Darkness and Light

Chapter 39

The squat fortifications of Vingaard Keep loomed over the low-lying plain with a presence that far exceeded its modest height. Onthar led the herd up out of a flood-cut gully and the keep stood out like a mountain peak, though they were still miles away. Sturm was near the front position then, and the sight of the ancient knightly fortress filled him with excitement and longing. From Vingaard, Castle Bright blade was only a day's ride.

"Why do people build such places?" Tervy asked from behind him.

"A keep is a stronghold, to live in and defend against attacks," Sturm said.

"Lived in by other ironskins."

"Yes, and their families."

"Ironskins have families?"

"Well, of course, where do you think little ironski — knights come from?" he asked, amused.

A haze hung over the old keep, which was little more than a ruin these days. After the Cataclysm, marauders had burned the keep. The walls still stood, but the tower was an empty shell.

Closer in, the haze proved to be dust and smoke from tramping feet and campfires. A sizable body of troops was encamped around the outer wall. No banners flew. Sturm could not tell whose troops they were, but their presence explained the need for large numbers of cattle. Such an army needed huge amounts of food.

Riders slipped in on both sides, observing the oncoming herd. Sturm scrutinized them in return. Their armor was plain, undistinguished as to origin or age. The cavalry men wore barred visors on their helmets and carried long lances.

Their proportions appeared human, but they kept to such a distance that it was impossible to be sure.

Tervy was intrigued. "More ironskins," she breathed.

Sturm corrected her. "Not all men in armor are knights," he said. "You be very careful around them. They may be evil." He felt her thin arms tighten a little around his waist.

Whatever her failings in education, Tervy knew evil.

The keep grew larger as the day wore on, and the outrid ers thickened on the herd's flanks. Sturm rode past Onthar while making his circuit. "What do you make of those men?" asked Sturm.

"Cavalry," Onthar said. He chewed a long blade of grass.

"Glad to see 'em. Won't be any raiders about with them out there."

Onthar halted at midday for a word with his men. "I do the talking, and I do the dealing. Any man speaks out of turn at a parley like this loses his head. I don't know if these are mercenaries, or some warlord's new army, but I don't want any trouble. So keep your mouths closed and your hands empty."

Half a mile from the keep, a column of horsemen galloped out to meet the herd. Sturm was on the right edge of the for mation then, and he saw the men ride out. Onthar met them, and the cattle milled to a stop and fell to cropping the grass.

Sturm couldn't hear what was being said, but Tervy mumbled something. He said, "What did you say?"

"I'm catching their words," she replied.

"You're what?"

"Catching their words. If you watch their mouths move, you can catch the words they speak, even if you're too far away to hear them."

Sturm turned sharply to her. 'You're jesting with me!"

"Cut my heart out if I lie, Ironskin. The man, Onthar, said he has brought his animals because he heard a great lord was buying cattle for top coin. And the man in the iron hat said, yes, they can use all the fresh meat they can get."

"Can you really tell what they are saying?"

"I can, if you let me look." Sturm wheeled Brumbar around so that Tervy had the best view of the parley.

"Onthar says he will bargain with the great lord himself, no one else. Iron Hat says, 'I speak for the great lord in small things.' 'Listen to me,' Onthar says, 'my herd is not a small thing. Either the great lord speaks to me, or I will drive the cattle over the mountains to Palanthas, where beef always commands a high price.' Iron Hat is angry, but he says, 'I will go and speak to the great lord; wait and I will return with his tidings."' She smiled at Sturm. "How was that?"

The cavalry officer did in fact bring his horse around and gallop back to the keep. Sturm asked, "Where did you learn such a trick?"

"An old man in our band practiced this art. He was the best scout on the plain. He could catch words true from a bowshot away. He taught me before he died."

"Where did he learn it?"

"From a kender, he said."

They waited in the broiling sun until the cavalryman returned. His fine mount pranced out to where Onthar sat slouched on his stubby pony. Tervy squinted into the glare and caught their words again.

"He says to drive the herd into the baney, the bailey — ?"

"Bailey," Sturm said. "The courtyard inside the keep."

"Yes, and 'the great lord will treat with you personally.'

Onthar agrees." le With many whistles and pricks of the goad, the herders got the cattle moving again. The nine hundred beasts fun neled into the keep's gate. The bailey easily accommodated the animals. When the last calves were spanked, bawling, into the gate, soldiers drew the bars shut.

There were clusters of tents all along the outer wall.

Onthar and his men tethered their horses on a picket line and followed a plumed soldier along the tent line.

"Are these all the men you have?" said the soldier. His face was hidden by his visor. "I would have thought such a large herd would require more handlers."

