A guard entered. “My lords, an elf stands without, seeking entrance.”
Brucal said, “Show him in.”
The guard held aside the tent flap, and an elf entered. His red-brown hair was plastered to his head, and his cloak dripped water on the floor of the tent. He made a slight bow to the dukes.
“What news from Elvandar?” Borric asked.
“My Queen sends you greetings.” He quickly turned to the map. He pointed at the pass between the Grey Towers on the south and Stone Mountain on the north, the same pass Borric’s forces now bottled up at its east end. “The outworlders move many soldiers through this pass. They have advanced to the edge of the elven forests, but seek not to enter. They have made it difficult to get through.” He grinned. “I led several a merry chase for half a day. They run nearly as well as the dwarves. But they could not keep up in the forest.” He returned his attention to the map. “There is word from Crydee that skirmishes have been fought by out-riding patrols, but nothing close to the castle itself. There is no word of activity from the Grey Towers, Carse, or Tulan. They seem content to dig in along this pass. Your forces to the west will not be able to join you, for they could not break through now.”
“How strong do the aliens appear to be?” asked Brucal.
“It is not known, but I saw several thousand along this route.” His finger indicated a route along the northern edge of the pass, from the elven forests to the Kingdom camp. “The dwarves of Stone Mountain are left alone, so long as they do not venture south. The outworlders deny them the pass also.”
Borric asked the elf, “Has there been any report of the Tsurani’s having cavalry?”
“None. Every report refers only to infantry.”
Kulgan said, “Father Tully’s speculation on their being horseless seems to be borne out.”
Brucal took brush and ink in hand and entered the information on the map. Kulgan stood looking over his shoulder.
Borric said to the elf, “After you’ve rested, carry my greetings to your mistress, and my wish for her good health and prosperity. If you should send runners to the west, please carry the same message to my sons.”
The elf bowed. “As my lord wishes. I shall return to Elvandar at once.” He turned and left the tent.
Kulgan said, “I think I see it.” He pointed to the new red spots on the map. They formed a rough half circle, through the pass. “The Tsurani are trying to hold this area here. That valley is the center of the circle. I would guess they are attempting to keep anyone from getting close.”
Both the dukes looked puzzled. Borric said, “But to what purpose? There is nothing there of any value militarily. It is as if they are inviting us to bottle them up in that valley.”
Suddenly Brucal gasped. “It’s a bridgehead. Think of it in terms of crossing a river. They have a foothold on this side of the rift, as the magician calls it. They have only as many supplies as their men can carry through. They don’t have enough control of the area for foraging, so they need to expand the area under their control and build up supplies before they launch an offensive.”
Brucal turned to the magician. “Kulgan, what do you think? This is more in your province.”
The magician looked at the map as if trying to divine information hidden in it. “We know nothing of the magic involved. We don’t know how fast they can pass supplies and men through, for no one has ever witnessed an appearance. They may require a large area, which this valley provides them. Or they may have some limit on the amount of time available to pass troops through.”
Duke Borric considered this. “Then there is only one thing to do. We must send a party into the valley to see what they are doing.”
Kulgan smiled. “I will go too, if Your Grace permits. Your soldiers might not have the faintest idea of what they are seeing if it involves magic.”
Brucal started to object, his gaze taking in the magician’s ample size. Borric cut him off. “Don’t let his look fool you. He rides like a trooper.” He turned to Kulgan. “You had best take Pug, for if one should fall, then the other can carry the news.”
Kulgan looked unhappy at that, but saw the wisdom in it. The Duke of Yabon said, “If we strike at the North Pass, then into this valley and draw their forces there, a small, fast company might break through here.” He pointed at a small pass that entered the south end of the valley from the east.
Borric said, “It is a bold enough plan. We have danced with the Tsurani so long, holding a stable front, I doubt they will expect it.” The magician suggested they retire for the rest of the evening, for it would be a long day on the morrow. He closed his eyes briefly, then informed the two leaders that the rain would stop and the next day would be sunny.
