Knights Magi (Book 4) (69 page)

They’re almost dead of dehydration!
Rondal told Tyndal, when he used his magesight to get a better look. 
Look at them, the way they watch the slave with water.  That’s how they keep them docile.  Give them just enough water to keep them cowed. 

There were guards among them, too.  Mostly mangy-looking gurvani, many of
them in tribal gear or captured armor, carrying clubs and whips.  A few had spears, and all carried knives or short swords.  And among them were a few humans who walked freely, if deferrent to the goblins.  Collaborators.  Slavers.  Traitors.

I think the whippings and summary executions might play a role, too,
Tyndal pointed out sarcastically. 
Dehydration keeps them weak.  Fear and pain keep them docile.

How many are out there?

They each counted, and then counted again.  Over two hundred within their sight alone. 

It seems a shame to leave them there, all tied up like that,
Tyndal said.

We’re not here to rescue them, we’re here to observe,
reminded Rondal. 
I’d like to save them too, but there’s just two of us.

So?

There’s a lot more of them.  They taught us at War College that’s a bad move.

So is this what the goblins were trying to hide?  Slaves?  We knew about their slaving operations.  None of them looks capable of dropping a load as big as the one I saw.  Maybe that plump burgher on the end, but . . .

We need a better view,
sighed Rondal, turning away from the hole. 
Where do these other doors lead?

This one . . . likely to the chamber beyond,
answered Tyndal, cRoseng to peer through its hidden viewport. 
The place is filled with sleeping slaves.  It looks like a banquet hall they’re using as a pen.

How many?

Another hundred, maybe.  Tied hand-to-hand.  The main door looks locked from the outside.  This one is behind a tapestry, I think.

Rondal was peering through the third door. 
This one is more stairs – going down.  I think it leads to another tunnel.  Probably into the keep,
he reasoned.

That sounds like an excellent vantage point,
Tyndal agreed. 
You know, this sneaking around stuff is kind of fun!

It’s one of the reasons warmagi make such expensive but useful mercenaries. 
They followed the stairs back down, and then through a tunnel at least fifty feet long, narrow and close on all sides.  Rondal eventually had to sling his shield and move sidewise, it narrowed  so much.  At last it came to a narrow passageway straight up, accessed by a stout wooden ladder.

They must have designed this as the lord’s escape route,
Rondal said excitedly as he began to climb the ladder. 
Like Arsella’s hidey-hole.

Belsi,
reminded Tyndal.

I knew her for weeks as Arsella,
Rondal shot back. 
Give me some time to adjust.

Touchy . . .

You really shouldn’t irritate the man climbing the ladder above you,
Rondal pointed out. 
Gravity is a cruel mistress.

Just don’t fart and nobody will get hurt.

Rondal didn’t respond.  He kept climbing.

Three stories of ladder led to the summit of the keep.  The topmost rooms were reserved as the chamber of the lord and lady, as well as the living quarters of the senior servants.  It was deserted now, the bedchamber thoroughly looted and destroyed. 

But it was empty.

Rondal pushed the hidden door open from the inside, and a section of wall gave way.  The top floor was deserted.  There was no sign of goblin encampment here.

They don’t particularly like heights,
Tyndal reminded him. 
The watchtower over in the outer bailey is taller, so they’ll have their lookout there.  You can’t see much beyond the walls from here.  But you can see just about – good gods eternal, what the hells is that?

He pointed out of one of the arrow slits in the ruined chamber at what Rondal first thought was a rickety redoubt on a hill of dirt.

Then it moved.

It was a beast – a gigantic beast, easily fifty feet long from blunted snout to thick tail.  Six giant, squat  legs, as thick as the thickest tree Rondal had ever seen, supported the beast.  The redoubt Rondal had seen was in fact a kind of saddle-fortress, a covered platform that could be filled with warriors in battle, creating a
walking castle.

