“Me and the lads have been talking,” he said without preamble. “The magic with the well’s unlawful. We’re not bound to stay out of this fight. Most of us want in, on your side. Can we arm up and come out with no trouble?”
Pirvan looked about him. There was no one in hearing range who was worth consulting, save Haimya and Eskaia. Both of them were looking at him, as if expecting him to be a fount of wisdom.
The responsibility of command was a constant joy.
“Very well. But I warn you: stay close to me. I can’t speak for the trust of everyone here until you’ve proven yourself good comrades.”
Rugal Nis grinned and slapped Pirvan on the back. He did the same to Haimya; he tried to kiss Eskaia, but she danced nimbly out of the way, laughing nonetheless.
Pirvan hoped there would be cause for laughter at the end of the day.
Zephros’s men were now marching, or rather swarming, over what had clearly been Sir Pirvan’s camp. When the knight led his men inside the walls, he had also seen to it that they stripped the camp of anything of value. A few tents that had seen their last campaign, firewood, rusty cook pots, the ashes of campfires, and the turned earth of carefully covered midden pits-a gully dwarf would have despaired of finding anything here.
That didn’t keep some of the men from breaking such ranks as they had kept, searching for loot. Zephros rode out to rally the stragglers. He would gladly have gone to Nuitari to find a dozen good sergeants to do the job for him.
Luferinus saw Zephros riding toward him and seemed to think his fellow captain wished another meeting. He turned his own horse toward the camp, with a backward glance toward the far flank. There, Sir Lewin was at least keeping the men from falling into ditches, tripping over their own feet, or maiming themselves with their own weapons.
As the two captains rode toward each other, a small figure rose, seemingly from the ground. Zephros’s first thought was gully dwarf. Then he recognized the slight build of a kender-coming toward him at a run, hoopak raised to stab with its sharp end.
At that moment, Luferinus saw the kender also, drew his sword, and dug in his spurs. His horses reared in surprise. Others had also seen the kender-archers among Zephros’s men, both in the column and among the would-be looters. They nocked, drew, and shot with admirable speed, but less admirable aim.
The kender went to the ground and, being covered with ashes and filth, was all but invisible when he did. The arrows flew harmlessly above him, and not so harmlessly pierced Luferinus’s horse in several places.
The horse screamed and reared again, twisting in a frenzy of agony. Luferinus also twisted, struggling to keep his seat. He lost the struggle, lost his seat, and crashed to the ground, one foot still caught in the stirrup. Before he could rise, more arrows struck the horse, and it bolted.
Before the appalled eyes of both advancing columns, Luferinus’s horse thundered away in a cloud of dust, dragging the captain with it. Zephros dug in his spurs and gave chase.
In moments the dust swallowed both captains-and also all the men from both columns, mounted and afoot, who followed the captains.
Where there had been an attack formidable at least in numbers, there was suddenly no attack, and as to the numbers, no two men seemed to be doing the same thing.
Pirvan’s first thought as he watched the attack disintegrate was that Tarothin must have found a spell to fog their wits. The Red Robe was atop the keep, where he could see everything, and had all the spellcasting materials and apparatuses his saddlebags and the citadel could provide. No asking him, though, until the battle was over-this was not something where one could use a messenger.
The knight was still watching the confusion in front when he heard a familiar tread behind. Sir Darin walked with amazing lightness for one of his size, but even on solid stone that size made his tread distinctive.
Then Pirvan realized Darin was not alone, and turned to stare not only at the knight but at two elves standing beside him. One looked as if he would rather be hiding behind Sir Darin. The other stepped forward.
“Sir Pirvan. I will not give my name, for I wish no witnesses to my speaking until I have proved myself with words and deeds alike.” His speech, in the common tongue, was fluent, even graceful.
Elven eloquence could sometimes be as ill-timed as kender chatter. Pirvan made an impatient gesture.
“You have offered the words. What deeds do you offer?”
“Some of us wish to stand upon the walls, and let ourselves be seen by those who would doubt we are with you. Perhaps this will make certain foolish men outside the walls think again about coming within them.”
“Will you stand armed?” Pirvan said. “This is a battle, in case you hadn’t noticed. It is no place for gestures by unarmed elves. I would not have your blood on my conscience.”
He was tempted to add that only a fool would give Lord Lauthin cause to complain more than he already did. The elves’ expression halted the knight’s tongue. They looked resolved to face death rather than again stand aside from a battle. In carrying out that resolve, they were committing what in human hosts was commonly named mutiny.
Soldiers died for that offense, more often than not. Pirvan wondered what the Silvanesti punishment was-and prayed he would not learn today.
“Very well. You and those of your mind-take your bows and quivers. Go around to the hillward side of the citadel. I doubt we have much to fear from these folk, but there’s another column working its way around to our rear. They may need a little more discouraging.”
As he had sent off two of his men-at-arms to escort the sell-swords, Pirvan now did the same for the elves. This left him with one man-at-arms, Haimya, and Eskaia. Not much dignity for the commander of a great citadel under siege. Should he ask Krythis for a plume for his helmet, or perhaps a canopy to ward off the sun, which looked as if it would make the rocks hot enough to fry eggs before the day was done?
Perhaps the day would not end without more laughter, either. Then Pirvan licked dusty lips, and remembered the matter of the citadel’s water supply.
Sir Lewin had gradually worked his way toward the head of the column, which he was busily protecting from its own follies. He had ten men with him and the rest distributed along the length of the marchers, with Sir Esthazas riding in the rear guard.
All the Solamnics were keeping well clear of their comrades, if only to avoid riding any of them down. Also, Sir Lewin wanted his men to be free to form up and charge if they found a foe worthy of such a maneuver.
His hope of that, however, was rapidly shrinking. The ground was riddled with animals’ burrows and little ditches cut by rainwater, almost too rough to allow any sort of charge. The walls on this side were also more crumbled, and one could easily find oneself riding through fields of rubble without warning.
It was as he drew rein to find a path through one of those rubble fields, that Sir Lewin happened to look at the wall. His eyes were undimmed by his nearly fifty years, and it was not hard to recognize those standing atop the wall, even at a good bow shot’s distance.
Elves. Their stance, their build, their coloring-all nearly shrieked in Sir Lewin’s ear.
He did not shriek. But his shout was pitched like a battle cry. “The elves have joined the fight for Belkuthas. The embassy is foresworn. Follow me, for the honor of Istar and the name of soldiers of virtue!”
The wolf-pack howl that replied told Sir Lewin the men had very little interest in virtue and much in vice, particularly the kinds practiced with the wine and women they might find within the citadel. He told himself that the citadel’s fall would be a victory worth winning, nonetheless, a victory over elven treachery.
Then he waved to his trumpeter. The great battle horn roared, and all over the battlefield heads turned toward the sound.