The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon

He continued to ignore her protests and dragged her along the hall. At the cellar door a startled guard watched the approaching pair. Roland came to a stop and propelled Carline toward the door with a less than gentle shove. Her eyes wide in outrage, Carline turned to the guard. ‘Arrest him! At once! He’ – anger elevated her voice to a most unladylike volume – ‘laid hands on me!’

The guard hesitated, looking from one to another, then tentatively began to step toward the Squire. Roland raised a warning finger and pointed it at the guard, less than an inch from his nose. ‘You will see Her Highness to her appointed place of safety. You will ignore her objections, and should she try to leave, you will restrain her. Do you understand?’ His voice left no doubt he was deadly serious.

The guard nodded, but still was reluctant to place hands upon the Princess. Without taking his eyes from the soldier’s face, Roland pushed Carline gently toward the door and said, ‘If I find she has left the cellar before the signal that all is safe has sounded, I will ensure that the Prince and the Swordmaster are informed you allowed the Princess to step in harm’s way.’

That was enough for the guard. He might not understand who had right of rank between Princess and Squire during attacks, but there was no doubt at all in his mind of what the Swordmaster would do to him under such circumstances. He turned to the cellar door before Carline could return and said, ‘Highness, this way,’ forcing her down the steps.

Carline backed down the stairs, fuming. Roland closed the door behind them. She turned after another backward step, then haughtily walked down. When they reached the room set aside for the women of the castle and town in time of attack, Carline found the other women waiting, huddled together, terrified.

The guard hazarded an apologetic salute and said, ‘Begging the Princess’s pardon, but the Squire seemed most determined.’

Suddenly Carline’s scowl vanished, and in its place a small smile appeared. She said, ‘Yes, he did, didn’t he?’

Riders sped into the courtyard, the massive gates swinging shut behind. Arutha watched from the walls and turned to Fannon.

Fannon said, ‘Of all the worst possible luck.’

Arutha said, ‘Luck has nothing to do with it. The Tsurani would certainly not be attacking when the advantage is ours.’ Everything looked peaceful, except the burned town standing as a constant reminder of the war. But he also knew that beyond the town, in the forests to the north and northeast, an army was gathering. And by all reports as many as two thousand more Tsurani were on the march toward Crydee.

‘Get back inside, you rat-bitten, motherless dog.’

Arutha looked downward into the courtyard and saw Amos Trask kicking at the panic-stricken figure of a fisherman, who dashed back into one of the many rude huts erected inside the wall of the castle to house the last of the displaced townsfolk who had not gone south. Most of the townspeople had shipped for Carse after the death raid, but a few had stayed the winter. Except for some fishermen who were to stay to help feed the garrison, the rest were due to be shipped south to Carse and Tulan this spring. But the first ships of the coming season were not due in for weeks. Amos had been put in charge of these folk since his ship had been burned the year before, keeping them from getting underfoot and from causing too much disruption in the castle. The former sea captain had proved a gift during the first weeks after the burning of the town. Amos had the necessary talent for command and kept the tough, ill-mannered, and individualistic fisherfolk in line. Arutha judged him a braggart, a liar, and most probably, a pirate, but generally likable.

Gardan came up the stairs from the court, Roland following. Gardan saluted the Prince and Swordmaster, and said, ‘That’s the last patrol, sir.’

‘Then we must only wait for Longbow,’ said Fannon.

Gardan shook his head. ‘Not one patrol caught sight of him, sir.’

‘That’s because Longbow is undoubtedly closer to the Tsurani than any soldier of sound judgment is likely to get,’ ventured Arutha. ‘How soon, do you think, before the rest of the Tsurani arrive?’

Pointing to the northeast, Gardan said, ‘Less than an hour, if they push straight through.’ He looked skyward. ‘They have less than four hours of light. We might expect one attack before nightfall. Most likely they’ll take position, rest their men, and attack at first light.’

Arutha glanced at Roland. ‘Are the women safe?’

Roland grinned. ‘All, though your sister might have a few harsh words about me when this is over.’

Arutha returned the grin. ‘When this is over, I’ll deal with it.’ He looked around. ‘Now we wait.’

Swordmaster Fannon’s eyes swept the deceptively peaceful scene before them. There was a note of worry mixed with determination in his voice as he said, ‘Yes, now we wait.’

Martin raised his hand. His three trackers stopped moving. The woods were quiet as far as they could tell, but the three knew Martin possessed more acute senses than they. After a moment he moved along, scouting ahead.

For ten hours, since before dawn, they had been marking the Tsurani line of march. As well as he could judge, the Tsurani had been repulsed once more from Elvandar at the fords along the river Crydee and were now turning their attention to the castle at Crydee. For three years the Tsurani had been occupied along four fronts: against the Duke’s armies in the east, the elves and dwarves along the north, the hold at Crydee in the west, and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the goblins in the south.

