“No, a sword.”
“A morning star? Perhaps a good, heavy club.”
“A sword.”
The armorer took a deep breath, folded his hands and smiled pleasantly. “And what kind of sword would you be wanting, sir?”
Gene’s shoulders slumped. “Morning star?” he said weakly.
“A spiked ball affixed to a short chain which is in turn attached to a handle.”
“Oh, yeah. No, I don’t think so.”
“A lance, then? Or a pike?”
“Umm …”
“A halberd, perhaps? Or a broadax?”
“Well —”
“Could you use a spear?”
“Spear?”
“I would, however, have to know if you intend to use it for throwing or for thrusting.”
“Not a spear, for crying out loud. I want something that I can fight with. Something that’ll do some damage.”
“Do some damage.” The armorer thought it over. “Perhaps an ax, then. Would you like to see one?”
“I guess.”
“Broadax, poleax, or taper ax?”
“Oh, boy.”
“Do you want something that will unseam a man from nave to chaps, or simply wound him mortally?”
“I —”
“This …” The armorer turned and walked off, then returned bearing a large ax with a long wooden handle. “… is a broadax.”
“Look, could you show me a couple of different swords?”
“Certainly, sir. What kinds would you like to see?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
Snowclaw, who had been browsing the room, stepped up to the counter. He picked up the broadax, looked it over once, raised it with both hands and crashed it into the countertop directly in front of the armorer, who shrieked and danced back just in the nick of time. The ax cleaved the counter in two, continuing down to split the boards underneath almost to the floor.
Snowclaw wrenched the ax out and examined the blade, running his thumb delicately over it. He looked at the armorer sharply. “This’ll do for me. How about taking care of my friends, and we’ll be on our way.”
Face paling, the armorer nodded. “Yes, sir. Anything you say.”
“And get some clothes for the lady, here.”
“Immediately, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Do it.”
“I will fetch the seamstress. She will be glad to come.”
“Fine. And if you don’t come back, I’ll come looking.”
The armorer swallowed. “I shall return at once, sir.”
Outer Curtain Wall — Southeast Tower
From an embrasured window Melydia looked out at the long line of belfries lumbering toward the inner curtain wall. The assault was going well, but she knew Incarnadine had yet to act. She was prepared for anything he might do. She had been preparing for years.
She watched as siege engines hurled boulders, some as big as a house, over the inner curtain wall, there to crash into the forebuildings and other structures of the ward. A few stones fell short, bounding off the wall or smashing into the crenelated battlements, to the dismay of the few defenders who manned them. The engines were working well. They would not have worked at all were it not for Melydia’s magical assistance. Each engine was under a spell that enabled it to violate those natural mechanical laws which ordinarily would have precluded handling such massive projectiles. By rights, a trebuchet’s throwing arm should crack like a toothpick under the weight of stones that size. Even if the strain could be borne, mundane engines simply lacked the power to throw these projectiles, or any projectiles, over a thirty-story wall. Only magical ones could do the trick.
The spell was a difficult and subtle one, but it worked.
She heard the clack of hard-leather soles coming up the spiral staircase behind her. She turned to see Vorn mounting the landing.
“There you are, my lady. I had wondered …”
She smiled and turned back to the window. Vorn came up beside her and gazed out.
“The lookouts report nothing brewing,” Vorn told her. “Of course, that means little. Incarnadine is sure to play his hand now.”
She nodded. “He will.”
They watched. The moving towers, now very close to the battlements of the high inner wall, were almost completely manned. Archers, occupying the topmost platforms, were still keeping the walls clear of defenders. Incarnadine’s castle guards weren’t showing their heads. The Guardsmen had chosen not to engage the invaders at close quarters along the wall; they were outnumbered and they knew it. There were fifteen belfries and five thousand men to flow from them and spill over into Castle Perilous proper. No, the mopping up would proceed from tower to tower all the way around the perimeter until the entire inner curtain wall was secured — slow, dirty work, but it must be done. And it would be done.
“Have you slept?” Vorn asked. When Melydia gave her head a shake, he said, “You must be exhausted.”
“After taking on six thousand soldiers in one night? Why would I be?”
Vorn was taken somewhat aback. A voluntary grunt of laughter escaped him, though he did not smile.
Melydia did. “You are shocked by my coarse humor,” she said.
Vorn’s mouth softened. “A bit. Forgive me.”
“No, it was inappropriate. I must beg pardon.”
“I shouldn’t have been shocked. Though you are a lady, you ought not to be judged by the usual proprieties applying to women of quality. You can’t be. They are much too limiting. You are an individual of power, and …”
She turned slightly, one eye peeking around the edge of her blue headdress. “And?”
“I admire that.” He smiled.
“In a woman?”
“In you.”
Her hand, wrist hung with folds of her white cloak, came up to caress his beard. He seized it and kissed her palm.
“Melydia,” he said.
“In the midst of a battle, Vorn?”
“In the middle of Hell, if the occasion warrants.”
She made to withdraw her hand, and he reluctantly let it go.
“Notwithstanding your jest,” he said, “you must be weary beyond measure. To have cast six thousand spells in one night —”
“Fourteen hours without stop. I could barely raise my hand.”
“Fourteen —” Vorn was awed. “Indeed, I did not know. I grew weary and retired shortly after you started.” He considered it. “Even so, it does not seem sufficient time.”
“It wasn’t. It gave me but seconds to effect each one. An ancillary spell was needed, one to facilitate my working unnaturally fast — and another to prevent me from collapsing. That spell yet sustains me, though it grows weaker by the minute.”
He clucked. “Must each soldier have been done individually? Is there not such a thing as a blanket
