I turned out with the rising sun, massaging kinks and sores from the night on harsh ground. The blue coated runners were already circulating up and down the column, their standard's colorful banners flapping as they ran. Units were stirring, some already trotting by two abreast, for new positions toward the front of the march.

Thavis was already up, and had put together some bread and cheese for me. I found my water flagon topped off, and near at hand. He gave me a cheery wave as I stood.

"Thavis, you needn't wait on me this way. I can fetch my own fodder, you know, but thanks."

"T'were nothing, Sir Drake. We shall be in the bicker by midday, I thought to save us time. Besides, as a full knight, it is your due. I would not disparage your rank, before those you might be called upon to command, especially. A frown creased his finely etched features. "We are not called to the front, as heroes of stature should be. We are told to remain close to the Duke, and must hope for a sally by Felway to repel. Unless," the young noble brightened, "you can conceive a way to approach the battle, Sir Drake?"

Sir Drake, I mused. Evidently my days as just plain William were gone from everyone's vocabulary. I bit back a correction; Thavis was a product of this culture, he supported it, and there was little I could do about that. I would be Sir-ed to death from everyone now that I had achieved rank, just as I would have been saluted if I had been ranked in the military.

"We will be in the thick of it soon enough, Thavis. If all goes as I hope, we should be able to avoid, ah, the most vigorous parts of it." The man's face fell. "However ours will be the best part of all, in that it could be our, eh, destiny to bring victory to Wayland."

The thought seemed to cheer Thavis. "True, the battle may be ours in the end, as you say, Sir Drake. You will agree to my petition for a place as your squire?"

The young man's decision to attach himself to me stirred curiosity. Certainly as a son of the Duke, there were greater social stations to aspire to.

"Is the Duke encouraging you to seek...attachments beyond the court? I know you mentioned that you use your quarters in Corbell infrequently."

Thavis shrugged. "Not especially. I am not in direct line of succession, not a son of Duchess Bethany, just another court bastard. My mother, Enseame, died young of a lung ailment. This was all some time after the passing of the first Duchess, Margette. The Duke had taken up with my mother during the year between. They got along well, but in the end, he was required to remarry politically. I was only a few months old by then, and Enseame remained at court, as part of the Duchess's retinue. Enseame and Bethany had become close, and on my mother's death, I was raised by Bethany as one of her own.

I have no wish to take up the life of a minor accountant or clerk, nor can I stay a messenger forever. I am a skilled ranger, and know much of both the court and country well, but men are not knighted and entitled for this. So my life is my own to make, and there is honor in that."

Evidently then, my consent would be a promotion, which I had to admit, he likely deserved. With a rare burst of insight, I realized that Thavis as a squire would be an asset not only to his own state, but to mine, if I stayed, and Chord's as well. "Consider it done. I will consult Chord about it as soon as I can."

The end of the pass came into sight a bit earlier than Thavis had predicted. I felt the usual grim pre-battle resignation fall over me like a shroud. A rough barricade had been erected across the expanse of it, but not an intimidating one. Ten foot lengths of green sapling, cut and piled like an endless chain of tee-pees, formed a six foot high encumbrance blocking our path, backed by archers and ranked spear men.

Wayland sent forth his runners, and soon a phalanx, shields forward, began to advance upon it. A storm of arrows arced out from behind the barrier, shadowing the ground before it. Several sharp shouts echoed in the pass, and shields rose and linked with precision, so the sharp swarm fell on an armadillo-like wall of armor. A bouncing black rattle of tumbling stick was the result, and slowly, the phalanx began again to advance. Few bodies appeared on the ground behind.

Wayland motioned to two boys carrying a number of horizontal banners, and pointed out one. The two erected a twelve foot pole, displaying a green flag. The Phalanx's shields canted up like the opening of a venetian blind, and an answering hail of missiles lofted up from them, falling behind the barricade. Then the tight formations ran, shields front, long spears forward. I sweated in sympathy for the effort such a charge, encumbered with the heavy spear poles, must have cost.

Thavis looked on excitedly, right hand griping and releasing the pommel of his saber. "Do you see? 'Tis an invention of Wayland's, that shield. Affixes at the bend of the elbow and at the hand, as is normal, but also with notched blocks to rest a bow against, so the legionaries can provide their own short bow fire at close range, shield to the left, drawing the bow with the right. Can give extra seconds of reprieve while your enemy ducks the fire and you advance. They be only fair archers though. The bows must be dropped before close engagement."