"Not if the men are good," Onthar said.

Sturm was counting tents. Four men per tent, sixty tents so far — he had an uncomfortable feeling about this.

They came upon a very large tent, trimmed with dark blue brocade and golden fringe. Guards snapped to atten tion and crossed halberds at their approach. The visored soldier spoke to them, presenting Onthar and his company.

The guards resumed normal positions. The plumed officer extended his hand, and the herders went in alone.

The interior was sumptuous. Carpets covered the ground, and tapestries, hanging from the ridge poles, gave the illusion of being in a solid building. While the others were gawking at the richness of their surroundings, Sturm was staring at the designs of the rugs and wall hangings. The recurring motif was that of a rampant red dragon, clutching a sheaf of spears in one claw and a crown in the other.

"Ironskin," Tervy said, too loudly.

"Not now."

A curtain of shimmering red beads closed the corridor.

Onthar feigned disinterest and swept the curtain aside.

Sturm thought the red 'beads' looked very much like rubies.

Two halberds swung down to bar Onthar's progress. He regarded the guards idly, as if he'd seen such beings many times and they bored him. Beyond the guards, a large, pow erfully built man sat at a three-legged table that was draped with a golden cloth. He wore scale armor enameled in red and blue, and a fearsome helmet sat facing outward on the gold-topped table.

The man looked up. His hair was white, though he was by no means elderly. It swept back from his massive brow to fall around his shoulders. His skin was pale.

"Come in. You are Onthar the Herdsman, are you not?" said the man.

"I am, my lord. May I ask what I shall call you?"

"I am Merinsaard, Lord of Bayarn."

Sturm clenched his fists tightly at his sides. Merinsaard!

The name spoken by Sturm's storm phantom! Sturm con centrated on the hard face and long white hair. Danger ema nated from this man. Sturm tried to catch Onthar's eye, but could not.

There were no chairs for Onthar and his men. Ordinary folk did not sit in the presence of the great lord.

Merinsaard stated, "I am pleased that you chose to drive your fine cattle here. It was been some weeks since our last supply of fresh meat was consumed. How many head did you bring?"

"Nine hundred, more or less. Six hundred steers, two hundred cows, and one hundred yearling calves. What bulls we brought we will drive back with us," Onthar said. He crossed his hands at his waist and did not appear at all excited.

The great lord took out a ledger book and opened it. With a sharp quill, he made a notation. "And how much are you asking, Master Onthar?"

"Twelve coppers per calf, fifteen per steer, and one silver piece per cow," he said firmly.

"A high price, but fair considering the quality of the beasts in the bailey." Onthar permitted himself a smile.

Merinsaard snapped his fingers, and two more soldiers entered from a door in the wall behind his table. They car ried a chest into the room and set it down. "Your payment," said the great lord.

Onthar reached out with steady hands. This was a for tune! His household would celebrate for days when he returned with such a bounty. He lifted the lid and let it fall back on its hinges.

The chest was empty.

"What?" Onthar said. Sturm snapped his sword out.

"Take them!" Merinsaard barked. Soldiers poured into the room from two sides.

"Treachery! Treachery!" The herders scattered. Sturm gathered Tervy to him.

"Stay behind me!" he said. A soldier thrust the point of his halberd at Sturm, but the knight parried the heavy steel head away. The herders, with only their flimsy goads, were quickly subdued by the soldiers.

"Ironskin!" Tervy shouted. "At your back!" Sturm whirled in time to dodge a savage cut by another halberd.

He stabbed home, hitting the fellow below his breastplate.

Bleeding heavily, the man fell. Tervy rolled the body over and snatched a small axe from the man's belt. "Hai! Tirima!" she yelled.

"Tervy, no!" Too late, Sturm saw her scamper through the press of struggling men and jump upon Merinsaard's golden table. By Paladine, she was brave! The great lord stood back from the table as the girl threatened him with the hatchet. He donned his helmet and raised his hands over his head.

He shouted at Tervy to get out, but she didn't. Instead, she whipped her arm back and hurled the hatchet at the great lord.

The puny weapon struck his armored chest and glanced off. Merinsaard's voice filled the tent with a booming incan tation. The air seemed to solidify around Sturm's limbs, and his sword grew impossibly heavy to lift. Then, with a single silent burst, a white light dazzled him completely. Sturm sagged to his knees. The sword was torn from his hand, and the enemy soldiers bore him, immobile, to the richly car peted floor.

Someone was groaning.

Sturm opened his eyes and found that he still couldn't see anything. There was no blindfold around his head; the effect of the dazzling light spell was lingering.

