'Some say ditch, some say swamp,' said Glambrax. 'But that he drowned there's no doubt. I saw the body myself. They brought it back to Shin.'
So Tarkal killed his father. There could be no doubt about that. 'What happened then?' said Sarazin.
Bit by bit, the story came out. Everyone had a different version of exactly what happened, but the outline was clear enough. On arriving in the capital with his father's corpse, Tarkal had declared himself king.
Without further ado, Tarkal had ordered that Lod be brought from his jail cell for instant execution. Men had gone away as if meaning to do just that – but had instead mutinied and placed themselves under Lod's command. Why did that happen?
'Nobody knows,' said Jarl, 'but methinks them long in conspiracy with Lod. Either that, or they had a fear longstanding of Tarkal. In any event, there is now civil war in Shin, so I have come away from the place, meaning to leave the two brothers to fight it out for themselves.'
Tarkal will win,' said Amantha, with confidence. When we return to Shin tomorrow we'll find my brother lord of the Great House with Lod's headless corpse kneeling in obeisance at his feet.'
There was something obscene about her obvious enthusiasm for the idea.
We'll not return to Shin tomorrow,' said Jarl. Well send scouts instead, and we'll not move from here until it's safe to.' Does a coward speak?' said Amantha. Jarl laughed away the insult.
'A survivor speaks,' said he. 'A survivor with a warm regard for his own hide. If any hero wishes to ride back to Shin to get himself killed in this brawl between brothers then let him do so. But I'll not see myself dead for a cause so trivial.'
Sarazin did not think the cause trivial at all, for Sean Sarazin's future and that of the throne of Chenameg both depended on the outcome of this 'brawl'. However, a brief audit of his own condition convinced him he was in no condition to go anywhere, far less to go to war, so he could but go along with Jarl's plan.
The next morning, Jarl's scouts found Shin depopulated, abandoned by the populace and by both parties to Chenameg's civil war. Accordingly, Jarl led his people back to the capital. They entered the city towards noon.
There were signs of fighting – a few dog-worried corpses and a couple of burnt-out buildings – but few signs of looting. The stables were empty, but little appeared to be missing elsewhere. When they left,' said Jarl, 'they left in a hurry.'
'Yes,' said Sarazin, wishing he had been the one to say it, even though Jarl's comment was so obvious it was hardly worth making.
Jarl ordered everyone to lodge in the Great House, and, under his supervision, they attended to the fortification of the same. There was a great deal of sawing and hammer- ing as windows were reduced to arrowslits and arrowslits cut in blind walls which would otherwise have allowed attackers to approach unhindered. Under Jarl's supervision, Shin was looted in earnest, and all of value was stockpiled within the Great House. This work took seven days.
Meantime, scouts scoured the surrounds. Sarazin led one scouting party, and often sighted furtive groups of ragged men. Peasants? Escaped slaves? Bandits? Whoever they were, they ran when approached, and Sarazin – obedient to the strict guidelines issued by Thodric Jarl – did not pursue lest he be led into an ambush.
It was eerie and unsettling to live and work thus in ignorance of what had happened and what was yet to happen. Was Lod dead? Was Tarkal? Did the roving bands of peasants give allegiance to either? To both? Or to neither? Sarazin talked it over with Jarl who said:
'All wars are fought blindfold. We know well enough that nobody will thank us if we leave Shin to be burnt by whatever beggar passes this way. That, for the moment, should be enough.'
On the eighth day, a day of downpouring rain, a dawn patrol sighted upwards of three hundred ragged creatures on the outskirts of Shin. Peasants loyal to Tarkal? Or to Lod? Or an anarchist rabble of brigands or beggars?
'If they are Lod's men or Tarkal's then we are safe,' said Jarl. 'If otherwise, then we may have a fight on our hands.'
And the battle-wise Rovac warrior had all his people stay inside the Great House. He had the horses brought within also, to the greater detriment of the floors and the atmos- phere. Then he had the doors barricaded. Then he walked through the Great House repeating orders given previously.
These people may be friends or enemies,' said Jarl. 'Whoever they are, let them reveal themselves to us, not vice versa. If they approach, nobody is to speak to them but me. Let them guess at our numbers. Let them think us a thousand. Let nobody enter a quarrel which may betray our true numbers.'
