were taking place in the Grey Towers. Enclaves had been thrown up outside the valley, from which they raided Kingdom positions. Once or twice during the year they would mount an offensive against the Dukes’ Armies of the West, the elves in Elvandar, or Crydee, but for the most part they were content to hold what they had already taken.
And each year they would expand their holdings, building more enclaves, expanding the area under their control, and gaining themselves a stronger position from which to conduct the next year’s campaign. Since the fall of Walinor, the expected thrust toward the coast of the Bitter Sea had not materialized, nor had the Tsurani again tried for the LaMutian fortresses near Stone Mountain. Walinor and Crydee town were sacked and abandoned, more to deny them to the Kingdom and Free Cities than for any Tsurani gain. By the spring of the third year of the war, the leaders of the Kingdom forces despaired of a major attack, one that might break the stalemate. Now it came. And it came at the logical place, the allies’ weakest front, the garrison at Crydee.
Arutha looked out over the walls at the Tsurani army. He stood next to Gardan and Fannon, with Martin Longbow behind. ‘How many?’ he asked, not taking his eyes from the gathering host.
Martin spoke. ‘Fifteen hundred, two thousand, it is hard to judge. There were two thousand more coming yesterday, less whatever the Dark Brotherhood took with them.’
From the distant woods the sounds of workmen felling trees rang out. The Swordmaster and Huntmaster judged the Tsurani were cutting trees to build scaling ladders.
Martin said, ‘I’d never thought to hear myself say such, but I wish there’d been four thousand Dark Brothers in the forest yesterday.’
Gardan spat over the wall. ‘Still, you did well, Huntmaster. It is only fitting they should run afoul of each other.’
Martin chuckled humorlessly. ‘It is also a good thing the Dark Brothers kill on sight. Though I am sure they do it out of no love for us, they do guard our southern flank.’
Arutha said, ‘Unless yesterday’s band was not an isolated case. If the Brotherhood is abandoning the Green Heart, we may soon have to fear for Tulan, Jonril, and Carse.’
‘I’m glad they’ve not parleyed,’ said Fannon. ‘If they should truce …’
Martin shook his head. ‘The moredhel will traffic only with weapons runners and renegades who will serve them for gold. Otherwise they have no use for us. And by all evidence, the Tsurani are bent on conquest. The moredhel are no more spared their ambition than we are.’
Fannon looked back at the mounting Tsurani force. Brightly colored standards with symbols and designs strange to behold were placed at various positions along the leading edge of the army. Hundreds of warriors in different-colored armor stood in groups under each banner.
A horn sounded, and the Tsurani soldiers faced the walls. Each standard was brought forward a dozen paces and planted in the ground. A handful of soldiers wearing the high-crested helmets that the Kingdom forces took to denote officers walked forward and stood halfway between the army and the standard-bearers. One, wearing bright blue armor, called something and pointed at the castle. A shout went up from the assembled Tsurani host, and then another officer, this one in bright red armor, began to walk slowly up to the castle.
Arutha and the others watched in silence while the man crossed the distance to the gate. He looked neither right nor left, nor up at the people on the walls, but marched with eyes straight ahead until he reached the gate. There he took out a large hand ax and banged three times upon it with the haft.
‘What is he doing?’ asked Roland, just come up the stairs.
Again the Tsurani pounded on the gates of the castle. ‘I think,’ said Longbow, ‘he’s ordering us to open up and quit the castle.’
Then the Tsurani reached back and slammed his ax into the gate, leaving it quivering in the wood. Without hurrying, he turned and began walking away to cheers from the watching Tsurani.
‘What now?’ asked Fannon.
‘I think I know,’ said Martin, unshouldering his bow. He drew out an arrow and fitted it to the bowstring. With a sudden pull, he let fly. The shaft struck the ground between the Tsurani officer’s legs and the man halted.
‘The Hadati hillmen of Yabon have rituals like this,’ said Martin. ‘They put great store by showing bravery in the face of an enemy. To touch one and live is more honorable than killing him.’ He pointed toward the officer, who stood motionless. ‘If I kill him, I have no honor, because he’s showing us all how brave he is. But we can show we know how to play this game.’
The Tsurani officer turned and picked up the arrow and snapped it in two. He faced the castle, holding the broken arrow high as he shouted defiance at those on the walls. Longbow sighted another arrow and let fly. The second arrow sped down and sliced the plume from the officer’s helmet. The Tsurani fell silent as feathers began drifting down around his face.
Roland whooped at the shot, and then the walls of the castle erupted with cheers. The Tsurani slowly removed his helm.
Martin said, ‘Now he’s inviting one of us either to kill him, showing we are without honor, or to come out of the castle and dare to face him.’
Fannon said, ‘I will not allow the gates open over some childish contest!’
Longbow grinned as he said, ‘Then we’ll change the rules.’ He leaned over the edge of the walkway and shouted down to the courtyard below. ‘Garret; fowling blunt!’
Garret, in the court below, drew a fowling arrow from his quiver and tossed it up to Longbow. Martin showed the others the heavy iron ball that served as the tip, used to stun game birds where a sharp arrow would destroy them, and then fitted it to his bow. Sighting the officer, he let fly.
The arrow took the Tsurani officer in the stomach, knocking him backward. All on the wall could imagine the sound made as the man had his breath knocked from him. The Tsurani soldiers shouted in outrage, then quieted as the man stood up, obviously stunned but otherwise showing no injury. Then he doubled over, his hands on his knees, and vomited.
Arutha said dryly, ‘So much for an officer’s dignity.’
‘Well,’ said Fannon, ‘I think it is time to give them another lesson in Kingdom warfare.’ He raised his arm high above his head. ‘Catapults!’ he cried.
Answering flags waved from the tops of the towers along the walls and atop the keep. He dropped his arm, and the mighty engines were fired. On the smaller towers, ballistae, looking like giant crossbows, shot spearlike missiles, while atop the keep, huge mangonels flung buckets of heavy stones. The rain of stones and missiles landed amid the Tsurani, crushing heads and limbs, tearing ragged holes in their lines. The screams of wounded men could be heard by the defenders, while the catapult crew quickly rewound and loaded their deadly engines.
The Tsurani milled about in confusion and, when the second flight of stones and missiles struck, broke and ran. A cheer went up from the defenders on the wall, then died when the Tsurani regrouped beyond the range of the engines.
Gardan said, ‘Swordmaster, I think they mean to wait us out.’
‘I think you’re wrong,’ said Arutha, pointing. The other looked: a large number of Tsurani detached themselves from the main body, moving forward to stop just outside missile range.
‘They
