Shapers of Darkness

Chapter Fourteen

Dantrielle, Aneira

"Behind you, my lord!”

Tebeo spun, his sword arcing downward, intending to cleave his second attacker in half from shoulder to gut. The soldier danced away, avoiding his blade, and the duke allowed his momentum to carry him all the way around so that he faced the other soldier once more.

Let them think on that! he thought with some satisfaction. I may look like a fat old man, but I’ve some fight left in me still.

As if intent on proving him wrong, the man in front of him lunged forward, sword held high, his dagger hand leveling a killing blow at Tebeo’s side. The duke wrenched himself down and away from both blades, stumbled and fell heavily on his side. Fortunately, one of Dantrielle’s men was there to meet the assault and drive back the Solkaran soldier. It was the second time in the last few moments that Tebeo had needed aid from one of his soldiers just to stay alive.

A small group of Solkarans had caught them unawares, apparently entering the castle through a sally port that had been left unguarded. Bausef DarLesta, his master of arms, had taken several men to secure the entry, leaving Tebeo and perhaps two dozen soldiers to deal with the intruders. It was more than enough men-they outnumbered the Solkarans by nearly two to one-but Tebeo’s mistakes had forced the other men of Dantrielle to fight not only for their own lives, but for his as well. He should have found a way to retreat, to allow his soldiers to take care of the enemy and be done with it. But pride held him there.

There had been a time when Tebeo was thought to be one of the finest swordsmen in the realm. Back in the days when Tomaz the Ninth still ruled in Solkara, and Aneiran soldiers raised their steel against one another only in contests of skill, Tebeo had fought in his fair share of battle tournaments. Most considered Vidor of Tounstrel the land’s best-certainly he won the lion’s share of the competitions, though Tebeo had long thought that Bertin, the old duke of Noltierre, was Vidor’s equal-but when the betting began, there were always a few who chose to risk their hard-earned gold on Tebeo, and on more than a few occasions their faith in him had been rewarded.

Those days seemed centuries gone. The duke felt old, sluggish, like a plow horse that’s been worked too hard. He could still see the battle in all its intricacies, but too many years and too many castle feasts had taken their toll. He recognized feints, but he couldn’t adjust swiftly enough to guard himself against the true attack. He saw openings, weaknesses in the defenses of his opponent, but he couldn’t strike quickly enough to exploit them. In a sense, even the strengths that had come to him with advanced age worked against him. He remembered the excitement of old battle tournaments, the surge of strength and alacrity that used lo come wilh it. And he saw much the same thing in the young soldiers he commanded. Warriors had a name for it: battle fury. But Tebeo was too wise to succumb to such emotions, even knowing that they might fuel his fighting and counterbalance some of what he had lost to age. This war was destroying them, weakening the realm when it most needed to be strong, giving aid to Qirsi enemies who needed none.

The second Solkaran soldier advanced on the duke again, his sword and short blade raised. Tebeo scrambled to his feet and readied his steel, his eyes darting to the left and right. All of his men who were close enough to come to his rescue were engaged in combat. He’d have no help with this fight.

The Solkaran, a large, yellow-haired man with small dark eyes and a drooping mustache, gave a harsh grin, seeming to sense this as well. He closed the distance between them with one great stride and leveled a blow at Tebeo’s head. Looking for any advantage, Tebeo tried a trick Bertin had once used against him. Just as the man committed to his attack, Tebeo switched his sword to his left hand, turning his stance just enough to throw off the timing of the Solkaran’s assault. The big man’s sword whistled harmlessly past Tebeo’s head. And as it did Tebeo hacked at the man’s shoulder with his own blade. The soldier’s mail shirt absorbed most of the blow and kept Tebeo’s sword from drawing blood, but the Solkaran was staggered and when he faced the duke again, his grin was gone.

