The Deed of Paksenarrion (150 page)

Paks had hardly stowed her few belongings in a cupboard when she heard the Duke’s voice in the passage, asking if she was back. She went out quickly, and followed him into his study. Cracolnya and Valichi were there; the other captains were not.

“The more I think about it,” the Duke said without preamble, “the more I think Venner was involved in most of what happened here. Val mentioned that trouble you had with the corporal—what was his name? Stephi?” Paks nodded. “It seemed fairly clear he’d been drugged, and at the time that potion was the best source. But if Venner could become invisible, as I understand he did during the fight with you—” He paused, and Paks nodded. “Yes, then he could have drugged the ale as he brought it, and drugged the potion bottle as well.”

“I still don’t see why, my lord,” said Cracolnya, after shooting a hard glance at Paks. “Why would he cause such commotion, and run such a risk, to get Stephi in trouble?”

“It wasn’t Stephi, I daresay,” said the Duke. “It was Paks—if she was going to become a paladin—”

“Why not just kill her, then?” Cracolnya sounded half-angry. “I’m sorry, my lord, but it seems entirely too roundabout—”

“He had no access to recruits,” said Valichi quietly. “He never came out of the Duke’s Court, but to visit the villages, and rarely then. He couldn’t have marched into barracks without being challenged—”

“But if he could be invisible?”

Paks had said nothing, still uncertain of her status, but now she intervened. “My lord, there’s more to it, I’m sure. As with all Achrya’s plots, we must look for more than one gain, and for interlacing of design. To discredit any good soldier—Stephi and me both, perhaps—and cause dissension in the Company, between recruits and veterans, between men and women, between Dorrin’s cohort and Arcolin’s.” She paused. Both the captains were nodding slowly; the Duke watched her closely. “Then the other recruits—Korryn and Jens, whom you never knew, my lord—”

“Bad ‘uns,” put in Valichi.

“Yes, sir. If they had stayed longer, they might have done more harm by influence. Even as it was, the trial and the punishment drove some recruits away—you remember that, sir. And not the worst, either.”

“True.” Valichi nodded again. “And I daresay Stephi’s friends in the Company didn’t trust you, Paks, at first.”

Paks remembered Donag’s early unfairness. “No, sir, they didn’t. Stephi did what he could—he was always fair—”

“He was a good man,” said the Duke. “If we could have known—” He sighed and quoted a version of the old saying, “
If
never
won a battle. We must go from where we stand. I’ve sent for a Marshal.” He looked around at all of them. “Until the Marshal comes, Paksenarrion, we’ll hope your gift is enough to warn us. Since you found nothing amiss in the servants, I’m willing to let them go back to their work. We don’t need that many, actually, and I’d as soon send some of them away, but it’s too near winter for them to find work elsewhere. I know how most places are about hiring in the late fall and winter.” His voice sharpened on this last, and Paks wondered how he knew. She had certainly run into that reluctance the previous winter.

“You could board some of them out in the villages,” suggested Cracolnya. “That would free your veterans for militia service if it’s necessary.”

“I could, but I’d want to be very sure they’re harmless. We’re better equipped to deal with traitors than the villages are. Another thing—are we likely to run into more of those spider-things, Paksenarrion?”

“I don’t know.” Paks frowned as she thought. “This is only the third one I’ve seen. The others were in Kolobia. I don’t know how common they are. We ought to be ready for another—but I doubt there’d be many of them.”

“Are they all shape-changed followers of Achrya?” asked Valichi.

Paks shook her head. “I don’t think so. One—larger than the one here—almost seemed to be a pet, or mascot, to the blackwebs in Kolobia. They bowed to it, before the combats, and they said it was Achrya’s servant. It—”

“Larger than
that—
?” Cracolnya seemed to have trouble speaking.

Paks nodded. “Yes, much larger. Each leg as long as I am tall, and the eyes fist-size, at least.”

“Great gods! Did it—did it
do
anything?”

“It bound in silk and ate those I defeated.”

He looked at her with new respect. “I had not realized—your pardon, my lord, for you told me, but I had doubts I never spoke—that Paksenarrion had faced such peril. In my own land we have many legends of the spider demons, and such a death is the worst we know.”

“I don’t know how it would fight outside its web,” Paks went on. “Those that I know were shapechanged used fangs and spinnerets both, as that one did last night. They move very fast, and can leap higher than a man’s head. If they have such, to lead the way through the tunnel, for example, archers might not be able to stop it.”

“Did you ever fight against one directly?” asked Cracolnya.

