The web of wizardry (29 page)

"I ... I swear, my lord, no one! We saw no one. It ... all at once the two of you were here and ..."

Branra edged toward a narrow opening beyond the post, peering into the dark space. "What is this?"

"Part of the original walls." Branra put a finger to his lips and the man spoke more softly. "So the Dekans told us." In whispers, Branra bade him fetch reinforcements. Eager to make amends, the man ran off and soon returned with two more squads of unit men and some Dekan militia.

Branra and Danaer had squirmed into the opening and examined the stone crevice. Danaer held a torch while Branra scraped at the dust with his boot, then knelt to probe at a pile of brush against the wall. His eyes met Danaer's. Brush, here in a city of stone?

Keeping Branra's order for silence, the soldiers and mihtiamen crept into the narrow passage, clustering around Danaer and the officer. Danaer put out the torch and they stood listening in the dark. Behind the brush there was a soft clinking and scrabbling and male voices. Danaer's gut tightened and he slid his sword from its scabbard, as did Branra and all those who had such weapons. Others hefted cudgels and stood ready with lances, their attention focused on the wall.

Something fell within, and there was a momentary hush, as if the unseen workmen feared they might have been overheard. Then they moved again and

stone scraped against stone. With much grunting and ahen cursing, a part of the wall was being removed. Feebly, filtering through the brush, came the gleam of a lantern.

Steadily the enemy gnawed away at the city's belly, burrowing through a forgotten chink in Deki's armor.

Then the lantern's gleam drew nearer the brush and fingers groped through broken stone, digging at loose pebbles, pushing debris into the alleyway where Branra and his men waited. A white-clad arm, covered with stone dust and dirt, swept aside the last of the loose fill and brush, and a man stepped through the newly created doorway, beckoning out those behind him.

"Now!" Branra roared as the unsuspecting sappers crawled out into his trap. The lantern was with them, behind them, silhouetting them as ready targets for those standing in the darkness.

What Lira had described was true—the Markuand, even when stabbed or battered, did not scream. But they could fear, and seek life, and two of them rushed back into the opening they had just left, as their companions were being killed. Branra and Danaer ran after them, eager in pursuit. The sappers' tunnel became their grave. It was not true swordwork, but more like killing rats witjti great knives.

Their swords gory, Danaer and the officer stood over the bodies and peered deeper into the man-made cave. "They broke all the way through," Branra said incredulously. Five lengths' distant they could see another opening at the far end of the tunnel, with rippling water lit by the faraway Markuand camp-fires.

How was it possible? How could the Dekans not have detected such extensive tunneling within the very bowels of the walls? Surely this had been the work of many nights, and the sappers' boat would have been seen. ...

The tunnel air was heavy with the odors of earth and stone, but to^^gtenaer another smell pervaded the place—the reek of^izardry. The tension in his belly became a hurtful knot. He had seen the boat's wake,

but he wore Lira's talisman. The Deki lookouts had not. Was this the reason . . . ?

"My lord, I do not think we are alone, nor were these the last of the Markuand to invade the walls."

"What?"

Even as Danaer spoke, a shadowy shape eased away from the side of the tunnel ahead—a man shape, large and powerful. A terrible aura of evil emanated from that form. Branra's further questions were stillborn in his throat as the nobleman sensed the same horror now raking Danaer.

"The Markuand wizard!" Danaer realized with a shock he had blurted that aloud, without conscious thought or will.

"We must destroy him!" Branra shouted, charging forward, Danaer right behind him, fury overriding his fear.

The shadow shape retreated toward the opening in the outer wall. He was trapped! If his magical glamour had hid the boat, it would not protect him now. Branra was almost upon him, and if the wizard took to the river, he would shout for archers and burning oil to send the enemy sorcerer to his death in the water.

They roared in triumph, daring to anticipate victory over this awful foe . . .

And then the tunnel filled with sunlike brilliance. Branra and Danaer instinctively flung up their hands to save their eyes. They held out their swords blindly, fending off attack—but attack did not come as the brilliance died.