He wasted no time beginning his next assault, though he advanced more cautiously this time, and aimed his strike at the center of Tebeo’s chest, giving the duke no opportunity to turn a second time. Instead, he was forced to block the man’s blade with his own, the force of the blow numbing Tebeo’s arm and shoulder. The Solkaran raised his sword to strike again, the grin returning when he saw Tebeo back away. The duke flexed the fingers on his sword hand, trying to get some feeling to return. He took another step back, but came up against the castle wall. Seeing this, perhaps sensing that the end was at hand, the Solkaran launched himself at the duke. Their swords met again and Tebeo’s entire body seemed to shudder with the impact. Rather than stepping back to strike at him again, the Solkaran continued to press forward, crushing Tebeo against the stone, pinning the duke’s sword beneath his own. Tebeo could feel the man’s breath on his face, and even as he tried to free his own dagger, he sensed that the Solkaran was doing the same.

They struggled for several moments, silent save for the rasp of their breathing. And just as Tebeo managed to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his dagger, he saw the man’s arm fly free, steel glinting in the sunlight like the wing of a dragonfly. Then the arm angled downward, a blur of steel and mail and flesh, and Tebeo felt a searing pain in his side. His body sagged, though he fought to stay on his feet. The soldier stepped back, raising his sword again, the other hand empty, save for a smear of blood on the crescent between his thumb and forefinger. Tebeo tried to raise his own blade to ward himself, but it was all he could do not to tumble onto his side. The flesh under his right arm was ablaze; he felt himself growing light-headed. He heard someone call out to him from what seemed a great distance, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man standing before him. The Solkaran, with his sword over his head, ready to smite the duke like some warrior god, and a blood stain on his hand that looked oddly like red Ilias early in the waxing.

Tebeo expected to die then. He wondered how the siege would end, whether Bausef and his men would give in to Numar of Solkara, or whether this civil war would continue, perhaps with Brall or one of the others taking up the cause. He thought of Pelgia and their children, and he nearly cried out with his grief at having failed them. All of this in the span of a single heartbeat, as the Solkaran began to bring down his sword for the killing blow.

But then another figure came into view, also a blur, though the duke recognized the colors of his own house, gold, red, and black. This second man crashed into the Solkaran, knocking him off balance, causing the sword to fly from his hand and clatter harmlessly against the wall beside Tebeo’s head. The two soldiers fell to the ground and began to struggle. Almost instantly a third man joined them, and then a fourth, both of them wearing the colors of Dantrielle. Still another man rushed to Tebeo’s side, crouching beside him, a stricken look on his youthful face.

“I’m all right,” the duke muttered, though he knew he wasn’t. “Don’t kill him.”

“My lord?”

“The Solkaran. I don’t want him killed.”

“But my lord. .” The man shook his head and gestured at Tebeo’s side, forcing the duke to look there. The Solkaran’s blade jutted from between his ribs and his surcoat was stained crimson. He closed his eyes and clamped his teeth against a wave of nausea.

“I don’t care. I want him alive. We learn nothing if he dies.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The man shouted something to the others.

Tebeo closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone, and for some time he was aware only of voices shouting around him and the sun on his face.

“The healer’s here, my lord.”

Tebeo started awake, as if from a deep slumber, though when he opened his eyes he found that he was still in the castle ward, leaning against the castle wall. He glanced around slowly, and saw the Solkaran standing nearby, his arms pinned at his sides by a pair of Tebeo’s soldiers. There was a cut over the man’s eye, and another on his cheek, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.

“Drink this, my lord.”

A Qirsi face loomed before him, pale and bony, yellow eyes like those of a wolf. The healer held out a cup containing a steaming, foul-smelling liquid.

“No,” Tebeo said. “Where’s Evanthya?”

“The first minister is on her way, my lord. But you must drink this. It will help you rest, and that will allow me to heal your wound.”

“I don’t know you.”

The man frowned. “You should, my lord. I’m Qerban. I’ve served as a healer in Castle Dantrielle for more than six years.”

Tebeo narrowed his eyes. Perhaps there was something familiar about him. “You’re still Qirsi.”

“Yes, my lord. And you’re dying. You’re losing far too much blood. If it’s poison you’re worrying about, you have no need. If I wanted you dead, I’d just let that dagger do its work and be done with it. Now please, my lord. Drink this, and let me help you.”

Tebeo nodded, and reached for the cup. But before he could take it in hand, he felt his world pitch and roll, and closing his eyes once more, he fell back into darkness.

When next the duke awoke, he was in his bedchamber. Pelgia sat beside him, holding his hand in hers, worry written in the lines on her face. Her dark eyes were dry, but that was her way.