“Not alone. Three of us—the paladin I trained with, a dwarf, and I—fought it together.”

“What about the spinnerets?”

“It can’t throw the silk ahead while moving; it trails a line, instead. But if balked, it can stand on its rear legs and throw the silk forward. Arrows in the fat back section ruin its aim. The legs are bad too—claws, but a single sword-stroke will sever them.”

“Arrows in the eyes should work, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes, but it moves fast, and that’s a small target. The rest of the head end is hard armored; arrows glance off, as do swords.”

“I keep thinking,” the Duke said, “that unless Achrya is a very stupid demon, we’ll see trouble very shortly. Tonight, I expect. If I were in her place, I’d be moving as soon as I knew of trouble, and she’s bound to have had some way of keeping in contact. I wish Master Vetrifuge were here—some of his wizardy fire down there might fry a spider or two.”

Paks said nothing, but was just as glad Vetrifuge was elsewhere. Wizards and paladins worked ill together, but she doubted the Duke remembered that.

“We’ve oil enough in the stores,” Cracolnya said. “I daresay one of those wouldn’t like fire, wizardy or not. And that cellar is all stone and earth—it wouldn’t menace the rest of the building.”

The Duke nodded, and turned to Valichi. “Val, has anything moved outside today?”

Valichi shook his head. “Nothing, my lord. No reports of orc sightings from either village or any farmstead.”

“That in itself tells me they know something.” The Duke looked down at his desk, and shifted the sheets of paper. “Beyond doubling the watch, and keeping a close eye on that tunnel entrance—if that’s what it is—I can’t think of more for tonight. Can any of you?” Valichi and Cracolnya shook their heads, but Paks spoke up.

“One more thing,” she said, and waited for his nod. “Suppose they don’t attack here at all, but go past us to attack holdings south of here. Duke’s East, or even beyond your lands. If Achrya’s purpose is, in part, to discredit you—”

“I had not thought of that. Such a plan could include a small attack here, enough to convince us, with the bulk of them harrying south. Cracolnya—?”

“They couldn’t have moved today, my lord, unless they swung wide of the ridge east of here. We had plenty of men out, and even some miles west on the road. But tonight or tomorrow—”

“To make it work, they’d have to show that they’d come past me,” said the Duke. “If they entered from east or west, everyone knows I can’t patrol the entire north line alone, and no one holds west of me this far north. Proof—they’d need some proof—”

“Neither of the villages could stand against a large force,” said Valichi. “With plunder from there—even prisoners—”

“That’s it.” The Duke’s voice hardened. “By the gods, I think that’s it. Paks?”

“Yes, my lord. It feels right.”

“Now what? Let me think. How many would they commit to an attack on us? In the dark, it wouldn’t take much—some fire arrows, an attempt to break into the cellar—maybe fifty against the walls. Cracolnya, how few archers can you hold this place with?”

“Me? Tir’s gut! Mmm—most of the cohort—all of it, if you mean hold it very long. There’s that tunnel, don’t forget.”

“I haven’t. Even so—I’ll leave you a squad of Arcolin’s, to back you on the walls, and take two of your archers. Paks, go find Arcolin and Dorrin; tell them to ready their cohorts to march out at once, and then meet me here. You ride to Duke’s East—that’s where they’ll hit, because that’s where the Vérella road is. Rouse the militia, and tell them we’ll be there as soon as possible. Heribert Fontaine, the mayor, has a great horn—blow it if you see any sign of orcs.”

“Yes, my lord.” Paks turned to go.

“And even if you are a paladin, don’t try to take them on by yourself.”

“No, my lord, I wouldn’t.” Paks grinned at him, and ran out of the room. She had not been able to sense clearly what was wrong before, but this plan felt right.

Dorrin and Arcolin, when she found them, understood at once, and by the time she had saddled a fast horse, the cohorts were arming for the march. Paks led the horse out the postern, and found herself alone in the dark on a cold, windy plain. She mounted, and turned the horse toward Duke’s East. The north wind behind her carried the sounds of the Company roused. She legged the horse into a gallop, trusting its night vision over hers. The sounds fell away, as she rode, replaced by the thudding of hooves beneath, and the rush of wind.

She had never ridden in a night so dark. It was like being in a cave: heavy clouds shut out the sky, and she could see nothing, not even the horse’s neck in front of her. When they came to the shallow rise a mile out, she knew it only because the horse lunged at the slope, the rhythm of its stride broken. Then down the other side, into the same blackness. She thought of trying to make light, but decided to wait until battle was joined. It would only make her obvious to any watchers to do it now.