The redoubt was situated just behind the second pair of legs and secured with broad straps and ropes.  Empty at the moment, Rondal was appalled to see.  in addition to the platform for archers, some sort of cunning mechanism on the roof he guessed was a compact sort of ballistae or catapult. 

That thing . . . that thing is a walking siege!
Tyndal finally said.

What the hell is it?  I’ve never even heard of something like this before!

It’s like a leggy worm, only . . . that snout.  It’s got a thick plate of horn or bone or something on it.

Like a living battering ram,
agreed Romdal. 
How long would it take to go through a castle gatehouse with that?

A lot less time that it would take to attack with trolls or scrugs,
agreed Tyndal, darkly. 
Shit, Ron, what does that thing eat?

I don’t see any fodder around,
Rondal said, scanning the courtyard below.  Then he realised the awful truth when the great beast yawned

Oh.  Never mind.  Look at those teeth,
he said.  Its head was like a huge alien tortoise.  The teeth it revealed were sharp, pointed, and numerous.
  I’m guessing its carnivorous.  And I bet it eats people.

That’s why they haven’t moved these poor bastards north yet!  They’re supplying their siege worms!

That’s . . . that’s horrible,
Rondal said, shaking his head.

Tyndal looked at him. 
Feel different about a rescue mission, now?

Rondal stared at him.  His mission was accomplished.  They knew what the goblins were hiding, and why.  It would only take a moment to alert Commander Terleman, mind-to-mind, and then they could return.

Only that would leave the hundreds of people below to die in the jaws of that hideous beast.

Gods, I hate you sometimes,
Rondal said, shaking his head.

Just keeping you on the path of chivalry.

How do you propose we take on . . . Trygg only knows how many goblins, at least a shaman, possibly more, there could always be a couple of trolls hiding out in the cellar, and at least a dozen vile remnants of humanity who are collaborating with the enemy?  Oh, yes, a fifty-foot long death machine that seems to eat people?

Easy,
Tyndal smiled. 
Remember, there are two of us.

Every castle and manor house had a cistern, and most had many.  As much as a castle relied upon a well within the walls of the bailey to slake the thirst of the besieged, in dire circumstances, when a retreat to a tower or keep was necessary, it became important to ensure a temporary supply. 

Gafney Castle was no different.  In fact the third-tallest tower overlooking the inner bailey had a large one, at least a thousand gallons, fed by rainwater and magically protected from stagnation.  It was at the center of the top-most floor of the tower, a chamber of rock lined with clay.  But cisterns needed to be emptied and repaired from time to time, and a drain a foot wide led to the inner bailey for that purpose.

Rondal had let himself be persuaded to approve of Tyndal’s plan mostly because of the profound distraction the sudden appearance of that much water to that many people so close to being mad with thirst would produce.  There were guards enough to handle a few isolated incidence of resistance among the humans huddled around their knees.  If several hundred of them all went into action at once, they would be hard-pressed to keep control of the situation. 

And once an angry siege worm was loosed on the scene, well, Rondal couldn’t deny that whatever mayhem and destruction it wrought was no less than the goblins deserved.   While he knew that some people would inevitably get killed in the fight, that was a better fate for them than being wormfodder.

Tyndal had volunteered to make his way quietly across the rooftops of the manor over to the tower, which was taking enough time so that Rondal was able to make a brief report, mind-to-mind, to Terleman while he waited.  The military commander was surprised and disheartened by the news of the siege worms, but he took the news coolly.   When he was done with the conversation, Rondal checked in with Tyndal, who was still slowly creeping across the rooftops trying not to be seen.

It’s going to be at least another half-hour,
he reported. 
There are more sentries on the back side of the keep, and I’m trying to avoid them.  See if you can keep yourself busy until I get there.

By doing what?  I left my embroidery back at the manor,
he replied sourly.

