A Wizard in Chaos

CHAPTER 17

Dirk grabbed the lieutenant’s shoulder and gave it a shake. “Cort! Enemies coming!”

“The Fair Folk?” Cort asked, jarred rudely from his reverie of huge eyes and graceful movements.

“No, the Hawks!”

“You two run to the north,” Gar said, frowning. “I’ll go south. They won’t bother you if I’m not there.” -

“I’ve told you before, don’t be ridiculous,” Dirk snapped.

Cort nodded, glowering. “We don’t desert friends.”

Gar opened his mouth to argue, but Dirk said, “Besides, they’ve seen us with you, and they’d probably beat us until we told them where you are—and since we won’t know, they just might keep beating until we’re dead.”

“All right, we all flee together.” Gar flashed them a smile that momentarily lit his face with a warmth Cort had never seen. “I’m blessed with such firm friends.”

“Your life is our life,” Cort quoted. “That’s the motto of my company. Where do we run to?”

“Quilichen!” Dirk’s eyes lit. “It’s the only stronghold that could take us, it’s only a day away, and I know Magda wouldn’t turn us out!”

Cort glanced at him through transformed eyes, the eyes of a lover, and knew that Magda would indeed not send Dirk away, for he’d seen the same glow in her eyes that he saw in Dirk’s.

But not, he realized, the same that he’d seen in Desiree’s.

“I hate to bring the Hawk Company down on her head,” Gar said, scowling, “but we don’t have much choice, do we?”

“Hey, I didn’t think of that!” Dirk said, alarmed. “This is a grudge match now, and the Hawks won’t rest until they get you! They’ll lay siege to Quilichen!”

“They may not break it, but they’ll wreak a deal of misery in trying,” Cort said grimly. “I can send for the Blue Company to come fetch me out, but I hate to put them all at risk just for my skin.”

“Now do you understand why I want you two to leave me?” Gar challenged.

“Yeah, and I understand why we still won’t,” Dirk said, jaw setting. “Would you have Herkimer pick you up if we did?”

Gar hesitated, then said, “I’m not quite ready to give up on this planet yet, and if Herkimer set me down fifty miles away, the Hawks would find me sooner or later. Better to finish it while we’re here.”

“Who’s Herkimer?” Cort asked.

“A very strange-looking friend,” Dirk answered, “who would start a whole set of folktales going on his own.”

“He could be a major disruption to your culture,” Gar agreed, “and I don’t think the Fair Folk would thank us for the ideas he might send running rampant through your world.”

Cort frowned, not sure he liked the implication that Gar knew what was good for this world of Durvie and what was not.

“No, we’ll try to face them out, but lead them away from Quilichen,” Gar said with decision, and turned to forge ahead through the woods.

His big body did at least shove the underbrush out of the way, and Cort followed, doing his best to navigate the uneven ground with horseman’s boots. They plowed through a hundred yards of dense undergrowth before Gar stopped suddenly, head raised.

“Worse trouble?” Dirk asked.

“Yes. They’ve struck our trail,” Gar said. “After all, we haven’t been trying terribly hard to hide it, have we?”

“Go faster,” Dirk urged.

Gar shook his head. “They’re ahead of us, closing in from the east—and from the west, too.”

“Back the way we came!” Cort cried, a vision of Desiree dancing before him.

But Gar shook his head again. “They closed ranks behind us, too, as soon as the sun was up. I think they watched through the night in case we came out of the hill.”

“Just how sharp is your hearing?” Cort asked in frustration.

“Most amazingly sharp,” Gar told him. “We’re boxed in on three sides. The only way open is the mountainside, where it’s too steep for horses.”

“And on the other side of that mountain, is Quilichen.” Dirk was ashamed of himself; he was feeling jubilant again. After all, if he was thrown on Magda’s doorstep through no fault of his own …

“Time to climb, gentlemen—if we can reach the mountainside before they do. Let’s march!” Gar turned at right angles and plunged off through the underbrush again.

They were in too much of a rush to try to hide their trail, though when they came to a stream, Gar pulled off his boots and waded its length as far as he could without going in the wrong direction. It took a few minutes to dry his feet and pull stockings and boots on again, but in a matter of minutes, they were across the stream and forging uphill.

“Have we reached the mountainside yet?” Dirk asked.

“The grade’s not steep enough,” Cort told him, then stiffened. “Listen!”

They did. Faint on the breeze came the belling of hounds.

Gar cursed. “I’d hoped they’d left those blasted nuisances with the farmer they bought them from. Wading that stream won’t slow them by more than fifteen minutes now.”

“That should be time enough,” Cort said. “We’re almost to the mountainside.”

“You’re the one who knows the territory,” Dirk grunted.