—
PUG LAY WRAPPED in a blanket, trying to nap, when Kulgan entered their tent. Meecham sat before the cook fire, preparing the evening meal and attempting to keep it from the greedy maw of Fantus. The firedrake had sought out his master a week before, eliciting startled cries from the soldiers as he swooped over the tents. Only Meecham’s commanding shouts had kept a bowman from putting a cloth-yard arrow into the playful drake. Kulgan had been pleased to see his pet, but at a loss to explain how the creature had found them. The drake had moved right into the magician’s tent, content to sleep next to Pug and steal food from under Meecham’s watchful eye.
Pug sat up as the magician pulled off his sopping cloak. “There is an expedition going deep within Tsurani-held territory, to break the circle they’ve thrown up around a small valley and find out what they are up to. You and Meecham will be going with me on this trip, I would have friends at my back and side.”
Pug felt excited by the news. Meecham had spent long hours schooling him in use of sword and shield, and the old dream of soldiering had returned. “I have kept my blade sharp, Kulgan.”
Meecham gave forth a snort that passed for laughter, and the magician threw him a black look. “Good, Pug. But with any luck we’ll not be fighting. We are to go in a smaller force attached to a larger one that will draw off the Tsurani. We will drive quickly into their territory and discover what they are hiding. We will then ride as fast as possible to bring back the news. I thank the gods they are without horses, or we could never hope to accomplish so bold a stroke. We shall ride through them before they know we have struck.”
“Perhaps we may take a prisoner,” the boy said hopefully.
“It would be a change,” said Meecham. The Tsurani had proved to be fierce fighters, preferring to die rather than be captured.
“Maybe then we’d discover why they’ve come to Midkemia,” ventured Pug.
Kulgan looked thoughtful. “There is little we understand about these Tsurani. Where is this place they come from? How do they cross between their world and ours? And as you’ve pointed out, the most vexing question of all, why do they come? Why invade our lands?”
“Metal.”
Kulgan and Pug looked over at Meecham, who was spooning up stew, keeping one eye on Fantus. “They don’t have any metal and they want ours.” When Kulgan and Pug regarded him with blank expressions, he shook his head. “I’d thought you puzzled it out by now, so I didn’t think to bring it up.” He put aside the bowls of stew, reached behind himself, and drew a bright red arrow out from under his bedding. “Souvenir,” he said, holding it out for inspection. “Look at the head. It’s the same stuff their swords are made from, some kind of wood, hardened like steel. I picked over a lot of things fetched in by the soldiers, and I haven’t seen one thing these Tsurani make with any metal in it.”
Kulgan looked flabbergasted. “Of course! It’s all so simple. They found a way to pass between their world and ours, sent through scouts, and found a land rich in metals they lack. So they sent in an invading army. It also explains why they marshal in a high valley of the mountains, rather than in the lower forests. It gives them free access to…the dwarven mines!” He jumped up. “I’d better inform the dukes at once. We must send word to the dwarves to be alert
for incursions into the mines.”
Pug sat thoughtfully as Kulgan vanished through the tent entrance. After a moment he said, “Meecham, why didn’t they try trading?”
Meecham shook his head. “The Tsurani? From what I’ve seen, boy, it’s a good bet trading never entered their minds. They are one very warlike bunch. Those bastards fight like six hundred kinds of demons. If they had cavalry, they would have chased this whole lot back to LaMut, then probably burned the city down around them. But if we can wear them down, like a bulldog does, just keep hanging on until they tire, we might settle this after a time. Look what happened to Kesh. Lost half of Bosania to the Kingdom in the north ’cause the Confederacy just plain wore the Empire out with one rebellion after another in the south.”
After a time, Pug gave up on Kulgan’s returning soon, ate supper alone, and made ready for bed. Meecham quit trying to keep the magician’s meal away from the drake, and also turned in.
