Magician (42 page)

Caldric stepped forward. “All
reports say the same thing. Heavily armed companies of foot soldiers
attacked during the night, before the snows had melted, taking the
garrisons by surprise. Little is known save that a garrison of
LaMutians near Stone Mountain was overrun. All other attacks seem to
have been driven back.” He looked at Borric meaningfully.
“There is no word of the Tsurani’s using cavalry.”

Borric said, “Then perhaps Tully
was right, and they have no horses.”

The King seemed to be dizzy, for he
took a staggering step backward and sat on his throne. Again he
placed a hand to his temple, then said, “What is this talk of
horses? My Kingdom is invaded. These creatures dare to attack my
soldiers.”

Borric looked at the King. “What
would Your Majesty have me do?”

The King’s voice rose. “Do?
I was going to wait for my loyal Duke of Bas-Tyra to arrive before I
made any decision. But now I must act.”

He paused, and his face took on a
vulpine look, as his dark eyes gleamed in the lantern light. “I
was considering giving the Armies of the West to Brucal, but the
doddering old fool can’t even protect his own garrisons.”

Borric was about to protest on Brucal’s
behalf, but Arutha, knowing his father, gripped his arm, and the Duke
remained silent.

The King said, “Borric, you must
leave Crydee to your son. He is capable enough, I should think. He’s
given us our only victory so far.” His eyes wandered and he
giggled. He shook his head for a moment, and his voice lost its
frantic edge. “Oh, gods, these pains I think my head will
burst.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Borric, leave Crydee
to Lyam and Arutha, I’m giving you the banner of the Armies of
the West, go to Yabon. Brucal is sorely pressed, for most of the
alien army strikes toward LaMut and Zun. When you are there, request
what you need. These invaders must be driven from our lands.”

The King’s face was pale, and
perspiration gleamed on his forehead. “This is a poor hour to
start, but I have sent word to the harbor to ready a ship. You must
leave at once. Go now.”

The Duke bowed and turned Caldric said,
“I will see His Majesty to his room. I will accompany you to
the docks when you are ready.”

The old Chancellor helped the King from
the throne, and the Duke’s party left the hall. They rushed
back to their rooms to find stewards already packing their
belongings. Pug stood around excitedly, for at last he was returning
to his home.

They stood at dockside, bidding
farewell to Caldric. Pug and Meecham waited, and the tall franklin
said, “Well, lad. It will be some time before we see home
again, now that war is joined.”

Pug looked up into the scarred face of
the man who had found him in the storm, so long ago. “Why?
Aren’t we going home?”

Meecham shook his head. “The
Prince will ship from Krondor through the Straits of Darkness to join
his brother, but the Duke will ship for Ylith, then to Brucal’s
camp somewhere near LaMut. Where Lord Borric goes, Kulgan goes. And
where my master goes, I go. And you?”

Pug felt a sinking in his stomach. What
the franklin said was true. He belonged with Kulgan, not with the
folk at Crydee, though he knew if he asked, he would be allowed to go
home with the Prince. He resigned himself to another sign that his
boyhood was ending. “Where Kulgan goes, I go.”

Meecham clapped him on the shoulder and
said, “Well, at least I can teach you to use that bloody sword
you swing like a fishwife’s broom.”

Feeling little cheer at the prospect,
Pug smiled weakly. They soon boarded the ship and were under way
toward Salador, and the first leg of the long journey west.

T
he
spring rains were heavy that year.

The business of war was hampered by the
ever-present mud. It would stay wet and cold for nearly another month
before the brief, hot summer came.

Duke Brucal of Yabon and Lord Borric
stood looking over a table laden with maps. The rain hammered on the
roof of the tent, the central part of the commander’s pavilion.
On either side of the tent two others were attached, providing
sleeping quarters for the two nobles. The tent was filled with smoke,
from lanterns and from Kulgan’s pipe. The magician had proven
an able adviser to the dukes, and his magical aid helpful. He could
detect trends in the weather, and his wizard’s sight could
detect some of the Tsurani’s troop movements, though not often.
And over the years his reading of every book he encountered,
including narratives of warfare, had made him a fair student of
tactics and strategy.

