scaling the walls. That would require climbing by hand, ladder,
or grappling hook. Even a handful of men could put a stop to
that.
It was fully dark by the time Morgan was able to speak again
with Padishar. They stood by the lifts, now under heavy guard,
and looked out over the broad scattering of watch fires below.
The men of the Federation continued to work, the sound of their
building rising out of the darkened forests into the still night air.
“I don’t mind telling you that all this effort bothers me,” the
outlaw chief muttered, his brow furrowing.
Morgan frowned with him. “Even with siege equipment, how
can they possibly hope to reach us?”
Padishar shook his head. “They can’t. That’s what bothers
me.”
They watched a bit longer, then Padishar steered Morgan to
a secluded part of the bluff, keeping him close as he whispered.
“I needn’t remind you that we’ve been betrayed twice now.
Whoever’s responsible is still out there-probably still among
us. If the Jut’s to be taken, that’s my guess as to how it’s to be
done.”
He turned to Morgan, his strong, weathered face close. “I’ll
do my part to see that the Jut’s kept secure. But you keep your
eyes open as well, Highlander. You might see things differently
from me, being fresh here. Maybe you’ll see something I’d oth-
erwise miss. Watch us all, and it’s a big favor I’ll owe you if
you turn up something.”
Morgan nodded wordlessly. It gave him a purpose for being
there, something he was beginning to suspect he lacked. He was
consumed by the feeling of emptiness he had experienced on
shattering his sword. He was distressed that he had been forced
to leave Par and Coil Ohmsford behind. This charge, if nothing
else, would give him something to concentrate on. He was grate-
ful to Padishar for that.
When they finished, he went to the armorer and asked to be
given a broadsword. He picked one that suited him, withdrew
his own broken sword and replaced it with the new one. Then
he hunted about for a discarded scabbard until he found one the
Sword of Leah would fit, cut the scabbard to the sword’s short-
ened length, bound the severed end, and strapped the makeshift
sheath carefully to his belt.
He felt better about himself for the first time in days.
He slept well that night, too-even though the Federation
continued to assemble its siege weapons until dawn. When the
sun appeared, the building ceased. He woke then, the sudden
stillness disconcerting, pulled on his clothes, strapped on his
weapons, and hurried down to the bluff edge. The outlaws were
settling into place, arms at the ready. Padishar was there, with
Steff, Teel, and the contingent of Trolls. All watched silently
what was taking place below.
The Federation army was forming up, squads into compa-
nies. They were well drilled, and there was no confusion as they
marched into place. They encircled the base of the Jut, stretch-
ing from one end of the cliffs to the other, their lines just out of
range of long bow and sling. Scaling ladders and ropes with
grappling hooks were piled next to them. Siege towers stood
ready, though the towers were crude and scarcely a third of the
height of the cliffs leading up. Commanders barked orders
crisply, and the gaps between companies slowly began to fill.
Morgan touched Steff briefly on the shoulder. The Dwarf
glanced about uncertainly, nodded without saying anything, and
looked away again.
Morgan frowned. Steff wasn’t carrying any weapons.
Trumpets sounded, and the Federation lines straightened. Ev-
erything went still once more. Sunlight glinted off armor and
weapons as the skies in the east brightened. Dew glistened off
leaves and grasses, the birdsongs lifted cheerfully, the sound of
water running came from somewhere distant, and it seemed to
Morgan Lean that it might have been any of a thousand mom-
ings he had greeted when he still roamed and hunted the hills
of his homeland.
Then from back in the trees, behind the long lines of soldiers,
something moved. There was a jerking of limbs and trunks and
a rasping of scraped bark. The Federation ranks suddenly split