A Crown Disowned Page 31

  The man shrugged. "So he send old lady in his place. Still just little boy."

  Then he marched on, oblivious of the scowl that Ysa sent after him.

  When the last of the warriors had departed from the camp and Royance had helped

  Ysa down from the platform, he escorted her to her tent. Then he bade her farewell for a time and disappeared back in the direction of the command tent for the nervous wait he must endure until they returned.

  "Lady IngridV Ysa called.

  "She isn't here."

  With a start, Ysa realized that Zazar was waiting for her in the shadows, where the dim light from the brazier did not reveal her at first. She carried a wrapped package under one arm.

  "What do you want now?" Ysa asked. "It's late. I'm tired. Surely the wounded men can wait until tomorrow before I must go back to the infirmary."

  "Oh, that tent is in good hands," the Wysen-wyf replied. "I've put Ingrid in charge. You're going to be needed elsewhere, though, and me with you."

  "No!" Ysa protested. "How dare you take my only lady-in-waiting from me! I told you, I'm tired. I want to lie down and go to sleep."

  "Well, you can't. Come with me."

  With that, Zazar grabbed Ysa's soft, white hand in her brown, wrinkled one, and began dragging her through the night.

  Gaurin, in the van of the Four Armies, led the way cautiously. Because there was no moon, the going was particu- larly hazardous, a condition that he felt was more than compensated for by the covering darkness. All the war-kats, except for Bitta, and Keltin who would not leave her, ranged alongside the men, passing completely silent on their padded, lethal paws. Even Finola's instincts to fight at men's sides and perhaps engage

  Ice Dragons had overcome her desire to mother Weyse, the odd little creature from the Bog, and she paced beside Gaurin, almost near enough to touch.

  His second in command, Lathrom, was close by his right side. Cebastian and

  Steuart, each with their picked company to operate the catapult and giant bow, trailed not far to his left, ready to peel off into the little closed valley where the great machines waited. Behind them came what had once been the Four

  Armies, almost melded into a single fighting force with divisions under the command of the junior officers. All—Nordors, Rendelians, Sea-Rovers—now marched as one. Only the Bog-men kept their separate identity. As many men as Rohan could create lengths of silk for wore these scarves over their faces.

  They came to that slight break in the canyon walls where Ashen had proposed setting up her front-line infirmary. Though a slight glow was beginning in the eastern sky, there was no gleam of light from the black shadows and Gaurin didn't know whether she could even see him as the army passed by. He was tense with the gnawing desire to see Ashen at that moment, hold her in his arms, but instead he forced himself to march on.

  Behind him he heard a faint sound as if of a sigh, and knew that Cebastian and

  Steuart had discovered the spot where the two engines lay hidden. The young officers knew that when the sounds of battle began, their crews should pull the catapult and the bow out and, if possible, bring them to bear.

  Ahead, Gaurin sighted the first faint flicker of lights inside tents. He could not tell where the Ice Dragons were picketed, if indeed they had been brought down from where they usually stayed hidden. A glance to either side assured him that his men were edging forward, eager for the battle to begin. Gaurin shared their excitement, their fear, their tension. This fight would end it all, one way or another. They must triumph or the unlucky survivors would live only to see their world end.

  Drawing the Rinbell sword, cognizant of the telltale sound it made, the ring of steel cutting through the cold dawn air, he gave the signal.

  With a cry that seemed to come from a thousand throats simultaneously, the

  Rendelian army broke into a dead run and poured through the gap in the canyon walls. Many of the enemy, not yet awakened for the invasion they thought they would initiate, died before they could kick free of their blankets.

  Around the advance rose the sound of clashing steel, of the screeching and yowls of the war-kats. The shouts of men added to the din. It was nearly impossible to hear any orders. Yet, from the rear of the enemy camp, a sound erupted that overrode all others.

  Gaurin looked up. Two Ice Dragons had appeared. One roared again, and a gout of ice and snow erupted from its maw. The distance was too great for this to have any effect. The Dragons began to stump forward. The enemy forces scattered before the monsters as they spread great wings, threatening to knock men to the ground, as Gaurin had seen them do before. Snow swirled from the flashing of these wings. He glanced behind him. By the growing morning light he could see that Steuart and Cebastian and their crews had, indeed, dragged their engines of war out where those could be brought to bear.

  He shouted a warning. The missiles would probably fly over his men's heads, but there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks. Gaurin hoped those manning the great projectiles could get their shots off before the war-kats, giving in to their instinctive hatred of Dragons, dashed ahead, putting themselves in peril.

  The sharp twang of a slashed rope cut through the air as the "arrow" from the giant bow—an entire tree-trunk, carefully trimmed and sharpened—whistled overhead, flying at the target. With a jarring thump, the projectile hit true.

  Fatally skewered, the Dragon faltered, crashing with a thud that shook the ground. Its rider attempted to jump clear, only to be crushed under the weight of the Dragon's great head.