Evanthya was there as well, looking small and pale. The healer stood beside her, his expression unreadable.

“I take it I’m going to live,” the duke said.

Qerban grinned. “It would seem so, my lord.”

“Then I have you to thank.”

“I’m a healer, my lord,” the man said with a shrug. “It’s what I do.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“You were hurt, my lord. You hardly knew what you were saying.”

“I knew well enough.” His eyes flicked to Evanthya, who had lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, healer. And I thank you for my life.”

“Of course, my lord. There’s more of my brew on the table beside your bed. Drink it all, and rest. You should be able to leave your bed in the morning, but no more combat for a few days. I healed the wound, but your body needs time to recover the blood you lost.”

Tebeo nodded, saying nothing. Healers were always prescribing more rest than was necessary.

The Qirsi smirked, as if he could read the duke’s thoughts. After a moment he bowed and left the chamber.

Pelgia lifted the cup of brew from Tebeo’s table and held it out to him. Seeing the face he made, she smiled archly. “You heard him, Tebeo. All of it. And if you argue, I’ll have him prepare more.”

Reluctantly, the duke took the cup from her and drank, nearly gagging on the stuff. He tried to hand it back to her, but Pelgia merely stared at him until he downed the rest of it. Glancing toward the open window, he saw that it was night. Ward fires still burned atop the castle walls, but he heard nothing unusual.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

Evanthya looked up. “It’s nearly time for the gate close, my lord.”

“I was out that long?”

The first minister nodded.

“What of the Solkaran?”

“He’s alive, held in your dungeon.”

“I don’t want him in the dungeon. Have him moved up into the prison tower.”

“Are you certain, my lord? The master of arms insisted that it be the dungeon.”

“Bausef put him there because of what the man did to me. To have done less would have been. . inappropriate. But the man is Aneiran, just as we are. He was ordered by his sovereign to quell a rebellion, and that’s what he was trying to do. Our quarrel is with Numar, not with the Solkaran people or their army, nor with the soldiers of any other house for that matter. He may be our prisoner, but he deserves to be treated with some courtesy. I’ll question him myself in the morning. Please see to it, First Minister.”

Evanthya bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

When the minister had gone, Tebeo faced Pelgia again. “Sorry if I gave you a scare.”

She gave a small smile, looking lovely in the candlelight. “By the time I’d heard anything, the healer was already quite certain that you’d live. But the children are a bit shaken.”

“Well, bring them in. It might do them good to see me.”

The duchess shook her head. “In the morning. The healer told you to rest. I intend to make certain that you do as you’re told.”

“Surely seeing the children-”

“Tomorrow,” she said, more firmly this time.

Tebeo grinned. “Yes, my lady.”

She patted his hand and stood. “Rest awhile. I’ll have some food brought in shortly.”

“Where are you going?”

“To tell the children that you’re all right. I’ll be back soon.”

He watched her go, then lay back against his pillow, closing his eyes and savoring the remembered touch of her fingers. His side ached dully and he felt weak, but he had been fortunate this day. Had the Solkaran’s dagger found something more vital, or had the man managed to plunge his blade into Tebeo’s side a second time, the duke would surely be dead.

This is what becomes of fat old men who fancy themselves warriors. No more fighting for me. That’s why Dantrielle has an army.

He felt an unexpected pang of regret at the thought that his days as a swordsman were over, but he knew that this was the right decision. Not only had he risked his own life this day; he had also endangered the men who had been forced to rush to his defense time after time.

After several moments he began to doze off, only to be tugged back awake by a knock at his door. Pelgia.

“Enter,” he called sleepily, not even bothering to open his eyes.

He heard the door open and close, and the soft scrape of a boot on stone.

“My lord.” A man’s voice.

Tebeo opened his eyes and, seeing Bausef standing near the door, sat up too quickly. His head spun.

“Are you all right, my lord? Perhaps I should return later.”

“No, armsmaster, I’m fine.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, then opened them again. The spinning of the chamber seemed to slow somewhat. “What do you want?”

“The first minister told me that you wanted the Solkaran moved to the tower. I wasn’t certain that I believed her-I wanted to hear it from you before doing anything.”

“You think she’d lie about such a thing?”

