Magician (53 page)

The guard nodded, but still was
reluctant to place hands upon the Princess. Without taking his eyes
from the soldier’s face, Roland pushed Carline gently toward
the door and said, “If I find she has left the cellar before
the signal that all is safe has sounded, I will ensure that the
Prince and the Swordmaster are informed you allowed the Princess to
step in harm’s way.”

That was enough for the guard. He might
not understand who had right of rank between Princess and Squire
during attacks, but there was no doubt at all in his mind of what the
Swordmaster would do to him under such circumstances. He turned to
the cellar door before Carline could return and said, “Highness,
this way,” forcing her down the steps.

Carline backed down the stairs, fuming.
Roland closed the door behind them. She turned after another backward
step, then haughtily walked down. When they reached the room set
aside for the women of the castle and town in time of attack, Carline
found the other women waiting, huddled together, terrified.

The guard hazarded an apologetic salute
and said, “Begging the Princess’s pardon, but the Squire
seemed most determined.”

Suddenly Carline’s scowl
vanished, and in its place a small smile appeared. She said, “Yes,
he did, didn’t he?”

Riders sped into the courtyard, the
massive gates swinging shut behind. Arutha watched from the walls and
turned to Fannon.

Fannon said, “Of all the worst
possible luck.”

Arutha said, “Luck has nothing to
do with it. The Tsurani would certainly not be attacking when the
advantage is ours.” Everything looked peaceful, except the
burned town standing as a constant reminder of the war. But he also
knew that beyond the town, in the forests to the north and northeast,
an army was gathering. And by all reports as many as two thousand
more Tsurani were on the march toward Crydee.

“Get back inside, you rat-bitten,
motherless dog.”

Arutha looked downward into the
courtyard and saw Amos Trask kicking at the panic-stricken figure of
a fisherman, who dashed back into one of the many rude huts erected
inside the wall of the castle to house the last of the displaced
townsfolk who had not gone south. Most of the townspeople had shipped
for Carse after the death raid, but a few had stayed the winter.
Except for some fishermen who were to stay to help feed the garrison,
the rest were due to be shipped south to Carse and Tulan this spring.
But the first ships of the coming season were not due in for weeks.
Amos had been put in charge of these folk since his ship had been
burned the year before, keeping them from getting underfoot and from
causing too much disruption in the castle. The former sea captain had
proved a gift during the first weeks after the burning of the town.
Amos had the necessary talent for command and kept the tough,
ill-mannered, and individualistic fisherfolk in line. Arutha judged
him a braggart, a liar, and most probably, a pirate, but generally
likable.

Gardan came up the stairs from the
court, Roland following. Gardan saluted the Prince and Swordmaster,
and said, “That’s the last patrol, sir.”

“Then we must only wait for
Longbow,” said Fannon.

Gardan shook his head “Not one
patrol caught sight of him, sir.”

“That’s because Longbow is
undoubtedly closer to the Tsurani than any soldier of sound judgment
is likely to get,” ventured Arutha. “How soon, do you
think, before the rest of the Tsurani arrive?”

Pointing to the northeast, Gardan said,
“Less than an hour, if they push straight through.” He
looked skyward. “They have less than four hours of light. We
might expect one attack before nightfall. Most likely they’ll
take position, rest their men, and attack at first light.”

Arutha glanced at Roland. “Are
the women safe?”

Roland grinned. “All, though your
sister might have a few harsh words about me when this is over.”

Arutha returned the grin. “When
this is over, I’ll deal with it.” He looked around. “Now
we wait.”

Swordmaster Fannon’s eyes swept
the deceptively peaceful scene before them. There was a note of worry
mixed with determination in his voice as he said, “Yes, now we
wait.”

Martin raised his hand. His three
trackers stopped moving. The woods were quiet as far as they could
tell, but the three knew Martin possessed more acute senses than
they. After a moment he moved along, scouting ahead.

For ten hours, since before dawn, they
had been marking the Tsurani line of march. As well as he could
judge, the Tsurani had been repulsed once more from Elvandar at the
fords along the river Crydee and were now turning their attention to
the castle at Crydee. For three years the Tsurani had been occupied
along four fronts: against the Duke’s armies in the east, the
elves and dwarves along the north, the hold at Crydee in the west,
and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the goblins in the south.

