"Hell lions!" Sir Guy cried. "We can do naught till they come nigh—but we can be ready! Cold water, men of mine!"
" 'Tis boiling, Sir Guy." A footman pointed at a huge cauldron, suspended over the holes beneath the outslung crenels.
"It'll do as well as anything," Matt assured him—and became aware that Tuck was chanting again. He glanced at the friar, then turned to see what would happen to the lions—and saw greenish-blue streaks stabbing downward toward the battlements. "What in Hell...?"
"From it, rather!" Sir Guy snapped. "Firedrakes! Shield men! Ward the friar!"
"Nay!" Tuck broke off his chant, lugging out a broadsword. "If there are enemies to fight, then in the name of all that is right and good, I—"
"You must wield magic!" Sir Guy cried, his voice hoarse with anxiety. "Others can wield sword and shield, friar, but only you and the Lord Wizard can protect us from ill sorcery!"
Tuck's hand fell nerveless from his hilt. "You are right. In my pride and lust for a fray, I would have cast away our chances. Nay, then..." And he began to chant his Latin verse again.
But Matt hadn't been terribly aware of what had been going on; all his attention had been focused on the firedrakes—or rather, the grotesque parodies of firedrakes, their snouts wrinkled like prunes, their teeth dripping venom, their wings swept back in a delta shape, their tails like scorpions'. Matt glared at them and chanted a verse designed to change them into ducks—when suddenly, Stegoman swept into the sky with a roar like a jetliner taking off. Flame stabbed out fifteen feet ahead of him. Wherever it touched a firedrake, the creature exploded. Matt could only think of matter and antimatter, good colliding with evil—until he could also think of the enemy archers, and the evil enchantments that must be on some of their arrows. "Stegoman, no! You're a sitting duck!"
The dragon must have heard him, because he began to weave across the sky as if he were drunken again. Matt couldn't see the arrows and bolts of the enemy; he could only try to shield his friend...
And Narlh? Matt ducked a quick glance back at the other side of the castle and saw a much smaller jet of flame sweeping the skies there, weaving in imitation of Stegoman's broken-sky flying.
Two to protect! Matt shouted out,
He couldn't see the results—except that his two flaming idiots stayed in the air. If either of them were to fall, he would have failed.
Then he heard a change in the roaring from below—a note of outrage. He leaped to the battlements and peered down.
The lions had made it halfway to the walls—the enemy soldiers had pulled well back, leaving each beast an avenue to prowl. But now, suddenly, they were confronted with huge, bulbous beasts twice their size, apparitions with four legs like sections of tree trunks, huge bodies, and heads with huge, clamshell mouths surmounted by snouts that aimed at the lions and sprayed, each body squeezing smaller as the fluid gushed out. The jets of water washed over the hell lions from nose to tail, exploding into steam—but taking the lions with them. Even as they sublimed into nothingness, though, each cat sprang at its pachyderm nemesis, and the two beasts annihilated each other in a blast of steam.
Matt took a quick glance back at the friar, who was watching the results of his work as avidly as Matt. So he knew nothing about wizardry—sure! Only enough to pair opposite elements against each other—the fire lions opposed by the hippopotami, the "water horses" of Africa.
But it was his turn for the next magic offensive. He was scanning the field, wary for monsters, when the infantrymen along the wall let up a shout. Ladder tips slammed against the walls, and enemy soldiers were scurrying up even as the ladders landed. The pikemen bellowed their war cry and lit into the attackers—-even as a malvoisin materialized out of the darkness and began to spew armored and half-armored men onto the wall.
With a shout, Sir Guy leaped at the enemy knights—and Tuck gave in to temptation and hauled out his broadsword, howling with heathen glee as he pounced on the grinning, gloating invaders. They saw him coming, huge sword windmilling, and they lost their grins—even as pikes pushed their ladders away and back, crashing down with their loads of soldiers crushed into the earth. But the men-at-arms hewed away, chopping off heads and stabbing through breasts, kicking the wounded and dying off their walls without the slightest compunction. They had fought this siege too long to have anything of pity left.
All, that is, except Tuck. He staggered back against the tower wall, burying his face in his hands and moaning, "Lord forgive me! I have slain evil men unshriven of their sins!"
The soldiers stared, stricken, unable to cope with a priest overcome with remorse.
Matt, however, had a more realistic view of the clergy. He stepped up to clap Tuck on the shoulder. "If you had given them the chance, they would have used it to stab you through the liver! Christ never said to let your enemies kill the people you were protecting! Buck up, shepherd, and guard your flock!"
Tuck looked up, amazed, his guilt evaporating on the spot. "Why, 'tis even as you say! How unmanly of me, to give way to remorse unmerited!"
He was bleeding from at least three wounds, Matt noticed, but none of them looked serious. "Just resist the temptation for hand-to-hand combat, okay? It's only you and me, countering those enemy sorcerers!"
"Aye. Aye, even so." Tuck heaved at his sword belt, settling his huge belly more firmly in place, and turned toward the battlements.
"They come!" a sentry shouted. "They come still, by their hundreds!"
"Why, aim and loose, man!" one of the knights cried.
"We have so few arrows!"
Tuck looked up, then bawled, "Robin! Little John!"
"Robin guards the north wall, and Little John the south," the tall, red-clad man said, stepping forward. "You shall have to manage with me, friar!"
Tuck relaxed, smiling. "Then all is well, Will Scarlet! Come, send your two score archers to prickle these invaders."
"Up and loose!" Will Scarlet bawled, and he leaped up to a crenel to begin suiting action to word. Matt spared a quick glance at the ground below, watching charging enemy soldiers fall flat on their faces, twenty-five at a time—then suddenly realized that Tuck was chanting again. He scanned the sky quickly, aware that he'd slacked off on his own duties, turning in place for a 360-degree survey, since Tuck was looking downward. He had almost decided everything was clear, in fact had looked down at the courtyard to see Narlh and Stegoman having arrows pulled from their wings—then suddenly looked back up at the sky. Yes, it was! The moon was getting bigger!
Not the moon, he realized—it was high in the sky; could the night really be half over? This other crescent, then, must be something sorcereus—and now he saw three more, one coming from each point of the compass, swinging closer and closer—
Giant scimitars! He didn't need to know if anything was swinging them; he chanted,