“I thought. . perhaps your injury-”

“Out with it, Bausef. What’s on your mind?”

“This man is a danger to you and this castle. He nearly killed you, and he deserves to be punished.”

“He needs to be questioned, Bausef.”

“I’ve already seen to that, my lord.”

“You’ve already-” He stopped, comprehension hitting him like a fist. “You tortured him?”

“It was the only way-”

“No, Bausef, it wasn’t! I intended to question this man in the morning. He wasn’t to be tortured at all.”

“That may have been your intention, my lord. But I assure you, if you were determined to get answers from the man, it would have come to torture eventually. Why does it matter, if it was tonight or in the morning?”

“Because I wanted to give him the chance to comply without resorting to pain.” Tebeo gazed toward the window shaking his head. “The Solkarans aren’t the enemy. Surely you understand that.”

“Actually, my lord, I must disagree. Certainly they’re not the only enemy; they may not even be the most dangerous. But so long as they lay siege to this castle, we must treat them as a threat to you and your dukedom.”

“You think me too soft.”

Bausef smiled. “I think you’re a good man, and a fine leader,” he said, seeming to choose his words with care. “Your lone weakness-if it can be called that-is your aversion to war. You so wish to find a path to peace, that you show your enemies too much kindness.”

“You think I’m doing that now.”

The armsmaster took a breath. “Yes, I do.”

They fell into a lengthy, brooding silence, Bausef still standing near the door, his gaze lowered, the duke in bed, staring at the window once more.

“What did you learn from him?” Tebeo asked at last, feeling that the question signaled a surrender of sorts.

“A good deal, once he started to talk.”

Tebeo indicated the chair by his bed with an open hand, and Bausef crossed to it and sat.

“He and his comrades didn’t expect to survive their assault. It seems Numar learned of the sally port two days ago and thought to exploit it.”

“But to what end? If the men weren’t expected to survive, what was the point?”

“The soldier didn’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say the regent is looking for ways to break our spirit. As such attacks continue or even grow more frequent, fear will set in, the people of this city will begin to look for ways to end the siege. They may even turn against you and seek a reconciliation with the royal house.”

“It seems a waste of men.”

Another smile flitted across the armsmaster’s face and was gone. Once more Tebeo found himself thinking that the man saw him as too weak to be an effective leader, at least in times of war. And the duke could only agree.

“Had you been laying siege to another castle, my lord, I would have counseled you to do much the same thing. Today’s attack took a toll on the men, and it nearly claimed your life. It was a gamble to be sure, but one that was worth the loss of a few men.”

Tebeo said nothing. Worth the loss. He could never bring himself to think in such terms. Was he doomed then to fail? Could a leader as softhearted as he ever prevail in a war?

There was another knock, and before Tebeo could call out an answer, the door opened, revealing Pelgia and a servant who carried a platter of food. Seeing Bausef, the duchess frowned, glaring first at the master of arms and then at Tebeo.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“And I am.”

She glowered at him.

“We’re still under siege, my lady. I can’t just sleep the night away while Numar’s men threaten my castle and city.”

“Do I have to call the healer and have him prepare a sleep tonic?”

“I should be leaving, my lord,” Bausef said, standing and bowing first to Tebeo and then to Pelgia.

“Thank you, armsmaster. I found our discussion. . illuminating.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Bausef started to leave. But as he reached the threshold of the chamber, the entire castle suddenly quaked, as if some great beast had reached out from the Deceiver’s realm to smite Dantrielle’s walls with a mighty talon.

The armsmaster whirled to face the duke again. From outside Tebeo’s window came shouts of warning and alarm.

“The gate?” Tebeo asked.

Before Bausef could answer, the castle shook a second time.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

A soldier appeared in the doorway, breathless and ashen.

“What’s happened?” the armsmaster demanded.

“Hurling arms, Commander,” the man said. “Two of them.”

“But they hadn’t any arms built this-” Tebeo stopped, winced. Now it made sense. There had been more to Numar’s wile than even Bausef had guessed. “It was a diversion, to give them time to build the machines and put them in place.”

“So it would seem.”

For a third time, the walls and floor shivered. More shouts echoed through the castle ward, mingled now with screams of terror and agony.

The duke swung himself out of bed, struggling briefly with another wave of dizziness.

