“One,” Darsint announced flatly.
He aimed again, fired again.
Its legs broken, his target leaned forward, started to topple; then its arm snapped under the stress.
“Two.”
With some difficulty, Elega restrained an impulse to cheer. Everyone else was silent, clenched in awe and suspense.
Frowning, Darsint rechecked his rifle; he fired again. A blazing line sped as straight as a die toward the next catapult.
Apparently, the team of Cadwals at the engine panicked. They tried to throw before their catapult was ready. A load of scattershot sprayed harmlessly down the wall as fire reduced the catapult to wreckage.
“Three.
This time, there was no question about it: the war drums faltered. A moment later, they stumbled into confusion as their drummers lost the beat. Instead of reorganizing themselves, resuming their insistent drive, they stopped altogether.
Several of the guards cleared their throats and began to cheer hoarsely. A ragged shout of approval, raucous with urgency and relief, spread out across the valley.
Well done, Darsint! Elega crowed to herself. By the stars, we will teach High King Festten what it means to oppose us!
The champion fired again; another engine collapsed.
“Four.”
Frowning harder, Darsint peered at his rifle, pushed buttons, thudded the stock with the heel of his hand.
Through the mounting cheers, Prince Kragen called, “Darsint, is it wise to empty your weapon now? This battle has hardly begun. You will need your strength.”
The champion gave another twisted grin. “It’s never wise to take low ground and let enemies throw rocks at your head.”
He lifted his rifle; from its muzzle came another shot of flame.
“Five.”
Over the tumult came the sackbut’s blare, sounding retreat. The Cadwal front began to withdraw. As if they were already victorious, the King’s guard and Prince Kragen’s soldiers cheered more ferociously.
Nevertheless everyone around the pennon had seen how Darsint’s fifth shot sputtered and fizzled. When he shrugged, aimed at the last catapult, and tried to fire, his weapon produced nothing except a spray of sparks, quickly gone.
He shrugged again, tried again: nothing. Automatically, he reslung the rifle across his back. To no one in particular, he said, “Anybody got a portable cyclotron I can adapt to charge this thing?”
Smiling, Myste moved close to him and put a hand on his armor as if to congratulate or console him.
By degrees, the cheering died as everyone realized that the last catapult wasn’t going to fall.
If King Joyse felt any disappointment, however, he didn’t show it. “That was well done, Darsint,” he asserted, “well done indeed. Let the High King beware. His fortunes have begun to turn. Now he and his allies will know that you are here, and that you are with us.”
“They will also know,” put in the Prince, “that his weapon has no more force.”
“But they cannot know how many weapons he has,” Joyse retorted confidently, “or what his capabilities are. They will wait now. They must. High King Festten and Master Eremis will consult together. When they strike again, they will attempt something extravagant – a sign of growing desperation.”
Her father was amazing, really, Elega thought. Trapped in this valley, hugely outnumbered, with Darsint’s resources effectively exhausted, and the Congery’s as well, he somehow made everyone who heard him feel that he couldn’t be beaten.
“In the meantime, my lord Prince,” he continued, “we have a good opportunity to strengthen our defenses. We must make the best use we can of every obstacle to the High King’s advance.”
Prince Kragen nodded once, grimly ready. “As you say, my lord King.” His manner was severe: only the particular brightness of his gaze betrayed his pleasure in the things he and Elega had planned and hoped for together, in the validation of the risks he had persuaded the Alend Monarch to accept. “I will undertake the matter.”
Gripping his reins, he turned his horse.
“I’ll come with you,” said the Termigan before anyone else could speak. His flat eyes and dour expression gave no hint that he had ever considered the Prince an enemy. “I didn’t ride all this way to sit around watching other people work.”
“My lord Termigan.” King Joyse’s tone made both the lord and Prince Kragen stop. “You have not yet told us how you happen to be here, or why. And I have not had a chance to thank you. For bringing two hundred men to my side, I am grateful. For bringing Darsint and my daughter here safely, I am forever in your debt.”
The Termigan jerked at his horse’s head. “Sternwall is lost,” he snapped. For the first time, Elega noticed the froth on the beast’s mouth, the exhaustion in the beast’s eyes. “I had no intention of coming. Geraden told you that. I held on as long as I could. But when I lost Sternwall I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“You’re the only hope my Care has left – you, and your Imagers” – he looked like he wanted to spit – “and your alliance with Alend.” Forcibly, he seemed to recollect that he was talking to his King. “My father practically built that city with his bare hands. I’m sorry I don’t have better manners.”
His mount stumbled as he wrenched it around. Nevertheless by simple willpower he pulled the beast into a trot as he rode away toward the foot of the valley.
King Joyse and Prince Kragen met each other’s eyes. “Use him carefully,” murmured the King. “I have lost two good lords already and have no wish to lose another.”
The Prince replied with a bleak smile. “In Alend, old soldiers still talk about what a terrible thing it was to do battle against the lord of the Care of Termigan. I will use him carefully.”
Bowing to the King, waving to Elega, Prince Kragen followed the Termigan.
Elega wanted him back. The knowledge that he was in no immediate danger didn’t comfort her. At the same time, however, she felt a small shiver of eagerness because she knew that now she would get to hear Myste’s story.
While the forces of Cadwal waited, and Prince Kragen did what he could to shore up the King’s defenses, Elega and Myste withdrew to the Tor’s tent, looking for a quiet place to talk. Terisa and Geraden were with them – and King Joyse as well, which surprised Elega because she expected him to be busy with matters of battle, and pleased her because it demonstrated that he trusted the Alend Contender, son of an old foe.
Darsint accompanied them also. In a way that made the mere idea of refusing him seem unimaginable, he insisted on staying with Myste.
Outside, the remaining catapult threw at intervals: a stubborn assailant, and quite useless. For the most part, the King’s men were able to stay out of the engine’s range. Eventually, it became clear that the catapult’s only real purpose was to remind the guards and soldiers that High King Festten intended to destroy them.
But Elega wasn’t thinking about destruction at the moment. She was marveling at her sister, who had somehow become a force to be reckoned with in the struggle between kingdoms. Like Torrent, she had found a way to make a difference.
Elega was keenly proud of her.
“Did you really threaten your sister?” King Joyse asked as soon as everyone was settled. “Did you really threaten to unleash Darsint against the whole Alend army?”
The light of lanterns dimmed Myste’s beauty. Inside the tent, she seemed less sure of herself, more easily embarrassed. A bit shamefacedly, she answered, “I fear so. I made an effort to be careful – to say less than I meant, rather than more. But I am certain Elega understood me.”
Happily, Elega nodded. “I was glad of it, however – when I recovered from the shock. I needed as many arguments as possible to set before the Alend Monarch.”
No doubt about it: Myste was definitely blushing. “Still I am relieved you did not put me to the test. My threats became hollow almost at once. As soon as we parted – as soon as you helped me from the Alend camp – Darsint and I left. We were not there to take any action against you.”