They didn't join Haaken before dawn. The causeways didn'tconnect to the same island. They had to cross three. There were skirmishes. And then the right causeway turned out to still be in Argonese hands.
Haaken hadn't had a chance to grab it. The garrison had counterattacked.
Bragi's old veterans carried the bridge in a short, brisk battle, only to find Argonese troops forming up beyond. The melee lasted several hours. Haaken's bowmen, when they could, plinked from the Fadem. Ragnarson advanced till he screened the Fadem's main gate, which remained in enemy hands.
"Who's got who trapped?" he wondered aloud. "How long before the whole city turns on us?"
Tactically, it was going magnificently. Yet the strategic situation looked worse and worse.
Kildragon considered the houses and shops facing the fortress-palace. "A lot of wood in those places. Maybe another fire...."
"Go to it."
Kildragon's fire masked their flank. Bragi had men climb the wall where Blackfang and Ahring were already established. They took the main gate from behind.
Weary, he joined Haaken at another merlon. The map now showed only a few white islands.
"The gate completes the circuit," said Blackfang. "The whole wall is ours."
"Think that's smart?" Ragnarson asked. "They'll fight harder if they can't get away."
"If they could, the Fadema might get out. Shouldn't we get a hold of her?"
"She'd be a good bargaining counter if things got hairy. You found Ethrian yet?"
"No. Else I'd say let's get out now."
"Another reason to get our hands on the lady. They'll chase us all the way home if we don't."
"Those wizards want to see you."
"They come up with something?"
"I don't know. They've been everywhere, getting in the way."
"How are the men? Any problems?"
"Not yet. Still think they can lick the world as long as you're in charge. But it's daytime now. They've seen how big the place is. I'm scared they'll start thinking about it."
The western soldier was flighty, and totally unpredictable. One day he might, if inspired, stand against impossible odds and fight to the death. Another day some trivial occurrence might spook an entire army.
"Keep them too busy to think. These pockets. What are they?"
"Citadels within the citadel. They've locked themselves in. Don't look like it'll be easy digging them out."
"Where's the Queen? Keep the others from sallying. Go after her. On the cheap."
"Been doing that. Lying about Pthothor's intentions. Got more prisoners than I can handle. Reskird showed up just in time. We'll need men on the wall."
"Keep the fires going. What about casualties?"
"Not bad. Mostly new men, the way you'd expect. Enough to be a problem if we have to fight our way out."
"Where're those wizards?"
Haaken was skirting the question of leaving the wounded. Ragnarson didn't want to think about it, let alone verbalize it. It always gnawed at his guts, but sometimes it had to be done.
"Wherever you find them. Just prowl around till one bites your ankle."
He did. Trebilcock and Dantice followed, playing their bodyguard role to the hilt.
Ragnarson found a courtyard where a thousand prisoners sat in tight ranks on the cobblestones, heads bowed, thoroughly whipped. I n a second courtyard he found his dead and wounded, in neat rows on mattresses looted from a barracks room. The dead and mortally wounded were pleasingly few.
On one mattress lay the innkeeper met during the ride to Baxendala.
"Hey, old man, what're you doing here? You should be home minding the tavern."
"Old? I'm younger than ye are, sir."
"My job. I get paid for being here."
"My job, too, sir. It's my country, ye see. My sons, Robbie and Tal, have ye seen them, sir? Are they all right, do you think?"
"Of course. And heroes, too. Be taking home a double share of loot." He hadn't the faintest idea where they were. But the innkeeper hadn't many hours left. "When it lets up a little, I'll send them down."
"Good, sir. Thank ye, sir."
"Get better, innkeeper. We'll need you again before this's done."
"Be up and around in a day or two, sir. These Argonese can't cut ye bad when they're showing their backs."
Ragnarson moved on before his tears broke loose. Again and again he saw familiar faces, men who had followed him so long they were almost family. The same men were always at the forefront, always where the killing was worst.
He couldn't help himself. More than once he shed a tear for an old comrade.
Three wizards handled the doctoring. The Thing With Many Eyes, strange though he appeared, was a sympathetic, empathetic soul. He hated watching pain. He, Kierle the Ancient, and Stojan Dusan, were performing surgery on an assembly line. With the Power they would have defeated Death and pain more often.
"Michael, our species is a paradox," Ragnarson observed as they departed. "All sentience is paradoxical."
"Sir?" The hospital court hadn't fazed Trebilcock. Dantice, though, had grown pale.
"Those wizards. They get mad, they can rip up a city, wipe out twenty thousand people, and never bat an eye. But look at them now. They're killing themselves for men they don't even know."
"That's part of being human. We're all that way, a little. I saw you weep in there. Yet you'd destroy Shinsan to the last babe in arms. Or reduce Argon to ashes."
"Yes. Is a conundrum, as my fat brown friend would say. What's the difference between the innkeeper and the man I killed last night? Each did his duty.... No. Enough. Let's find Varthlokkur."
The downhill side of, and aftermath of, battles always pushed him into these moods. If he didn't catch himself, didn't become otherwise preoccupied, he would plunge into a nihilism from which he wouldn't recover for days.
Night threatened before they tracked Varthlokkur down. He and Visigodred were in a library, searching old books. Zindahjira was there too, though Ragnarson never saw him. From back in the stacks he fussed and cursed and tried to get Visigodred's goat.
"What's that all about?" Trebilcock asked.
"I don't know," Ragnarson replied. "It's been going on as long as I've known them."
Ragnar materialized from the stacks. "Dad!"
After hugging him, Bragi held him at arms' length. The boy was festooned with loot. "Somebody been breaking plunder discipline?"
"Aw, Dad, I just picked up a couple things for Gundar and the kids."
"What if everybody did that? Who'd do the fighting?"
Ragnar posed cockily. "Varthlokkur's still alive."
To keep him out of trouble Ragnarson had convinced him the wizard needed a bodyguard. An amusing notion. Varth-lokkur, Visigodred, and Zindahjira all were damned formidable even without the Power.
"He's been invaluable," said Varthlokkur. "How goes the fighting?"
"So-so. We're on top. But we've got to lay hands on the Fadema. Haaken said you wanted to talk to me. Problems?"
"Not sure," Visigodred said. "I heard from Marco this morning. He visited Hamrnad al Nakir."
"So?"
"El Murid hasn't collapsed. For a while Haroun's boy won everywhere but at Al Rhemish. He had help from the tribes. After that last surge of the Power, though, things turned around."
"How?"
"Rumor says El Murid appealed to the angels. Because he claims a direct commission from heaven, I guess. The angels apparently responded. They sent him a general. The Royalist offensive bogged down."
"Only a matter of time before weight of numbers tells."
Varthlokkur took it up. "Megelin learned from the best. But he's losing. Three battles last week, all to inferior forces. This angelic general is superhuman."