Porknoy rode up to the old man. He was as unremarkable close up as from a distance. His age was hard to determine—he seemed ancient, but his eyes were young. His hair was long and white as was his beard. He wore loose simple clothes and, except for a walking staff, carried no obvious weapons.
“Good day to you, sir,” said Porknoy.
“And to you, Lieutenant,” said the old man. “I’ve felt some tension in the air though. And I’ve seen some curious things of late.”
“What curious things?”
“Take you for instance, you wear the garments of an officer of the Pozzelbian Royal Army, but your scabbard marks you as a member of the castle guard of Earmund. Your men too, while dressed like soldiers of Pozzelby, display similar anomalies.”
“Earmund is part of Pozzelby. Many men of Earmund join the king’s army,” Porknoy protested.
“Surely they do, but they are issued standard equipment—boots, swords, sheathes, all tend to be uniform. And men do sometimes use favored personal items, though it is frowned upon. I understand that King Ardwulf was a stickler about such things,” said the old man.
Porknoy was annoyed. He had been convinced that their disguises were good. Yet this old man seemed to have the ability to see right through them. Who was he? Part of Porknoy wanted to just ride away and say good riddance. But stronger was his desire to question the old man further.
“Wild imaginings. We are exactly as we seem to be, no more, no less. Are we the extent of the curiosities of which you spoke?”
“Hardly. Equally curious is the band of armed woodsmen set up waiting for you not a mile down the road. I don’t know if they intend an ambush—you seem to outnumber them—but they might. They might not be as observant as I am.”
Porknoy immediately ordered a halt.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Jeremiah. My wife asked me to come and see if I could help you.”
“Help me?”
“Not you specifically, but the new king, Dexter. The force ahead numbers about four hundred and their goal is yours. You are on the same side, though they don’t know it yet. Despite what I said, you look very much like Pozzelbian soldiers.”
Porknoy hadn’t thought of that—he wanted to be mistaken for a friend by his enemy, not taken for an enemy by a potential friend.
“How do you know all of this?”
“When you get to be my age, you learn many things. So what will you do then Lieutenant?”
“Call me Porknoy,” he said, looking down at the horse tracks in the road. “I suppose I should go and talk to them.”
“Do you mind if I come along? There is a chance that I might know one or two of them,” said Jeremiah.
“I’ll have one of my men lend you their horse. We’ll go alone. My men will wait here.”
Porknoy ordered his force to stop. Despite his intention to go ahead alone, excepting the old man, his officers convinced him that it was smartest to take a small number of trustworthy, proven men with fast horses, in case of the worst. That way, the odds being able to report back were increased. Besides, how did he know that he could trust the old man? He didn’t; but something in his gut was telling him to.
Porknoy worried about Jeremiah’s ability to ride, but he needn’t have. His movements were those of a much younger man; he practically vaulted into the saddle.
It was a short ride to where Jeremiah said the other contingent was. The road was edged with woods on either side. Porknoy could see no one when Jeremiah motioned for them to stop. As the lieutenant was debating what to say, Jeremiah spoke.
“We’ve come to talk,” he said loudly, so that his voice carried into the woods. “Is Jalos among you?”
They waited for close to five minutes. Then there was a rustling in the brush on the right side of the road. Five men, armed with bows and swords and dressed in brown, black, and olive green appeared.
“Jalos is here,” said one of the men. “He says to dismount and follow us. We will take you to him.”
Jeremiah nodded reassuringly to Porknoy, who complied hoping that he was not making a big mistake. He had left one of his men about one hundred yards back, just in case. The others, at the lieutenant’s word, also dismounted. They followed the woodsmen into the trees.
There was an encampment a short distance from the roadside. It was obviously an overnight affair and no fires had been lit. There were about fifty men in the camp. The others appeared to be spread out in the woods. Porknoy noted horses and provisions that seemed to indicate that they had come some distance relatively quickly. A lean, older man with short silver hair approached them. He was smiling.
“Jeremiah, is that really you?”
“Well met, Jalos.”
“What are you doing here?”
“The same thing as you. The same thing this young man is doing. Jalos, meet Lieutenant Porknoy, formerly of the Earmund Castle guard, now of the guard of Pozzelby Castle. He is fighting for King Dexter, despite his current raiment. His men swapped out their green and gold for blue and white from some Pozzelbian regulars who had the misfortune of trying to keep them from reaching the castle.”
Jalos looked thoughtful. “It is a good thing that you are here, or it might have gone badly. We scouted the castle and learned that the King is badly outnumbered. We feared that the lieutenant’s men were further reinforcements for the King’s enemies. However, on our trip down here, we scouted some outposts. It seems like most of the Royal Army has no idea what is happening here. Theof went ahead with the help of your wife. He’s been gone for a day. I’ve been debating on the best way to help from out here.”
“I knew that Nightshade had gotten Theof inside. She transported me out here at about the same time,” Jermiah said. “Hopefully, she can conclude her business soon and join us.”
“What is she doing anyway that is so important that she has the rest of us here but can’t come herself?” Jalos asked.
“For the last three months she’s been cooperating with wizards from the Eastern and Southern continents to prevent the complete unraveling of the Astral Realm.”
