"Where's the Queen? Keep the others from sallying. Go after her. On the cheap."
"Been doing that. Lying about Pthothor's intentions. Got more prisoners than I can handle. Reskird showed up just in time. We'll need men on the wall."
"Keep the fires going. What about casualties?"
"Not bad. Mostly new men, the way you'd expect. Enough to be a problem if we have to fight our way out."
"Where're those wizards?"
Haaken was skirting the question of leaving the wounded. Ragnarson didn't want to think about it, let alone verbalize it. It always gnawed at his guts, but sometimes it had to be done.
"Wherever you find them. Just prowl around till one bites your ankle."
He did. Trebilcock and Dantice followed, playing their bodyguard role to the hilt.
Ragnarson found a courtyard where a thousand prisoners sat in tight ranks on the cobblestones, heads bowed, thoroughly whipped. I n a second courtyard he found his dead and wounded, in neat rows on mattresses looted from a barracks room. The dead and mortally wounded were pleasingly few.
On one mattress lay the innkeeper met during the ride to Baxendala.
"Hey, old man, what're you doing here? You should be home minding the tavern."
"Old? I'm younger than ye are, sir."
"My job. I get paid for being here."
"My job, too, sir. It's my country, ye see. My sons, Robbie and Tal, have ye seen them, sir? Are they all right, do you think?"
"Of course. And heroes, too. Be taking home a double share of loot." He hadn't the faintest idea where they were. But the innkeeper hadn't many hours left. "When it lets up a little, I'll send them down."
"Good, sir. Thank ye, sir."
"Get better, innkeeper. We'll need you again before this's done."
"Be up and around in a day or two, sir. These Argonese can't cut ye bad when they're showing their backs."
Ragnarson moved on before his tears broke loose. Again and again he saw familiar faces, men who had followed him so long they were almost family. The same men were always at the forefront, always where the killing was worst.
He couldn't help himself. More than once he shed a tear for an old comrade.
Three wizards handled the doctoring. The Thing With Many Eyes, strange though he appeared, was a sympathetic, empathetic soul. He hated watching pain. He, Kierle the Ancient, and Stojan Dusan, were performing surgery on an assembly line. With the Power they would have defeated Death and pain more often.
"Michael, our species is a paradox," Ragnarson observed as they departed. "All sentience is paradoxical."
"Sir?" The hospital court hadn't fazed Trebilcock. Dantice, though, had grown pale.
"Those wizards. They get mad, they can rip up a city, wipe out twenty thousand people, and never bat an eye. But look at them now. They're killing themselves for men they don't even know."
"That's part of being human. We're all that way, a little. I saw you weep in there. Yet you'd destroy Shinsan to the last babe in arms. Or reduce Argon to ashes."
"Yes. Is a conundrum, as my fat brown friend would say. What's the difference between the innkeeper and the man I killed last night? Each did his duty.... No. Enough. Let's find Varthlokkur."
The downhill side of, and aftermath of, battles always pushed him into these moods. If he didn't catch himself, didn't become otherwise preoccupied, he would plunge into a nihilism from which he wouldn't recover for days.
Night threatened before they tracked Varthlokkur down. He and Visigodred were in a library, searching old books. Zindahjira was there too, though Ragnarson never saw him. From back in the stacks he fussed and cursed and tried to get Visigodred's goat.
"What's that all about?" Trebilcock asked.
"I don't know," Ragnarson replied. "It's been going on as long as I've known them."
Ragnar materialized from the stacks. "Dad!"
After hugging him, Bragi held him at arms' length. The boy was festooned with loot. "Somebody been breaking plunder discipline?"
"Aw, Dad, I just picked up a couple things for Gundar and the kids."
"What if everybody did that? Who'd do the fighting?"
Ragnar posed cockily. "Varthlokkur's still alive."
To keep him out of trouble Ragnarson had convinced him the wizard needed a bodyguard. An amusing notion. Varth-lokkur, Visigodred, and Zindahjira all were damned formidable even without the Power.
"He's been invaluable," said Varthlokkur. "How goes the fighting?"
"So-so. We're on top. But we've got to lay hands on the Fadema. Haaken said you wanted to talk to me. Problems?"
"Not sure," Visigodred said. "I heard from Marco this morning. He visited Hamrnad al Nakir."
"So?"
"El Murid hasn't collapsed. For a while Haroun's boy won everywhere but at Al Rhemish. He had help from the tribes. After that last surge of the Power, though, things turned around."
"How?"
"Rumor says El Murid appealed to the angels. Because he claims a direct commission from heaven, I guess. The angels apparently responded. They sent him a general. The Royalist offensive bogged down."
"Only a matter of time before weight of numbers tells."
Varthlokkur took it up. "Megelin learned from the best. But he's losing. Three battles last week, all to inferior forces. This angelic general is superhuman."
"And?"
"Two points. What happens if Megelin loses? Another round of El Murid wars? The man is old and fat and crazier than ever. He'll want to get even with everybody who helped Haroun. Second point. The general calls himself Badalamen."
"Badalamen? Never heard of him."
"You have. In a divination, remember? So cloudy, but the name came through as dangerous...."
"Yeah. Now I remember."
"We've reasoned thus: Badalamen was furnished by O Shing, to reverse El Murid's fortunes because Shinsan isn't ready to move. This business with Argon was probably geared to an attack next summer. But we've wrecked that.
"Oh. I heard about your fight with the Tervola. He's still here. With the Fadema. Haaken gave me the mask. I didn't recognize it. It does look a lot like Chin's. He might have changed it after Baxendala. If it is Chin, he's as dangerous as Tervola come. We'd save a lot of grief by killing him. But to the matter in Hammad al Nakir.
"It's my guess that your reaction has been more effective than O Shing expected. And there's Radeachar. So he's put this Badalamen in to threaten your flank."
"He another Tervola?"
"No. Marco says he's pretty ordinary. You've seen the eastern martial arts artists? The way they use an opponent's strengths against him? That's the way Badalamen operates.
"I don't think he's human at all. Nu Li Hsi and Yo Hsi both tried to breed superhuman soldiers. O Shing was the result of one experiment. I'd guess Radeachar is another. I doubt the work stopped with the passing of the Princes Thaumaturge."
Ragnarson pursed his lips, sucked air across his teeth. "There's not a lot we can do about it, is there?"
"No. I just wanted you to know. I'd say it makes it imperative that we kill the Tervola here. He's bound to be one of O Shing's top men."
"And the Fadema," Ragnarson added. "Whoever takes over might think twice about being Shinsan's stalking horse."
"Marco went to Necremnos, too," Visigodred said. "Ptho-thor has gathered an army. But he's in no hurry to get here. Waiting to hear how we did. Doesn't want to throw live men after dead."
"Can't blame him. Well, I'd better tell Haaken we've got to get that tower."
Having admonished Ragnar again, Bragi departed. Zindah-jira resumed fulminating in the stacks. Bragi chuckled. Someday he'd have to find out what had started that.
The Fadema stubbornly refused to surrender. Days passed. The impasse persisted. Ragnarson worried.
The city garrisons recovered. Troops from out of townreinforced them. Ragnarson had to lock his force into the Fadem. His men stayed busy defending its walls. He expected a major assault.