The Dark Glory War (36 page)

“The Snow Fox?” Prince Kirill frowned. “This is Dothan Cavarre?”

“Yes. His father was Baron before him and called the Fox. His son is very much his heir; you will see.”

A flag went up on the lower battlements and the elf summoned us forward along the dike. It was broad enough to be a road, and level, too, so we were able to make good progress along it. While the lowlands between us and the Aurolani host was smooth land, suitable for a charge, we took the Croquelf at his word and cautiously set worry aside. After all, the lowlands were supposed to be flooded as the enemy came at us.

And come they did. As we started along the dike, trumpets blared and flags waved. Company after company of gibberers and vylaens ran this way and that to form up in good order. We faced a front of ten companies and, if my count of flags was right, it ran nine companies deep, pitting us against nine battalions, or a force of almost 2,500 creatures. While that number did daunt me, what disturbed me more was that barely a tenth of the Aurolani camp roused itself to deal with us.

We kept moving and I waited for the secret tunnels leading from the river to burst open. I wanted to see white foaming water wash away the front ranks, sending gibberers rolling and bobbing. I wanted to see the other ranks turn in their panic, shattering the ranks behind them. I wanted to see a lake fill the lowlands, dotted with gibberer corpses like so many mottled islands.

The floods did not come. The gibberers did, marching ever closer. While we outnumbered them, we were stretched out on the dike. Their charge against us would be as deadly as our ambush had been. I eased my bow from across my body and fingered an arrow. I noticed the other archers among us make similar preparations, and even Lord Norrington loosened his sword in its scabbard.

Our guide did not seem concerned at all, which made me feel no better. Prince Augustus formed his cavalry up at the northern end of the dike, ready to mount a suicidal charge to break the enemy formation from the flank. The horsemen wouldn’t get very far before they were overwhelmed, but Augustus’ forethought was characteristic of the sort of leader he was.

The gibberers, now only a thousand yards from us, sped up their pace. They began trotting toward us, eating up ground. I nocked an arrow, cursing myself for being so nervous. The elven archers further back had not yet set arrow to bow, knowing that even our best shots wouldn’t kill until the gibberers closed to within a hundred yards. I swallowed hard and licked my lips, flexed my right hand and continued walking, but I was always ready to stop and shoot.

At five hundred yards the gibberers began to run, and it was then that trumpets blasted from the fortress’s walls. Flags shot to the top of poles mounted on towers. The distant shouts of orders could be heard, and I’d have despaired save that the flags and shouts coaxed a laugh from our guide.

Siege machines, big and small, hidden behind walls and ramparts, arched their loads into the air. I saw casks fly out, trailing stout line. When it went taut, the barrels burst, their staves opening like the petals of a flower. From within them flew countless calthrops, made of nails welded together so no matter which way they landed, a spike always faced up. This rain of pointed metal spread out in the gibberers’ path, with front ranks pulling up lame, and those following battering them down or tripping over them—dodging only to skewer their own feet.

Clouds of arrows and spears arched over the battlefield. Lead weights had been mounted behind the points, some larger, some smaller, so that the projectile rain spread itself in a line that cut across the battlefield. Whole companies died at once, leaving huge gaps in the enemy formation.

Massive logs arched into the sky, but did not fly as an arrow might. They came broadside. They smashed down into the gibberers, pulping those upon whom they landed, then rolled on, out away from the walls, flattening whole companies. One log, which developed a wobble in flight, hit at one end first, then the other, pitching broken bodies and sod into the air as the ends alternately touched down.

Mismatched stones linked by chains were hurled through the sky. I’d seem similar missiles used in our sea battle, designed to take down a mast and sails, but in the lowlands it had another, more curious effect. The heavier stone would strike first, squashing gibberers beneath it, and would anchor the second stone. Its momentum would stretch the chain taut, then the second stone would roll in a great arc, scything down warriors in a bloody circle.

Even more devastating than those weapons were thenapthalm spitters. The bronze nozzles had been fashioned to resemble the heads of serpents and had been mounted midway down the tower walls. Torches guttered in the serpent’s nostrils. They sprayed out a great stream ofnapthalm which the torches ignited, transforming the dark liquid into a cascade of fire. One tower projected a fiery curtain in front of the Aurolani warriors, while two others played their flaming torrents over the gibberers. Fire-touched warriors screamed and ran, or curled up into little balls and burned.

