snapped an obscenity at the older Troop Leader. Danaer set himself to what had to be done.

He armed himself and got others to take up weapons, issuing commands and marching in step. He moved by reflex and long practice, too weary to initiate thought. They tramped through torchlit streets and close alleyways and places so steep the steps cut in the stone resembled ladders. Gradually Danaer came to full wakefulness, at about the time they began mounting a long brick ramp. Lances banged clumsily against walls, and men stumbled over broken pieces of brick and cobblestones. One ramp became another moving at right angles, and then a third turned back on itself, a twisting snake of brickwork, always crawling up toward the unseen stars. Ramps ended and became stairs, then wooden ladders.

Men tripped and puffed and dripped sweat, groping for footing in the wavering light of torches bracketed at irregular intervals along the walls. Danaer whispered to Shaartre, "How far up are we going? I thought we were to guard the walls, not the moon."

"We will be there soon. Patience. I learned this route while you were busy with your witch woman, and you must trust me."

As they continued to climb, Danaer wondered if he could memorize all the twists and turns. He was a scout, but not at all used to this sort of territory. If he

had to lead his units back this way in a hurry, could he retrace each staircase and ramp?

At long last they emerged from that ascending tunnel. The dank and filth-strewn streets lay far below. Men took positions along a broad stone banquette, flopping down gratefully and panting after their exertions. Danaer queried Shaartre, then went to a small turret at the junction of two stair tops. "My lord?" he said softly. Branra sat in a tiny room, studying maps by the dim light of a candle. A cloak was thrown over the loophole opening toward the river so that no Hght could escape in that direction. Branra looked up with a more ordinary form of that air of distraction Danaer had witnessed earlier in Lira. The officer oriented himself to react to the man before him. "Units one through fifteen are now at their positions, my lord."

"You look none too alert," Bjanra said. "That will not do. I need your sharp eyes. Siim Lorzosh-Fila says the Markuand have sent attack boats to harass the walls each of the last eight nights. Now that we have arrived, probably they will strike the harder."

"I am awake now, ray lord. The Lady Nalu says we must expect wizardry as well as a frontal attack. In what form she does not know. It may be that this night is critical."

"Mm, yes, before we have time to lay our defenses more strongly." Branra snuffed the candle with his hand and rose. "I want yoti serving as lookout here, near me."

Danaer went to the low wall and peered through the narrow horizontal grille. The angle was wide and gave him an excellent vantage clear to the opposite bank. Branra crossed his arms atop the wall and rested his chin on his knuckles. "Is the river larger than you anticipated, Destre?"

"It is not the Bhid," Danaer admitted, awed. The streamlets of Siank and Vidik and the broad, lazy ooze of Nyald's watercourse were trickles compared to this monster dividing Krantin from Clarique. "The Markuand cannot cross without being seen."

"Stopping them after they cross is the problem. But yes, they are easy enough to see."

AH along the far bank lay a golden line of twinkling lights, much like a row of brightly glowing insects. To be seen so far away, those fires would have to be of council size. "Perhaps it is a sham, my lord, to frighten us."

"Perhaps," Branra said morosely. "Our spies give us contradictory reports, as spies usually do. I think we may rely on nothing about these Markuand, or about their black wizard Lira Nalu warns us of."

Danaer strained his eyes looking northward, toward the bluffs where Gordyan must be by now. Then he looked south, though he knew he would not be able to see the marshes in the darkness. Did the Markuand also guard Deki's flanks, where Gordyan and Ti-Mori and Qhorda waited an attack? "How far along the river do the campfires go?"

"Not so far as they did formerly, according to the Dekans. The Markuand now seem to be gathering directly opposite the city. Deki controls the only shallow water and good ferry point for many leagues in either direction. North stand the bluffs and the Irico Falls; south lie the marshes and the white water rocks. The odds are worse there than here." Branra was bareheaded, his brow glistening with sweat and his dark hair straggling damply over his forehead. He shooed away midges and spoke calmly of the situation confronting Krantin. "Whoever leads the enemy is canny in both magic and tactics. He will strike here. He must crush Deki first if he hopes to conquer our land."

Danaer gazed at the fires. What had Lira said at the council? It seemed that their numbers were endless.