“Tebeo-”

He raised a hand, silencing his wife. “This is no time for me to be resting, Pelgia, no matter what the healer says. My place is on the walls with my men.”

She looked like she might argue, but instead she merely nodded, seeming to sense that she would never convince him otherwise.

Bausef and the soldier started down the corridor toward the nearest of the tower stairways. Tebeo followed, though he walked slowly. The pain in his side was much greater now that he was out of bed and moving. The armsmaster glanced back and slowed, but the duke waved him on.

“I’ll be along, armsmaster. Go up to the ramparts. There’s no sense in both of us going at my pace.”

Bausef nodded once before sprinting on.

By the time Tebeo finally reached the top of the stairway, the castle had been hit twice more, and the cries from his men had begun to sound desperate. Stepping into the warm night air, Tebeo immediately saw why. Numar and his men were bombarding the castle with huge stones that had been covered with pitch and set aflame. Judging from the blackened ruins of the ramparts along the north wall, it seemed that their aim had been remarkably true. Several men lay on the stone walkway, some with their skin and clothes burned, others with mangled limbs.

Bausef strode to where Tebeo stood.

“Report.”

“They’re beyond the range of our archers, my lord. There appear to be only the two machines, though right now those two are more than enough.”

“How many have we lost.”

“Eleven dead, my lord. Fourteen others hurt.”

“Damn!”

“Look to the skies!” came a shouted warning.

Facing northward, Tebeo saw a bright ball of fire arc into the night, trailing a plume of black smoke. He thought at first that it would strike the top of the wall just beyond the next tower, but as the flaming stone reached its zenith and began to curve downward toward the castle, he realized with much relief that it would fall just short. Still, as it approached the wall, he reached out to brace himself against the stone. An instant later the fiery stone hit, sending a fountain of flame over the wall and making the fortress tremble.

Bausef stared grimly at the small fires burning themselves out on the face of the castle. “We were fortunate that time.”

“Is there anything we can do to stop them?”

“Not without aid, my lord. We need Orvinti or Kett or Tounstrel. Anyone. With Rassor guarding Numar’s flanks, we have no chance of reaching those siege machines. It would take so many men to fight our way through that we’d have to compromise the safety of the castle.”

“What about the first minister? Might she be able to help us?”

“What magics does she possess?”

“I don’t know all of them.” A lie. But Tebeo knew that many Qirsi did not willingly reveal their powers to others, and he felt that as a courtesy to Evanthya he shouldn’t tell the master of arms more than was necessary. “But I do know that she has mists and winds.”

“That might be of some use-”

“Look to the skies!” from farther down the wall.

Yet another burning orb leaped into the sky, like some terrible weapon of the goddess of fire, thrown by Eilidh herself. Watching its path, anxiously, the duke quickly realized that this one would not fall short.

Bausef seemed to sense this as well. Before Tebeo could say anything, he shouted to his men, “Off the north wall!” Without even waiting to see if they followed his command, the armsmaster began to usher the duke back toward the tower stairway. Tebeo followed, though he kept one eye on that arcing flame, marking its progress toward his castle.

Once safely inside the tower entrance, both men turned to watch. “Hold on,” Bausef said, eyeing the bright flame and bracing himself against the stone. “This one’s going to do some damage.”

Indeed. It landed directly on top of the wall, shattering the merlons where it hit, shaking the castle to its foundations, and sending fiery fragments of stone in every direction. Several of the men who had fled only as far as the end of the battlement were struck by pieces. One man’s surcoat was aflame. The stone itself, largely intact, remained in its own crater on the wall, still burning and effectively cutting one end of the battlement off from the other. Tebeo heard cheering in the distance. Numar’s men.

“Demons and fire,” Bausef muttered.

“This can’t continue. Summon the first minister.”

The master of arms nodded, still staring at the damage. “Yes, my lord. Right away.”

Within just a few moments, Evanthya stood before him, her white hair hanging loose to her shoulders and dancing in the wind.

“The master of arms has explained to you?” Tebeo asked.

“Yes, my lord. But as I’ve told him, I’m not certain that I can be of much use to you.”

“Why is that?”

