'He says to drive the herd into the baney, the bailey — ?'
'Bailey,' Sturm said. 'The courtyard inside the keep.'
'Yes, and 'the great lord will treat with you personally.'
Onthar agrees.' le With many whistles and pricks of the goad, the herders got the cattle moving again. The nine hundred beasts fun neled into the keep's gate. The bailey easily accommodated the animals. When the last calves were spanked, bawling, into the gate, soldiers drew the bars shut.
There were clusters of tents all along the outer wall.
Onthar and his men tethered their horses on a picket line and followed a plumed soldier along the tent line.
'Are these all the men you have?' said the soldier. His face was hidden by his visor. 'I would have thought such a large herd would require more handlers.'
'Not if the men are good,' Onthar said.
Sturm was counting tents. Four men per tent, sixty tents so far — he had an uncomfortable feeling about this.
They came upon a very large tent, trimmed with dark blue brocade and golden fringe. Guards snapped to atten tion and crossed halberds at their approach. The visored soldier spoke to them, presenting Onthar and his company.
The guards resumed normal positions. The plumed officer extended his hand, and the herders went in alone.
The interior was sumptuous. Carpets covered the ground, and tapestries, hanging from the ridge poles, gave the illusion of being in a solid building. While the others were gawking at the richness of their surroundings, Sturm was staring at the designs of the rugs and wall hangings. The recurring motif was that of a rampant red dragon, clutching a sheaf of spears in one claw and a crown in the other.
'Ironskin,' Tervy said, too loudly.
'Not now.'
A curtain of shimmering red beads closed the corridor.
Onthar feigned disinterest and swept the curtain aside.
Sturm thought the red 'beads' looked very much like rubies.
Two halberds swung down to bar Onthar's progress. He regarded the guards idly, as if he'd seen such beings many times and they bored him. Beyond the guards, a large, pow erfully built man sat at a three-legged table that was draped with a golden cloth. He wore scale armor enameled in red and blue, and a fearsome helmet sat facing outward on the gold-topped table.
The man looked up. His hair was white, though he was by no means elderly. It swept back from his massive brow to fall around his shoulders. His skin was pale.
'Come in. You are Onthar the Herdsman, are you not?' said the man.
'I am, my lord. May I ask what I shall call you?'
'I am Merinsaard, Lord of Bayarn.'
Sturm clenched his fists tightly at his sides. Merinsaard!
The name spoken by Sturm's storm phantom! Sturm con centrated on the hard face and long white hair. Danger ema nated from this man. Sturm tried to catch Onthar's eye, but could not.
There were no chairs for Onthar and his men. Ordinary folk did not sit in the presence of the great lord.
Merinsaard stated, 'I am pleased that you chose to drive your fine cattle here. It was been some weeks since our last supply of fresh meat was consumed. How many head did you bring?'
'Nine hundred, more or less. Six hundred steers, two hundred cows, and one hundred yearling calves. What bulls we brought we will drive back with us,' Onthar said. He crossed his hands at his waist and did not appear at all excited.
The great lord took out a ledger book and opened it. With a sharp quill, he made a notation. 'And how much are you asking, Master Onthar?'
'Twelve coppers per calf, fifteen per steer, and one silver piece per cow,' he said firmly.
'A high price, but fair considering the quality of the beasts in the bailey.' Onthar permitted himself a smile.
Merinsaard snapped his fingers, and two more soldiers entered from a door in the wall behind his table. They car ried a chest into the room and set it down. 'Your payment,' said the great lord.
Onthar reached out with steady hands. This was a for tune! His household would celebrate for days when he returned with such a bounty. He lifted the lid and let it fall back on its hinges.
The chest was empty.
'What?' Onthar said. Sturm snapped his sword out.
'Take them!' Merinsaard barked. Soldiers poured into the room from two sides.
'Treachery! Treachery!' The herders scattered. Sturm gathered Tervy to him.
'Stay behind me!' he said. A soldier thrust the point of his halberd at Sturm, but the knight parried the heavy steel head away. The herders, with only their flimsy goads, were quickly subdued by the soldiers.
'Ironskin!' Tervy shouted. 'At your back!' Sturm whirled in time to dodge a savage cut by another halberd.
He stabbed home, hitting the fellow below his breastplate.
Bleeding heavily, the man fell. Tervy rolled the body over and snatched a small axe from the man's belt. 'Hai! Tirima!' she yelled.
'Tervy, no!' Too late, Sturm saw her scamper through the press of struggling men and jump upon Merinsaard's golden table. By Paladine, she was brave! The great lord stood back from the table as the girl threatened him with the hatchet. He donned his helmet and raised his hands over his head.
He shouted at Tervy to get out, but she didn't. Instead, she whipped her arm back and hurled the hatchet at the great lord.
The puny weapon struck his armored chest and glanced off. Merinsaard's voice filled the tent with a booming incan tation. The air seemed to solidify around Sturm's limbs, and his sword grew impossibly heavy to lift. Then, with a single silent burst, a white light dazzled him completely. Sturm sagged to his knees. The sword was torn from his hand, and the enemy soldiers bore him, immobile, to the richly car peted floor.
Someone was groaning.
Sturm opened his eyes and found that he still couldn't see anything. There was no blindfold around his head; the effect of the dazzling light spell was lingering.
'Oh, I'm blind!' someone groaned.
'Shut up,' Sturm said. 'Be quiet, all of you. Who's here?'
'Onthar is here,' said the herd leader.
'And Frijje.'
'I'm here.' Sturm asked who 'I' was. 'Ostimar,' was the sheepish reply. They were all present except Tervy. All of them were sitting on the ground in a circle, hands tied behind their backs to a stout wooden post.
Frijje said, 'She hit the lord with an axe.'
'Did she really?' Rorin asked.
'Yes, right on the wishbone. Didn't even scratch him.'
'Quiet,' Sturm said. 'The light spell is beginning to wear off. I can see my legs.'
Within a few minutes, they could all see again. Onthar apologized in his blunt, clipped way for getting them into this fix.
'It's not your fault,' Sturm said. 'Merinsaard must have lured other herds here after starting those rumors about a rich buyer at the keep.'
'What does he need all those cattle for?' asked Frijje. 'He doesn't have more than a couple hundred men.'
'He's no mere cattle thief,' said Sturm. 'I think he's pro curing food for a much larger army.'
'What army?' asked Onthar.
'Well, I think — ' The wall flap turned in and Merinsaard walked in, wearing his fearsome dragonlike helmet. It had just the effect he wanted.