In the dark, Pug lay staring up at the tent roof, listening to the sound of the rain and the drake’s joyous chewing. Soon he drifted off into sleep, where he dreamed of a dark tunnel and a flickering light vanishing down it.
—
THE TREES WERE thick and the air hung heavy with mist as the column moved slowly through the forest. Outriders came and went every few minutes, checking for signs that the Tsurani were preparing an ambush. The sun was lost high in the trees overhead, and the entire scene had a greyish-green quality to it, making it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead.
At the head of the column rode a young captain of the LaMutian army, Vandros, son of the old Earl of LaMut. He was also one of the more level-headed and capable young officers in Brucal’s army.
They rode in pairs, with Pug sitting next to a soldier, behind Kulgan and Meecham. The order to halt came down the line, and Pug reined in his horse and dismounted. Over a light gambeson, he wore a well-oiled suit of chain mail. Over that was a tabard of the LaMutian forces, with the grey wolf’s head on a circle of blue in the center. Heavy woolen trousers were tucked into his high boots. He had a shield on his left arm, and his sword hung from his belt; he felt truly a soldier. The only discordant note was his helm, which was a little too large and gave him a slightly comic appearance.
Captain Vandros came back to where Kulgan stood waiting, and dismounted. “The scouts have spotted a camp about half a mile ahead. They think they were not seen by the guards.”
The captain pulled out a map. “We are about here. I will lead my men and attack the enemy position. Cavalry from Zūn will support us on either side. Lieutenant Garth will command the column you will ride with. You will pass the enemy camp and continue on toward the mountains. We will try to follow if we can, but if we haven’t rejoined you by sundown, you must continue alone.
“Keep moving, if only at a slow walk. Push the horses, but try to keep them alive. On horseback you can always outrun these aliens, but on foot I wouldn’t give you much chance of getting back. They run like fiends.
“Once in the mountains, move through the pass. Ride into the valley one hour after sunrise. The North Pass will be attacked at dawn, so if you get safely into the valley you should, I hope, find little between you and the North Pass. Once in the valley, don’t stop for anything. If a man falls, he is to be left. The mission is to get information back to the commanders. Now try to rest. It may be your last chance for some time. We attack in an hour.”
He walked his horse back to the head of the line. Kulgan, Meecham, and Pug sat without speaking. The magician wore no armor because he claimed it would interfere with his magic. Pug was more inclined to believe it would interfere with his considerable girth. Meecham had a sword at his side, like the others, but held a horse bow. He preferred archery to close fighting, though Pug knew, from long hours of instruction at his hands, that he was no stranger to the blade.
The hour passed slowly, and Pug felt mounting excitement, for he was still possessed by boyish notions of glory. He had forgotten the terror of the fighting with the Dark Brothers before they reached the Grey Towers.
Word was passed and they remounted. They rode slowly at first, until the Tsurani were in sight. As the trees thinned, they picked up speed, and when they reached the clearing, they galloped the horses. Large breastworks of earth had been thrown up as a defense against the charge of horsemen. Pug could see the brightly colored helmets of the Tsurani rushing to defend their camp. As the riders charged, the sounds of fighting could be heard echoing through the trees as the Zūnese troops engaged other Tsurani camps.
The ground shook under the horses as they rode straight at the camp, sounding like a rolling wave of thunder. The Tsurani soldiers stayed behind the earthworks, shooting arrows, most of which fell short. As the first element of the column hit the earthworks, the second element turned to the left, riding off at an angle past the camp. A few Tsurani soldiers were outside the breastworks here, and were ridden down like wheat before a scythe. Two came close to hitting the riders with the great two-handed swords they wielded, but their blows went wide. Meecham, guiding his horse with his legs, dropped both with two quick arrows.
Pug heard a horse scream among the sounds of the fighting behind, then suddenly found himself crashing through the brush as they entered the forest. They rode as hard as possible, cutting through the trees, ducking under low branches, the scene a passing kaleidoscope of greens and browns.