They toiled uphill, the ground rising more and more steeply, the hounds howling closer and closer. Finally they halted to rest and breathe at the uphill edge of a mountain meadow, turning back to look out over the countryside. The tall trees of the forest lay below them now, the smaller trees of the mountainside around them. The Hollow Hill lay below, too, past the edge of the forest and almost on the horizon.

“Yes, I’d say we’re on the mountainside,” Dirk said.

Then half a dozen men rode out of the trees at the other side of the meadow, following a peasant who held the leashes of five hounds. The beasts saw the companions and leaped against the leashes, baying eagerly. The horsemen shouted and spurred their horses, leveling their lances.

“Back behind the trees!” Gar snapped. “Climb if you can! If you can’t, trip the horses!” He didn’t need to say what to do after that.

Cort managed to find a low limb and scrambled up to hide among the leaves. Gar caught up a fallen branch and hid behind a tree. Dirk disappeared.

The horsemen came thundering in. Cort jumped down onto the back of the first, howling as though he were demented, and threw an arm around the man’s neck. He wrenched back, and they both fell off to the side, away from the path. Cort twisted as they fell and landed on top. He drew his dagger and struck with the hilt, as he’d seen Gar and Dirk do. Then he scrambled up and spun about, just in time to see Gar leap out and brace one end of the branch against a tree trunk, the other aimed for the midriff of the horseman. He parried the lance with his dagger, and his makeshift staff caught the rider square in the stomach. The Hawk fell, retching.

Then another rider was galloping down on Cort, yelling, his lance pointed squarely at the lieutenant’s chest. Cort leaped aside, but the horse’s shoulder caught him and sent him spinning against a tree trunk. His head cracked against the wood, and the world went wobbly. He clung to consciousness desperately, working his way back to his feet by clutching the trunk, then turned, shaking his head, to see the lance shooting toward him again. With his last faint hope, he shoved the lancehead aside. It thudded into the tree trunk, and its butt whipped out of the rider’s hands. He cursed, turning; and drew his sword.

Cort reversed the spear, braced the butt against the tree, and aimed it at the rider’s torso. It caught him on the hip; he screamed, falling, and bright blood stained his livery. Cort yanked the lancehead free and stepped out onto the trail, ready for the next man.

They were all down, and the horses were turning to run back, shying away from the dogs, but sending them into a confused mass. Gar stood over two men, blood streaming from the wound on his hip, but with their lances in his hands, and Dirk had somehow managed to knock out his pair, too, though the side of his face was already swelling.

Then Gar strode back down the path, face contorted with rage. He raised the two spears and roared.

The dogs howled and turned to run, their handler hard on their heels.

“The Hawks will … catch them and … turn them back on us,” Cort panted.

“No doubt.” Gar came striding back, grinning. “But it will take time.”

“I thought this mountainside was too steep for horses,” Dirk said.

“It is,” Gar told him. “As you see, the steeds did them absolutely no good. Come, gentlemen—onward and upward.”

“Excelsior,” Dirk muttered. “What’s that?” Cort asked.

“A strange device, and Heaven knows we’ve been seeing enough of them lately. Which way is up?”

They plowed on toward the top of the mountain, and though they heard the hounds coming closer after an hour, they weren’t moving very rapidly. The Hawks couldn’t make any better time on horseback than the companions could on foot, and night fell before they reached the top of the mountain.

When they did reach the peak, Dirk stopped to rest, but Gar said, “You’re a very clear silhouette against the stars. Just a few more yards, my friend, to put the mountaintop between us and them.”

They climbed over the ridge and started down. When they had made another dozen feet, Gar called a halt. He asked Cort, “What are the odds the Hawks will keep after us even though it’s night?”

“No question about it,” Cort said. “They’ll keep chasing. They’ll go slowly, though.”

“Especially since they’ll be leading their horses,” Gar said. “We can go faster than they, for a change. Cort, how far to Quilichen?”

“Four hours’ travel,” Cort said, “since we’ve come over the mountain this time, instead of around it.”

“But that’s when we’re fresh,” Gar said grimly. “We’re tired already. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it before dawn.”

“Only if we can find some way to stall the Hawks,” Dirk said. “They’re bringing their horses with them, remember?”

“They will go faster than we will once the ground levels out,” Gar admitted, “but still no faster than a walk, in the dark and with no road.” He handed Cort one of his captured lances. “Use it as a staff. Let’s go.”

It was a long night, with the Hawks coming closer and closer behind them. They laid false trails, breaking them with streams and rock slides. Time and again they hid, and let a squadron of horse soldiers pass them by. As dawn neared, they were plodding along the bottom of a gully, both because it would hide them and because it might slow the hunters a little. They began to hear the belling of the hounds once more.

