king.”
There came a shifting, a rattling of movement as the circle of warriors opened, several of them raising their spears and stepping away to open up a path. The route led toward the exit, the tall gap at the far end of the hall that had been Jaymes’s destination. The other guardians stood expectantly, weapons still poised, but made no move to attack.
“I think they want us to go that way,” Moptop said, starting toward the gap in the ring. He waved his torch, lighting the way. Jaymes didn’t hesitate to follow, for now sheathing his sword. It wouldn’t have mattered if they preferred a different route. The warriors formed twin ranks to either side that pretty much limited them to the one course.
The stone warriors channeled the two into a wide, high tunnel, a file of the guardians shuffling along beside them on both the right and the left sides. For more than a mile, the human the kender walked in this strange fashion, moving forward as quickly as they could, climbing a winding ramp between the silent, shifting ranks of stone warriors.
Finally they came to a flat stone wall, an apparently solid surface that blocked all further progress. Here the columns of warriors stood shoulder to shoulder on both sides of the pair, leading up to and merging against the wall. There was no other way forward.
Once more the marshal felt the tickle in his brain, and a picture that formed there showed him that the wall of stone was tenuous, more a gauzy curtain than a solid barrier. “Keep going,” he ordered the kender, and for once Moptop didn’t balk at his orders. The kender took another step, raised his hand as though to touch the stone, and yelped in surprise as the rock wall yielded to his push. His hand, his wrist, his whole arm sank out of sight, and with a delighted skip the kender sprang forward and vanished.
Jaymes, following more slowly, stepped behind, and also passed through the wall as if it didn’t exist. Then the cave was behind them, and a backward glance showed only a stone wall. He touched the gray surface and felt it was as hard as any granite face.
The next thing the lord marshal noticed was the sunlight, a crack of blue sky gleaming high above him, shining down between two sheer, smooth cliffs. To the right and the left, the floor between the cliffs was smooth, and some distance ahead he could spot the walls of a building and the spire of a temple.
“I know where we are!” the kender cried. “These are the Cleft Spires-we’re come out of there standing right between them! Hey, am I a great pathfinder or what?”
“True enough,” Jaymes grunted, feeling generous. “It looks like we’ve arrived in the middle of Solanthus.” He slipped his sword into its scabbard, slung it once again over his shoulder, and started along the narrow gap toward the light, the open air, and the besieged city.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
General Dayr stood on the west bank of the great river. The land on the opposite side was concealed by a dewy mist that hung low across the placid water, but over that cloudy vapor, the first rays of the sun already poked from beyond the eastern horizon. For now, the fog provided valuable cover for his gathering army, but it wouldn’t last long in the face of warming sunlight. To take advantage of the obscuring mist, he needed to launch his attack now, get his army most of the way across the river before they could be discovered by Ankhar’s troops-troops that were firmly dug in, and poised to meet an attack.
Unfortunately, the Crown Army was not yet ready. Dayr could only watch and wait in frustration as the boatmen labored to finish assembling their flimsy craft, and as the columns of infantry-divested of much of their armor in order to reduce weight-gathered impatiently on the riverbank. One by one the boats were slid into position on the bank, but by first light there were still only a few dozen of them.
The general knew that ranting and railing at his men would only undermine their spirits. The men could see the mist as well as he could, and they understood the dangers they faced in this risky assault. So Dayr bit his tongue and simply paced back and forth.
By the time the mist burned off, after an hour or so, there were fifty boats in position, but that was only enough to launch a small fraction of Dayr’s force. Now the far bank was revealed to all, and he could only curse and pace in agitation, knowing the attack would be far bloodier than it needed to be.
And, indeed, the enemy looked prepared to fight. On the opposite bank stood rank after rank of goblin archers. Between the blocks of bowmen, lines of brutish cavalry-more goblins on their savage wolf mounts-waited. Their lines extended up and down the bank, as far as Dayr could see, and his scouts reported there were more enemy troops beyond his sight in both directions.
General Dayr had no choice but to proceed with the attack. Two other wings of the Solamnic Army would be driving forward at the same time, and the coordinated triple prongs of the offensive would be mutually supporting. Even if his army didn’t get across, the theory went, the enemy would be forced to commit vital reserves in the defense.
It was nearly noon before Dayr had the four hundred boats he deemed necessary. There were other craft still gathering, but they would help form the second wave.
“Commence the attack!” he shouted. The Crown pennant fluttered in the breeze over his head, and all along the line, signalmen hoisted similar flags, so flags communicated the command along nearly seven miles of river frontage. Immediately the boatmen slid their canvas-skinned craft into the water, where they splashed and bobbed lightly beside the bank. While the launchers held them against the current, the lightly armored infantry and archers climbed in. Six men in each craft took up paddles, and the boatmen began to stroke the water, pulling for the middle of the river.
More boats remained on the bank, with others still being assembled. Reserve troops advanced to nearby positions. Dayr was unwilling to crowd the river with too many boats at once. So the second wave would set out only after the first group had almost landed.
“General-Father! I beg you-please allow the knights to go as well!”
The speaker was Captain Franz, leader of the Crown Knights, a veteran of every one of Dayr’s-and Jaymes’s-battles in the campaign of liberation. And he was the general’s only son. Franz had risen through the ranks to become an eminent leader in his own right. He and his armored warriors, the White Riders, were not part of the river crossing force, a fact that had caused him considerable frustration during the day of planning.
“My son, we’ve been over this-the boats are too small.”
“But, Father, if we establish a foothold on the far bank, you will need us to drive back the counterattack that is bound to ensue. You’ll need us there! We could go in the reserve boats-at least two horses can fit into each boat!”
“I wish I could honor your request, my son,” said Dayr, not unsympathetically, “but each boat can hold twenty footmen, as compared to two knights and their horses. If we secure the bridgehead on the far bank, we’ll swiftly send across your regiment, and you’ll have plenty to do, taking the lead role in breaking away from the bank.”
It was also true, Dayr through grimly, that a heavily armored knight, in a sinking boat, was doomed to drown, while lighter infantrymen would have a chance to swim to safety.
“But, Father”-the knight’s tone was almost frantic-“it’s not fair to shield us from the risk!”
“I’ve made my decision, Captain. Your regiment would be of little use in the landing. Now stand ready to move when you are needed,” the general ordered.
The knight captain stood beside his father, both watching the progress of the boats. The line of fragile little craft was more than halfway across the river by now, paddles still churning. The current bore the boats slightly downstream, but this effect had been factored into the launching. To Dayr, it looked like they were on course.
As the first boats drew closer to the far shore, volleys of goblin arrows arced through the air, soaring high above the water then plunging down to hiss into the river, with more than a few of them slicing into the boats and their human cargo.
Dayr heard the screams of the wounded, and each cry was like a cut in his own flesh. He knew the men were