Brucal pointed to the newest map on the
table. “They have taken this point here, and another here. They
hold this point”—he indicated another spot on the map—”
in spite of our every effort to dislodge them. They also seem to be
moving along a line from here, to here.” His finger swept down
a line along the eastern face of the Grey Towers. “There is a
coordinated pattern here, but I’m damned if I can anticipate
where it’s going next.” The old Duke looked weary. The
fighting had been going on sporadically for over two months now, and
no distinct advantage could be seen on either side.

Borric studied the map. Red spots
marked known Tsurani strongholds: hand-dug, earthen breastworks, with
a minimum of two hundred men defending. There were also suspected
reinforcement companies, their approximate location indicated with
yellow spots. It was known that any position attacked was quick to
get reinforcements, sometimes in a matter of minutes. Blue spots
indicated the location of Kingdom pickets, though most of Brucal’s
forces were billeted around the hill upon which the commander’s
tent sat.

Until the heavy foot soldiers and
engineers from Ylith and Tyr-Sog arrived to man and create permanent
fortifications, the Kingdom was fighting a principally mobile war,
for most of the troops assembled were cavalry. The Duke of Crydee
agreed with the other man’s assessment. “It seems their
tactics remain the same: bring in a small force, dig in, and hold.
They prevent our troops from entering, but refuse to follow when we
withdraw. There is a pattern. But for the life of me, I can’t
see it either.”

A guard entered. “My lords, an
elf stands without, seeking entrance.”

Brucal said, “Show him in.”

The guard held aside the tent flap, and
an elf entered. His red-brown hair was plastered to his head, and his
cloak dripped water on the floor of the tent. He made a slight bow to
the dukes.

“What news from Elvandar?”
Borric asked.

“My Queen sends you greetings.”
He quickly turned to the map. He pointed at the pass between the Grey
Towers on the south and Stone Mountain on the north, the same pass
Borric’s forces now bottled up at its east end. “The
outworlders move many soldiers through this pass. They have advanced
to the edge of the elven forests, but seek not to enter. They have
made it difficult to get through.” He grinned. “I led
several a merry chase for half a day. They run nearly as well as the
dwarves. But they could not keep up in the forest.” He returned
his attention to the map. “There is word from Crydee that
skirmishes have been fought by outriding patrols, but nothing close
to the castle itself. There is no word of activity from the Grey
Towers, Carse, or Tulan. They seem content to dig in along this pass.
Your forces to the west will not be able to join you, for they could
not break through now.”

“How strong do the aliens appear
to be?” asked Brucal.

“It is not known, but I saw
several thousand along this route.” His finger indicated a
route along the northern edge of the pass, from the elven forests to
the Kingdom camp. “The dwarves of Stone Mountain are left
alone, so long as they do not venture south. The outworlders deny
them the pass also.”

Borric asked the elf, “Has there
been any report of the Tsurani’s having cavalry?”

“None. Every report refers only
to infantry.”

Kulgan said, “Father Tully’s
speculation on their being horseless seems to be borne out.”

Brucal took brush and ink in hand and
entered the information on the map. Kulgan stood looking over his
shoulder.

Borric said to the elf, “After
you’ve rested, carry my greetings to your mistress, and my wish
for her good health and prosperity. If you should send runners to the
west, please carry the same message to my sons.”

The elf bowed. “As my lord
wishes. I shall return to Elvandar at once.” He turned and left
the tent.

Kulgan said, “I think I see it.”
He pointed to the new red spots on the map. They formed a rough half
circle, through the pass “The Tsurani are trying to hold this
area here. That valley is the center of the circle I would guess they
are attempting to keep anyone from getting close.”

Both the dukes looked puzzled Borric
said, “But to what purpose? There is nothing there of any value
militarily. It is as if they are inviting us to bottle them up in
that valley.”

Suddenly Brucal gasped “It’s
a bridgehead. Think of it in terms of crossing a river. They have a
foothold on this side of the rift, as the magician calls it. They
have only as many supplies as their men can carry through. They don’t
have enough control of the area for foraging, so they need to expand
the area under their control and build up supplies before they launch
an offensive.”