"Oh, I'm blind!" someone groaned.

"Shut up," Sturm said. "Be quiet, all of you. Who's here?"

"Onthar is here," said the herd leader.

"And Frijje."

"I'm here." Sturm asked who 'I' was. "Ostimar," was the sheepish reply. They were all present except Tervy. All of them were sitting on the ground in a circle, hands tied behind their backs to a stout wooden post.

Frijje said, "She hit the lord with an axe."

"Did she really?" Rorin asked.

"Yes, right on the wishbone. Didn't even scratch him."

"Quiet," Sturm said. "The light spell is beginning to wear off. I can see my legs."

Within a few minutes, they could all see again. Onthar apologized in his blunt, clipped way for getting them into this fix.

"It's not your fault," Sturm said. "Merinsaard must have lured other herds here after starting those rumors about a rich buyer at the keep."

"What does he need all those cattle for?" asked Frijje. "He doesn't have more than a couple hundred men."

"He's no mere cattle thief," said Sturm. "I think he's pro curing food for a much larger army."

"What army?" asked Onthar.

"Well, I think — " The wall flap turned in and Merinsaard walked in, wearing his fearsome dragonlike helmet. It had just the effect he wanted.

"Please, don't kill us!" Belingen whined. "We're poor men! We have no ransom to pay!"

"Be silent!" The tusked face circled the room, studying each man in turn. "Which of you is the one the girl calls

Ironskin?"

No one said anything. Merinsaard drew a dagger and tapped the flat of the blade against his palm. He circled around, stopping by Belingen. He pushed the tip of his dag ger against Belingen's chest. "There is a simple way to find out which of you wears mail," he said.".I shall run this dag ger through each of your chests." Merinsaard leaned on the dagger. Belingen inhaled sharply.

"No! Don't do it! I'll tell!"

"Shut your mouth, fool!" Onthar yelled. Merinsaard went to the herd leader and struck him on the head with the butt of his dagger. Onthar slumped forward.

"The next man to speak will die," said Merinsaard.

"Except you, my friend." Belingen managed a sweaty smile.

"It's him, the mustached one. Yes, him!" Sturm stared at the floor. Merinsaard's thigh-high boots moved into his line of sight. The lord called for his guards, and a squad of hal berdiers cut Sturm loose from the post.

"That man, too," Merinsaard said, indicating Belingen.

The guards marched Sturm and Belingen through the court yard.

"Where's Tervy?" Sturm said at last.

"She is safe," the great lord said. "I have not harmed her."

"You can kill her, my lord; she's only a raider brat,"

Belingen said. Sturm shot him a fierce look.

Without sparing him a glance, Merinsaard replied, "She has considerable wit and courage, which is more than I can say for you."

They entered the rear of the same room they'd fought in an unknown time before. Tervy was sitting on the rug in front of the table. She saw Sturm and jumped to her feet. A clank announced that she was fettered to a table leg.

"Ironskin! I knew you'd come for me!" she said.

"Things are not so simple," said Merinsaard. The guards brought Sturm and Belingen in and forced them to kneel before the great lord's gold-decked table. The soldiers stood at their backs with halberds leveled, and Merinsaard sat in his chair.

"There is a problem," he said, removing his dragon mask.

"Among a group of simple herdsmen I find a young stal wart, a swordsman and warrior, who wears mail and rides a

Garnet-bred warhorse. Now I ask, why would such a man be here tending cows?"

"It's a living," said Sturm sullenly.

"I know who he is, master," said Belingen.

Merinsaard leaned forward on his elbows. "Yes?"

"His name is Sturm Brightblade. He's a knight."

The great lord didn't blink. "How do you know this?"

"I heard him tell his name was Brightblade. And I remem bered that name from my younger days when I helped sack his father's castle."

Sturm leaped up. "You did what?" A guard struck him smartly on the back of his knees, and Sturm collapsed on the carpet.

"I see. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"He's looking for his father, but his father's dead. I was with the band that breached the inner keep. We set fire to it, and all the knights threw themselves from the battlement rather than burn up." Sturm's face paled and Belingen grinned. "They was scared of a little fire."

"Thank you, ah, what is your name?"

"Belingen, master. Your devoted slave."

"Yes." Merinsaard nodded and the soldier standing behind

Belingen raised his halberd. Down went the axe blade, and off came Belingen's astonished head. It rolled to Tervy's feet, and she kicked it away, spitting, "Chu'yest!" Sturm needed no translation. He grimaced at the severed head with regret and disgust. Belingen might have been a worthless fool, but he might also have had further information about Sturm's father.

