Free Castle Perilous by John Dechancie Page B

Vorn mounting the landing.
    â€œThere you are, my lady. I had wondered . . .”
    She smiled and turned back to the window. Vorn came up beside her and gazed out.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œHave you slept?” Vorn asked. When Melydia gave her head a shake, he said, “You must be exhausted.”
    â€œAfter 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.”
    â€œNo, it was inappropriate. I must beg pardon.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œI admire that.” He smiled.
    â€œIn a woman?”
    â€œIn you.”
    Her hand, wrist hung with folds of her white cloak, came up to caress his beard. He seized it and kissed her palm.
    â€œMelydia,” he said.
    â€œIn the midst of a battle, Vorn?”
    â€œIn the middle of Hell, if the occasion warrants.”
    She made to withdraw her hand, and he reluctantly let it go.
    â€œNotwithstanding your jest,” he said, “you must be weary beyond measure. To have cast six thousand spells in one night — ”
    â€œFourteen hours without stop. I could barely raise my hand.”
    â€œFourteen — ” 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.”
    â€œIt 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 spell?”
    â€œYes, but a blanket thrown over six thousand covers not many.”
    â€œI see.” Vorn’s eyebrows drew together in a worried frown. “But will it work? Could any spell be sufficient to fend off Incarnadine’s evil? It is said he is no mere mortal.”
    â€œHe may be mortal. That is, he may one day die. But he has lived some three hundred years.”
    â€œI have heard that, too, though I scarce believe it.”
    â€œYou may believe it. All the Haplodites have been long-lived.”
    Arms akimbo, Vorn turned, paced away from the window and stopped. He brooded for a moment, then wheeled slowly around, his gaze on the floor. “Against magic so powerful . . .” he began.
    â€œWe have fought and have nearly prevailed.” She went to him, took his hands and pressed them to her breast. “Have you had cause to doubt me up till