As the ragged mob outnumbered the defenders of the Great House by six to one the concealment of the true state of affairs was, in Jarl's opinion, of the utmost importance.
Sean Sarazin himself had command of the roof of the Great House. He had a dozen men with him, all armed with longbows. And he had his dwarf Glambrax, who had persuaded some handy fellow to make him a crossbow. A small instrument but lethal all the same, at least at close range.
Since there was no point in risking the rain unless the Great House was actually attacked, Sarazin and his men sheltered under a tarpaulin, trying to warm themselves by the heat of a couple of charcoal-burning braziers. For a long time nothing happened. As Thodric Jarl was wont to say, wars are mostly a matter of waiting.
The rain sundered from sodden skies, washing the earth- wealth of Chenameg into the Velvet River, where it would be carried downstream for league upon league, eventually to silt up the dams built downstream in the Harvest Plains, or, flooding past such barriers, to flow on past Selzirk and eventually stain the waters of the Central Ocean, far to the west. Glambrax looked at the skies, grimaced, then said: 'Ah! Democracy!' 'What mean you?' said Sarazin. Why, that the heavens piss on prince and peasant alike.' You've got a crude mouth,' said Sarazin coldly. Yes,' said Glambrax, with a grin, 'but good teeth.' So saying, he popped a walnut into his mouth and cracked the shell. Sarazin winced. Glambrax tore bits of shell from the walnut kernel. He held it up. This is shaped like a brain,' said Glambrax. 'So?' said Sarazin. 'So we have to make the day pass somehow.' 'It'll pass soon enough,' said Sarazin, 'once they attack.'
If they attack,' said Glambrax. They may be friends, may they not? Gathered for a birthday party or such?'
But the dwarf spoke in jest, and everyone knew it. These could not be Tarkal's men, or Lod's, for, if they were either, they would long since have approached to declare themselves. So things looked grim. But at least the skyr promised unbroken rain for the foreseeable future, which meant the enemy would have trouble torching the Great House – an important consideration since that house was of timber construction entire.
Towards noon the rain eased to a drizzle. A little later, a woebegone peasant stumbled through the quagmire to the door of the Great House. He was not admitted. In fact, he could not be admitted, since that door had been so thoroughly barricaded it would have been a major opera- tion to open it. However, he was allowed to speak through a fresh-cut arrowslit.
Sean Sarazin and the others on the roof of the Great House peered down at the fellow, wondering what he was saying. He was certainly taking his time about it. Glambrax cocked his crossbow.
'Don't you dare!' said Sarazin. 'It may be a stinking peasant but it's an ambassador for all that.'
Yes,' said Glambrax, 'it is an ambassador as you are a prince.' Tsh!' said Sarazin in disgust, and tried to cuff Glambrax.
Who darted away then made a face which provoked Sarazin into giving pursuit. Glambrax scuttled away to the far side of the roof. Then stopped. Turned. Shouted: Ware! Attack!'
Was it a joke? Half a dozen heartbeats later Sarazin knew it was not. While the peasant ambassador parlayed at the front of the Great House his fellows were assaulting the rear. Hundreds of them! They dragged with them siege ladders hastily made from the limitless materials available in the lumber yards of Shin.
Ware! Ware!' screamed Sarazin. 'Attack! Attack! Attack!'
As his men stumbled across the roof to join him a throaty roar of wrath arose from the oncoming mob. Which began to charge. Sarazin's bowmen began to shoot – then one slipped, fell, tumbled from the roof. Watch your footing!' shouted Sarazin.
'He was shot!' cried another of the bowmen. Then cried again as an arrow took him in the gut.
Moments later, the first siege ladder was hoisted. One of Sarazin's men – a fool or a hero, call him what you will – tried to displace it. He put his boot to the ladder, pushed it away, saw it fall. Then a flight of hate-slung arrows raped home and, gasping, clutching, flailing, he fell. The rest of Sarazin's men were already running.
'Come back!' shouted Sarazin, flat on his belly on the roof from fear of enemy arrows.
