"By which side Gordogrosso has lent troops to." Matt lifted a hand to forestall Narlh's protest. "I know, I know, he might not have troops with either side. But we'll never know if we don't go look, will we?"
"I can think of safer ways to gather information," Narlh growled.
"Even if 'tis so, Lord Wizard, what advantage is there for you or your goal in aiding the one of them?" Fadecourt asked.
"That kind of thinking leads to capitulating to the forces of evil," Matt said, pointing the finger at him. "Or, more concisely, selling out. But now that you raise the question, any enemy of Gordogrosso's is an ally of ours. And you'll pardon me for saying it, but we could use a few allies. Look, it really won't take that long just to go check it out, will it?"
Narlh and Fadecourt exchanged one final glance. Then the cyclops sighed and turned off the road. "As you will have it, Lord Wizard. Follow—'tis off to the north, this way."
Four siege towers were set against one wall of the castle, and the crossbowmen on their tops were firing from behind thick leather shields. As Matt watched, one of them fell to the ground—probably screaming, but their hilltop blind was too far away to hear anything but a steady roar, punctuated by metallic clashings. In spite of their few losses, the arbalesters had swept the ramparts almost clear—certainly clear enough so that the attacker's knights were streaming onto the walls, followed by their soldiers. A few defenders rose up to obstruct them, but the invaders clustered around them and chopped them to bits. As Matt and his friends watched, the drawbridge came thundering down.
"The porter is dead," Fadecourt interpreted, "and they have cut the stays of the windlass. No matter how good your intentions, Lord Wizard, we have come too late."
"Too bad." Matt scowled at the distant scene, mentally berating himself for not having come sooner. "I'd like to know if it matters, though." Which translated as wanting to know just how guilty he should feel. "Can you see if any of them are king's men?"
"I can," Narlh grunted. "I was hatched for high sight, remember?"
"Eyes like an eagle?" Matt looked up, startled.
"Those shortsighted pests? Don't make me laugh. And, uh—yeah, the crossbowmen on top are all wearing the same colors. Same as the first troops in over the battlements, too."
"What hues are they?" Fadecourt asked.
"Red and black."
"Blood and mourning." Fadecourt's face settled into grim lines. "They are Gordogrosso's troops, indeed."
"Could it be the lord of this castle was less evil than most of his breed?" Matt asked.
"More likely overly ambitious—but even then, he could have proved a useful foil for us, to keep the king's attention whiles we came up behind. I do now regret that we came late."
"Maybe not completely." Matt tried to close his ears to the cries of dismay. "There's a chance the master of the house is staging a getaway."
"And leaving his men to bear the brunt of the assault." Fadecourt nodded, tight-lipped. "Aye; it hath the stamp of Gordogrosso's nobles. Would you help such a one, then?"
"Long enough to ask him a few questions. If he's as bad as you think, we can always leave him to his fate—but if he could be useful, we might help him get clear. Think we can find the postern?"
"Aye, if we must." Fadecourt sighed. "`And after seeing that we may have missed a worthy chance, I'm not inclined to argue. Follow, then—we'll make the circuit of the walls. But from the ridge-top, an it please you."
"Sure." Matt looked back anxiously as they turned away. "I—don't suppose there's anything I can do to stop what's going on?"
"Sure," Narlh grunted. "You're the wizard, aren't you? But you can bet your bonnet there's a whole coven of sorcerers in there, on the king's side. In this country, that's probably why they won—out-magicked. Do you really think you'd do any good by taking 'em all on?"
"Not much, I'm afraid." Matt sighed. "Not that I wouldn't try, if I were sure it was worth it. Come on, let's find out."
They circled the castle, staying in the hills about half a mile distant, with the clash of battle ringing in the distance. It made Matt uneasy—he was still feeling guilty about not having intervened in time to save the farmers at the first village; that old attitude of "It's not my fight" so naturally took over. He felt he should intervene here, instead of skulking about. But his friends were right, there was no point in helping one villain against another, especially when he didn't know which was worse—or of jeopardizing his main mission by trying to help the underdog, as an automatic reflex.
Finally, he woke to the fact that they had come an awfully long way and were taking an even longer time trying to find that postern gate. "Uh—Fadecourt?"
"Aye, Wizard?"
"You do know where this back door is, don't you?"
Fadecourt shook his head. "I do not know this castle itself. I know only where the postern should be, not where it is."
"Which is?" Matt frowned.
"Toward the rear of the castle, or at least far from the gatehouse—wherefore have two doors side by side? And it should be near a watercourse, or a rocky defile that would hide those who flee."
"Both of which make it a good place for an attack," Matt noted. "So it would be pretty well guarded."
"Aye, or quite secret—in which case, it will be hidden."
Matt frowned. "So how are we to...Hey!"
"What'sa matter?" Narlh snapped.
"I see them." Fadecourt pointed.
Two knights were galloping uphill toward them, with a score of pikemen behind.
"What're they after?"
"Fugitives, at a guess."
"Them? They've got the royal livery!"
"No, no! They're chasing fugitives!"
"So I would conjecture," Fadecourt agreed. "Therefore, let us find them first, that we may learn—"
Three horses broke out of the scrub growth a hundred feet away, charging hell-bent for leather right at them. The first was a lady, the two behind her knights.
"Aside!" Fadecourt suited the action to the word. "Let them pass; we know not what they be."
But the two knights weren't of so generous a turn of mind. They saw the companions and turned their mounts, veering toward Matt and Fadecourt. Undeterred by the sight of Narlh, they leveled their lances and charged. The woman sped by Matt—he had an impression of chestnut hair whipping about behind a drawn and wide-eyed face, and a figure as graceful as the gazelle she was now imitating in her flight—then she was gone, sped past him, still fleeing.
"What're they after us for?" Matt wailed.
"Our large friend, and my poor self, are not the least threatening of beings, in appearance," Fadecourt grated. "Let us disarm them gently."
"Disarm them? I'm getting out of their way!" Matt leaped aside.
"That is the first step," Fadecourt agreed, but he stayed standing in the roadway.
"Jump!" Matt cried. "Or your name will be shashlik!"
Still Fadecourt stood his ground, glaring up along the lances at the knights, and Matt tried to think up a quick swerving spell. Of course, he didn't need to; at the last minute, Fadecourt cried, "Now!" and leaped aside, and Narlh spun off the path in a surprisingly graceful double turn. The knights shouted in anger, but thundered on by; they were going too fast to stop or turn.
"This time, we will unseat them," Fadecourt said calmly, as he stepped back onto the path.
"Are you crazy?" Matt shouted. "Those guys are medieval steamrollers!"
"What kinda beasts are those?" Narlh looked up, interested.
"They'll not come so quickly now," Fadecourt pointed out.
But he was wrong. The knights reined in their mounts at the end of the meadow, turned, and came thundering back, lances leveled, building up more and more speed.
Fadecourt frowned. "That is not as they should do."