The trackers had stayed close to the
Tsurani trailbreakers, occasionally too close. Twice they had been
forced to run from attackers, Tsurani warriors tenaciously willing to
follow the Huntmaster of Crydee and his men. Once they had been
overtaken, and Martin had lost one of his men in the fighting.

Martin gave the raucous caw of a crow,
and in a few minutes his three remaining trackers joined him. One, a
long-faced young man named Garret, said, “They move far west of
where I thought they would turn.”

Longbow considered. “Aye, it
seems they may be planning to encircle all of the lands around the
castle. Or they may simply wish to strike from an unexpected
quarter.” Then with a wry grin he said, “But most likely,
they simply sweep the area before the attack begins, ensuring they
have no harrying forces at their backs.”

Another tracker said, “Surely
they know we mark their passing.”

Longbow’s crooked grin widened.
“No doubt. I judge them unconcerned with our comings and
goings.” He shook his head. “These Tsurani are an
arrogant crew.” Pointing, he said, “Garret will come with
me. You two will make straight for the castle. Inform the Swordmaster
some two thousand more Tsurani march on Crydee.” Without a word
the two men set off at a brisk pace toward the castle.

To his remaining companion he spoke
lightly. “Come, let us return to the advancing enemy and see
what he is about now.”

Garret shook his head. “Your
cheerful manner does little to ease my worrisome mind, Huntmaster.”

Turning back the way they had come,
Longbow said, “One time is much like another to death. She
comes when she will. So why give over your mind to worry?”

“Aye,” said Garret, his
long face showing he was unconvinced. “Why, indeed? It’s
not death arriving when she will that worries me; it’s your
inviting her to visit that gets me shivering.”

Martin laughed softly. He motioned for
Garret to follow. They set off at a trot, covering ground with long,
loose strides. The forest was bright with sunlight, but between the
thick boles were many dark places wherein a watchful enemy could lurk
Garret left it to Longbow’s able judgment whether these hiding
places were safe to pass. Then, as one, both men stopped in their
tracks at the sound of movement ahead. Noiselessly they melted into a
shadowy thicket. A minute passed slowly with neither man speaking.
Then a faint whispering came to them, the words unclear.

Into their field of vision came two
figures, moving cautiously along a north-south path that intersected
the one Martin followed. Both were dressed in dark grey cloaks, with
bows held ready. They stopped, and one kneeled down to study the
signs left by Longbow and his trackers. He pointed down the trail and
spoke to his companion, who nodded and returned the way they had
come.

Longbow heard Garret hiss as he drew in
his breath. Peering around the area was a tracker of the Brotherhood
of the Dark Path. After a moment of searching he followed his
companion.

Garret began to stir and Martin gripped
his arm. “Not yet,” Longbow whispered.

Garret whispered back, “What are
they doing this far north?”

Martin shook his head. “They’ve
slipped in behind our patrols along the foothills. We’ve grown
lax in the south, Garret. We never thought they’d move north
this far west of the mountains.” He waited silently for a
moment, then whispered, “Perhaps they tire of the Green Heart
and are trying for the Northlands to join their brothers.”

Garret started to speak, but stopped
when another Dark Brother entered the spot vacated by the others a
moment before. He looked around, then raised his hand in signal.
Other figures appeared along the trail intersecting the one Martin’s
men had traveled. In ones, twos, and threes, Dark Brothers crossed
the path, disappearing into the trees.

Garret sat holding his breath. He could
hear Martin counting faintly as the figures crossed their field of
vision: “. . . ten, twelve, fifteen, sixteen, eighteen . . .”

The stream of dark-cloaked figures
continued, seemingly unending to Garret. “. . . thirty-one,
thirty-two, thirty-four . . .”

As the crossing continued, larger
numbers of Brothers appeared, and after a time Martin whispered,
“There are more than a hundred.”

Still they came, some now carrying
bundles on their backs and shoulders. Many wore the dark grey
mountain cloaks, but others were dressed in green, brown, or black
clothing. Garret leaned close to Martin and whispered, “You are
right. It is a migration north. I mark over two hundred.”