“What did they do?” Dirk groaned. “Let them sleep?”

“I suspect they had difficulty driving them back onto our trail, after their fright,” Gar said, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

In spite of his weariness, Dirk looked up at him sharply. “I’ll just bet they did! Come on, Cort.” The lieutenant felt as though each foot was made of lead, but forced himself onward sternly, not complaining. “Have we gone far enough along this dry streambed?”

“I’ll take a peek and see,” Dirk answered, then gritted his teeth and forced each foot up the slope. Cort took advantage of the opportunity to rest, but knew better than to sit or lie down; he simply leaned against the nearest boulder.

“They’ll be on us soon,” Gar told him. “If I go off away from you…”

“I’ll be amazed if you can put one foot in front of the other, let alone outrun me,” Cort said though his teeth.

“Is he volunteering for martyrdom again?” Dirk called down.

“I don’t know what martyrdom is,” Cort called back, “but I think he’d volunteer for anything right now.”

“So would I, if it got me out of here.” Dirk forced himself up the last foot and gave a cry of delight.

“Can you see it?” Cort stood bolt upright. “Quilichen’s wall!” Dirk called back. “Just enough light to see it by!”

Hope pumped new energy through the other two; they plowed up the side of the slope. Sure enough, there stood the city, looming above the morning mist in the distance.

“Let’s go!” Dirk scrambled out, visions of Magda dancing in his head.

Cort put out a hand to stop him, looking back at Gar. “Why are you so slow? We need speed!”

“We need to stop our hunters even more,” Gar grunted as he rolled a small boulder into place. Cort’s eyes widened. “No man can move a stone that heavy!”

“There’s a trick to it,” Gar wheezed. “There sure is,” Dirk said darkly.

Gar grunted again as he pushed the stone over the edge. It rolled downhill faster and faster, landing with a dull thud.

“Rolled halfway up the other side and rolled down again,” Gar panted with satisfaction as he came up to them. “It wiped out our tracks on the way down—and should cause them a little trouble getting past it.”

“Yes, if no one there is smart enough to realize we pushed it!” Dirk snapped.

Cort nodded. “It will show them where we left the gully.”

Gar looked surprised, then crestfallen.

“At least the hounds won’t have a trail to follow,” Dirk sighed. “Come on! If you can run, do. If you can’t, jog!”

They set off toward the city while the sky reddened behind them. They were halfway there before the belling began.

“Boulder didn’t fool ‘em for long,” Dirk grunted. “Run!”

The hounds grew louder, and hooves drummed, oddly muffled by the mist. The three fugitives stumbled wearily on, eyes fixed on the wall ahead, none able to spare breath to cheer the others on. The hoofbeats grew louder and louder. Glancing back, Cort saw riders coming out of the mist a hundred yards behind. “Run!” he shouted, and sprinted hard.

The hoofbeats came faster.

“Hello the wall!” Dirk cried. “Sanctuary! Help! Save us!”

“We were your guests!” Cort shouted.

“These riders are the men you banished!” Gar bellowed.

Figures appeared atop the wall, staring, then raising bows. One sprinted off along the battlements. The others weighed the sight, then pointed their arrows upward and loosed. Cort cried out in despair—but the arrows arced over their heads and down, thudding into the earth in a line between hunters and hunted.

“They recognized us!” Dirk cried in jubilation. The Hawks reined in, shouting in alarm. On the wail, a voice barked orders, and the gate swung open. The companions cried out in relief and thanks and forced themselves into one final, stumbling run. The Hawks shouted again, but in anger now, and spurred their horses.

Another line of arrows fell, these right beside them and in front of their mounts. Horses reared, shying from the swift points, and horsemen bellowed.

The companions pounded through the gate. A voice shouted atop the wall, and the great panels began to shut. The Hawks howled in rage and frustration and galloped toward the gate, their spears high.

Another volley of arrows stitched a line in front of them.

This time they took the warning; they sheered off and rode away, turning back to shake their fists with angry shouts.

The gates shut with a boom, and the great bar dropped across them. The three companions fell to the ground and lay or knelt, heaving great gulps of air. The officer of the day came down from the wall and knelt by Gar. “They were waiting for you, hey?”

Gar could only wheeze and nod.

“What of the rest of your men?” the officer asked, his face somber.

“I sent them back by another route,” Cort gasped.

The officer turned to him, surprised. “Won’t they have been slain?”

“No,” Gar panted, “because … we found out … they’re only after me.”

The officer stared at him in alarm, and Dirk didn’t need to be a mind reader to see the unspoken exclamation: Throw him out! But he didn’t say so, for which Dirk was unreasonably grateful.

Then his reason arrived with a flurry of hooves and a cry from the heart.