  Despite the fate of its companion, the second Dragon couldn't halt its ponderous progress. The rider, unable to turn his mount, hampered by the necessity of going forward without trampling those of his own army, tried to guide it over the body of the downed beast instead. At that moment, Cebastian let go the catapult. The cradle hurled a rock the size of a plow horse. Its flight was slower and more awkward than that of the arrow, but its effect would be no less devastating if it hit the target.

  A heartbeat earlier and the monster would have met the fate of the first, being crushed rather than taken down by a giant arrow. However, the second missile only slammed into one of the creature's forelimbs. It was not for naught; the cracking sound that echoed through the vale could be nothing but that of a gigantic bone, breaking.

  "Forward!" Gaurin cried. "Finish it off!

  A man, a human warrior, was in his way, and he paused long enough to strike him down. The man's face, vaguely familiar, was so pale and frightened that Gaurin almost regretted that blow. A thought which passed before it was fully formed.

  The incident slowed him enough, however, that he was not first to engage the wounded Dragon.

  Someone—Gidon, he thought—had grabbed the odd weapon used by the Dragon-riders from the one who had fallen, and was now turning it on the one still atop the wounded animal. A gout of freezing mist shot out of the end of the rod. The

  Rider snatched at his cloak, seeking to cover and protect his face. Not for the first time, Gaurin wished for bowmen, but they were useful only from ships where the air was not as cold as it was on land. Here, in this extreme cold, strings would break and the bows themselves would crack.

  Now war-kats swarmed over the wounded Dragon, ignoring the downed one. With them, Lathrom led a detachment of men armed with heavy spears, men and beasts attacking with single-minded ferocity. The Rider strove to pull his mount up, to fly, but the Rendelians quickly crippled the beast's wings. War-kats squalled, clawing their way up the Dragon's flanks, and one of them pulled the Rider from his perch.

  That fight was as good as over. Gaurin took a moment to look around, to see how the rest of the battle was going. Some Rendelians were down, more wounded than slain. He could see others beginning to carry the injured from the field of battle, back to where Ashen and her physician helpers were waiting.

  As far as he could tell at this point, the surprise had met with great success.

  The enemy apparently had no idea th
at they were going to be attacked, rather than be the attackers. In the distance, he could see the Bog-men engaging such

  Fry-dian allies the invaders could persuade to return to the battle, driving them from the field.

  His warrior's instincts were humming. This victory was too easy, bringing no satisfaction. Gaurin knew he must keep himself and his men vigilant, lest they be taken from the rear or the flank by reserves hidden and waiting for their own moment for surprise.

  He paused to wipe battle-sweat from his forehead, and then ran to help wherever he could, in the areas where there was still resistance. A large pocket of the enemy had rallied around someone who was obviously a leader, and this would have to be dealt with.

  "Zazarl" Ashen exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you said you had no intention of coming—" She stared at the woman accompanying the Wysen-wyf, unable to believe her eyes. She dipped a deep curtsey. "Your Highness."

  "We don't have time for all these nice manners," Zazar said brusquely. "The wounded will begin coming in any time now." She thrust a package at Ashen.

  "Here. Read this, where I've got a passage marked."

  "But—"

  "Don't argue with me! Fetch a candle and start reading."

  Obediently, Ashen led the two women into the tent where she had placed her stockpile of bandages and medicines, placed the book on the table, lighted a candle and opened the book.

  "This is something I had not yet come to," she murmured as she read. She looked up into Zazar's knowing eyes and then into Ysa's uncomprehending ones. "I can scarcely believe it—"

  "Nevertheless, it is true. The day has arrived when the change foretold shall at last be wrought by a Changer. That's you, girl. And Ysa and I are destined to play our parts in it."

  "Me?" exclaimed the Dowager. "Nol I won't—"

  Zazar turned on her. "Shut your mouth!" she said.

  Her voice was not much above a whisper, but it carried such force that Ysa's cheeks turned pale and she swayed back a step as if she had been struck. "You will do your part, even as I, because you must. Even if you have to be tied and dragged to the spot, when the time comes. You have no choice."

  Ashen expected another outburst from the Dowager, but she was silent—not acquiescing, but no longer making protest. She might have been in shock.

  "When?" Ashen asked.

  Zazar shrugged and looked away. "That I don't know. I know only that the time is upon us but the very moment is still a mystery. We will know it when it happens."

  "In the meantime," Ashen said, her lips numb, "we must do our duty. Your

  Highness, will you help with the wounded, or shall you stay here in the tent?"

  "I—" Ysa began, her voice a croak. She glanced sideways at Zazar, and continued.

  "I will help."

  Unconsciously, Ashen twisted the iridescent stone bracelet she wore. It was very warm under her fingers. Let me not think of him, she thought, and prompt him to desert his own duty and come to me instead. "The battle has begun," she said aloud. "I can hear it. We do not have long to wait."

  A slight commotion outside made all three women turn, alert. Ashen opened the tent flap to discover Hynnel outside. He clutched at the tent pole to keep from falling.