What about contacting those other prisoners, the ones in the banquet hall, and arming them with those siege spears we saw in the tunnel?  And maybe getting the women and children out through the secret passage?  That might be a better use of your time than needlepoint.  Just do it quietly.

That’s . . . that’s not a bad idea, actually,
Rondal admitted.  He hated when Tyndal was right.

He looked through the peep hole into the banquet hall-turned-prison, and with his Cat’s Eye spell he was able to see dozens of bodies crammed into the room.  A few were pressed up against the wall, so when he did finally release the catch on the concealed door, two poor souls spilled into the hidden compartment, squeaking in surprise.

“Shhh!” Rondal said, insistently.  “I’m here to help rescue you, but you must be silent!”

“Wha—?” asked one dull-witted fellow.  “Is it my turn for the beasty, now?”

“I’m here to
rescue
you!” Rondal repeated, looking to the other man – a younger, scrawny fellow who looked like he’d been beaten a few times – where he found more wit looking back.  “I’m Sir Rondal of Sevendor.  I’m under the command of King Rard,” he said, hoping invoking the new monarch’s name would grant him some authority with the half-mad prisoners.  “Is there a leader among you?” he asked, hopefully.

“Aye, milord!” the skinny man nodded, “I’ll go fetch him!”

“Silently!” Rondal insisted.  He waited patiently with the thicker fellow, shushing his every attempt to make a sound.  Soon three more men stumbled back through the darkness and into the hidden chamber.  One was a tall bearded man of noble bearing, the other a shrewd-looking hawk-nosed fellow in sturdy garments.  Neither looked as distressed as the first two prisoners he’d encountered.

“I am Sir Rondal of Sevendor,” he said in a whisper.  “I’ve come to try to help.”

“I am Sire Darduin of Romm,” said the bearded man, “this is Master Gil the Weaver.  We . . . we keep things in order,” he said.  “How many are you?”

“Not many,” Tyndal admitted.  “But they know not that we are here.  There is a passageway leading out of the castle.  I want you to quietly – silently! – gather the women, children, old and sick and file them down into the passage.  Have
them gather in the ruined tower, but they should make no move out of it until our diversion occurs.  Then they should run south for their lives.  I’m afraid I don’t have any advice beyond that – we’re too few to give you any aid.  But we can give you a chance at escape.”

“Duin’s axe, that’s all we have prayed for!” Sire Darduin said, fervently. 

“The guards check on us every hour,” reported Master Gil.   “They made their last check only ten minutes ago.  But some of our fellows are half-mad with hunger and thirst.  We must be careful lest they alert our jailors.”

“What about the wounded?” Rondal asked.

“There are few,” admitted Sire Darduin, grimly.  “When someone gets hurt, they become the next meal for that horror out there.”

“We saw it,” nodded Rondal.  “Children?”

“Only a few.  They took . . . they took most of them away when we first arrived.  But we will get the non-combatants to safety first.  I just fear discovery, if we make too much noise . . .”

“I can cure that,” Rondal said.  “Lead me to this door.”

Making their way gingerly through the crowded hall, around moaning and wretched bodies who watched him with the dazed expression that told him they knew not whether he was real or phantom, he came to the great wooden double doors that in better days had made a jolly and homey entrance to this hall.  Now the polished wood was hacked and pitted and bloodied, barred from the outside.

Rondal first cast a silencing spell that would permit no noise to pass beyond the door.  Then he spellbound it with a simple cantrip.  Not enough to stand up to a counterspell, but easily enough to prevent someone opening the door without one.

“All right, let’s get them moving,” Rondal said in a louder voice, once he was done.  “Sire Darduin, there is a cache of siege spears down that passageway.  Can I trust you to select the twenty men best able to use them, and return to this hall?”

“To what purpose?  And what did you do to the door?”

