Lord of the Rose (52 page)

It was when they passed the border of Southlund that they began to smell the nearby Garnet Mountains. The ruin of the city of Garnet, scene of Ankhar’s first conquest, appeared like a blackened scar, and the troops grew quiet, deadly serious, as they marched past. It was only a few miles north of the devastated fortress-city and a similar distance west of the mountains that they finally got scouting reports of the army of Ankhar.

The outriders rode as close as they could, though they were driven back by sweeping charges of goblins on their worg mounts. The light cavalry of the knights exchanged battle with these lupine riders in a number of sharp skirmishes, with neither side prevailing. The duke knew his horsemen were feeling the size of the enemy, gathering information on its dispositions, its line of march, and its order of battle.

There were whole regiments of battle-hardened hobgoblins, huge swaths of ground covered by the winged draconians, and more and more goblins spilling down from the mountains.

Finally the duke called a halt. His army camped in a broad front, all units facing the north. The catapults and ballistae were positioned among the infantry, with archers dispersed along the great line. Crawford ordered his men to dig a deep, steep-walled trench more than three miles long that would defend the northern edge of his position. This ditch was lined with spiked poles, while the artillery captains drilled the catapults, studying the ranges on the field, even going so far as to stake out distance markers so that, when the enemy attacked, they would be able to shoot accurately.

The wooded slopes of the Garnet foothills anchored the right side of the line, while the vast left, where the plains allowed maneuvering room, was protected by more than a thousand knights on horseback.

A mile to the north, the barbaric warriors of Ankhar made their own camp, and the two armies spent an uneasy night staring across
the gap at each others’ campfires, and wondering if the morning would bring a dawn of bloodshed and death, or victory.

Jaymes traveled south from Thelgaard, avoiding the patrols of goblins and draconions that roamed everywhere. He wended his way through the separated camps of Ankhar’s army. The next morning he saw the black ranks surge forward and knew the city would fall under the onslaught of Ankhar’s army.

He was unpleasantly surprised by how quickly that army moved southward after their victory. He had taken it as a matter of certainty that such a makeshift force would stay many days to plunder and pillage Thelgaard. Instead, their leader propelled them on the move again, the day after the battle.

Meanwhile, Jaymes was forced to enter the Garnet foothills for cover. He was able to slip through the forests without being detected, but the going was much slower than if he had remained on the flatlands. He followed the roughest terrain he could find, scaling rocky bluffs, plunging through tangled ravines.

Approaching the ruins of Garnet, he crossed over a ridge and caught the first glimpses of outriders—silver knights with pennants and fast horses—and knew the duke of Caergoth had brought his army into the field. Patrols from both side were sweeping into the Garnet valleys, so Jaymes found a tall hilltop, with sides too steep for horses or wolves, and climbed to the top. He looked out over the plain and saw the two great forces assembled, facing each other.

With the Sword of Lorimar over his lap and his back resting against a sun-warmed stone, Jaymes settled down to watch.

Selinda sailed to Caergoth in the same stout galleon, the
Pride of Paladine
, which had carried her to Duke Crawford’s fortress earlier in the year. The spring excursion had been so balmy and peaceful it was almost boring. Now, in the autumn, great gray mountains of water loomed on all sides, and the ship
pitched and rolled violently through the whole of the ten-day voyage. When at last they arrived in the port of Caergoth, she was bedraggled, sick to her stomach, and anxious to regain her footing on solid land.

Although once again the city guard came out to salute her, the city some offered some contrast to her previous visit. Captain Powell, riding at her side, was the first to remark upon it.

“The place looks empty,” he said, approvingly. “All the troops must be in the field.”

“At last,” Selinda agreed, knowing how reluctant Duke Crawford had been to send his men to war—even when they were so sorely needed to defend the realm. “There’s something more to the odd quiet, I gather … the place is still in mourning.”

They heard tales of the murder from the servants, as they were shown to their sumptuous guest quarters. Powell talked to the few knights, old or disabled, who had remained in their barracks as the bulk of the army went to war. Selinda chatted with several ladies of the court. They compared the versions they heard from various parties of what happened: the Assassin had struck in the early morning, slaying the duchess and leaving the duke alive.