“That’s more important than what is happening here?” asked Jalos.
“Yes. She says that if the Astral Realm collapses the repercussions will be felt in every world, not just ours.”
Porknoy had some trouble understanding what was being discussed. But he did catch on to a few things.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “Did you say that you’re led by Theof? Not King Theof?”
“He was a king once,” said Jalos.
“Then does that mean that you are the Jeremiah? I mean King Jeremiah?”
“Well, like my friend Theof, I haven’t been a king for a long time. I was never really cut out for ruling. But yes, I am who you think I am. Let’s not make a big deal of it; we have work to do.”
“Yes, sir!” said an excited Porknoy.
“Easy with that,” Jermiah told him. “Now that we all know one another, we have to come up with a plan.”
“Any ideas?” Jalos asked.
Jeremiah smiled and stroked his long beard. “Yes, I have an inkling.”
****
The attack came suddenly. We heard a brief shout from one of the sentries and then a scream. The huntsmen were on us. A few ran into our makeshift camp in the heart of the castle, shrieking and attacking the closest guardsmen with wild fury. More poured in, they came from two, maybe three sides, and above—somehow they were dropping down on us from the ceiling. There seemed to be nearly as many of them as there were of us. And we were tired, so very tired.
We were in what Theof had told was had been the favorite dining room of King Lludd the Ugly’s wife. It was very long and nearly as wide. Theof said that in his day, there had still been a table in the room, one long enough so that the Queen could not make out the face of her very homely royal husband. Now there was no table, just enough space to
accommodate two hundred or so guardsmen and us few oddballs. The civilians were about five hundred yards away from where I was standing but up a level, with thirty guards protecting them.
I watched one of the huntsmen fall down onto someone not fifteen feet from me—Sergeant Serria. I drew Harbinger. Both sides seemed to pause for half a second as the legendary weapon emerged. Though she was recovering from her previous injuries still, Sergeant Serria had already thrown off her attacker and seemed to be getting the better of it. That was best because I got busy in a hurry.
A tall huntsman appeared before me, his twin long knives flashing. Harbinger seemed to jump in my hand. I found myself fighting against it. One wicked knife slashed toward my face and I barely parried the attack.
“Quit fighting me,” the sword’s voice said in my head. “I’m better at this than you are.”
The next slashing attack slipped past the buckler that Theof had given me and the point of the knife went through my shirt and drew blood. I quit trying to control the sword and concentrated on blocking the attacks. An amazing thing happened. It was not as if my arm was simply being controlled like a puppet’s arm. Instead, the sword’s personality seemed to slip beside mine so that we occupied the same space. I actually felt like I had Harbinger’s skills. Still, I was not in control, but neither was I entirely out of control.
The huntsman attacked again. This time I caught his knife on my buckler and simultaneously Harbinger sliced through the air and caught the huntsman’s second knife. The knife shattered and my sword continued on its path and cut deeply into my enemy’s torso. First there was an agonized howl, then blood and entrails spilled out and hit the floor a second before my opponent. The worst part was the smell. I had never been this close to violent death and I had been the cause of it. I felt a moment of nausea but fought it down. Harbinger might have helped with that too.
A pitched battle was being fought around me. I couldn’t tell who was winning. I could see Myrick fighting his way toward me. Sergeant Serria was fighting on my right flank. Against one wall, a huntsman was caught in a giant web—Brin’s doing, but I could not see her amidst the fighting.
Our strategy had bought us several hours, but still the huntsmen had found us. My only move now was to fight. I managed to fight off two more masked attackers, entirely thanks to the skill of the sword. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t in fighting shape. I was tiring but had no choice but to fight on.
Something knocked me to the ground; I never saw what it was. But then Myrick was there standing over me, fighting off three huntsmen. Out of nowhere, Theof appeared and dispatched one of Myrick’s opponents from behind, then he leapt, close to twenty feet, and landed on the back of a huntsman who had Sergeant Serria on the floor and was sitting astride her. The elf sliced the throat of the sergeant’s attacker and then leapt off again, to where I could not see.
Hands were helping me to stand. It was Brin and my mother. Francis stood close by searching through his many pockets as was usual. My mother brandished her staff and there was a flash of light followed by a thud as a nearby huntsman fell to the ground paralyzed.
Suddenly there was no fighting near me. It appeared as though we had blunted the surprise of the huntsmen’s attack. They had pulled back but were clustered around every exit. Obviously they wanted to keep us here until reinforcements arrived. We were deep in the castle, so it might be a while before the enemy’s reinforcements got there. But how long was a while? Ten minutes? Twenty? A little more? It would depend on how long ago the huntsmen sent for them, probably before the attack began.
“We have to break out of here,” said Myrick.
“If we can get through the left exit, we’ll stay in the part of the castle I know best,” Theof said. “Hopefully, we can stay ahead of them until help arrives.”
“If help arrives,” Brin said glumly.
“What about the civilians?” I asked.
“It’s probably best if they stay put. If the Twelve Sect troops are busy chasing us, maybe they’ll be safe. But to take them will endanger all of us,” Layred Vu pointed out.