“I am a knight mage,” Rondal explained, dismissively.  “I spellbound it and proofed it against sound.  We have a little time and freedom, now. “ 

He realized something was bothering him.  He took his water bottle from his pack and handed it to the knight, who gratefully took a swallow – but only one – and passed it to the weaver, who did likewise.  “If we can get a few stalwarts with spears here to act as a rear-guard, we can ensure your people have the best chance at escape.  In addition,” he said, cagily, “once our diversion begins, it may be helpful to suddenly have an organized force to deploy against them.”  He looked at the knight and the weaver appraisingly.  “Can I count on you gentlemen to lead that force?”

They conferred quietly, but quickly.  “I will lead the spears,” declared Darduin, “while Master Gil will lead the prisoners away, if that be permitted.”

“I know a village nearby where we might hide through the night,” he explained. 

“Good,” nodded Rondal.  “After that, make for the southern horizon.  We have a hidden outpost at Maramor Manor, and we have a cache at Farune Hall, so if you can make it to one of those places we might be able to speed you further, but . . .”

“A chance is all we ask for,” the weaver assured him. 

It took nearly twenty minutes to pass the word and get the prisoners sorted out, but things went more efficiently than Rondal had anticipated.  Sire Darduin brooked no resistance to his authority, and Master Gil was persuasive and insistent.  Between the two men and a few lieutenants, they had ushered the majority of the frightened people out of the wretched hall and into the escape prepared for them, without detection.

Meanwhile some had been sent back for arms, and in addition to the spears had brought out a few helmets,
a few axes,  knives, and other weapons they’d found roaming the other hidden passages.  Rondal feared that one of them would inadvertently alert the foe, but that was an increasingly moot point: Tyndal was almost in position.

This is a lot harder than I thought it would be,
he complained. 

I’m trying to keep a hundred thirst-crazed prisoners from rioting and organizing an escape,
Rondal shot back. 
So glad that I gave you the difficult task.

The men who were remained, willing to fight, were a mixed collection of peasants, tradesmen, and a few men-at-arms, many with some militia training or war experience.  Sire Duin detailed an older man to organize the makeshift squad while Master Gil bid Rondal good-bye.

“Can you use a bow?” he asked, suddenly.  “Take mine,” he offered, pushing it and his quiver into the weaver’s hands.

“I’ve plucked a few strings in my life,” the man said with amusement as he accepted the weapon.  “Thank you, Sir Rondal, and the blessing of Duin go with you!”

To Sire Darduin he gave his roundshield, and the knight armed himself with a short axe someone had uncovered in the passageways.  He looked valiant and grim as he swung the axe through the air a few times. 

“I thank you for giving me a chance to die on my feet like a man,” he said quietly.  “Those scrugs killed my wife in front of me and led me and my people away in chains.  Would that I had died in that attack.  Many a time I have prayed to Duin for one last opportunity to strike at them, and lo! The Destroyer has heard my prayer!”

Rondal wasn’t terribly comfortable being viewed as an agent of divine will, so he returned to more practical matters.  He drew his mageblade and sketched out the situation on the other side of the door under a dim magelight, until the men felt they had a good grasp of what they faced.  None looked particularly hale, but they all seemed enthusiastic.

Since they were all probably about to die, that was probably fortunate, if foolish.

I’m in position,
Tyndal finally reported. 
As soon as I catch my breath, I’ll start.  How are things looking down there?

While you were gaily skipping across rooftops, I made a couple of squads of light infantry.  After you soak the courtyard, we’ll wait until things get nasty.  Then these fellows will attack whatever organized response they put together from an unexpected direction.

And . . . then what?

That was a good question.  What happened after they stirred this chamberpot of horrors into deadly chaos?  A good plan usually has a point, he chided himself.

I’ll look toward the prisoners,
Rondal decided. 
You tackle that siege worm. 

Me?  There’s just one of me!

And there’s only the one siege worm.  What could be more glorious?
Rondal shot back, amused. 
You wanted a challenge—

I didn’t want a bloody suicide mission!