Martin nodded. “And still they
come.”

For many more minutes the Dark Brothers
crossed the trail, until the flood of warriors was replaced by
ragged-looking females and young. When they had passed, a company of
twenty fighters crossed the trail, and then the area was quiet.

They waited a moment in silence. Garret
said, “They are elven-kin to move so large a number through the
forest undetected so long.”

Martin smiled. “I’d advise
you not mention that fact to the next elf you encounter.” He
stood slowly, unbending cramped muscles from the long sitting in the
brush. A faint sound echoed from the east, and Martin got a
thoughtful look on his face. “How far along the trail do you
judge the Dark Brothers’ march?”

Garret said, “At their rear, a
hundred yards; at the van, perhaps a quarter mile or less. Why?”

Martin grinned, and Garret became
discomforted by the mocking humor in his eyes. “Come, I think I
know where we can have some fun.”

Garret groaned softly, “Ah,
Huntmaster, my skin gets a poxy feeling when you mention fun.”

Martin struck the man a friendly blow
to the chest with the back of his hand. “Come, stout fellow.”
The Huntmaster broke trail, with Garret behind. They loped along
through the woods, easily avoiding obstacles that would have hindered
less experienced woodsmen.

They came to a break in the trail, and
both men halted. Just down the trail, at the edge of their vision in
the gloom of the forest, came a company of Tsurani trailbreakers.
Martin and Garret faded into the trees, and the Huntmaster said, “The
main column is close behind. When they reach the crossing where the
Dark Brothers passed, they might chance to follow.”

Garret shook his head. “Or they
might not, so we will make certain they do.” Taking a deep
breath, he added, “Oh well,” then made a short silent
prayer to Kihan, the Singer of Green Silences, Goddess of Foresters,
as they unshouldered their bows.

Martin stepped out onto the trail and
took aim, and Garret followed his example. The Tsurani trailbreakers
came into view, cutting away the thick underbrush along the trail so
the main body could more easily follow. Martin waited until the
Tsurani were uncomfortably close, then he let fly, just as the first
trailbreaker took notice of them. The first two men fell, and before
they hit the ground, two more arrows were loosed Martin and Garret
pulled arrows from back quivers in fluid motions, set arrow to
bowstring, and let fly with uncommon quickness and accuracy. It was
not from any act of kindness Martin had selected Garret five years
before. In the eye of the storm, he would stand calmly, do as
ordered, and do it with skill.

Ten stunned Tsurani fell before they
could raise an alarm. Calmly Martin and Garret shouldered their bows
and waited. Then along the trail appeared a veritable wall of colored
armor. The Tsurani officers in the van stopped in shocked silence as
they regarded the dead trail-breakers. Then they saw the two
foresters standing quietly down the trail and shouted something. The
entire front of the column sprang forward, weapons drawn.

Martin leaped into the thicket on the
north side of the trail, Garret a step behind. They dashed through
the trees, the Tsurani in close pursuit.

Martin’s voice filled the forest
with a wild hunter’s call. Garret shouted as much from some
nameless, crazy exhilaration as from fear. The noise behind was
tremendous as a horde of Tsurani pursued them through the trees.

Martin led them northward, paralleling
the course taken by the Dark Brotherhood. After a time he stopped and
between gasping breaths said, “Slowly, we don’t want to
lose them.”

Garret looked back and saw the Tsurani
were out of sight. They leaned against a tree and waited. A moment
later the first Tsurani came into view, hurrying along on a course
that angled off to the northwest.

With a disgusted look, Martin said, “We
must have killed the only skilled trackers on their whole bloody
world.” He took his hunter’s horn from his belt and let
forth with such a loud blast the Tsurani soldier froze, an expression
of shock clearly evident on his face even from where Martin and
Garret stood.

The Tsurani looked around and caught
sight of the two huntsmen Martin waved for the man to follow, and he
and Garret were off again. The Tsurani shouted for those behind and
gave chase. For a quarter mile they led the Tsurani through the
woods, then they angled westward Garret shouted, between heaving
breaths, “The Dark Brothers . . . they’ll know we come.”