In a moment, the coiling blackness returned, surging back up from the ground in the path of the Ghoerans who pursued them. In panic, Tuorel’s troops bolted back the way they had come.
Gaelin stopped in amazement. “Erin! How did you – ”
“It’s an illusion!” she replied. “I guessed that the Ghoerans would want nothing to do with that mist, after watching what it did to us.” She permitted herself a brief smile. “Let’s get out of here while it lasts.”
Beside her, Seriene nodded in appreciation. “Well done, Erin. I underestimated your talents for the Art.”
Erin glared at the princess, but did not reply. As they cantered away from the gap, Gaelin asked, “What was that, Seriene?
What did Bannier do?”
The princess shook her head. “I don’t know how he did it, Gaelin, but he summoned the Shadow World here. He must have a potent source of magic, in order to wield spells of that magnitude. And a dark source, at that.”
“Source? What do you mean?” Gaelin knew they should be making the best distance they could while Erin’s spell lasted, but this seemed important. He slowed down and stayed near the two women, as they picked their way back down the reverse slope of the pass.
Seriene replied, “A source is a place strong in magic, a place where a blooded wizard – or someone of elven descent, for that matter, since they’re magical in their own right – can tap into the power of the land itself to cast spells. Most spells, such as the shields you’ve seen me cast, draw their power from the caster’s skill and strength. But that’s nothing compared to the power of mebhaighl, the land’s magic.” She looked at him oddly. “Why do you ask?”
Gaelin shook his head. “When you mentioned the idea of a source, a thought occurred to me: Why would Bannier want to meet me at Caer Duirga? It’s in the middle of nowhere.
And I have this sense that something’s there. I can feel Mhoried, ever since I stood before the Red Oak, and now that I think about Caer Duirga, it feels like a sore that won’t heal.”
He tried to find the words to continue, but gave up. “I guess that’s not much help.”
Seriene reached out and took his hand. “On the contrary, Gaelin, if Caer Duirga hides the source of Bannier’s magic, I may be able to strike at him in a way he doesn’t expect. Can you take us there now?”
“We’re going there in a day or two anyway.”
“The sooner, the better,” Seriene said. “What I’ve got in mind could take several days.”
“Even if there’s nothing at Caer Duirga, we could use the time to prepare for your meeting with Bannier,” Erin pointed out. “Maybe we can set a trap for him.”
Gaelin considered it. “All right. We’d have to leave for Caer Duirga soon, in any event. We can cut across the highlands and make for it now.” He rode ahead to where Count Baesil was, surrounded by a few surviving officers, and matched Blackbrand’s pace with the general’s. Baesil’s face was an ashen mask of horror, but somehow he managed to keep control of himself and marshal the escaping Mhoriens.
With curt orders, he hammered at the fleeing men and directed their retreat. The survivors – mostly men of the reserve – were quickly forming into patchwork companies and abandoning the camp as it lay.
“Go back to Caer Winoene, and organize a retreat,” he told Baesil.
“Retreat? Where?” Baesil waved a hand at the northlands.
“If we have to flee into Torien or Marloer, we won’t be able to supply the army. We can’t give up Caer Winoene.”
“Well, what do you advise?”
“If I have some hope of relief, I’ll try to wait out a siege.”
Gaelin turned Blackbrand, circling Baesil as he looked for signs of the Ghoeran pursuit. Over the last month, he’d spoken with a hundred or more different lords, knights, and captains, but he had no idea how many would answer his call when the time came. “All right, then. Pull back to Caer Winoene and get ready to stand a siege. Somehow I’ll find a way to relieve you, hopefully within a couple of weeks.”
Baesil nodded. “I’ll hold the ruins at least that long. Where are you going?”
“I’m heading for Caer Duirga. Do me a favor, and try to maintain the illusion that I’m still with your army for a few days.” He grasped Baesil’s hand. “Haelyn light your path, Baesil.”
“And yours, Gaelin. We’ll hold as long as we can.”
Two miles farther on, Gaelin briefly rounded up ten of his guards, including Boeric and Bull, as well as Seriene and Erin.
While Baesil led the remnants of the army back to Caer Winoene, Gaelin and his band split off from the main group and headed east, into the wilds and highlands, as darkness began to fall.
Two days after the victory at Marnevale, the Ghoeran army arrived at Caer Winoene and set siege to the ancient castle. Instead of retreating again, as Bannier expected, the Mhoriens stood their ground. Almost three thousand men garrisoned the ruins, a number far greater than the old castle could comfortably support, so the Mhoriens had expanded the fortifications to cover a good portion of their camp. Earthworks and newly repaired walls of stone surrounded the gray old towers in ring after ring of ditch and palisade.
Bannier was no judge of such things, but it looked as though Gaelin’s army would be difficult to dig out of the ruins. Worse yet, the Mhoriens still held a part of the lakeshore and could pass supplies or small parties out of the siege lines by boat; Lake Winoene was almost ten miles long, which meant Lord Baehemon’s men would have to patrol the shores vigilantly to keep the castle truly isolated.
After touring the camp and inspecting the preparations, Bannier returned to Tuorel’s headquarters. The baron stood aside from the chaos outside the tent and surveyed the Mhorien defenses while discussing the strategy of the siege with Lord Baehemon. The squat general fell silent as Bannier approached, his impassive face displaying nothing more than a flicker of contempt. “Master Bannier,” he said gruffly, tilting his head by way of a greeting.
Tuorel turned and greeted him as well. “Good evening, Bannier. What’s on your mind?”
“How goes the siege?”
Tuorel snorted at Bannier’s ignorance of military affairs.
“It’s hardly started. Ask me again in a month.”
“A month?” Bannier affected mild astonishment. “It will take that long to overwhelm the Mhoriens?”
“At least that long,” snapped Baehemon, allowing his temper to show. “Ceried has created formidable defenses for his army.”
“Defenses?” Bannier chuckled. “Those ditches and banks of earth can keep your vaunted Iron Guard at bay?”
Baehemon’s face darkened. “Go back to your books and spells, wizard. This is man’s work.”
“It sounds like a tedious process,” Bannier observed. “You wish to be done with this sooner than that?”
Tuorel glanced at him. “Of course. What do you have in mind? More of your sorcery?”
The wizard smiled coldly. “Not the same enchantment I used at Marnevale, but a powerful one nonetheless. I can open a hundred-yard gap in the earthworks.”
Tuorel exchanged a look with Baehemon. “All right, Bannier.
When can you do it?”
“I’ll need a day or two to prepare. This is potent sorcery, and I’ve exhausted my reserves over these past months.”
The baron returned his gaze to the Mhorien defenses, now cloaked by the falling twilight. Orange torches burned on the battlements. He looked back to the wizard. “I’m not certain I want to meet your price, Bannier. Your charity alarms me.”
“There is no price, baron. The sooner you break through the Mhorien lines, the sooner I will see Gaelin Mhoried dead.” The wizard paused, and then added, “There is one condition for my service. There is a chance that Gaelin may come to us or seek to cross your lines under a flag of truce. If he does, summon me immediately.”