Selinda still felt a personal responsibility for every crime that villain committed, but she had a hard time seeing Jaymes Markham as the perpetrator of this senseless crime.

Captain Powell voiced the same doubts when the two met for a quiet dinner.

“It stinks. There’s not a bit of logic to the story,” he said to the Princess of Palanthas. “Why would he break into a castle to slay a helpless silly fool of a duchess—begging your lady’s pardon, of course.”

“That’s quite all right,” Selinda replied. “Why, indeed?”

The more she thought about the man she had met, the man she helped to capture, and the man who had escaped from her party of knights, the more she shared Powell’s view: Such a man had no motive or cause to kill a hapless innocent like the Duchess of Caergoth.

Her suspicions, growing to a certainty as she tossed in bed that night, made her sleep as fitful as during her turbulent voyage.

It was early evening as Coryn the White stalked through the camp of Caergoth’s army, seeking the command tent. The knights she encountered bowed or salute, but all looked at her fearfully after she passed. She knew they called her the White Witch behind her back, and for now she was content to know she provoked their fears.

She found the duke before his tent, enjoying a savory steak served on rare and delicate china. He was dining with a half dozen of his currently favored officers. Several bottles of wine—an excellent vintage from Qualinesti, she noted idly—stood on the table.

“My lord duke,” she said, ignoring the cross look upon Caergoth’s face as he greeted her. “I am pleased to find you here.”

“Of course, a visit from the Lady Coryn is always a welcome diversion,” he said warily. “Please, will you join us for the meal?”

“Thank you, but I cannot,” she replied, half-smiling at the look of relief that passed across his features. Indeed, the thought of dining with this pompous peacock was enough to put her off her appetite.

“I have been observing the camp of the enemy,” she said. “I believe they are preparing to move north, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Some of the northernmost units have already extinguished their fires and seem to be readying for a fast march.”

“Ah!” crowed the duke, gesturing to his men. “It is as we suspected—the wretches have no stomach for a fight with a real army!”

“Perhaps,” Coryn acknowledged. “Though I have seen no signs of fear or disquiet in the enemy camp.”

“But you just said—”

“I said they were preparing to move. I said nothing about retreat. I suspect Ankhar intends further maneuvering—after all,
anyone can see it would be foolish to attack you here, behind the great ditch you have created as a barrier, with all your ballistae and catapults safely sited on one side of the ditch, aimed across the plain. One thing this Ankhar has shown, my lord duke, is that he is not a dolt.”

“What are you suggesting?” pressed Caergoth.

“Simply that if you know they are on the move you might consider attacking in the morning and catch the enemy unawares as they prepare to march. Come out of your entrenchments, and attack at once! If you act quickly—strike by dawn, you might seize an opportunity.”

“Attack?” The duke looked at her as though she were mad. She showed no emotion, though his response made her heart fall. “We are solidly entrenched here! No, my fortifications are good, my deployments cautious. My lady Coryn, we intend to stand as a wall here and let the enemy break himself upon our rock-hard surface!”

A chorus of assenting ayes rose from his captains, though one knight—Coryn recognized him as Sir Marckus—stared down at his plate, obviously troubled.

“And what if he is marching away?” The duke posed the question, rhetorically. He was obviously thinking aloud. “Then it is my opinion that he has chosen to fall back. Therefore, he is as good as beaten!”

“My lord duke—that is not the case! He marches for some mysterious purpose. If he slips away, he will fight elsewhere.”

“Ah, but my lady Coryn, you are not a tactician. He has obviously had a good look at my army and does not like what he sees! I appreciate your advice, as always, but urge you to study military strategy in your spare time. This discussion is concluded. Now, if you cannot join us for dinner, please allow me to enjoy my food while it is still at least a bit warm.”

In the morning, the vast army of Caergoth watched from its camp as the enemy army turned its back on them and marched away. Coryn didn’t see this—she was already gone.