Kings of Sorcery Page 13

  “Brand has three hundred men,” Unferth said. “He’s hardly a threat, and yet I must take steps. For his effrontery, I will send a thousand against him.”

  Horta did not look happy, but he smoothed his face when he spoke.

  “He has some three hundred and twenty now—”

  “Another twenty men makes no difference!” Unferth stormed. He did not like being corrected.

  Unferth bowed, unruffled. “The twenty men are nothing,” he said. “Their only relevance is that Brand is gathering more followers. What will his band number in a day, or a week?”

  “Who is to say it will not diminish? That’s just as likely.”

  “Perhaps.” Unferth somehow made the word sound as though it were a denial. “Whatever the size of his band, it will take four or five days for him to reach us. Much could happen in that time. His army could multiply. Or he could die. The latter is preferable.”

  He said the last words drily, and Unferth caught a hint that he had already taken steps. A strange look passed over his face too, before it was smoothed over once more. Always, he was a man of secrets.

  But Brand must be stopped now, before he gained momentum. He turned to his advisors. “Muster two thousand warriors. Choose our best general, and send them against Brand. He’ll not survive that.”

  His advisors stood to leave, but Unferth was not finished. A new thought occurred to him, and he liked it.

  “And make sure the word spreads to each of those two thousand men. There shall be a reward. I will give five gold pieces – no, I will give fifty gold pieces to the man who hacks Brand’s head from his body and brings me the Helm of the Duthenor.”

  They looked surprised, but there were various murmurs of “Yes, my lord.”

  Unferth sat back, and he felt good. Two thousand men and fifty gold pieces were extravagant. But to see Band killed? For that, he would do anything.

  16. Least Expected

  Brand led his band of men back up to the path. Then he turned southward once more. The path was now a road, and better known to residents of the Duthgar as the High Way. And high it was, for it wound its way over the plateau of a range that divided the Duthgar in two.

  They marched swiftly. Ahead of them, scouts were sent out to determine if the enemy were ahead. Likewise, men ranged behind them to see if they were followed. So far, the men had found nothing. It was a stroke of luck, but it was founded on Brand’s speed, and he knew it.

  Haldring led her horse a little behind him, and he knew she did not like walking. But she also recognized his thinking: the men followed leaders better who walked when they walked and endured what they endured. He beckoned her forward.

  “What lies ahead,” he asked.

  “More halls, just as the last one that we left. All the way to where the king sits in his own.”

  “Yes, I know that. I’ve traveled this road before. But my memory is better of what’s further south. I mean, what halls are close by?”

  “There is a hall coming up on the left, and not long after another on the right.”

  “And whom do they favor?”

  “They are both ruled by Callenor lords.”

  “And the next hall after them?”

  “That is ruled by a Duthenor. Though there will be Callenor there also.”

  Brand considered that. What should he do next? He now had a force probably as great as any lord of a single hall could muster. At least in this part of the Duthgar. Further south they were more prosperous and larger. But he need not worry about that yet.

  “Are these halls close to the road?”

  “Aye, both of them.”

  “Good. Spread the word back among the men. We’re approaching enemies, and they should be ready for battle. But we intend to pass by the next two halls unless accosted. We go to the third instead.”

  Haldring hesitated. “But are we going by the road? If so, the enemy will see us.”

  “Good,” Brand said. “I want them to.”

  She fell back then to pass on the decision.

  “I see you have a plan now,” Shorty said.

  “The beginnings of one,” Brand answered.

  It was not much of a plan, and he did not like calling it such. It was really no more than they had been doing. The unexpected. But that was perhaps the greatest military strategy of all.

  They passed the halls. No one was visible, the fields around them being empty. It was a slightly eerie feeling, but there was no sense of danger. Word had reached the enemy of their coming. That was to be expected traveling along the main road. The scouts had seen no one, but the purpose of scouting was to identify if the enemy laid in wait somewhere, not to find one or two men in the wilderness that may be watching them.

  At regular intervals along the road were chest-high cairns that served as markers. Each one measured five miles progress. Brand counted them off, knowing they marched swift and hard. Twenty-five miles in a day was a fine effort, and they had achieved that.

  He stopped as daylight faded, allowing the men a rest, campfires to be lit and a meal. But he told them the day was not over yet.

  Night fell. The fires blazed and then died down. But Brand let them burn on as embers as he gathered the men and led them off the road and down into a valley. The hall he sought was not far away, and he decamped in a grove of trees and lit no further fires. With luck, any enemy following would stop well before they reached the fires on the road for fear of scouts. They would not attack themselves, for it was foolish to attack at the end of such a long march except in extremity or with superior numbers. And that he was sure they did not have. Not yet, but Unferth would send warriors when he learned what was happening.

  By dawn, Brand had marched to the third hall. But there he found a pleasant surprise. Word of his coming had spread this far already, and the lord of the hall, an old man, slight and frail yet with fire in his eyes, had expelled the Callenor who lived there. He had done this in the expectation that Brand would raise an army, though he knew nothing specific of events yet.

