What kept the road below in Baron Gabot’s control was a series of siege engines mounted on two walls, the north and the west. The western defences were the heaviest, while the northern were designed to harry any forces attempting to come down the pass and negotiate the turn up the road to the keep. Mangonels and catapults, as well as a trio of heavy ballistae over the main gate, ensured that any army attempting to pass would take critical casualties before they rounded the pass and got beyond the engines’ range. Some soldiers would get past, it was certain, but nothing resembling an organized force. And to deal with any who did win through, the Baron kept a small garrison of horse soldiers in a barracks near the small town of Dencamp-on-the-Teeth.
Baron Gabot had felt confident that any threat coming through Northwarden could be dealt with by his command. That had been a welcome response to James, though he hoped fervently that Owyn and Gorath had reached Arutha in the Dimwood and help was on the way. He was beginning to worry. Had they reached Arutha and convinced him of the warning, the Prince’s army should have been arriving at Northwarden now.
Instead, there was only silence. Gabot had sent another message to the Dimwood, at James’s urging, requesting support from the Prince, and had also sent word south via fast messenger to the King, his liege lord. At least, thought James, Gabot wasn’t as stiff-necked as old Baron Brian Highcastle, who had managed to get himself killed ignoring Arutha’s advice when Murmandamus had driven south over his position. With luck, Arutha would receive Gabot’s message even if Gorath and Owyn hadn’t survived.
James found himself hoping that wasn’t the case; he had grown fond of the youth from Timons, and he was surprised to find he also had come to like something about the moredhel. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something definite about the dark elf, a lack of uncertainty about who or what he was; few men had it, and James admired it: even more, he admired the moredhel’s ability to put aside his own personal dislike for humans to seek their aid in opposing what he saw as a great wrong against his people.
Locklear waved and pointed. As a favour for Baron Gabot, since dawn, he and James had been scouting ahead to see if advance moredhel units were anywhere in the north end of the pass. A patrol had headed out two days before, accompanied by a magician now in the Baron’s employ, and the Baron was concerned about their fate. It went unsaid that the two squires were no loss to the Baron should any harm befall them, while losing another patrol to the enemy would severely weaken Northwarden. James and Locklear couldn’t contrive a plausible reason to say no, so here on the second day of their trip they were working their way through the frozen dawn, with James silently cursing all border barons.
A noise ahead had alerted them to a possible enemy position. Locklear was holding his horse while James climbed above the floor of the pass to a high ridge to get a look ahead. A single figure scampered along the trail, holding the hem of his ivory-coloured robe with one hand, exposing spindly legs as he hurried. In his other hand he held a large staff, shod at either end with iron caps.
Every hundred feet or so, he would turn and pause, and when a pursuing figure would come into view, he’d unleash a bolt of energy, a blast of flame the size of a melon; a tactic that was producing little real damage, but which served to keep the pursuer from closing. James began scrambling down the hillside, while Locklear shouted, ‘What is it?’
Sliding the last dozen yards, James hit the ground running and said, ‘I think we’ve found Gabot’s magician.’ He pulled a crossbow off the back of his horse and quickly cranked it up and placed a bolt in it, while Locklear drew his sword and waited.
The old man rounded a corner and hesitated when he saw the two squires. Locklear signed for him to come on, and shouted, ‘This way!’
The old man hurried and when the moredhel who was chasing him rounded the same corner, James drew a bead on him, then let fly with his crossbow. The bolt sped across the gap and took the moredhel right off his feet, propelling him backward.
Locklear said, ‘You’ve been practising. I’m impressed.’
‘I’ll never learn to use the bow, but this thing is pretty easy,’ said James, putting away the crossbow.
‘Not very accurate, though.’
James nodded. ‘Find a good one, then keep it. Some of them shoot all over the place; this one usually hits what I’m aiming at.’
The old man was puffing a bit and when he reached them, he put his staff down and leaned on it. ‘Thanks, lads. That was a little closer than I care to think about.’
‘Are you Master Patrus?’ asked Locklear.
‘Just Patrus,’ said the old man. ‘Yes, I’m he. Why, you looking for me?’