Danaer and Branra were unhurt—but the wizard was gone. The opening in the wall was empty, and there was no sound of oars or a boat on the water beyond. Branra threw himself down at the edge, peering out. The entrance was barely wide enough to admit his head and shoulders. The sappers must have had to climb in on their bellies.

"Do you see him?" Danaer asked. Even as he spoke, he felt a peculiar emptiness, no longer cold, and knew that they were truly alone once more.

Branra spat a soldier's oath and crawled backward until he reached a spot where he could stand nearly

upright. "Nothing!" he snaried. "No sign of him! We saw him—and then he was gone!"

Branra was not the sort who could swallow defeat easily. He paced like a man-eater robbed of his prey, an emotion Danaer well appreciated, suffering his own deep frustration. A few of the soldiers poked their heads through the brush-cluttered opening, staring in wonder. Finally Brama gave up and snapped orders for the bodies to be dragged out of the tunnel. He and Danaer followed and inhaled the comparative freshness of open air.

"A tunnel," the Sergeant of the Post was mumbling. "Must be a cave-in. Some fault in the walls that permitted these swappers to—"

"Use your head, troopman," Branra said. "It was no cave-in. Those stones were moved by labor and stealth while Deki defended her walls above the sappers."

"But... how, my lord?"

Branra's glare was fierce, and Danaer spared his fellow Troop Leader the pain of another sharp answer. "It was wizardry." The men shuddered and spoke prayers.

"Get our own sappers, Sergeant," Branra said. "I want this tunnel blocked at once, completely! Now! Have them move from the outside in, and be sure it will withstand any enemy undermining henceforth." As they ran to do his bidding, Branra leaned against the gray stones and looked up at the wall. "It took our ancestors many a long year to build walls so high and so well, when Deki was founded. And now Markuand uses magic to breach them. That wake you saw in the water.. ."

"I did see it, my lord," Danaer said defensively.

"Well that you did." For the first time in some minutes Branra smiled. "At any rate, we have now gained precious time and foiled their attempt to strike at our backs."

Dekan sappers arrived and began work on the tunnel, and Branra ordered the Sergeant of the Post to stand close guard until it was done.

"I will, my lord. And this time I will not sleep."

His earnestness softened Branra's irritation. "You

were not asleep. But perhaps the enemy will find itself too busy to trouble us further with these enchantments. Keep alert, and call for help if you suspect someone tries to cast a spell over you."

Danaer and Branra headed back toward the ramps leading to the walls, and Branra shook his head, repeating with consternation, "Enchantments."

"Kant, prodra Argan," Danaer said piously to ward off more magic.

"Your goddess protect us all, here in a city of her Azsed-Y." Branra lifted his hands to the starry skies. "All you immortal ones, lend us your strength against this Markuand. We need your help sorely!" The sight of Branraediir of the Bloody Sword, notorious for his disbelief in anything but the Royal Commander and his weapon, invoking any gods who could hear him, unnerved Danaer almost as much as the wizardry they had confronted.

Respectfully quiet, he accompanied the Lieutenant back to the ramparts. Yistar was informed of the incident, and messengers were sent to the inn to notify Lira, if she did not already know through some sorkra methods.

The Captain would spread the word to be on guard. But he could do little to combat wizardry. Any coun-termeasures must fall upon Lira and her arts—one more weight added to her tremendous burden. ' Danaer took his station again and resumed his staring across the river. There was an empty barge tied below the place where the tunnel had been dug. The wizard had left behind his boat! Danaer did not like to imagine what dark powers the Markuand sorcerer had used to escape—without boat or without need of swimming!

For a long while he gazed at the watch fires. The night had darkened with clouds, and the strain of seeing through this made him close his eyes now and then to ease them. He began to wish for action to break the tedium, though no more magic!

He rested his eyes, then opened them, not quite believing what he saw. He could swear by his eiphren that the opposite bank was closer than it had been

before, the watch fires coming toward him. A heartbeat or two later, Danaer realized that something formerly connected with the bank had begun to move away, across the river.

As before, Branra was by his side before Danaer had a chance to call him. Danaer relayed his discovery, whispering, half afraid of some unseen presence overhearing them. Other lookouts at other posts were shouting and summoning their oflficers. So it was no illusion made only for Danaer's eyes.