"Remove the debris," declared Merinsaard. Two soldiers dragged the body out by the heels. "A man so easily per suaded to betray his comrades is of no use to anyone," said

Merinsaard. He stood. "So you are Sturm Brightblade, of the House of Brightblade?"

"I am," he said defiantly.

Merinsaard signaled again, and a stool was brought in for

Sturm to sit on. The soldiers withdrew, leaving Sturm and

Tervy with the great lord.

"I would very much like for you to join my company of men," said Merinsaard. "I can use a young, trained warrior like you. Too many of the scum I pick up are no better than the fool I just shortened by a head." He folded his hands across his flat stomach and looked Sturm in the eye. "In a very short time, you could have your own command of picked troops, cavalry or infantry. What" do you say?"

The blood was still fresh on the floor, so Sturm consid ered his reply. "I have never worked as a mercenary before," he said equivocally. He pointed to Tervy and said, "Will you release the girl?"

"If she behaves." Merinsaard placed a key on the table.

Sturm picked it up and unlocked the fetter that enclosed Ter vy's slender ankle.

"Before I commit myself, may I ask a question?" said

Sturm. Merinsaard inclined his head affirmatively. "In this army, to whom would I be responsible?"

"To me and no one else."

"And from whom do you take your orders?"

"I am supreme," rumbled Merinsaard.

Sturm glanced at Tervy. The chain lay by her foot. She ran a hand over the crudely forged iron fetter. "I don't believe you," Sturm said, calmly.

Merinsaard bolted to his feet. "You question me?" he roared.

"Supreme commanders do not sit in lonely keeps, confis cating cattle like skulking freebooters," said Sturm.

Rage purpled the great lord's face. Sturm wondered if he'd gone too far. In his next breath, would Merinsaard order both their deaths? No, the color slowly left his face, and

Merinsaard leaned on the table.

"You are wise for a young man," he said at last. "I have been given the task of collecting food and arms for a great host that will invade northern Ansalon soon. It is a task I undertake with total devotion. As to my leader, she — " He paused, conscious of revealing an important fact. "- she leaves all the handling of mundane affairs to me."

"I see," Sturm said. What now? "Ah, what would be the terms of my service?"

"Terms? I cannot offer you a contract, if that is what you mean. But know this, Master Brightblade, join with us and all manner of power and glory shall be yours. You will com mand and conquer. Among men you will be as a king."

Merinsaard sat down. Sturm looked to Tervy, which put his face away from the warlord's. Their eyes met. Tervy gave a very slight nod.

Merinsaard looked expectant, so Sturm said, "This is my answer…" The great lord leaned forward. "Now!"

Tervy stood and pulled the chain as hard as she could.

The folding table leg popped loose and the heavy tabletop collapsed on Merinsaard's legs. Sturm sprang over the fallen table, knocking Merinsaard down and pinning his hands.

There would be no blinding incantation this time.

Tervy grabbed the shiny helmet from the floor and scam pered behind the struggling men. She whacked Merinsaard on the head, and the big man howled under Sturm's clench ing hand. Tervy smote him again and again.

"That's enough," Sturm said. "He's out."

"Shall we kill him?" she said.

"By the gods, you're a bloodthirsty child! No, we're not going to kill him. We're not assassins." The sight of the unconscious Merinsaard gave Sturm a dangerous idea.

"Help me get his armor off."

"Oh, you want to skin him!" Tervy said. Sturm rolled his eyes and hurried to untie the lacings of the warlord's armor.

The great lord Merinsaard threw back the wall flap.

Guards in the corridor stiffened to attention. The fierce

Dragon Highlord mask turned to them.

"I have immobilized Brightblade," he said. "He will remain here until I return. No one is to enter that room before me, do you understand? The paralysis spell will be broken if anyone does. Is that clear?"

"Yes, lord!" the guards shouted in unison.

"Very good." Merinsaard beckoned to Tervy. "Come along, girl." Tervy walked toward him, looking miserable.

Chain dragged between her feet. She was hobbled with heavy iron fetters.

"When you prove your loyalty, I will remove them,"

Merinsaard said loftily.

"Oh, thank you, great lord!" Tervy replied.

The masked man swept on with the girl close on his heels.

In the corridor, beyond earshot of the guards, Sturm said softly, "You did that very well."

"Oh, thank you, great lord!"

'You can stop now."

In the maze of silk walls, Sturm found the flap leading to the room where Onthar and his men were kept. He burst in.

Ostimar raised his sagging head, and when he saw the dragon mask, his expression ran from fear to hatred.

"What now?" Onthar said.

"I'm going to let you go," said Sturm. He handed Merin saard's dagger to Tervy, who busied herself freeing the astonished herders.