We had lost about fifty more men in the attack, leaving us with barely a hundred. The door that Theof had indicated was being guarded by fewer than that, but if we attacked at any of the four exits we would expose our rear and flanks. There was no choice but to try.
It was obvious that we were preparing to attack, but we tried to keep our specific intent unknown. Most of the enemy were outside of each door with about a score providing a defensive formation on the inside of the dining room. In order for our attack to succeed, we would have to bust through their line quickly.
My mother started the attack. She stood in our midst, eyes closed. Three minutes later, I heard a heard a high pitched squeaking and scratching. In moments it grew in volume. Then one of the huntsmen jumped, then another, as hundreds of rats came from their rear, climbing up pant legs, jumping onto and biting the hunters.
That was when we charged forward with half our force in a wedge formation taking advantage of the confusion. The other half acted as a rear guard defending our back and flanks from the attack that came as soon as we moved. I was with the first group, Harbinger casting a pale blue light as I followed Myrick and Ardbeg forward. We reached the enemy and I was jostled and pushed along forward. Being shorter than most of those around me, I couldn’t see what was happening. A huntsman came at me, his long blades glinting in the dim light. I blocked the knife with my buckler, the spike of which pierced my enemy’s forearm. He wrenched his arm back and I cut at him with my sword. I struck something but could not tell if the blow had been effective. Then I was through the door. The hallway was thick with fighting. It seemed like we were getting the best of it. Behind me Layred Vu kept shoving me through until I was past the fighting. Turning, I saw that most of the huntsmen who had been protecting this door were dead or otherwise incapacitated. Our rear guard came through. The door was slammed shut and then Brin used her wand to seal it with thick, ropy webs. It would slow them down, but only for a few minutes.
****
“General Stone, the huntsmen have located our enemy,” a knight of the Red Fang Sect reported.
“Send half of the Black Fist Sect to reinforce them.”
General Stone was entirely too calm for Callis’ liking.
“General Till, take some of your men and accompany the Black Fist. Command them yourself,” Callis said.
“Very well,” said Tabor Till.
“Be sure to bring back the sword. Do not fail me,” Callis said, fixing the general with a baleful stare.
The troops were rapidly deployed. The members of the Black Fist were the common soldiery of the Twelve Sect Order, but they lacked the discipline of the Pozzelbian troops. They wore disparate uniforms and carried a mix of weaponry. The soldiers of the Black Fist looked more like a motley group of mercenaries than a trained force. But they were many, and they were expendable. Tabor Till was content to let them go first.
Callis watched General Till take one hundred men into the castle, following the Black Fist. Once they were out of sight, he turned from Garris Stone without making any comment and went back to his room.
Duke Grimwulf still slept and Doctor Ahem was still frozen like a corpse in rigor mortis. Callis took a knife and made a small cut of Grimwulf’s thumb and let the blood collect on the blade, just a few drops—that was all that would be needed. He placed the drops of blood into a small, leather pouch along with a few other needed items: powdered sulfur, galena, dried brain—in this case rat—and a few drops of Callis’ own spittle. He closed the pouch and prepared to turn it into a charm that would allow him to control Grimwulf. It was not Callis’ first choice, but too much time had passed and he had yet to come up with a better plan. Soon the sleep spell would wear off and he had to have control of Grimwulf by then.
Callis lit four candles and placed the pouch in the center. He be
gan to chant invocations to Garegon. The ritual would take about half an hour. Unfortunately, as the ritual approached its climax, a loud knock at the door interrupted the priest’s concentration, ruining his work. Cursing loudly, Callis raced to the door and threw it open. A soldier whom Callis did not recognize was standing there. He was young and obviously agitated. Callis’ bony fingers shot out and grabbed the hapless soldier by the throat and pulled him into the room.
The soldier, much heavier than the old priest, tried to throw off the hand that was crushing his windpipe, but Callis’ grip was unrelenting and the corded muscles in his thin arms like iron.
“Fool! You interrupted my work at a critical point! Speak quickly and hope your news is of sufficient importance that I don’t decide to kill you!” Callis said.
The priest released his grip and the soldier fell to one knee, gasping and coughing. Callis hovered over him glowering.
“Please, Colonel Tholla’s force was spotted returning.”
“That is why you interrupted me?”
“No, sir. Colonel Tholla’s force is under attack by an unknown force. With General Till unavailable, the lieutenant ordered me to check with King Grimwulf regarding our response,” the man said between gasps.
Callis considered. Grimwulf was not visible to the man, laying in the next room in his magical sleep. They had perpetuated the lie of Grimwulf as king, leading the efforts to defeat the murderous rebels. It made some sense that the army would seek Grimwulf’s guidance in the absence of the General. Though Callis made a note to find out who this particular lieutenant was who could not make a simple decision without the guidance of his superiors. If he was lucky he would only find himself demoted; but considering the damage that this interruption did to his ritual, Callis felt that stronger measures would probably be required.
The priest pondered the question of Tholla’s men and the attack that they were under. Most likely it was the Earmunders somehow still fighting. Callis was surrounded by incompetence.
“Is our force outnumbered?”
“No sir.”