Don’t be such a baby.  I don’t expect you to slay it.  Just test it.  See what it responds to, what its weaknesses are, what it is resistant to.  Stuff that would be useful to know the next time we face one. 

That’s a pretty big order.

That’s the only kind knights magi get.  Just try not to get yourself killed.  Challenge it, test it, but don’t try to kill it, if it’s too much problem.  Or do you want to trade positions and have me go after the worm?
he challenged.

I can only guess that this is part of your elaborate plan to become senior apprentice,
Tyndal said. 
All right, I’ve caught my breath.  I’m in position.  I’ve got a wand pointed right at the wooden drain.  The water . . . well, it’s cistern water.

I’m guessing the dying prisoners won’t be picky.  Wait for my order.

Yes, Commander. 

Damn.  Rondal thought he almost sounded serious in his response.

“Prepare your men for action, Sire,” he told the axe-wielding knight.  “When I give the word, charge out that door and slay every goblin in sight.  Free other prisoners, arm them, and keep fighting until you’re free.”

“Duin’s blessing go with you, Sir Rondal!” the big knight called as Rondal went back into the secret chamber, after lifting the spellbinding from the banquet hall.  He wanted to be able to provide better direction, and as much fun as leading a ragtag infantry squad into battle against desperate odds would be, he had other responsibilities.

He took position behind the door that led to the bailey and peered out of the peep hole.  He could see the rump of the six-legged siege worm, huddled prisoners, sleepy goblins, sinister-looking human collaborators. 

He watched one of the cutthroats who had taken the Dead God’s coin to war against his own kind look appraisingly over one knot of prisoners, mostly women, tied up in front of what was once the castle’s herb house.  A nasty, rat-like man with a hooked nose looked over the prisoners before selecting one, a young woman who looked so dazed with thirst she did not know what was happening.  With a leering eye he forced her to her feet, his intentions clear.

Now,
Rondal said to Tyndal, without thinking,
do it now!

It seemed to take hours for anything to happen – the rat-like man was almost out of sight, the poor girl he’d taken as his prize led away like a dog – when a rumble and geyser from the drainway began spilling a torrent of water down into the bailey, over the heads of some surprised prisoners . . . and within sight of all the rest.

There,
he heard Tyndal report. 
If that’s all you require of me . . .

Go fight your worm,
Rondal ordered. 
As soon as you’re able to get free, cut out.  I’ll meet you back where we left the horses.

The sudden appearance of life-giving water had the desired effect.  Already there was a riot brewing in the bailey, he could see through the port.  The prisoners who were not directly under the spout saw the water and went mad.  Ignoring the guards, the goblins, the worm, even their own bonds, they surged toward the unexpected blessing with incredible force and speed.  People were shouting with joy and terror as the bewildered guards frantically tried to keep order.

The human confederates shrank back against so many of their fellows, and a few of the prisoners took advantage of the chaos to strike down their captors.  But most continued toward the water, even as it splashed across the bailey toward them. 

It only took moments for the goblin guards to wake their sleeping comrades, and soon fresh troops were pouring in from the gatehouse and various dens around the castle.  A line of them formed behind the crowd – directly in front of the door where the newly-armed former prisoners awaited.

“Attack!”
Rondal shouted at the men.  They opened the door and charged out, spears held ready, and crashed into the back of the goblin line with a savage growl.  The freed prisoners fought ferociously, stabbing and slashing with their spears like fanatics.  More came behind them, arming themselves and other prisoners from the fallen goblins.  As the gurvani turned to face this unexpected threat, Rondal realized that he was in a very good position to attack their flank.  All by himself.

He pushed the concealed door open.  It had been so long since it had been used he had to put his shoulder behind it, hard, but it soon swung open, spilling him into the bright courtyard.  All around him there was screams and tumult, and the smell of blood was starting to linger in the air as the battle to his left matured.  There were over a score of freed prisoners armed well enough to give fight to the confused and increasingly panicked goblins.