Nothing got through the firewall to challenge us. More arrows and snears. stones and loes flew from within the fortress to break the gibberers, but their formations had dissolved. Their retreat was headlong and fast.

I looked past the burning field at the rest of the Aurolani host. It didn’t matter that they had twenty thousand or thirty thousand warriors out there. There was no way they could successfully lay siege to Fortress Draconis. Chytrine had to know that, had to know her troops could not break the fortress.

I shivered because despite that certain knowledge, she had sent her troops out and that meant she knew something I did not. I took that realization as a harbinger of disaster.

Is we neared the outer wall, a trio of barges slid into placel’t and were lashed together to form a floating bridge. It then I lfunneled the whole of our host into the township. The elven guide brought Lord Norrington, Prince Kirill, Nay, Leigh, Seethe, and me over to meet Dothan Cavarre, the Draconis Baron.

It was not hard to see why he was also known as the Snow Fox, for he was a small man with hair so blond it seemed almost white. His sharp features were accentuated by the meticulously trimmed white moustache and goatee that brought his chin to a point. High cheekbones hollowed his cheeks. Hints of blue flecked his grey eyes—the eyes themselves being restless and constantly shifting from wide-eyed wonderment to a focused narrowing to study something or someone.

The fact that he was small—a good head shorter than me—was emphasized by the fact that he wore a loose-fitting silken tunic of blue, black silk pantaloons, and knee-high black leather boots. An oversized belt slanted across his waistline and a dagger hung in a sheath at his right hip. It had no sword to balance it at the left, though a folded pair of gloves did reside there. His hands had long, slender fingers, but they were uncalloused as if he’d never done a day of work in his life.

Judging by the seamless nature of his face, his life had not been that long, either. If he was five years my senior, I could have spit fire at gibberers myself and watched them run. How someone like him became the commander of Fortress Draconis, I could not imagine. Then, just at the point when I was judging him the most harshly, a shift of the wind carried the scent of roasting gibberer to me and I did have to credit his methods for their efficacy.

“Ah, yes, Lord Norrington, at last.” He grasped Lord Norrington’s hand in both of his and pumped it mightily. “I have enjoyed our correspondence viaarcanslata very much. I am so glad to have you here. You’ve brought thirty-five hundred men, yes? Good. That brings us nearly to ten thousand in the garrison here, not counting the militia raised from the township. They’re really not useful for much, but … Yes?”

Lord Norrington held up his free hand. “I am pleased to be here, but before we continue, I would introduce to you Prince Kirill of Okrannel …”

“My pleasure, Highness.” The Snow Fox shook his hand and smiled, then killed the smile instantly. “I was sorry to hear of your wife’s passing, and of the loss of your city.” The smile returned in a flash. “I have had word that your daughter has arrived in the south unharmed.”

Kirill’s face brightened. “Thank you for telling me that.”

Dothan moved on and brought Seethe’s right hand to his mouth for a kiss. “A Vorquelf. You would be Seethe, sister to Oracle, who produced the Norrington prophecy?”

Seethe’s eyes widened. “I am.”

“Good, very good. I like the sound of the prophecy, but would prefer to hear it in the native Elvish. Mine is weak, of course. I’m out of practice, and speak with a dreadful Croquelf accent, but if you wish to converse …”

“Thank you, my lord.” A hint of confusion ran through Seethe’s voice. “Perhaps we will have a chance.”

“I’m sure of it.” Dothan released her hand, then opened his arms to take in Nay, Leigh, and me. “And here they are, allbirds of a feather, as it were. You would be Naysmith Carver,giant-slayer, if reports are right.“

“Arrowswould have killed him eventually.” “Modest, too; splendid. And you, you are Bosleigh Norrington. You wield Temmer and have killed two—TWO—sullanciri.Perhaps your presence here can give the two out there something to fear.”ŚLeigh nodded wearily. “That would be my hope.”