  It was pleasing, and Brand thanked him. The lord surprised him again then by bowing deep. “My hall is your hall,” he said. “More importantly, my men are your men. And you will need them, for the task you face is great.”

  “But the more I meet like you,” Brand replied, “the easier it becomes.”

  The warriors camped outside and the lord took Brand and his generals into the hall to break their fast. It was not a large hall, but when they left they had a hundred new warriors with them. It would have been more, but at Brand’s insistence the lord retained a large enough force to protect himself.

  A cheer went through the army as the new men joined it.

  “So far so good,” Shorty said to Brand as they surveyed the growing force. “Now what?”

  “Now, we backtrack.”

  “I thought as much. The enemy behind is more dangerous than the enemy ahead.”

  Brand grinned at him, but never answered. One of the new warriors approached, a younger man, tall and blue-eyed, with a red tinge to his blond hair.

  Brand recognized him. “Caraval?”

  The younger man bowed. “Yes, sire.”

  “There need be no sire or the like for me, Caraval. Not from you or your family.”

  The young man grinned. “Then you remember me?”

  “Remember you? Of course! How could I forget that time we stole apples from farmer Thurgil’s only tree? And he set his dogs after us even though you said his son had the dogs with him at a neighbors?”

  Caraval grinned. “I lied, just so you would do it with me. But the apples were sweet, as I remember.”

  “Ah, that they were. The sweetest apples for miles all around.”

  “It’s still there, you know.”

  “Really? It was an old tree even then.”

  “The apples are even sweeter.”

  Brand narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to get me into trouble again? I bet the dogs are still there too.”

&nb
sp; The younger man laughed. “The tree and the dogs are still there. Thurgil too, but he’d set no dogs on you now.”

  “I’m not so sure of that! But I tell you what, when this is all over we’ll go and see.”

  “Really?”

  “Truly. But we’ll call at the farmhouse first and ask permission this time.”

  The younger man grinned, and then his face grew serious.

  “Are we going to win, Brand?”

  “I got us away from the dogs that time, didn’t I? And I’ll outsmart Unferth now. Just watch me!”

  Caraval grinned again. “You always did have a trick or two up your sleeves. Unferth better watch out.”

  A horn blew and the band was ready to march. Fresh supplies had been given to the men of food and equipment. Brand shook the younger man’s hand and he went back to his place among the warriors. Brand gave a gesture, and the force began to march behind him.

  “An old friend?” Taingern asked.

  “An old friend, and a good one without a doubt. After Unferth … killed my parents I was hidden in house after house, district after district. Sometimes I only spent a night or a week in one place. Other times, months. I must have been with Caraval’s family for near on six months, and I liked it there. But ever I had to move before the assassins learned of my presence. It protected me, but it protected the families also. So yes, he was a good friend during that time, and I know others like him all through the land. They were all good, strong country folk. And loyal.”

  Brand led them into the woods, and not back onto the road. He knew better now where he was, for these lands were familiar. But still he sent out scouts ahead and had them watch the backtrail behind.

  They traveled swiftly, for though their number was growing they were still a small force. And though they moved through the woods there was a forest trail to follow, and Brand led them at a grueling pace along its length.

  Toward nightfall, they had approached the last hall that they had earlier bypassed. There was no sign of a special watch, and it was a small hall anyway. Though the men were tired, this was a time where surprise counted above all.

  Brand attacked. His men swarmed from the woods and converged on the hall. They took the doors swiftly, and crowded the occupants of the hall into the building’s center.

  Three of the enemy had been slain, Callenor warriors who drew their swords and tried to hold the door. Everyone else fell back in confusion, including the lord. They had not expected Brand to come back once he had gone past them, nor had they anticipated the speed at which he had done so or the direction from which he came.

  Swords were drawn. Battle was near to breaking out. Only Brand standing there, slowly sheathing his blade gave the two sides pause.

  “Let the lord come forth!” Brand commanded.

  The lord came. He was an older man, gray haired and with a white beard streaked with darker hairs. He bowed, slightly, and kept his hands away from the hilt of the sword he wore. But he was not as old as he had at first looked. The beard gave him that appearance, yet no doubt he was still able to fight as a warrior, and Brand noted the way he stood, at ease but ready to act.

  “I am your humble servant,” the man said. “There need be no further killings.”

  Brand did not trust him. “You will swear allegiance?”

  “I swear it, my lord. I am loyal.”

  Brand still did not trust him. He was not the true lord of this hall, at least according to the traditions of the Duthenor. The previous lord had died without children, and Unferth had given this man the lordship. But the chieftain of the Duthenor had never had that power. In such cases, the people of the district met and chose their own lord.

  “Very well. This is what you will do then. First, you will expel any Callenor warriors from the hall. Let them go freely, if they will, with their blades but under an oath to do no harm in the Duthgar. And then your men will move on the next hall back down the road. This is ruled by a Callenor lord. You will take the hall, and expel the Callenor there, including the lord. You will have this done in my name, but the hall must not be fired.”

  The man bowed. “It shall be even as you say.”