“Pronjed, my lord. Numar’s archminister. He has mists and winds as well, and will be able to counter anything I do. If I raise a mist to conceal our men, he’ll conjure a wind to sweep it away. And if I call forth a wind to aid our archers or hinder theirs, he’ll do just the opposite.”

“And none of your other powers can help us?”

“I’m afraid not, my lord. Mine are not the magics of a warrior.”

Tebeo actually smiled. It seemed they had this in common.

“I fear, my lord, that the first minister might actually do more harm than good.”

“What do you mean?”

“If she raises a mist, and the archminister can indeed defeat it, then we’ve done nothing except draw Numar’s attention to whatever it is we decide to do.”

“Look to the skies!”

Another flaming boulder flew up from the north, followed almost instantly by a second. Their conversation stopped and all three of them watched the fires carve their way through the darkness and down toward the castle. Dantrielle’s soldiers scrambled to get out of their path, shouting warnings to one another, struggling to carry the wounded from the last impact out of harm’s way.

The first of the stones struck the top of the wall, much as the last one had, while the second fell just short, hitting the face of the wall just below the battlements. The entire fortress bucked and shuddered as if it were alive. Flames and shards of stone careened everywhere, clattering off the tower walls and making Evanthya and Tebeo flinch.

Again, the duke heard shouts and taunts from Numar’s soldiers.

“We need a plan. Quickly, armsmaster. They’re destroying the castle, and it won’t be long before one of those missiles finds flesh rather than mere stone.”

“As I said, my lord, fighting our way through to the hurling arms is out of the question. But it may be that a small complement of archers can go out through another of the sally ports and get close enough to strike at them.”

“Yes, good.”

Bausef seemed to hesitate. “I said it may be possible, my lord. I’m not certain that I think it a good idea. We’ll be placing these men in great danger, and there’s no guarantee that they’ll be able to disable the hurling arms.”

“Some of them could light their arrows,” Evanthya said. “While some try for the soldiers operating the machines, others can try to burn the arms themselves.”

“That might work.” Still the master of arms did not appear convinced. “I know that it’s difficult to watch them harm Castle Dantrielle, my lord. But over the course of its history, this fortress has withstood assaults far worse than this. We may be better off just weathering their attacks. This siege won’t be won or lost tonight, and it may be that help is on the way.”

“So you think we should do nothing?”

Bausef looked away, perhaps hearing a goad in the question, though Tebeo had intended none. “I’m just telling you that if you’re worried about the lives of your men, it may be more of a risk to send them out of the castle than it is to keep them here, even knowing that these attacks will continue.”

Tebeo turned to Evanthya. “First Minister?”

“I’ve nothing to add to what the armsmaster has said, my lord.”

The duke stepped out of the tower and gazed northward. The Solkarans were singing now, and he could see two clusters of torchlight, no doubt men working to put the next boulders in the palms of the hurling arms.

As much as he disliked the thought of placing his men in peril, he could not help feeling that there were other costs to this night’s assault aside from the injuries and the damage to his castle. Numar’s men sang and laughed with the confidence of a victorious army, while his men looked defeated and exhausted. He needed to do something.

“Choose your finest archers, armsmaster, as many as you think appropriate, and send them out. Tell them to loose three rounds of arrows, no more. Even if they do no damage to the machines, they’re to return here after that.”

“Yes, my lord.” Nothing in his voice. Nothing at all.

Tebeo’s side ached, a reminder of his shortcomings as a commander.

Whether or not Bausef approved of Tebeo’s orders, he moved swiftly to carry them out. The archers left the castle within the hour, using a sally port on the west side of the castle, where the waters of the Black Sand River would mask any noise they made approaching the Solkarans’ position.

Bausef had gone with them, leaving Tebeo and Evanthya to watch from the battlements as the battle unfolded. Several more of Numar’s flaming missiles had struck the castle, two of them reaching the top of the wall and one of them soaring over the wall to land in the ward below. As of yet, no more of his men had been killed, and as Tebeo inspected the damage, he saw that the master of arms was right. The black scars the assault left on his fortress might have been ugly, but they weren’t deep. It was too late to call the men back. Tebeo felt his stomach tightening.

He could do nothing but stare out into the darkness, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of his soldiers and mark their advance on Numar’s men.