"Where are Sturm and Belingen?" said Frijje.

"Belingen betrayed his honor and died for it." Sturm removed the stifling helmet. "And Sturm is with you."

It was all Sturm could do to restrain the herders from cheering. Even the normally taciturn Onthar grinned and thumped Sturm on the back.

"There's no time for celebration," Sturm said hastily. "You must get to your horses and get out of here."

Rorin said, "You're not riding with us?"

"I can't. My destiny lies farther north. Besides, the only chance you fellows have is if Merinsaard wants to avenge himself on me rather than recapture all of you."

The realization of what this meant quickly sank in.

Onthar grasped Sturm's arms. "We'll face the hordes of

Takhisis if you say so, Ironskin."

"You may have that opportunity," Sturm said grimly. "So go. Warn all your people about Merinsaard. Make sure that no one else brings him cattle, or sheep, or other supplies.

They would meet with the same treatment you did."

"I will spread the word across the plains," Onthar vowed.

"Not even a partridge will get to Merinsaard's stores."

The herders gathered up their few belongings and started for the exit. Sturm added, "There's just one other thing."

"What?" asked Onthar.

Sturm paused. "I want you to take Tervy with you."

"No!" she said loudly. "I stay with youl"

"You can't do that. I've got to travel fast and light, and it will be too dangerous for you to remain with me," Sturm said solemnly.

"It wasn't too dangerous in Merinsaard's room, when I spilled the table and thumped him on the head."

Sturm laid a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You're braver than ten men, Tervy, but there's going to be more than just swords or arrows coming at me. There is evil magic abroad in the land, and the full weight of it may fall on me in the coming days."

Her lips quivered. "I don't care."

"I do. You're a fine girl, Tervy. You deserve a long and happy life." He turned to Frijje. "You'll look after her, won't you?"

The herder, still amazed to hear that the girl had subdued the mighty Merinsaard, replied, "I think she'll end up look ing after me!"

It was agreed then, though not without some tears. Sturm hesitated a moment, then kissed her smudged forehead and sent her way with the herders. The pang of regret he felt was like a fresh wound, but Sturm knew that in the coming days his own odds of survival would be slim.

The guards tensed when Onthar and his party walked into view. Sturm, mask in place, ordered the soldiers to let them pass. "These men are to return with more provender," he boomed.

The herders' ponies were brought out, and they mounted.

Frijje hauled Tervy up behind him. "You will bring the next herd to this same spot," Sturm said loudly.

"Aye, my lord," Onthar replied. "A thousand head, I promise."

Onthar swung his pony southward and kicked its dusty hide. He galloped away with the others strung out behind.

Frijje and Tervy were last. The girl looked back until they were lost from sight. She held her right fist clenched to her chest; the temptation to wave farewell was strong.

Hands clasped behind his back, Sturm strode down the center passage, acting like a general at inspection. He glanced into several rooms until he found what he wanted:

Merinsaard's wardrobe.

Quickly he shed the armor. Merinsaard was thicker through the chest and waist than Sturm, but otherwise they were nearly the same size. He donned a woolen tunic, scarf, and gloves. Though it was warm on the plain, in the higher elevations it would be cold at night. Sturm retained the dragon mask, and threw an ankle-length cloak around his shoulders. The hood hid his dark hair. There was no time to search for the sword that had been taken from him, so he

'borrowed' one of Merinsaard's. Tas would be proud of him, he thought ruefully. The simple-hilted weapon was plated with mirror-finished silver, and fitted with a black leather scabbard. Sturm buckled the sword belt under the cloak.

At the entrance of the grand tent, he shouted, "My horse!" A soldier ran to the picket line and returned with a magnificent white charger.

"The apothecary reports the poultice has healed Mai-tat's hoof," the soldier said in a rapid, breathless voice. "The man begs your lordship to spare him."

Why not? "I give him his life," Sturm said in what he hoped was a convincingly arrogant manner. He put a foot in the stirrup and swung onto Mai-tat. The spirited charger pranced in a half-circle, causing the soldier to retreat.

Sturm opened his mouth to explain his departure, then quickly realized that Merinsaard would likely do no such thing. "I shall return before morning," he said.

"The usual guard postings remain?" said the man who'd brought the horse.

"Yes." Sturm tightened the reins to quell the nervous ani mal. "Let there be no mistakes, or it will be your head!" he said.

He spurred lightly and galloped north, toward Castle

Brightblade. Sturm regretted not having time to scatter the cattle inside the old keep. But there was no time for such diversions; the moment the real Merinsaard awoke and freed himself from his bonds, the hunt for Sturm Bright blade would begin.