It did, Cera said, but then something else started to happen. Gradually, so Jet and I didn t notice at first. That s why you re only hearing about it now. Keeping her voice low, she explained what she meant.
When she finished, Aoth said, I hate this stinking country.
Like Mangan Uruk s castle, the Fortress of the Half-Demon was built of gray stone and black iron, but it had an even more massive and squared-off look to it. Apparently the round towers and turrets that graced the stronghold in Immilmar were a Rashemi innovation.
The ancient Nars, however, had adorned if that was the right word the citadel with a huge iron gate cast in the form of a snarling inhuman face. At some point in the centuries that followed, the leaf on the right side had fallen from its hinges. That left only one profile of the ghastly countenance standing, and, Aoth assumed, inspired the name the place had borne ever since.
Lying prone to peer over a rise, he shifted his gaze from the gate to the battlements. Someone or something was moving around up there, but Aoth was so far away that even his eyes were having trouble discerning what. Hoping it would help, he touched a tattoo that sent a bracing thrill of vigor through his body. He squinted, too, and the tiny figures came into focus.
One was a squat little goblin spearman with greenish skin, pointed ears, and a shaggy mane of hair sticking out in all directions from under his conical helmet. The other was considerably larger. Indeed, if the stooped thing stood up straight, it might be taller than the Stag King. Judging from its long arms, spindly frame, and warty carrot of a nose, it was likely a troll, although its white, glistening skin distinguished it from any such creature Aoth had encountered farther south. So did its mail, crossbow, and falchion.
The trolls of his experience were scarcely more intelligent than beasts. They lived like beasts in the wild, and even when some enterprising commander managed to tame one and use it as a soldier, it was rarely given weapons or armor. There was no point. In the excitement of battle, a troll would almost always strip away the gear and assail the foe with fang and claw.
The white trolls of the North Country were evidently different. But not, Aoth suspected, so different as to pose an insurmountable problem. He was more concerned about reanimated durthans and other undead, but there were none in view for the scouting.
Of course, that only made sense. Even undead who could tolerate sunlight didn t like it. So why would they man the battlements by day when their living allies creatures who d thrown in with the durthans during the Witch War and had rallied to their cause again could do it for them?
When he judged that he d seen all he was going to, Aoth crawled backward far enough so that no one on the battlements would see him when he stood up. He tramped back to the relatively clear patch of rolling heath where his allies waited and was pleased to find that, though the berserkers and the stag men didn t show any signs of having become fast friends in his absence, the two groups at least appeared to be tolerating one another. Perhaps they found each other so strange that their first impulse was to marvel rather than feel fear or revulsion.
Vandar was sitting on a stump with a number of his lodge brothers gathered around him. When he spotted Aoth returning, he beckoned to him with a flick of his new spear. To fire-kissed eyes, the red metal gleamed with something more than reflected sunlight; Aoth could see the enchantments flowing and seething inside it.
That didn t make it any less annoying to be summoned like a subordinate. Still, it seemed too petty a matter to complain about, and Vandar s current location was as good a spot for a parley as any. Aoth headed for it as requested. He just made sure he didn t hurry.
What did you find out? Vandar asked.
Aoth glanced around and found that, as expected, the Stag King, Cera, Jhesrhi, Jet, and Zyl had begun converging on their location.
Let s wait until everyone can hear. Then I ll only have to tell it once.
Vandar scowled. As you wish, he said. He sounded like he was doing Aoth a favor.
Cera and Jet were right, Aoth thought. Vandar was different. He d thought that at least a grudging trace of camaraderie had grown up between the berserker and himself, but if so, there was no sign of it. Instead, Vandar seemed even testier and more suspicious than on the occasion of their first meeting.
Were the red sword and spear exerting a psychic influence? Aoth had never borne such weapons and wouldn t want to, but he d heard stories about them.
If the weapons were to blame, Aoth supposed he might as well get used to the new Vandar. For it was plain that he prized the enchanted arms too highly to ever give them up.
Once all the leaders of the expedition had gathered around, and many of the berserkers, too, Aoth proceeded to tell them what he d observed. When he reached the part about the big white creature on the battlements, Vandar grinned and said, That was an ice troll. Fighting them is one way we Rashemi keep in practice for killing Thayans.
The berserker s lodge brothers laughed.
Aoth swallowed a pang of irritation. I m glad you recognize it, he said. You can tell me and the other southerners about them later. For now, let s talk about our next move.
Isn t it obvious? Vandar asked. You say the gate is open. The sun is shining, so the undead are at their weakest. Let s go take the castle!
His lodge brothers clamored in agreement. Some screeched in a fair imitation of griffons and swept out their arms like they were spreading a pair of wings. Startled by the outburst, the stag warriors stepped back from it and some even leveled their spears. Fortunately, though, they weren t rattled enough to actually strike out at their human allies.
When the uproar had died down, Aoth said, You have to remember, the enemy aren t idiots. Since they can t close the gate, they ve protected it some other way.
How? Vandar asked.
I don t know yet.
Yet?
I need to get closer and look at the castle from different angles. Jet and I should fly over under cover of darkness.
That s stupid. The undead will be out, and they can see in the dark. Come to think of it, so can trolls and goblins.
Aoth smiled. But they can t see as far in it as I can, he said. Jet and I will be all right, and afterward, we ll all have a better idea of what we re facing.
Vandar shook his head. I don t like it, he said.
Why not?
The durthans surely send out patrols, including undead patrols by night. The longer we delay attacking, the more likely it is that they ll notice we re here. Then we lose the advantage of surprise.
His followers growled their agreement.
We re still a way from the fortress, said Aoth. We can stay hidden for a little while.
If you humans stop screaming, rasped Jet, that will help.
The berserkers looked somewhat nonplussed that their own totem had rebuked them. Or some of them did. Vandar appeared unfazed.
I still say we should go now, he said.
And how many strongholds have you taken over the course of your military career? Aoth wondered sourly. Aloud, he said, Understand, there s some cover on the approach to the gate. But even so, the guards will see you long before you reach the castle.
Vandar grinned. Then we ll run fast, he said.
Aoth turned and looked up at the Stag King. What do you think, Highness? he asked.
The fey lord frowned and fingered his chin. I think that boldness often carries the day, he said at length. But it s more likely to do so when combined with knowledge of the foe s capabilities.
That wiped the smirk off Vandar s square-jawed face. For though he might despise Thayans, he d been taught his whole life to respect spirits and the fey. Aoth felt a flicker of hope that the Rashemi would give way.