Now before the barrier, the troops worked to tear it down while the long poles thrust through it at the men behind. Arrow fire decreased to nothing, the barrier itself obstructing the archery. It crumbled before the troop's onslaught, and the defenders retreated in the center and formed up to the left.

Thavis smiled. "There's your hand in their strategy. They mean to press us to the right, beneath the remaining fort's fire, and hammer us against the fort's walls."

Wayland chose another banner, and a second wave of men poured down into the front. We began to move up.

The defenders' original strategy would have been to block forward advance while the two forts pounded away from the sides. Now, the same number of men had to cover two flanks, and hope to drive Wayland to the right as well. Moreover, Wayland knew this. The strategy was not going well for Felway.

The new wave of men smashed to the left, beat back Felway's men and bore away from the right side fortifications. Behind this advancing line, catapults and ballista maneuvered to face the remaining fort. Infrequent booms, and gouts of dirt kicked up across the field as Felway's inexperienced cannonaders tried to employ their lone artillery piece. The melee' was in its full disarray, and we were finally signaled forward of command. Considered lighter troops, our job would be to engage any units not contained by the front, and to support the assault on the remaining fort. A runner approached and delivered himself to me.

"Sir! Duke Wayland wishes to know if you would be interested in attempting to sap the fort walls. He says to tell you the practice might be of value."

I looked to the mountain root backing the right hand fort. "Tell Duke Wayland it might be done. I will look into it."

I fetched Gort, and motioned to Thavis. "We will try tunneling to about the same place where the flat building was in the other one, and set a charge there."

Thavis thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you think the booming dust is kept in the same place?"

I shrugged. "Don't know, it's a guess, but we can block the tunnel up behind the charge, and at least take down part of one stockade wall."

I explained to Gort what we wanted, after carefully removing its burden of explosives. Wordlessly, it set itself against the mountain root, and began to tunnel. I shook my head, thinking of the money I could make with a dozen such Golems in say, Pennsylvania.

Before the earth moving was finished, a gate swung down fronting the fort, and a tight sally of armored men ran out, heading for the right end of our front, hoping to collapse it, or draw men away from defending the siege machines. The loose troops following behind the front were not grouped to attack such a tight drill of men.

Thavis and I drew weapons and joined the nearest band, shouting "To me! To me!" hoping to attract enough men to repel the sally before they reached the flank or the siege machines. There were only twenty five of us, variously armed at first, and the sight of the descending armored herd pulled my heart up into my throat.

Thavis just grinned from ear to ear and ran slightly to the front of us crying, "Wayland! Wayylaand!" and threw himself upon the first encountered with fierceness and vigor. The rest of us clashed only seconds behind, and it was certain that only my strength, not my skill, saved me from early demise.

I drew both my Roundel and reluctantly, the Corm Da. The sword heated to my hand, but without the presence of Burlies, ley-lines or empowering sources. It simply seemed light in my grasp, striking faster, perhaps, and it still sliced through armor like cardboard. The Roundel was no less efficient at being driven through chain and such. My first opponent stared wide eyed as The Corm Da split his shield cleanly in two. I followed up, punching the Roundel through the plaited armor he wore, and used my strength to lift him off the ground throwing him back into his fellows.

The man had connected a saber blow to the back of my hip, and I knew without looking there was a rent there of flapping flesh open to the bone. I felt nothing, and was too engaged to check on it. The others with me seemed to grow fiercer, and we beat forward savagely. The world slowed in a natural adrenaline rush. My eyes were everywhere, and it seemed I had time to consider each move. In those before me a glazed panic grew, and eventually they turned and fled as more of Wayland's men ran to join the melee. The group gave a roaring shout, some chasing after, most turning back towards the catapults.

Thavis returned, cut on every exposed surface, yet joyous. "Four!" He crowed. "Taken cleanly, too," he stared at me, then laughed. "You are short a cheek, it seems, my good sir. Come, we must find hot water, needle and thread, or you shall sit at an angle evermore!"

I was quickly, if painfully, stitched and linen wrapped. The cut had indeed parted a flap of fat on my rear, with little bleeding. The point touched bone at some odd point, but missed any major nerves, arteries or much of deep muscle, looking strange, but doing little permanent injury. Later, Chord would put his powder to it, when he heard of it. Meantime the astringents and salves of the healers sufficed. We returned to the mountain root, where Gort stood passively beside a large hole. Thavis and I pushed a fair sized and well tarred barrel into the bore and manhandled it into place at the end of his damp, dark tunnel.

Thavis wiped away the filth and sweat that had accumulated on his face. "Why do you not just send Gort to tear down the stockades and attack them?"