The column rode for nearly a half hour, then slackened pace as the horses began to tire. Kulgan called to Lieutenant Garth, and they halted to check their position against the map. If they moved slowly for the balance of the day and night, they would reach the mouth of the pass near daybreak.
Meecham peered over the heads of the lieutenant and Kulgan as they knelt on the ground. “I know this place. I hunted it as a boy, when I lived near Hūsh.”
Pug was startled. This was the first time Meecham had ever mentioned anything about his past. Pug had supposed that Meecham was from Crydee, and was surprised to find he had been a youth in the Free Cities. But then he found it difficult to imagine Meecham as a boy.
The franklin continued. “There is a way over the crest of the mountains, a path that leads between two smaller peaks. It is little more than a goat trail, but if we led the horses all night, we could be in the valley by sunrise. This way is difficult to find on this side if you don’t know where to seek it. From the valley side, it is nearly impossible. I would bet the Tsurani know nothing about it.”
The lieutenant regarded Kulgan with a question in his eyes. The magician looked at Meecham, then said, “It might be worth a try. We can mark our trail for Vandros. If we move slowly, he might catch up before we reach the valley.”
“All right,” said the lieutenant, “our biggest advantage is mobility, so let’s keep moving. Meecham, where will we come out?”
The large man leaned over the lieutenant’s shoulder to point at a spot on the map near the south end of the valley. “Here. If we come out straight west for a half mile or so, then swing north, we can cut down the heart of the valley.” He motioned with his finger as he spoke. “This valley’s mostly woods at the north and south end, with a big meadow in the middle. That’s where they’d be if they have a big camp. It’s mostly open there, so if the aliens haven’t come up with anything surprising, we should be able to ride right by them afore they can organize to stop us. The dicey part will be getting through the northern woods if they’ve garrisoned soldiers there. But if we get through them, we’ll be free to the North Pass.”
“All agreed?” asked the lieutenant. When no one said anything, he gave orders for the men to walk their horses, and Meecham took the lead as guide.
They reached the entrance to the pass, or what Pug thought Meecham had correctly called a goat trail, an hour before sundown. The lieutenant posted guards and ordered the horses unsaddled. Pug rubbed down his horse with handfuls of long grass, then staked it out. The thirty soldiers were busy tending to their horses and armor. Pug could feel th
e tension in the air. The run around the Tsurani camp had set the soldiers on edge, and they were anxious for a fight.
Meecham showed Pug how to muffle his sword and shield with rags torn from the soldiers’ blankets. “We’re not going to be using these bed rolls this night, and nothing will ring through the hills like the sound of metal striking metal, boy. Except maybe the clop-ping of hooves on the rock.” Pug watched as he muffled the horses’ hooves with leather stockings designed for just this purpose and carried in the saddlebags. Pug rested as the sun began to set. Through the short spring twilight, he waited until he heard the order to resaddle. The soldiers were beginning to pull their horses into a line when he finished.
Meecham and the lieutenant were walking down the line repeating instructions to the men. They would move in single file, Meecham taking the lead, the lieutenant second, down the line to the last soldier. They tied a series of ropes through the left stirrup of each horse, and each man gripped it tightly as he led his own horse. After everyone was in position, Meecham started off.
The path rose steeply, and the horses had to scramble in places. In the darkness they moved slowly, taking great care not to stray from the path. Occasionally Meecham stopped the line, to check ahead. After several such stops, the trail crested through a deep, narrow pass and started downward. An hour later it widened, and they stopped to rest. Two soldiers were sent ahead with Meecham to scout the way, while the rest of the tired line dropped to the ground to ease cramped legs. Pug realized the fatigue was as much the result of the tension created by the silent passage as of the climbing, but it didn’t make his legs feel any better.
After what seemed to be much too short a rest they were moving again. Pug stumbled along, fatigue numbing his mind to the point where the world became an endless series of picking up one foot and placing it before the other. Several times the horse before him was literally towing him as he grasped the rope tied to its stirrup.