At last the watchlights of Duke’s East flickered ahead of her. The horse snorted, and lunged ahead. The lights came closer: she could see them now as individual torches, streaming in the wind, on the low bank that had been thrown up on the north side of the village. She pulled the horse down to a long trot, and yelled for the watch.

“Stand and speak,” yelled one of the sentries behind the bank.

She hauled at the horse, and it lugged to a halt. “I’ve word from the Duke for Mayor Fontaine,” she yelled back. “I’m Paksenarrion—”

“Come on, then,” said the guard. “What is it?”

She rode slowly into the circles of light, and slid off the horse in front of them. “You’re to rouse the militia,” she said. “The Duke’s bringing the Company, as soon as he can—he thinks the orcs will attack here.”

“Here? Why?” Paks recognized Piter, the innkeeper.

She shook her head. “It’s too long to explain—but he’s got reason. Be ready. Where’s the mayor?”

“D’you know his house?” asked Piter. Paks nodded. “Go, and I’ll call out the rest. Do you know how many?”

“No, but the Duke thinks it will be a large force.” Paks started up the lane, leading her horse. Behind her she heard Piter directing the watch, then the clatter of boots as they went to rouse others.

In the mayor’s house she found the Council of Duke’s East eating a late dinner. Kolya smiled as Paks came in, then sobered quickly as she gave her news.

“When will the Duke come?” asked Fontaine, looking worried.

“The cohorts were forming as I left,” said Paks.

“We can’t hold a real force,” he said. “That bank is just to slow them down and give our watch a chance to fire one flight of arrows. We have fewer than a hundred who can fight—”

“Most of the buildings are defensible,” Kolya pointed out. “The Duke’s insisted on stone roofs as well as walls, and we can’t be burned out. My cottage won’t hold, but it’s on the south bank anyway.”

“We’ll move everyone but militia into a few of the strongest houses,” the mayor said. “Is there time to bring in any of the farm folk? No, I suppose not. Forget the mill, and the south bank buildings: we’ll try to hold around the square.”

Paks had not met all the Council before, and did not know who the heavy-set black-haired man was who spoke next. “I’ll see to gettin’ the south bank folk in, Mayor—”

“Thanks, Tarn,” said the mayor, and the man went out quickly. The mayor turned to a man whose face was marked with a broad scar. “Vik, be sure the central houses are provisioned; use the winter stores, if you have time to move them. They’ll do us no good anyway, if the orcs get them.”

“Aye, Mayor—and what about slipping the millstones? If they burn the mill, it might crack the stones.”

“Good idea. Tell the miller that. Kolya—”

“I know.” She was already near the door, with a last grin for Paks. The mayor clambered up stiffly, and called upstairs to his wife.

“Get out the horn, Arñe, and bring it down here.” He looked at Paks. “This house has too many doors; I’ll send the family over to the square.”

A glass had passed, and part of another. Paks waited at the northernmost angle of the bank around Duke’s East, listening, with the others, for any hint of the orcs’ attack. They knew it would take the Duke’s Company another half-glass at least to march the distance in battle order . . . if the Company met no enemy on the road. Behind, the village was as secure as it could be. All who could not fight crowded into the buildings that bordered the square, all of which had but one door each, and narrow windows easily defended. Those who could draw a bow were by the upstairs windows. Paks raised her head suddenly, and sniffed. She heard nothing, but with a sense of unease came a sour stench on the wind.

“They’re coming,” she said to the man next to her. He was, as most of them were, one of the Duke’s veterans, and limped badly from a wound taken the last year in Aarenis. He’d been a farmer until the orcs burned out his farm. He grunted, passed the word to the man next in line, and drew his sword; she heard it rasp on the scabbard. They had torches ready to light, but until the enemy came, only widely scattered ones were lit.

Paks felt something dire nearby; her skin crawled. Something more than orcs moved in dark. She drew Tamarrion’s sword. The blade gleamed blue. Paks squinted into the wind—was that a reflection? With a shout she called on the High Lord, and light swept up from her upraised arm, pure white radiance revealing two of the spider figures only a few lengths away, and a mass of orcs behind them. Paks leaped for the top of the bank. She heard the cries of the watch, and saw the first gouts of flame as torches caught all along the line. The orcs broke into one of their marching chants, fierce and savage, and surged forward. Far back she heard the mayor’s deep horn. The spiders had scuttered back at the first of the light, but now bounded forward.