Logic said it was impossible. The Liberator said it could be done, and his words carried conviction. It was madness, and it was going to happen. It was going to happen tonight. The troopleaders listened in stunned amazement. By morning they and their army would be on the far bank, or they would all be dead. A lot of them were going to be dead anyway.
Questions?
Most of the questions were about the women. The women were certainly a problem. The women had been taken as slaves and booty, but copulation was not called “making love” without reason. Many of the men were reluctant to leave their concubines now. D'ward was adamant: The women must stay behind. Never see Anguan again...
The council took a long time, but the basic plan had been accepted. Only the details needed to be hammered out, and D'ward had answers for every objection. Dosh sat back in his shadowed corner and marveled at this spectacular display of leadership. He could not recall any hint of it in the Filoby Testament. Success or disaster, the coming night had escaped the seeress's foresight.
Eventually the Liberator had the troopleaders convinced—he had them roused to quivering excitement. When he dismissed them, they stampeded to the door to begin their preparations. Evening was coming fast.
"Dosh Envoy!” he called, and then he sat down on the pile of planks.
Dosh stalked forward expectantly. Only Kolgan and Golbfish remained.
"Battlemaster?"
The Liberator was hunched over and silent. He raised his head with what seemed a great effort, and Dosh was shocked to see the change in him. The vibrant war leader of a moment ago had disappeared. D'ward was only a haggard, exhausted boy, as if he had been drained of strength.
Kolgan frowned, seeming as puzzled as Dosh was. “Something wrong, sir?"
"Just tired."
Was rhetoric such an effort? True, he had roused almost thirty men to wild enthusiasm, every one of them older than he. Some of them had been twice his age and far more experienced in warfare. He had inspired them to rush out and attempt the impossible, knowing that many of them were going to their deaths. It had been an amazing performance, but why had it left him looking like a corpse?
He smiled weakly at Kolgan, and then at Golbfish. “Thank you for keeping silent there. You have questions too, I know."
Kolgan laughed harshly. “I do. No women, no cavalry, no pack animals? Just a bunch of men on the run? What happens in Thargvale, if we ever get that far?"
A spark of blue fire returned to D'ward's eyes. “I don't know. Do you want to come with us to see, or would you rather stay behind?"
The big man recoiled. “I beg your pardon, sir. It is a bold inspiration! Of course I support you."
D'ward grunted. “Hordeleader?"
Golbfish said, “Did your reading tell you that the river can be forded here at Lemodvale?"
"No. It sort of implied that no one had ever been crazy enough to try it."
The prince's big, suety face split in a grin. “Then by the five gods, I should love to see those Thargian faces when they discover we've gone!"
D'ward chuckled. He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “You two go and reconnoiter the best routes. I'll meet you on the battlements by the clock tower steps in an hour."
The two deputies saluted.
"Wait!” D'ward licked his lips. “One last thing before you leave. There's some rope over there.” He pointed at Dosh. “Tie this man up."
33
KOLGAN COADJUTANT AND GOLBFISH HORDELEADER HURRIED OVER to the door and departed. Dosh sat in dread stillness, his wrists and ankles bound to a chair. Fear churned in his belly, making him nauseous.
D'ward was hunched over again, head in hands. After a long moment he looked up and forced a smile.
"Relax!” he whispered. “I'm not Tarion."
Of course he was not Tarion, but the memories were terrifying. “What are you going to do with me?” Dosh was ashamed to hear the quaver in his voice. “You won't leave me for the Thargians?"
"No! No, of course not!” The Liberator straightened up wearily. “I just don't want you rushing off to the shrine to report to Tion. That's what you would have done, isn't it?"
Dosh fumbled for words that would not come. “But ... but, Battlemaster! Surely you don't think you can keep a god from knowing what's happening?"
"Yes, I do. Yes, I can, for a while anyway.” He smiled thinly. “I know more about gods than you do, my lad! Why does Tion need you to report to him if the gods already know everything, mm? I don't think he would tip off the enemy, but one never knows. You won't be hurt if you behave."
He heaved himself to his feet and walked over to the stairs. He disappeared up them, moving like an old man.
Dosh strained at his bonds, with no success. He could probably trust D'ward's promise not to leave him behind, but he was still determined to escape. His master's orders gnawed at him, compelling him to rush to the shrine and report this new development. And just being tied up was a torment in itself.
He glanced around the shop. There must be something.... Yes, there had been a pile of scrap iron lying in the corner where he had sat during the meeting. If he pushed with his feet, he could tip the chair over backward. Then he would break his arms or wrists. Try something else.
If he could somehow tip himself forward to put his weight on his feet, then he might manage to shuffle across the room like a snail carrying its shell. He had been left some movement in his shoulders, so if he tipped the chair back a little with his toes, then threw his weight forward, he might manage to rock it enough to—
A voice said, “Stop that."
He stopped.
A girl was standing over him with a balk of timber in her hands.
"Hit him on the head hard enough to dent a cooking pot—that's what D'ward told me to do."
"Would you?” he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I'd better behave myself, I suppose.” He had not met Ysian more than two or three times, had not exchanged a dozen words with her. Anguan alone took a lot of satisfying and for variety there had been other playmates around much safer than Ysian Applepicker—D'ward's mistress had been off-limits.
There was something different about her ... her hair. She had gorgeous dark auburn hair, which she had worn in a thick pile on top of her head. He had often wondered how she would look with it hanging loose and no clothes on, and how it would feel to play with. Now she had cut it short. Criminal! It made her look even younger. It made her look boyish, for she was short and thin. Her nose was small and peppered with freckles. She wore a long dress of some dark material, a shadow in the fading light of evening. He could make out a tightness to her jaw, and he decided she was capable of carrying out her threat. The glint in her eye suggested that she might even enjoy doing so. Definitely boyish.
"Pull up a chair,” he said. “I won't run away."
Ysian thought for a moment solemnly, then sat down on the pile of planks D'ward had used, watching Dosh fixedly and still holding the club.
"We may be here some time,” he said.
"I expect so."
"Tell me about yourself."
She kept her eyes on him like an agate idol. “What is there to say? This was my home. When D'ward took it over, I came with it."
"What happened to your family?"
For a long moment she did not answer, but when she spoke her voice was unchanged. “My aunt and uncle are out there in the woods somewhere. My cousin died in the battle."
D'ward had been right, as usual. The guerrillas had been keeping the women in town informed; the women who had fallen in love with their masters had passed them the news. It was inevitable that Ysian would be one of those traitors. The Liberator's charm could melt warriors twice his age. A juvenile mistress would not have a chance.