Finally, the gorge debouched into a shallow valley. Coming to the edge of the pass, they found themselves looking down on a verdant bowl, rose-colored by the sunset. In its center was a large, rambling castle, filling a wedge of land where two streams met to form a third, much larger, river. The castle's towers were tall, but two were broken at the tops; its once-proud walls were darkened with fires where siege engines had burned, and its battlements were missing whole sections of crenels, where catapult stones had smashed into the fortification.
Around it, just a little farther than a bow shot, were thousands of tents. Cooking fires now gleamed in the dusk, and the clatter and growl of a waking army was borne on the breeze. " 'Tis a siege," Fadecourt murmured.
Narlh groaned. "Not another one!"
"This time," Matt hissed, "we're here in time to do something."
"Against that?" the dracogriff protested in an appalled whisper. "You see how many of 'em there are?"
"And of the king's own army." Fadecourt pointed. "I know those pennons; they are knights of his household. And the soldiers' livery is royal—mixed with those of his chiefest vassals."
"I came here to fight the king," Matt reminded them. "Of course, I can't ask you to—"
"Stuff it, will you?" Narlh growled. "We're getting tired of that song. We're with you, y' know that."
" 'Tis only a question of tactics," Fadecourt confirmed, "and it may be that confronting eight thousand knights and soldiers directly is not the wisest of courses. You will come to the king more quickly by going around his army."
"But we can't leave allies unaided," Matt argued, "and there have to be a lot of soldiers inside, too."
"All that means is that they'll go through their supplies faster!" Narlh snapped.
Fadecourt shook his head. "They have river water to drink, and so vasty a keep could hold provisions for a siege of a year and more."
" 'Could' has a kind of chancy sound to it..."
"Oh, I doubt not they were well enough supplied at the beginning of the siege." Fadecourt frowned down at the churned mud before the walls. "Yet from the condition of that camp, I would conjecture that beginning was many months agone."
"It does explain why the king hasn't been working a little harder at hunting us down, though." Matt scowled at the army. "How much of his force is tied up here, Fadecourt?"
"Most of it, at a guess. He would have a thousand or so to guard Orlequedrille, and another thousand to maintain his will over his barons, as we saw at the duke's castle. But nine-tenths of his army is here."
Matt nodded. "Must be a mighty important enemy in there, to rate so much force." He turned to the glowing ghost mouth. "The Black Knight is in there, isn't he? Sir Guy de Toutarien?"
The rest of the head became visible and nodded.
"You trying to tell us this friend of yours is bigger magic than we know?" Narlh growled.
"Only in war," Puck put in. "Yet in battle, he does indeed have some sort of magic—and it is mighty, very mighty."
The monster glared down at him. "What makes you the expert?"
"Why," the elf said, "this Black Knight is almost as much a part of the land as I."
"We cannot let so great a force for good be slain out of hand," Fadecourt rumbled. "But what can we do, wizard?"
"Not much, out here. Inside, who knows? Maybe a lot, maybe nothing...No, strike that. From what I'm seeing here, Sir Guy hasn't learned how to persuade Max to do his utmost—he didn't really have the basic concepts, you see, thought entropy was a magic word..."
"It is not?"
"Whatever. But if I get in there, at the very least I can show him how to manage Max—or do it myself. The problem is to get inside, where we can join forces." Matt turned to Puck. "All right, I'm asking for another favor. I need something to distract the soldiers, really distract them, while we sneak through their ranks and up to the castle. Think you can do it?"
"I?" Puck looked up, startled. "Unaided? Wizard, you know not what you ask!"
"Sure, I do. I'm asking for, oh, an itching powder. Guaranteed, surefire, likely to drive a man mad if he doesn't scratch—but totally harmless. Think you can make it?"
"I?" Puck's grin was as much disbelief as anything else. "I, make folk to itch? Can an elephant mash grapes? But what use would it be, Wizard?"
"Use?" Matt stared. "It'd get them so busy scratching, they couldn't stop us sneaking past them!"
"For a hundred men, certes. For a thousand, mayhap. For ten thousand? Surely not!" The elf looked at Matt with exasperation. "Canst not see, Wizard?"
"Nay," Fadecourt rumbled. " 'Tis not his function, but mine. He is a mighty wizard, but in the ways of war, he has no more vision than a babe—or than I have in things magical." He stepped up between them. "Among so many knights, Wizard, there will surely be at least a score who will suffer anything for duty."
"Hey, these are evil knights we're talking about—"
"They will sacrifice all, for advantage—and the chevalier who captures you, let alone the lady here, will gain great preference in the king's eyes. Nay, as we wend our way through that host, there will be one at least, and more likely a dozen, who will ignore that itch, though it drive them to the brink of insanity. For they will see that it must needs be a wizard's diversion—and will suffer gladly, to apprehend such strangers as they see going past to the castle." He turned to Puck for confirmation.
The elf nodded. "What you have need of, Wizard, is not a distraction alone, but the army to follow it to advantage—and to clear you a road to that drawbridge."
Matt threw up his hands. "Great. All I have to do is conjure up ten thousand good soldiers and knights, and I can get us in." He frowned at a sudden thought. "I might be able to manage a thousand and one—but no, they'd be Arabian, and they might not be feeling too kindly toward Europeans just now." He shook his head. "Same kind of problem with any other knights I might conjure up—how long would it take to explain to them what was going on and persuade them to join us? Because, see, I can't make soldiers out of nothing—that's creating, and only God can do that. All I can do is move people from the place where they are to here—and you'll understand that they'd be a little confused when they arrived."
"You do not need so many," Fadecourt protested. "We seek to pass through the army, not crush it. A hundred would suffice—if they were excellent warriors, and fired with a zeal for the good."
"And the just, and the beautiful?" Matt eyed him with skepticism. "And just where am I supposed to find so many excellent and selfless fighters, pray tell?"
He looked from one puzzled, abstracted face to another, feeling a streak of vindication—till he got to Puck, and saw the canary-feather grin on the elf's face. He sighed, feeling vindication slide away. "All right, Puck, I'll owe you—what is it, favor number five? Who's the superwarrior?"
"Who else but my namesake?" Puck spread his hands. "I am Robin Goodfellow, and he is..."
"Oh, no." Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "He didn't happen in this universe, too, did he?"
"Aye," Puck said, "and in every earth in which good folk are oppressed by wicked rulers."
Yverne looked from one to the other, at a loss, but Fadecourt was a little better versed in military lore. "Do you speak of Robin Hood?"
"You have said it!" Puck crowed, pointing at the cyclops. "The very one! Nay, Wizard, how can you deny the truth of it, when even your ally speaks it?"
Matt threw up his hands. "All right, so Robin Hood would be ideal! I can't deny it, if even half of the stunts he pulled against the Sheriff of Nottingham were true. But wouldn't it be a little inconvenient if I tried to bring him here? I mean, Robin Hood's back at the time of Richard Coeur de Lion—or long before, since Scott admitted error."