“Of course it would, my boy, of course it would.” The Snow Fox turned and faced me. “And you are Tarrant Hawkins. I’ve heard you reached into a temeryx’s chest and squeezed its heart until it died. I see by the bow you’ve impressed Loquelven archers—not easy to do for a man.”

“I’ve done no more than anyone else.” “Extraordinary times demand the extraordinary from everyone.” He clapped his hands, then turned back to Lord Norrington. “Well, then, I should love to take you on a tour of the fortress, if you don’t mind. I have people who will bring your troops to their billets—no dearth of room here. We’ll get them fed and to bed, then give them assignments that will familiarize them with the fortress. No heavy work yet; some relaxation, yes?”

Lord Norrington nodded. “That sounds right. Ah, here are Princes Augustus and Scrainwood. My lords, this is our host, Dothan Cavarre.”

“Prince Augustus, your cavalry looked very smart drawn up there on the plain. I almost let some of the gibberers through to watch you work, but I was too selfish. Forgive me.”

Prince Augustus smiled. “I’m sure we will have another chance to show you our skill.”

“Indeed.” Dothan looked at Prince Scrainwood. “I hope you will enjoy your stay with us.”

Prince Kirill adjusted the sling holding his left arm. “You said you almost let some of the gibberers through. We thought you were going to flood the lowlands.”

“Oh, I was, I was …”

“Preparations went awry?”

“No, Prince Kirill, not at all. They went very well.” Dothan smiled. “I’ll show you, of course, but I decided to save the flood for another time. Couldn’t have used the calthrops since the land would get too marshy, you see. Wouldn’t have worked at all. I wanted to give them something to think about, so I gave them a little taste of what we have in store for them.“ Leigh’s father nodded. ”It was an impressive display.“

“If you liked that, then come, let me show you everything else.” The Snow Fox started toward the outer wall, saw he’d have to march us through the troops streaming in, so he spun about and started off in another direction, then shifted to a third. “Come along, this is it.”

The Fortress Draconis he toured us through is hard to imagine now for anyone who had not seen it previously. The changes made over the years did not so much overshadow the brilliance of the original design, but rather just layered excess over it. It was like dipping a candle in wax over and over again, sometimes all the way, sometimes not, ending up with a bloated thing that lacks the elegance of its core.

For instance, he showed us how he had small catapults mounted on a turntable that allowed him to swivel them around. Or how thenapthalm spitters were nozzles in the center of a tower that could move up and down or side to side, but were connected via a stout hose to a tank in a chamber higher in the tower. The weight of the fluid forced it out through the hose without any pumps to break down. In yet other places he had long metal rails running in parallel, and along them were drawn carts carrying arrows or spears or stones or canisters of calthrops to the ballistae.

Quoting Dothan Cavarre exactly is difficult, given how he runs on with his words so. Any one of his monologues might touch on dozens of subjects, and sorting out fact from opinion and linking them to the right subjects was enough work to keep me silent throughout the tour. I was able to confirm that he was only four years older than me, which made him Princess Ryhope’s age, yet his knowledge of the world surpassed that of the eldest man in Valsina.

He had become the Draconis Baron because his father, Raakin, had been the Draconis Baron before him; but the post was not one passed on via a bloodline. When his fathpr i to look for a replacement. Dothan, who had spent his entire life in Fortress Draconis, applied for the position, submitting his application under an assumed name. His father, who helped choose a successor, did not know his own son was one of the candidates.

“You see, I did not have the military experience of the other candidates, no, indeed. But then, no one had repulsed an Aurolani attack in almost a century, so no one had the experience needed, really. But I had spent my whole life here, growing up in the fortress, exploring every nook and cranny. I’d watched all the troops, become a mascot for some, learned Elvish and urZrethi—which is a gods-awful tongue for a man to try—and discovered I had no skill with weapons, save to invent them and perfect them and imagine how to use them.”

Dothan’s smile broadened, his steps lengthened, and his arms swung wide as he turned circles and led us through the fortress. His right hand lovingly caressed the central spine of the Crown Tower as he ascended the spiral steps through its heart. At each level he’d have us leave the stairs and move to the balconies so we could get a better look at the carvings on the walls, or the tapestries hung there, or some little treasure brought from this nation or that.