He heard murmuring voices far below and peered over the wall. A few fishermen had anchored their rafts and cast lines, trying to keep to their trade despite the dangers of war. Their cries of satisfaction when they landed fish rose in the muggy air. Danaer's eyes were adjusting rapidly to the night, and he could easily discern their dark forms. He could also see the

broken remains of a quay, demolished by the Dekans in order to deny landing to the Markuand. Every wharf and pier along the bank had been razed, converted into rocky barricades to wreck the bottom of craft which came too near. Calculating the drop to that wreckage, Danaer saw that Deki's eastern walls were much higher than the western ramparts, lofty though those were, for these defenses were built on part of the bluffs. Beneath crenels and watchtowers the massive wall dropped smooth and sheer to a rock-strewn landing area many lengths below. The river gate, like the once-proud quays, was battered into uselessness and obstacles heaped before it. Not even the Dekans could now use the gate. The fishermen must have rowed here from somewhere else along the banks, from bluffs or marshland. Deki was locked solidly against any assault from the east.

Danaer studied the broad face of the river and the fires a long while. Sentries patrolled the stairs and ramps, and soldiers hunkered at their posts. Officers took messages and gave orders. Once Captain Yistar and Lorzosh-Fila walked by Branra's position, surveying the condition of the defenses, then returning to a command location elsewhere on the walls.

Well past the middle of the night, Danaer suddenly leaned forward and squinted into the blackness.

"What is it?" Branra came at once to see what had drawn the scout's notice.

"I am not sure, my lord. A boat? Perhaps a swimmer?"

"The fishermen?"

"They have gone. No, this is something that was not there before. See the wake?" Danaer pointed to a shimmering disturbance in the river, an arrow of water aiming at the walls.

"Your eyes are better than mine. I... I see nothing."

The vee of that wake was very close now, no more than twenty lengths out. Danaer glanced briefly at the officer, reading his face. Branra did not doubt him, but he truly did not see anything. Nor, it seemed, did any other lookout; no cry of alarm came from other posts along the walls.

Danaer sensed an unpleasant and increasingly familiar coldness stealing through his marrow, radiating from the obsidian talisman. Lira was not with him, but this was very near the same chill he had felt outside her tent. "It is a boat's wake," Danaer said decisively.

Branra leaned over the wall and slapped the stones in his frustration. "I still cannot see it. Where do you make it come to berth?"

The mysterious movement in the water was disappearing even now, and Danaer quickly traced it toward the head of the watery arrow, slightly to his left and squarely against the sheerest part of the wall.

"Indeed?" Branra said in a tight voice. "Come." He was angry, but the anger was not directed at Danaer. Puzzled, the scout hurried after him. They raced down ladders and stairs and ramps, taking a different route than the one Shaartre had followed.

Once in the streets, Branra led the way past the huge barred gates, which were protected by sentries even though the outer approaches were thoroughly barricaded. The ofl&cer rushed through cluttered, twisting lanes foul with slops. As he passed, guards straightened and dropped their lance butts on the stone pavement, coming to abrupt attention, saluting in surprise, then staring at Branra and the soldier at his heels. Danaer suspected the two of them looked like a hunting wolf trailed by a bewildered cub.

"Are we near the place, would you say, scout?"

"Ai, my lord, I make it very close."

"Sergeant of the Post?" Branra hailed. A squad stood at attention near the end of the Httle street. Their arms did not move, nor did they blink in response. They seemed frozen.

For a moment Danaer thought they had been slain and propped up in these lifelike attitudes to serve as decoys, a Destre ruse he knew well. Branra was acquainted with the same trick, and they both moved forward cautiously, hands on their swords. Taking a deep breath, Danaer shook the arm of the man commanding the post, a fellow Troop Leader from Siank garrison. Instantly the soldier's eyes opened wide, and

he cried out and seized Danaer's tunic. "What? What is this? Why . . . why, my lord. How? Why .. ."

It was plain the fellow was as lost as one yanked out of a deep sleep without any warning. The scent of witchcraft filled the street as the man gaped about in pitiful confusion. Branra pointed to the other sleeping men trapped in a waking nightmare. "Rouse them. Your little sorkra was indeed wise to warn us of magic this night."

As Danaer brought each man back to himself, Branra questioned the stunned Troop Leader. "Did anyone approach your post? Did you see anyone? Was any attempt made to accost you, to cast charms or spells over you?"