Dog and Dragon-ARC (32 page)

“Your help in giving the army the kicking instead. A lesson. We can defeat the men of Ys. Kill every man there. The muryan can come and stick them with poison as they sleep. And next year, or the year after, they’ll come back.”

“That is usually what happens,” said the local spriggan family head, happy in this dour wisdom.

“Which is why I don’t want to do that. Finn said a frightened man is a lot more dangerous than a dead one to an army.”

“Oh, that is generally true,” said the spriggan. “It works for us. Humans could destroy us utterly, if we didn’t frighten them witless. Which means you do have to let some survive to frighten the others still more by stretching the story. Which in turn means that they leave us alone.”

“That is more or less what I had in mind.”

“We could like you,” said the spriggan. “Even if you didn’t have the right to command. Who is this Finn?”

There seemed no harm in telling them. “A dragon. A black dragon. A…a friend of mine. He taught me nearly everything I know.”

“Cleverer than most dragons then. Mind you, they’re not all alike. Well, what do you plan?”

“I hope it includes drowning a few,” said the grundylow. “My larder is nearly empty.”

“I have a few ideas. Possibly involving drowning. But I was hoping for tips from the experts at frightening people witless. I want a bit of time to prepare though. Could you piskies maze them?”

“There’s a lot of them, and a lot of cold iron,” said a little piskie matron, dressed with decorum in two acorn caps.

“I assume they have scouts. Could you maze them? Slow them down. Panic a few.”

The piskie grinned. “We can do panic. And misleading a bit. But their horses won’t let us lead them over cliffs.”

“We’d like them to get here in the dawn, or better, the evening. Bad light is good.”

“This Finn is a fine teacher,” said the biggest spriggan.

“I know you spriggans can look like giants. And I know you can look like rocks. But can you do giant rocks? Look like you fill the gap?”

“That would be easy enough,” said the spriggan, thoughtfully.

“Good. We will give them talking rocks and moving forests and maybe something nasty in the river.”

The pond-slime green, flattened, wide-lipped mouth of the grundylow grinned. It had lots of sharp teeth.

***

The forest—or at least large tree limbs and Wudewasa in their usual mix of hair and twigs, which made them look like shrubs with spears—moved past Dun Calathar in the early morning, before the gates opened. It certainly did not pass unobserved. They were only just over two thousand strong but, spread along the road, they covered a lot of road. The men-at-arms of the Dun saw them, despite the hour, and as a result, so did most of the people.

The valley of the Cal, beyond the gap, had been transformed by knockyan and muryan. The slope below where the “forest” would stand was not possible to ride. It was steeper than it used to be and carpeted with millions of small round rocks from the riverbed, held in place by terrace after terrace of twig stakes, and woven-grass-stalk lines. A man, walking carefully, might get up. A horse on the slope would not. Every five rows was a stouter stake line to stop the entire slope cascading. And in knocker tunnels below that, ready to be pulled down, lines to remove those stakes. Piles more rocks waited at the top of the slope, ready to be pushed. The flatter “forest” area itself was a zigzag of broad trenches and narrow ridges that would channel any who rode in from further up to the valley between the trees.

And that was just the start to the preparations that had been made to meet the men of Ys. Meb had neither thought of all them, nor had very much to do with organizing them. But the fay and the Wudewasa of Lyonesse had taken having the full cooperation of the knockers and the muryan as a chance to exercise their imagination.

They had the better part of the day to set up and prepare. The earl of Calathar did come riding up the valley at the head of his men, around midday. It had obviously taken him a lot of time, and every other ability from threat to cajolement, to get the men-at-arms to ride out from the Dun. The spriggans had not been very kind to the sentries at the gap, Meb gathered. She’d have to have words with them.

She rode up to speak to the Calathar men on the water-horse.

She hadn’t really anticipated the effect of the water-horse on their nags. The stallions and geldings wanted to get back to their stables. A few of them decided to go with or without their riders. The mares had other ideas entirely.

The earl had control of his horse. Barely. Its behavior didn’t sweeten him. “What are you doing on my lands?” he demanded.