“Do you see anything, First Minister?” he asked, for perhaps fifth time.

She shook her head. Then, as if an afterthought, “No, my lord.”

They lapsed into silence again. The Solkarans were still singing. Good, he thought. Let them have their songs. It’ll be that much easier to catch them unawares.

Still they waited. Only now did Tebeo think to look up at the moons, to wonder how their light might affect Bausef’s plan. It was late in the waxing. Both moons were high overhead, white as bone, red as blood. But a thin haze of cloud now covered the sky, muting their glow somewhat and keeping them from casting much light on the ground. Perhaps the gods were with them.

“There!” the first minister called out, thrusting out an arm to point.

He saw it as well. Several small flames had appeared in the wood; they resembled candles from this distance. Almost immediately they angled skyward, flying toward the hurling arms. The singing stopped abruptly, to be replaced by cries of alarm and then screams of pain. The Solkarans lit more torches and began to converge on Tebeo’s archers. A second flurry of arrows flew, and now the duke could see flames on the hurling arms. Never mind the third volley! he wanted to shout. Get away from there!

But Bausef was a soldier, and soldiers followed orders. The torches advanced, a third round of flaming darts lifted into the night and fell toward the siege machines.

And then the fighting began.

He could hear the ring of steel on steel, the war cries and death shrieks. He even thought he could hear Bausef shouting commands to his men. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the line of torches flowing like a bright river toward the fighting.

“It’ll be a slaughter,” Evanthya whispered.

The duke wanted to say something brave, he wanted to reassure her that Bausef would find a way free, that he would rally his men and lead them back to the castle. But there were so many torches, and already the sounds of the battle were starting to fade. The master of arms had spoken of taking only a few men. It wouldn’t be much for Numar’s army to kill them all.

The hurling arms were ablaze, but already dark shadows were appearing around them to douse the flames.

“Have men posted at all the sally ports,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the soft whistle of the wind. “Tell them to watch for survivors, but to be alert for Solkaran attacks.”

“Yes, my lord,” Evanthya said, her voice like the scrape of steel on stone. She started to leave, then halted. “I would have done the same thing, my lord.”

He nodded, still staring out at the torches. But he couldn’t find any words to reply.

After a time, he left the battlements, descending the tower stairs to the ward. His men were cleaning away rubble from the tower entrances at the base of the walls. Seeing him, they paused, grim-faced and silent. He sensed no hostility on their part, no reproof. Only a desire to follow his command, to draw strength from his courage. He feared that he had nothing to offer them.

He heard a dull thud as something struck the grass nearby. At the same time, he realized that Numar’s men had resumed their singing.

Two of his men walked to where the object had landed and bent to look at it, lowering their torches. Then, both of them jumped back, one of the men crying out like a frightened child. Tebeo hurried to where they stood, hearing another object hit the grass as he did. But already he knew what he would find. He had heard of attacking armies doing such things-in past sieges, it had proved quite effective in breaking the spirit of defending soldiers. Still, he had hoped that Numar was incapable of such cruelty, such ruthlessness. But the man was a Solkaran, and Tebeo should have known better. The duke’s stomach heaved and he willed himself not to be sick, even as he tasted bile.

“My lord,” one of the soldiers sobbed. “It’s. . I know him.”

Tebeo knelt in the grass and stared down at the severed head of one of his men. He, too, recognized the soldier, though he had never learned the man’s name. Yet another head hit the grass behind him, and a moment later two more. There had been sixteen archers in all, and, of course, Bausef as well. And so eventually there would be seventeen of them in the courtyard of his castle, grisly reminders of the armsmaster’s warning. It may be more of a risk to send them out of the castle than it is to keep them here. The words echoed in the duke’s mind, like bells calling mourners to funeral rites.

“Clean them up,” he said quietly, knowing he ought to say more, but having no words that could possibly have any meaning in the face of this.

He returned to the ramparts, looking out toward the Solkaran army once more. There was a great fire burning near the siege engines-perhaps a pyre for his men. A moment later he saw that something loomed in front of the flames, and he knew that he had been wrong a moment before. There would only be sixteen thrown back into his castle. The seventeenth head, no doubt that of his master of arms, had been impaled upon a pike and raised above the Solkaran camp. A monument to Tebeo’s folly.