James said, ‘And a company of Baron Gabot’s soldiers.’
The old man was slender and sported a wispy grey moustache and goatee. He wore a hat that looked more like a nightcap than any sort of proper hat, and along with the ivory-coloured robe, it made him appear to be walking about in his nightclothes. Pointing back the way he had come, he said, ‘We got jumped a half-day back, by a mixed company of those damned Dark Brothers and trolls. Those trolls were a handful, I can tell you.’
James said, ‘I’ve fought them. You’re the only one to get away?’
‘One or another of the lads may have found a way through. Some of them got up into the ridges. I’m an old man; best I could do was hurry along the road and keep them ducking behind me.’
‘Where did they jump you?’
‘About two miles ahead,’ said the old magician.
‘That staff of yours is handy,’ observed Locklear.
‘Well, lad, the truth is it’s a little bit of fire, not much more than a scorch mark if it hits you, but it’s just hot enough to make you duck if you see the fireball coming at you. I made the thing years ago to impress some pesky townspeople down south who were trying to run me off. A few little fireballs tossed their way and they left me alone.’
James laughed. ‘Owyn didn’t tell me you were such a character.’
‘Owyn Belefote? Where do you know that rascal from?’ asked Patrus.
‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you while we walk. If you’re up to it, I want to check out the place those trolls jumped you. Otherwise you can continue back to Northwarden. It should be safe between here and there.’
‘I think I’ll stick close to you, lads. Who are you?’
‘I’m Squire James of Krondor, and this is Squire Locklear. We’re members of the Prince’s court.’ They started walking their horses rather than ride while the old man walked.
‘Prince Arutha’s lads? You wouldn’t happen to know Pug of Stardock, would you?’
‘We’ve had the pleasure,’ said Locklear.
‘I’d like to meet him, some time. I’ve heard a thing or two about his academy. Told Owyn he ought to get himself down there; I’d taught him everything he could learn.’
James said, ‘Locklear here met Owyn on his way back from Stardock; he was visiting his aunt in Yabon. I think Stardock didn’t work out too well for him.’
‘Bah!’ said the old magician, picking his way along the road with his staff. ‘The boy has talent, a fair amount from what I can tell, but I think he’s one of those Greater Paths, because a lot of what I tried to teach him just didn’t work. But the things that did, why, he was fierce with it, he was.’ The old country magician looked up the pass and said, ‘Company’s coming.’
Locklear drew his sword and James unlimbered his crossbow again. But rather than trolls or dark elves, two dusty members of Baron Gabot’s company came into view. One was obviously wounded and the other looked very tired.
‘Patrus!’ said the wounded soldier. ‘We thought they’d got you.’
‘Not even close,’ said the old man with a grin. ‘These lads lent a hand.’
‘I’m Squire James. What did you see?’
The senior-most soldier reported, indicating that a squad of twenty Dark Brothers and an equal number of trolls had ambushed their patrol, and only a falling-out between the two factions had kept them from killing all of Gabot’s men.
‘That’s interesting,’ said Locklear.
‘Very,’ agreed James. ‘If they’re fighting, it’s over pay.’
Patrus nodded. ‘Troll mercenaries don’t wait to get paid. They go back home or take it out of your hide.’
‘I don’t know what caused the row,’ said the wounded soldier, ‘but we were running and one of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path yelled something at a troll, and instead of chasing us, the troll turned and tried to slice up the Brother. It was a fair mêlée by the time we got away.’
The other soldier nodded. ‘They had their blood up, the trolls did, and they seemed just as satisfied killing Dark Brothers as they did us.’
‘Great,’ said James. ‘Confusion to the enemy. Now, you boys all right to get back to the Baron alone?’
‘If there’s no one waiting between here and there to jump us, we’ll be okay,’ said the wounded soldier.
‘Good. Go and report to the Baron and when you’re done telling him what you’ve seen, tell him we’re going to go snoop around and see what else we can find.’
‘Very well, squire,’ said the unwounded man, saluting.
The soldiers continued on and Locklear said, ‘What do you have in mind?’