The trackers had stayed close to the Tsurani trailbreakers, occasionally too close. Twice they had been forced to run from attackers, Tsurani warriors tenaciously willing to follow the Huntmaster of Crydee and his men. Once they had been overtaken, and Martin had lost one of his men in the fighting.

Martin gave the raucous caw of a crow, and in a few minutes his three remaining trackers joined him. One, a long-faced young man named Garret, said, ‘They move far west of where I thought they would turn.’

Longbow considered. ‘Aye, it seems they may be planning to encircle all of the lands around the castle. Or they may simply wish to strike from an unexpected quarter.’ Then with a wry grin he said, ‘But most likely, they simply sweep the area before the attack begins, ensuring they have no harrying forces at their backs.’

Another tracker said, ‘Surely they know we mark their passing.’

Longbow’s crooked grin widened. ‘No doubt. I judge them unconcerned with our comings and goings.’ He shook his head. ‘These Tsurani are an arrogant crew.’ Pointing, he said, ‘Garret will come with me. You two will make straight for the castle. Inform the Swordmaster some two thousand more Tsurani march on Crydee.’ Without a word the two men set off at a brisk pace toward the castle.

To his remaining companion he spoke lightly. ‘Come, let us return to the advancing enemy and see what he is about now.’

Garret shook his head. ‘Your cheerful manner does little to ease my worrisome mind, Huntmaster.’

Turning back the way they had come, Longbow said, ‘One time is much like another to death. She comes when she will. So why give over your mind to worry?’

‘Aye,’ said Garret, his long face showing he was unconvinced. ‘Why, indeed? It’s not death arriving when she will that worries me; it’s your inviting her to visit that gets me shivering.’

Martin laughed softly. He motioned for Garret to follow. They set off at a trot, covering ground with long, loose strides. The forest was bright with sunlight, but between the thick boles were many dark places wherein a watchful enemy could lurk. Garret left it to Longbow’s able judgment whether these hiding places were safe to pass. Then, as one, both men stopped in their tracks at the sound of movement ahead. Noiselessly they melted into a shadowy thicket. A minute passed slowly with neither man speaking. Then a faint whispering came to them, the words unclear.

Into their field of vision came two figures, moving cautiously along a north-south path that intersected the one Martin followed. Both were dressed in dark grey cloaks, with bows held ready. They stopped, and one kneeled down to study the signs left by Longbow and his trackers. He pointed down the trail and spoke to his companion, who nodded and returned the way they had come.

Longbow heard Garret hiss as he drew in his breath. Peering around the area was a tracker of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. After a moment of searching he followed his companion.

Garret began to stir and Martin gripped his arm. ‘Not yet,’ Longbow whispered.

Garret whispered back, ‘What are they doing this far north?’

Martin shook his head. ‘They’ve slipped in behind our patrols along the foothills. We’ve grown lax in the south, Garret. We never thought they’d move north this far west of the mountains.’ He waited silently for a moment, then whispered, ‘Perhaps they tire of the Green Heart and are trying for the Northlands to join their brothers.’

Garret started to speak, but stopped when another Dark Brother entered the spot vacated by the others a moment before. He looked around, then raised his hand in signal. Other figures appeared along the trail intersecting the one Martin’s men had traveled. In ones, twos, and threes, Dark Brothers crossed the path, disappearing into the trees.

Garret sat holding his breath. He could hear Martin counting faintly as the figures crossed their field of vision: ‘. . . ten, twelve, fifteen, sixteen, eighteen . . .’

The stream of dark-cloaked figures continued, seemingly unending to Garret. ‘. . . thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-four . . .’

As the crossing continued, larger numbers of Brothers appeared, and after a time Martin whispered, ‘There are more than a hundred.’

Still they came, some now carrying bundles on their backs and shoulders. Many wore the dark grey mountain cloaks, but others were dressed in green, brown, or black clothing. Garret leaned close to Martin and whispered, ‘You are right. It is a migration north. I mark over two hundred.’

Martin nodded. ‘And still they come.’

For many more minutes the Dark Brothers crossed the trail, until the flood of warriors was replaced by ragged-looking females and young. When they had passed, a company of twenty fighters crossed the trail, and then the area was quiet.

They waited a moment in silence. Garret said, ‘They are elven-kin to move so large a number through the forest undetected so long.’

Martin smiled. ‘I’d advise you not mention that fact to the next elf you encounter.’ He stood slowly, unbending cramped muscles from the long sitting in the brush. A faint sound echoed from the east, and Martin got a thoughtful look on his face. ‘How far along the trail do you judge the Dark Brothers’ march?’

Garret said, ‘At their rear, a hundred yards; at the van, perhaps a quarter mile or less. Why?’

Martin grinned, and Garret became discomforted by the mocking humor in his eyes. ‘Come, I think I know where we can have some fun.’

Garret groaned softly, ‘Ah, Huntmaster, my skin gets a poxy feeling when you mention fun.’