Meb had expected thanks or an offer of help. Or both. “Are your wits as fat as your behind?” she demanded, entirely forgetting that she was alone and he was a noble of the realm. “The men of Ys will be here by dusk if not sooner. We’re getting ready to send them home if we can. To defend the land.”

“It’s my right…”

At this point his horse reared, turned suddenly and tossed him out of the saddle, and headed home as fast as it could go. The haerthman who had placed the sharp point of his lance just exactly where the horse would think it a very cheeky horsefly indeed, saluted her. “Hail, Defender. We are here to fight for you. At least, I am. Who is with me?”

Most of the men raised their lances in salute, and shouted, “Defender!”

For a brief moment it was quite heady. But then the reality of it all came back to her.

The earl sat up, groaning. “Have you rebelled against your liege? Where is your respect? I’ll have you all tossed out to be landless masterless men! Take her back to the Dun!”

The haerthman who had assisted him out of the saddle pointed his lance at him. “It’s you, Earl Simon, who have not shown respect to your liege. She is the Defender. The sea-window returned, the forest walked.”

“And she spoke to the sea and it destroyed the Vanar fleet for her,” said the spriggan neither Meb nor the earl’s men had known was there.

The men of Dun Calathar were wide-eyed. But they stood, respectful.

Earl Simon flapped his mouth, but no words came out.

***

“The giant should be fun,” said the spriggan with morbid satisfaction.

“Giant? What giant?” asked Meb, with a sinking feeling. The spriggan looked pleased. It had been looking quite put out, and had found nothing to think of that could go wrong with the trenchwork at the forest, a sure sign that it was well prepared—and probably would go wrong. But she had no preparations for giants.

“Ach, he’ll be one of the half-dead ones. They always have some half-dead marching along with them.”

“Half-dead ones?” Meb was beginning to feel like one of those birds trained to repeat what was said. “What are they?”

“People, or various creatures, monsters mostly, that are not alive but aren’t dead. They come with the invaders. They’re often quite hard to kill,” explained the spriggan.

“If they’re not alive, how do you kill them?”

“They’re dead but have been reanimated magically. Rebuilt as it were,” explained the spriggan. “Sometimes they have been mixed with things that are harder to kill, and they’re generally not too sensitive to pain. Or very clever. A clever man knows when to be afraid and to run away. The half-dead just keep coming.”

And Meb remembered Vivien speaking of her husband Cormac being seen among the forces of various other places. She understood now, how that could be. It still made her shudder, and got her no closer to how to deal with the giant.

“Just how big is this giant?” she asked in a fading voice.

“Oh, not so big. The last one had three heads, and was terrible. This one isn’t more than eighteen cubits tall. Living stone too, though, so not much use firing arrows into him. You’ll deal with him, though.”

“You could have told me earlier,” said Meb.

“Why?” asked the spriggan.

“I could have got a better head start, running away,” said Meb, bitterly. “I need to talk to the muryan.”

“There is nothing like ants to bring down giants,” agreed the spriggan.

“I hope you’re right,” said Meb. “Because that’s all I can think of right now.

***

They came, with the sound of drums, and the tramp of the giant. It was just before sundown and a curling mist was falling over the top edge of the valley, making the upper rock walls hazy and indistinct, muting colors.

The men of Ys, in their fish-scalelike armor, each troop of horse behind its brave standard, were plainly expecting the usual trouble at the gap. They halted, just below the “forest,” to tighten their formations and ready themselves. Oddly, in this light, Meb thought it really did look like a vast forest, far bigger than a mere couple of thousand branches and Wudewasa. The noise that came from it was more alarming than the drum or tread of the giant. It was a strange deep roaring sound, pulsing, rising and falling. Meb knew the Wudewasa made the noise by whirling flat-bladed pieces of wood. Knowing full well what it was, it still made the hair in the nape of her neck want to stand on end.

Some scouts had ridden along the upper part of the valley and into the wood. None had given warning.

But now the gap was closed.