  "What are you doing here?" Zazar cried. "You'll kill yourself, man! And however did you get here?"

  He coughed, trying to smile. "I climbed onto one of the dog-sleds when they left the Snow Fortress. I couldn't stay behind, not when the final battle was about to begin."

  "Then you shall watch, but from a distance," Ashen said soberly. She turned to

  Zazar. "I understand. If it were Gaurin, there would be nothing that could keep him from his companions at such a time and I can expect nothing less from his valiant kinsman."

  "I—I'll get you something hot to drink," Ysa offered. She looked at Ashen. "You have had the wit to order broth or soup prepared, don't you?"

  "Yes, a good pot of it has been heating ever since I arrived," Ashen said.

  "Then you must get back into the sled, where you can be covered and warm, and

  I'll bring it to you," Ysa told Hynnel. She regarded him with what Ashen could only think of as a proprietary air. "Then we'll take you to a spot where you can see what is happening. You're still in my care, you know."

  "He's her special project," Zazar muttered in Ashen's ear as Ysa helped Hynnel limp back to the conveyance. "She won't be any good with somebody who's bleeding, so let her keep busy with him. She'll stay out of our way at least, until we need her."

  "Here come the first litter-bearers," Ashen noted somberly. She moved toward the larger, open tent where the physicians waited. They were already lighting lanterns and making everything ready. There, they would treat the lighter hurts and apply immediate aid to those more gravely injured before sending them back to the Snow Fortress on one of the waiting dog-sleds. Ysa would have to find

  Hynnel another place to wait.

  The sound of great wings flapping overhead made both women look up, but whatever creature was causing the sound was hidden by clouds.

  Out in the water offshore, Snolli Sea-Rover had taken up command of his fleet of ships again, listening to the familiar sounds he had known for many years—the creaking and groaning of the reliable old Gorgull, the quiet splash of water against the sides, the occasional cough or clearing of the throat by one of the waiting men. Overhead, the stars blazed down almost as bright as moonlight. No one would sneak up on them unawares.

  His grandson Rohan had done well enough, he had to admit—grudgingly. But when it came down to the real business of fighting, it took somebody like himself—old enough for caution, still hale enough to look forward to a battle. He wished that a couple of those flying nastinesses, the Ice Dragons, would come and try to attack him the way one had young Rohan. He didn't care for the upstart brat's having bagged one and the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers not.

  Oh, well, he thought philosophically. If all we get to do is pick off stragglers trying to get away, that might be good enough in a war such as this one. If only that miserable Great Foulness, or whatever they called him, had had ships!

  He felt edgy and restless, wishing that he could be more heavily involved in the fight. He tapped his fingers nervously on the rail and realized that he was unconsciously following the rhythm of Kasai's Spirit Drum. The small man who had been his companion and chief adviser for many years was sitting on the deck next to him, eyes closed, stroking his drum, but so softly that the sound was almost inaudible.

  "If you're going to do a reading for me, then do it. Don't just dab at it and say that you're doing something important," Snolli said irritably.

  Kasai's eyes opened. "But I am reading for you, Chieftain," he said in a remote voice. "Listen and take heed. Fighting enough for all and everybody plays a part. This night, all things end and all things begin. Day will bring us a new world. Change, change, all is changed."

  Snolli stared at him, the gray hair lifting on the back of his head. Fighting, eh. For an instant he wished for his Rinbell sword back in his hand, the one he had awarded to Obern, which had then gone to his grandson. General Gaurin carried it now, as a loan from Rohan. It could be in worse hands, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Anyway, he had his axe. His hand tightened on the handle.

  The axe was a proper weapon for a Sea-Rover.

  Kasai's voice continued to whisper, nearly lost in the wind. "Change, change, change…"

  Twenty-one

  Farod could not remember ever having been as cold as he was now. The Great One

  Whom All Served rode the Ice Dragon with him, soaring high above the battlefield, and watching what went on there. Farod had thought he knew cold, was inured to it, but he had never before experienced such a dead, desolate pit of utter frigidity before. Compared to this, ice was warm. With an effort, he kept himself from shivering.

  The Great One observed the destruction of two of the three remaining Dragons impassively. "It doesn't matter. They are good for very f
ew things, such as observing from a distance. They frighten the ignorant, and are useful for pulling down walls. If we encounter resistance when we reach Rendel and the cities therein, I may have to bring more of them out of the egg."

  "Shall we fly back north, then, to the hatchery, O Great One?" Farod asked.

  "Of course not. I wish to see the outcome of this battle. And there is something else—a pulsing of Power such as I have seldom felt before. Go there." The Great

  One pointed an icy finger toward a spot they had flown over a few minutes earlier, just as the Rendelians were well enmeshed in the valley trap that had been laid for them.

  Obediently, Farod tugged the Dragon's reins and the great beast turned in its flight. Off to the right, he could see the Sea-Rovers' ships through a momentary gap in the high clouds. Even now, men armed with augurs should be making their way toward them, in boats with muffled oars.