I shook my head. "It wouldn't do it. I cannot order him to an aggressive act. In my world, there is a technique called hypnosis. With it, a man can be lulled into doing things he would not normally consider, but it is almost impossible to use it to order a man to do something against his conscience. This enchantment of Gort's seems to be something similar. Still, this is good enough. Help me to pile some rock against the barrel and unroll the fusing. I'll have Gort block off the tunnel," I squinted at the site, trying to remember how far back the stockade wall was, "about twenty feet inside."

The fusing I had made for this purpose was thick, and heavy with powder. It would burn very quickly, so we would need to be well away from the hole when it lit. To provide more time than the fuse would allow, I had prepared a very thick wicked candle. It would burn down more slowly, then ignite the fuse, which was affixed to a groove cut halfway up the thin candle, held in place by squeezing the soft wax around it. It was a kludge, but the best I had been able to come up with. We rolled out enough fuse to get beyond the twenty feet, and called Gort to re-block the passage there as tightly as possible. I set the wick, and we ran like frightened deer back out and well away from the hole.

The explosion was very satisfactory. Intensified by the backing mountain as it blew, logs and dirt fountained up followed by an even more impressive blast that knocked combatants flat and stunned men for half an acre before the fort. Even prepared as we were, it was minutes before hearing and nerves returned to me.

I staggered up, realizing that the falling debris and sailing rock had likely caused at least as much damage to our own men as to Felway's. Guilt overtook me, and I questioned whether I wanted to proceed with my plan to breach Felway's estate by this method. I had likely gotten rid of whatever stocks of explosives the mage and Duke had managed to acquire though, which provided me with some solace. I vowed never to make more. Thinking on Gort's proscription to do no harm, I wished it were possible to generally place a similar abjuration on living men.

The defenders lost their line and retreated from the field, back through town to the bastions of Felway's compound. Our men began the process of clearing the field of dead, and pillaging the destroyed fortifications for whatever supplies were left behind. I ordered Gort to retrieve whatever was left of my 'special supplies'. Then, with Thavis, I trudged back toward the camp for more medical care, and hopefully, a meal of some sort.

Duke Wayland seemed in no hurry to march on the town. From our camp we could plainly watch the process of evacuation as citizens hauled away whatever they could from the town's buildings. Chord had returned with news that units of the king's army marched the pass and would be here shortly.

"Wayland has no quarrel with the townsfolk," noted Chord. "Anyway, better the king's men be thrown at the effort than the duke's own. It is not likely Wayland will be given over the lands about Tark. There is benefit to the Crown in keeping the two dukedom's separate. The pass tolls charged by Wayland at one end, and Felway at the other, generate income, in which the king shares."

This surprised me. "Both charge for use of the pass?"

Chord nodded. "Neither Wayland nor Felway own the Pass. The Crown reserved it, but charges both dukedoms with its maintenance. So both can charge the caravans for its upkeep directly. Which is why the king's soldiers hurry here. Had Felway not seeded the pass, and infringed on the Crown's priori lands, help would have been slower, if ever, to arrive."

True to Chord's prediction, columns of armed men, marked with Esterford's parted escutcheon of two lions addosse', soon moved past. It seemed about a full legion of men had been sent, half of which broke into five centuries, or groups of one-hundred, on reaching the front, and marched into the nearest streets of Tark. The pace was leisurely. The other five hundred seemed interested mostly in securing the area of the pass itself. Wayland, as orders were not forthcoming, seemed content to await developments, so we moved back to our site behind the heralds and ate.

Later, a troubled looking Thavis joined us, and quietly motioned us in the direction of Wayland's Pavilion. Chord raised an eyebrow. "It appears we are to be consulted on some matter. What's troubling Thavis?"

The young Wayland seemed unwilling to meet our gazes of inquiry, and walked glumly forward saying only, "Bad tidings my friends. You are to hear this from my father first."

Chord wasted no further effort on commentary, so we followed, lost in our own thoughts, to the Duke's tent. Duke Wayland sat behind the large table we had seen before, fronted by a red jacketed legionary and the yellow panted thin form of a man I knew on sight, my former traveling companion, Brann Cour! Wayland acknowledged our entrance, and motioned us before him.

"I am told you know this man?"

"I do," I said. "We traveled with him from Dervin to Tark, where we parted company."

"He was released from a city lock-up by King Esterford's men. He was questioned as a matter of course, and sent here. He described you, and some others as well, so I am forced to give you both some possibly very bad news. It seems after you parted, Felway's guards were reluctant to let him leave the merchant compound. An argument ensued, ending with master Cour's being jailed in town. While being marched out, he described a pair of people being escorted to the mage tower of Tark, or rather one being dragged and one escorted. The man was Belmus, the Mage of Dervin."