And the sound of the bullroarers in the valley was suddenly made faint by her own yell. It was supposed to be done in unison. Supposed to echo. Somehow, with the nerves of the moment or maybe the water-horse deciding to rear and charge—which was anything but what Meb had had in mind—“Go home!” should have been a lost squeak, only fit for annoying children. Instead, it reverberated from the rocks and echoed up and down the valley—as Meb on the runaway water-horse that wanted nothing more than to fight, charged down at them, followed by the men of Dun Calathar. The water-horse, merely walking, had had a bad effect on the normal horses. Galloping full tilt, dashing its wild mane about and somehow managing to scream horse defiance, and show itself as the biggest, most attractive, toughest stallion in existance, its effect on a horse-mounted army was…interesting.

The cavalry might largely have disintegrated, crashing through the foot soldiers, but the giant advanced. About three steps…before toppling.

Meb rode—flying—over its back. Other cavalry spilled around, driving men into the river—which was rising and full of something that pulled men under—or to scramble to the woods or just turn and run for the gateway back to Ys as if pursued by more than just nasty piskies. The giants that chased them were mere glamor, but no one stopped to check. They just ran.

As a battle it proved to be a complete rout, and fairly short.

Meb actually found herself feeling mildly guilty that she’d had the piskies dose the Ys men’s water with buckthorn when they’d stopped at midday. They really didn’t need stomach cramps and bowels that turned to water as well. She was glad though that they’d dosed the giant with arsenic and now had it tied down with cables of spider silk. It would take hammering hard steel spikes through it to kill it.

And Meb knew the heady sound of cheering.

It didn’t improve the sight of dead men or horses much.

But Ys’s soldiery would not be in a hurry to come back to this haunted, accursed and protected land.

Now the other armies had to get that message.

CHAPTER 23

Out on the open mountainside, Fionn sat looking down on the tranquil blue sea, far below. He patted Díleas, sitting next to him. “It’s good to breathe clean air again, air that had none of that scent of decay and intrigue. It’s helping me to think, and we have a lot to think about. It appears our Scrap must have called in help from the Spirit of the Sea. So I thought we might try Groblek, the Lord of the Mountains instead. He’s not very fond of dogs. Do you think you could pretend to be a cat?”

Díleas turned his head away and studiously ignored Fionn.

Fionn got up. “Groblek!” he yelled. “GROBLEK!” The echo repeated it, fainter and fainter.

“I’ve no idea if that’ll work. In the meanwhile, we may as well walk up the mountain a little further, get a good line out to the Skerries, and fly out and see if we can find that Tolmen Way.”

Díleas barked. The “big trouble” bark. Fionn was getting better at telling them apart by now. Walking toward them was the reason.

A bear.

Not just any bear, but an enormous beast who must have weighed at least a thousand pounds.

And his growl was like slow thunder.

“Greetings, Groblek,” said Fionn, with a wave.

“I should have guessed it would be you,” rumbled the bear. “Waking the child, just when we had got it to sleep. And I do not like dogs.”

“Congratulations! I hadn’t heard,” said Fionn. “You’re quick about it. And that’s not a dog. It’s a cat.”

“Time moves differently for us. And it barks like a dog, and smells like a dog. Therefore, it is a dog.”

“Appearances can be deceptive,” said Fionn mildly. “When did you last hear of a dog having anything to do with a dragon? Cats do. And it is very good with children. Besides, it’s her cat. I am just looking after it. I wouldn’t dare let it get hurt.”

“You’re incorrigible,” said Groblek. “Very well. I suppose you can come in, you and her ‘cat.’ What do you want this time?”

“To talk. The last time we spoke you said she had been drawn back to where she came from.”

“She told us that looking into the flame she’d seen that Tasmarin must lose either her or you. I thought her heart would break. But she was a brave little human.”

“More courage than common sense,” said Fionn, gruffly. “Might-be futures can be circumvented.”

“Would you have taken the chance, had things been the other way around?” asked Groblek as he led them toward a cave mouth.

“I thought I asked the trick questions. No.”

“So your choices are right, and hers wrong?”

Fionn sighed as they entered a vast hall. A noisy vast hall. Groblek had not been joking about having woken someone. “You ask awkward questions. And I apologize for waking him. I really do.”

“I love him dearly, nearly more dearly than anything else, but sometimes he is his mother’s child. Noisy, tumultuous and restless, just like the sea,” said Groblek.