Branra gave orders and there was a stir among the men, a tightening of discipline. The banquette and walkways were full of men, but now more came to join them, forming a second row of defense. Men buckled helmets and fussed with the placement of their extra weapons, lances laid ready at their feet.

Branra cautioned and encouraged, every now and then glancing toward the river. Even in the dim light, it was impossible not to see the glitter in his eyes. Plainly he knew far more joy in facing a multitude of enemy warriors than one Markuand wizard.

"This is no feint," he said, surveying the oncoming flotilla. "The Dekans said all previous attacks had been of an uneven nature. Those boats are well massed."

"We blocked their secret passage and thwarted their wizard. It must have taken much of his energy to escape us," Danaer speculated. "Now they must attack us straightforwardly, my lord."

"Ai!" Branra gripped his shoulder tightly in comradeship of arms. "On our terms, and against our strong fortifications!"

The moving "bank" the lookouts had detected was now visible to those with less trained eyes. Boats of diverse sizes and shapes bobbed over the slow current, aiming for the walls. To those awaiting the attack it seemed the moments crept by. Every man now shared part of Branra's eagerness, wanting the suspense to be ended.

Danaer, too, was glad the enemy was coming at last. Yet he thought of Lira and Gordyan and his friends in the troop, the pleasures of good wine and warm fire

. . . the comforts of the flesh. Would he know these things after tonight? Or would Argan beckon him to Keth's portals? He must not dwell on doubt. If his life was forfeit, he would die a warrior, honoring his name and taking many Markuand with him. He heartened himself with the memory of the ha-usfaen. Strange! Her lithe body seemed smaller than he recalled, and she resembled Lira as much as the goddess.

But Argan was all female, all women—and she knew how to touch a warrior's heart with fire, giving him visions he desired; she was priestess and goddess and beloved in one.

Slay the Markuand for me, faithful ones! Send me the souls of the Markuand. Let us revel in your victory!

Danaer caught up the trailing hem of his mantle and tied it across his chest. A loose cloak might tangle his own blade as well as the enemy's.

How long since he had sighted the Markuand boats? A clock-period? Surely not so long. But then time was nothing.

Everyone saw them clearly now. The dark shapes were boats and rafts laden with soldiers. And there were also towers, miniature forts reared on stilts and floated on barges, waddling into shallow water.

Flame lanced out from the towers, arcing toward the walls. Danaer crouched behind the parapet as three waves of fiery arrows sailed in high parabolas above his head. Most struck the ramparts or bounced harmlessly down onto the banquette, where the defenders stamped out the flaming heads. Some soared on into the city, and Danaer hoped those patrolling the streets would be watchful, for there was much thatch to tinder a fire if they did not pluck out the arrows quickly.

On a still higher level of the wall, catapults hurled huge rocks back at the approaching boats. The stones whistled through the air in short, flat trajectories. Danaer waited hopefully for the impacts, then narrowed his eyes, doubting what he saw. The rocks were striking some invisible barrier a length ahead of the towers, then ricocheting off and down into the river. A few missiles broke through, with the loud smack and crunch of stone breaking wood and bone. But most of

the defenders' artillery was wasted, never reaching the enemy.

Where had he seen this before?

It came to Danaer in a rush-^Prince Diilbok, riding at the edge of a riot, posturing courageously while no arrow or club or rock could strike him, though many were thrown at the drunken fop. It had seemed the whim of some god then. But now Danaer suddenly recognized the similarity. Wizardry! As the Prince had been protected, so were the siege towers and boats— not by gods, but by evil magic!

He must tell Lira about this! She in turn could reach out through her Web and speak to. Ulodovol. The Royal Commander must be warned that his sotted kinsman was more than he seemed.

Treachery—everywhere! The accusations Diilbok had laid against Danaer? Not mere drunken meanness, but an attempt to silence the one man who could prove the rioters' true identity. And the riot? To ruin the alliance ere it could begin. How the opposition dreaded the joining of Destre and lit!

Diilbok was the King's own kinsman, and if he plotted with wizards and assassins ...!

Danaer could not linger over the worrisome discovery. Death, garbed in white, was fast drawing near.