Chord exclaimed in a suck of breath, "He knows this to be Belmus, certain?"

Brann, eager to please, nodded vigorously, "Oh yes lord, beyond doubt, a client of mine, from time to time. Unmistakably."

My heart pounded within my chest. Dimanda!

"His description of the girl," continued the Duke, "matches your daughter, who I happen to know you left with Belmus in Dervin. I have sent a runner back. The town tower will be seized and searched. This is not necessarily the final word, but..."

There was silence for a few moments as Chord and I absorbed the account.

Chord gripped my arm. We were two men drowning, holding on to each other as we descended into the deeps. "I can infer nothing good from this," said Wayland, narrowing his eyes. "It reeks of Belmus being involved in this bicker somehow, and of a particular interest in one or the other of you. I dislike having to ask after such an announcement, but can either of you shed any light on why this might be?"

I knew it was the last thing Chord wished to speak of in full, and that Wayland purposely brought this forward now, while we were numbed, to elicit the story.

Chord shook, eyes closed for a moment. "Belmus knows it is I and Orton as have been closing up the fell works of the mage, Veddek. Belmus must have been bought, or blackmailed, into the service of Felway. Perhaps this is vengeance, or a warning to me to meddle no further. MaCaan hates Sir William, who has been so active in your behalf in this affair. Likely, a way to get back at both of us, my lord. May I sit? I feel ill just now."

Wayland allowed Chord a chair, and sat looking at the two of us a bit longer. "There is one more thing. I asked Master Cour not to mention it, that I might break the news more slowly. In fact, unless there is anything else, Master Cour, you may go now."

Brann bowed and made his thanks, then rushed out of the tent as quickly as dignity allowed. Wayland waited until the merchant exited, then began again.

"Brann said there was a freed demon at the keep, that he saw a clearly demonic form, taller than the keep doors, moving about inside when they were opened to admit Belmus, and a struggling girl that could be your daughter. I would discredit it, but we have heard similar things from a few others that have been questioned." I sank into a pit of anger, frustration and fear. Dimanda, taken! Dragged to Tark, and before the mercy of demons and Veddick!

Chord's face manipulated through a variety of expressions. Disbelief, anger, astonishment and fear pushed across it in a continuous mix. He pulled in breath after breath, finally gasping out, "Impossible! No one sane...even were it possible to contain...free! He must be in error! Perhaps he saw a creature like those we faced in the pass!

Wayland, turning his hands palm up on his desk, shook his head. "Unlikely. I am not an initiate, but the descriptions were very carefully checked. I am told this is a very bad thing, never done, or even attempted. Perhaps dire. This is your understanding of the matter, Chord?"

Chord continued to wrestle with inner passions, but nodded curtly, adding, "I cannot even imagine the incentive that would keep an unbound demon from simply leaving the tower and slaughtering everything in sight, once un-warded. Inconceivable, my lord."

"Still, it seems one is wandering the foyer of Veddek's keep, these days. What do you think we should do? Do you," Wayland now addressed himself to me, "still feel like sapping your way into the keep? If I could see you both ushered within it, would there be something as might be done? The council's recommendation is to make a ward about the entire building, and abjure its entire contents to ...where ever these things come from, and all else within it. But, I am also told, something on that scale has never been tried before. Not to mention that attempting to encircle a live and present demon that way is probably not likely, unless there is something about the keep itself as prohibits the thing from leaving."

A crease furrowed Chord's face and in worried tones added, "There is my daughter to consider, and all else as may be held there. It is a game of chance whatever avenue is perused."

Wayland nodded thoughtfully. "Before you answer, let me give you my own, untutored thoughts. Something unbound there, stays against its nature. Someone very important to the brace of you, has been taken within. Demons are bargaining creatures. Perhaps you are supposed to try this bargain, or perhaps you are the bargain. Belmus did walk in, of his own accord, along with several guards with your unwilling daughter. I leave it to you. I would not have the girl banished to the nether hells without some kind of attempt, but it seems up to the two of you, though I will see you supplied with anything needed, in reason. Well?"

"I'll still go," I said. "This news only makes it more important it be done. If I can save Dimanda, I must!"

"I will explain all this to the king's generals. Chord, as it is your daughter we aid here, I give you free hand in this, so long as I am kept informed of everything."

The Duke's finger came up. "Everything, Chord. We are understood?"

Chord bowed his head. "Milord."

"The two of you are dismissed for now. Begin your preparations"