would suit you best. You’ll find the mirror especially useful. I’ll show you how to get there.”
Even the sparrow finds a home.
EIGHT: Her Strongholds Unvanquishable
The vanguard of the allied army, hurrying ahead of the main force, reached the Candareen days earlier than Turran expected. He had to lock his gate long before he wanted. Luxos and Ridyeh were still away, snuffling along Haroun’s backtrail.
As expected, bin Yousif commanded the expedition. And, as Grimnason, Turran’s leading mercenary officer, predicted, the man persisted in the unexpected.
Redbeard and Turran crouched in moonlight atop the tall tower over Ravenkrak’s gate, watching the camp at the foot of the Candareen. “There!” said the mercenary, indicating a flash of silver on the slope.
“You win.” Turran paid out a handful of silver. “I would’ve bet anything his men would be too tired and his numbers too few.”
“That’s why he’s coming. He knows how people think.”
Turran turned to peer over the rear of the parapet into an apparently deserted courtyard. Half the garrison were hidden down there, waiting. He signaled them to be ready.
Bin Yousif s commandos reached the foot of the wall.
“They could’ve made it,” Turran observed. “They’re good. Wish I’d hired him first. No offense. You’ve proven just as able.”
Arrows with light lines attached arced over the battlements.
“Metal arrows,” said Grimnason. “They’ll hook one in the crenellations, then send up their lightest man.”
So they did. A climber quickly reached the battlements, pulled up a heavier rope, made it fast, turned to watch the castle.
“Haroun himself!” Turran growled softly. “We’ve got him this time.” He glanced at the camp down the mountain. Its fires burned bright, supporting the appearance of the attackers waiting there for the rest of their army. But here and there on the mountain, moonlight glinted off metal. Those flashes would have remained undetected had it not been for Redbeard’s insistent warnings.
One by one, twelve men clambered onto the battlements. They whispered, then spread out. Four followed Haroun down to the courtyard, to the base of the tower, to the tunnel leading through the wall. The others divided equally between the two gatehouses. Haroun’s four tried to raise the inner of the two stone blocks sealing the tunnel.
Raiders left the gatehouses.
“We should’ve left somebody down there,” Turran whispered. “They’re bound to suspect something.”
“But it’s too late,” Grimnason replied, chuckling. “They’re already in the trap.” He leaned over the parapet, signaled soldiers hidden among the rocks outside the gate.
A moment later, from below, “Stop! Drop your weapons!”
A bugle sounded two notes. Soldiers rushed into the courtyard and to the wall.
There was an uproar at the gate. Men screamed. Crossbows twangled. Steel rang on steel. Haroun and four of his men broke out, raced downslope. Bin Yousif shouted, “Back! Trap! Get back!”
Torches flared along Ravenkrak’s wall. Ready trebuchets hurled their missiles. Arrow engines discharged volleys. Bowmen commenced loosing. Naptha bombs from the trebuchets scarred the slope with fire. Soldiers with clothing aflame ran like beheaded chickens.
“That was easy,” Turran observed. “But more serious assaults worry me. He’s too damned crafty.”
The others had gone inside. Nepanthe and Saltimbanco, with the wall to themselves, stared down the Candareen. Pools of naptha still sputtered here and there, painting the broken rocks with eerie lights and shadows. Some of those shadows walked. Haroun’s men were collecting their dead.
They stood in silence. Saltimbanco thought about Redbeard-Rendel Grimnason-Bragi Ragnarson. Why on earth had the man warned Turran? Ravenkrak would have fallen, otherwise, and they would have finished the job they had been hired to do. And he would have been in the enviable position of
Even the sparrow finds a home.
EIGHT: Her Strongholds Unvanquishable
The vanguard of the allied army, hurrying ahead of the main force, reached the Candareen days earlier than Turran expected. He had to lock his gate long before he wanted. Luxos and Ridyeh were still away, snuffling along Haroun’s backtrail.
As expected, bin Yousif commanded the expedition. And, as Grimnason, Turran’s leading mercenary officer, predicted, the man persisted in the unexpected.
Redbeard and Turran crouched in moonlight atop the tall tower over Ravenkrak’s gate, watching the camp at the foot of the Candareen. “There!” said the mercenary, indicating a flash of silver on the slope.
“You win.” Turran paid out a handful of silver. “I would’ve bet anything his men would be too tired and his numbers too few.”
“That’s why he’s coming. He knows how people think.”
Turran turned to peer over the rear of the parapet into an apparently deserted courtyard. Half the garrison were hidden down there, waiting. He signaled them to be ready.
Bin Yousif s commandos reached the foot of the wall.
“They could’ve made it,” Turran observed. “They’re good. Wish I’d hired him first. No offense. You’ve proven just as able.”
Arrows with light lines attached arced over the battlements.
“Metal arrows,” said Grimnason. “They’ll hook one in the crenellations, then send up their lightest man.”
So they did. A climber quickly reached the battlements, pulled up a heavier rope, made it fast, turned to watch the castle.
“Haroun himself!” Turran growled softly. “We’ve got him this time.” He glanced at the camp down the mountain. Its fires burned bright, supporting the appearance of the attackers waiting there for the rest of their army. But here and there on the mountain, moonlight glinted off metal. Those flashes would have remained undetected had it not been for Redbeard’s insistent warnings.
One by one, twelve men clambered onto the battlements. They whispered, then spread out. Four followed Haroun down to the courtyard, to the base of the tower, to the tunnel leading through the wall. The others divided equally between the two gatehouses. Haroun’s four tried to raise the inner of the two stone blocks sealing the tunnel.
Raiders left the gatehouses.
“We should’ve left somebody down there,” Turran whispered. “They’re bound to suspect something.”
“But it’s too late,” Grimnason replied, chuckling. “They’re already in the trap.” He leaned over the parapet, signaled soldiers hidden among the rocks outside the gate.
A moment later, from below, “Stop! Drop your weapons!”
A bugle sounded two notes. Soldiers rushed into the courtyard and to the wall.
There was an uproar at the gate. Men screamed. Crossbows twangled. Steel rang on steel. Haroun and four of his men broke out, raced downslope. Bin Yousif shouted, “Back! Trap! Get back!”
Torches flared along Ravenkrak’s wall. Ready trebuchets hurled their missiles. Arrow engines discharged volleys. Bowmen commenced loosing. Naptha bombs from the trebuchets scarred the slope with fire. Soldiers with clothing aflame ran like beheaded chickens.
“That was easy,” Turran observed. “But more serious assaults worry me. He’s too damned crafty.”
The others had gone inside. Nepanthe and Saltimbanco, with the wall to themselves, stared down the Candareen. Pools of naptha still sputtered here and there, painting the broken rocks with eerie lights and shadows. Some of those shadows walked. Haroun’s men were collecting their dead.
They stood in silence. Saltimbanco thought about Redbeard-Rendel Grimnason-Bragi Ragnarson. Why on earth had the man warned Turran? Ravenkrak would have fallen, otherwise, and they would have finished the job they had been hired to do. And he would have been in the enviable position of
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