  Brand still did not trust him. “And as a sign of your goodwill and loyalty, you shall order all this done, and your warriors to march tonight, but you yourself will come with my army.”

  The man hesitated at that point. He looked as though he were about to argue, but when he spoke he showed no sign of it.

  “It shall be as you say, my lord.”

  Brand watched and listened as the man gave the orders to his most senior advisors. They did not seem pleased, but Brand detected no attempt to circumvent his instructions.

  He had been using the stick so far, now it was time for a sweetener.

  “If all is carried out as desired,” Brand promised, “then you shall retain the lordship of this hall, and your heirs after you.”

  The lord nodded grimly. He had been forced to take sides when he would have preferred to have remained neutral and then claimed loyalty all along to him, or to Unferth, whichever one triumphed in the battles ahead. Brand did not like that, nor did he see it as a crime. But now the lord understood well enough that his future was linked to Brand. Unferth would not forgive him for supporting the enemy, even if he had done so under duress.

  The warriors of the lord left, unhappy and yet also under the same compulsion as their lord. Even as his success was now tied to Brand’s, so too was theirs to their lord’s. If they did not carry out their orders, and their lord was deposed, a new lord, coming to power under either Unferth or Brand, would have little use for them. He would pick his own advisors and battle leaders.

  Brand and his army watched the band of warriors depart into the night. It was good to see others march while they rested for once.

  “Nicely done,” Haldring said. “You rounded them all up and herded them like sheep.”

  “But?” Brand said. He could see by her expression that there was more.

  “But you now have a sheep in your herd, one at least, that will turn into a wolf and bite you if he can.”

  Brand glanced over at the lord, standing by himself and watching the dark where his men had vanished.

  “You’re right. Keep an eye on him, but at least while we’re winning I think he’ll be true to his word.” Brand looked at his own men, tired but happy. They were due not just a rest but a celebration of their successes. He grinned. “And since that lord will never be my friend, we may as well stretch things further. Leave his treasury intact, but crack open his larders and distribute his mead to the men. It’s time they enjoyed things a little. But tell them we march at dawn tomorrow.”

  Haldring seemed amused as she went to carry out those instructions. And why not? So far, things were going well. Brand felt confidence creep up and over him, but he pushed it down. So far, things had gone well enough. But there was a lot yet to do, and there was the magician to worry about as well as military strategies.

  Shorty broke his line of thought. “What now?” he asked. “The army is growing and morale is good. Back to the road and our next victory?”

  “No,” Brand said quietly. He did not wish anyone to hear. “Tomorrow will be a forced march. We go to a place that we must, but not one the men will like. It’ll be unexpected to them, and therefore to Unferth.”

  17. The Pale Swordsman

  It was a bright morning with a clear sky. A soft breeze blew, and it was neither cold nor hot. It was perfect weather to walk the farm and check the hazel-branch fencing. It was a job Dernthrad enjoyed. But not today.

  He had come to a section where an ancient hedgerow served as a fence between his and a neighbor’s land. He liked the hedgerow, though of late his sheep always seemed to find a way through to his neighbor’s property. And his neighbor was never in a hurry to herd them back or try to fix his side of the hedge. There were signs today that sheep had got through again, and he had forced his own way through until he was peering out onto t
he field beyond.

  His neighbor’s cottage was not that far away. Smoke rose lazily from the chimney, but of the neighbor himself there was no sign. Dernthrad felt his temper rise. The man was lazy, never working his land properly and always complaining about how hard it was to earn a living. But curiosity drove Dernthrad’s temper away.

  A man was walking across the field, and toward his neighbor’s barn. He was a man such as Dernthrad had never seen before. He moved with grace, as though each step were part of a dance, but he also moved with a sense of unhurried speed. He crossed the land like a fox, or a wolf, intent on his own business. And there was something of the predator about him.

  The man was dressed in black, but silver chainmail glinted against it. And over his back was strapped two swords, the hilts sticking up and within easy reach. He was no farmer, that was for sure. But nor was he a warrior, at least not a Duthenor warrior. They dressed differently from that, and never had he seen one with two swords. Nor had he seen one with skin like this either – pale as new-fallen snow.

  The warrior went into the barn. Dernthrad watched, uneasy. He should do something, but what? This man was up to no good, but he was a warrior.

  He still had not made up his mind by the time the man emerged from the barn. He sat atop young Starfire, a mare that showed promise in the district for racing. With a kick, the warrior sent the horse into a gallop and they raced across the paddock toward where Dernthrad watched.

  The path of the rider would take him close, and the farmer knew at last what he must do. He thought little of his neighbor, but he could not allow horse theft to go unchallenged. He forced himself through the rest of the hedge, tumbled into the grass on the other side and then rolled swiftly to his feet.

  Thunder sounded in his ears as the black mare, the white star on her head blazing, raced toward him. He could see the rider clearly now. Fear stabbed at him. This was no man. The eyes burned like blue fire, the ears were pointed, and he moved in the saddle as though he were a part of the horse. This was an elf out of legend, though the tales did not describe them as so pale-skinned.