Brucal turned to the magician. “Kulgan,
what do you think? This is more in your province.”

The magician looked at the map as if
trying to divine information hidden in it. “We know nothing of
the magic involved. We don’t know how fast they can pass
supplies and men through, for no one has ever witnessed an
appearance. They may require a large area, which this valley provides
them. Or they may have some limit on the amount of time available to
pass troops through.”

Duke Borric considered this. “Then
there is only one thing to do. We must send a party into the valley
to see what they are doing.”

Kulgan smiled “I will go too, if
Your Grace permits. Your soldiers might not have the faintest idea of
what they are seeing if it involves magic.”

Brucal started to object, his gaze
taking in the magician’s ample size. Borric cut him off. “Don’t
let his look fool you. He rides like a trooper.”

He turned to Kulgan. “You had
best take Pug, for if one should fall, then the other can carry the
news.”

Kulgan looked unhappy at that, but saw
the wisdom in it. The Duke of Yabon said, “If we strike at the
North Pass, then into this valley and draw their forces there, a
small, fast company might break through here.” He pointed at a
small pass that entered the south end of the valley from the east.

Borric said, “It is a bold enough
plan. We have danced with the Tsurani so long, holding a stable
front, I doubt they will expect it.” The magician suggested
they retire for the rest of the evening, for it would be a long day
on the morrow. He closed his eyes briefly, then informed the two
leaders that the rain would stop and the next day would be sunny.

Pug lay wrapped in a blanket, trying to
nap, when Kulgan entered their tent. Meecham sat before the cook
fire, preparing the evening meal and attempting to keep it from the
greedy maw of Fantus. The firedrake had sought out his master a week
before, eliciting startled cries from the soldiers as he swooped over
the tents. Only Meecham’s commanding shouts had kept a bowman
from putting a cloth-yard arrow into the playful drake. Kulgan had
been pleased to see his pet, but at a loss to explain how the
creature had found them. The drake had moved right into the
magician’s tent, content to sleep next to Pug and steal food
from under Meecham’s watchful eye.

Pug sat up as the magician pulled off
his sopping cloak. “There is an expedition going deep within
Tsurani-held territory, to break the circle they’ve thrown up
around a small valley and find out what they are up to. You and
Meecham will be going with me on this trip, I would have friends at
my back and side.”

Pug felt excited by the news. Meecham
had spent long hours schooling him in use of sword and shield, and
the old dream of soldiering had returned. “I have kept my blade
sharp, Kulgan.”

Meecham gave forth a snort that passed
for laughter, and the magician threw him a black look. “Good,
Pug. But with any luck we’ll not be fighting. We are to go in a
smaller force attached to a larger one that will draw off the
Tsurani. We will drive quickly into their territory and discover what
they are hiding. We will then ride as fast as possible to bring back
the news. I thank the gods they are without horses, or we could never
hope to accomplish so bold a stroke. We shall ride through them
before they know we have struck.”

“Perhaps we may take a prisoner,”
the boy said hopefully.

“It would be a change,”
said Meecham. The Tsurani had proved to be fierce fighters,
preferring to die rather than be captured.

“Maybe then we’d discover
why they’ve come to Midkemia,” ventured Pug.

Kulgan looked thoughtful. “There
is little we understand about these Tsurani. Where is this place they
come from? How do they cross between their world and ours? And as
you’ve pointed out, the most vexing question of all, why do
they come? Why invade our lands?”

“Metal.”

Kulgan and Pug looked over at Meecham,
who was spooning up stew, keeping one eye on Fantus. “They
don’t have any metal and they want ours.” When Kulgan and
Pug regarded him with blank expressions, he shook his head. “I’d
thought you puzzled it out by now, so I didn’t think to bring
it up.” He put aside the bowls of stew, reached behind himself,
and drew a bright red arrow out from under his bedding. “Souvenir,”
he said, holding it out for inspection. “Look at the head. It’s
the same stuff their swords are made from, some kind of wood,
hardened like steel. I picked over a lot of things fetched in by the
soldiers, and I haven’t seen one thing these Tsurani make with
any metal in it.”