of mine. Count Ontrose, however, did command me to escape. He
did order me to depart that I might carry the word of his death
unto thee, fearing that doubt and uncertainty might distract thee
from thy sworn duty. I would not cause thee pain, dear Lady, but
he did utter thy name with his dying breath.’
I drew a cold iron wall around my heart. ‘Thou hast performed
thy mournful task most excellently, my Lord,’ I thanked him. ‘And
now must we part. Strive to thine utmost to avenge our revered
friend, Baron Athan, e’en as will I. Should the opportunity arise,
we shall speak more of this tragedy anon.’
Then I left the village and went back into the dark trees. I wept
for a time, but simple weeping seemed too light and innocuous for
the overwhehning grief that tore at my heart. My despair needed a
greater outlet. I went falcon and thrust myself blindly into the air.
Birds of prey do not often scream at night, but I had more than
enough reason to scream on that particular occasion. And so my
screams of grief and despair trailed behind me across the dark forest
Of northern Wacune and on up among the peaks of the Sendarian
mountains, where my desolate cries echoed back from the eternal
rocks and seared the surface of every glacier inching down every
mOuntain.
The Wacite resistance had extensive contacts across the border in
asturia, and such information obtained in this roundabout fashion
eventually reached Malon, and one evening not long after the
meetlng in that ruined village he advised me that Duke Carteon and ‘an
angarak advisor’ had come out of hiding and had returned to the
Palace in Vo Astur. Malon’s message confirmed what I’d suspected
from’ the very start. Ctuchik was meddling in Arendish politics again.
My bereavement at the confirmed death of my beloved Ontrose led
me into some very dark corners of my mind as I considered all
sorts of things that might partially satisfy my desperate hunger for
vengeance. My skill as a physician suggested any number of things
that would linger for weeks – if not months. The thought of Ctuchik
writhing in agony for a few seasons was very comforting.
The Asturians crossed the River Camaar to invade my domain in
late autumn, and they began their march on Muros expecting little
resistance. General Halbren was wise enough not to respond
immediately, but waited until the Asturian army was a day’s march
north of the river before he counterattacked. As he put it to me later ‘
‘I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to waste a perfectly well-baited
trap until the mice were all the way inside it, your Grace. I didn’t
want them yearning back toward the riverbank instead of
concentrating on getting wiped out. All in all, it worked out fairly well,
I’d say.’ Halbren could be a master of understatement when he set
his mind to it.
My army had been chafing at the restrictions I’d imposed on them,
and when Halbren relaxed those restrictions, they came howling
out of Muros like a pack of hungry wolves.
The battle of Muros was a short, ugly one. The Asturian generals
had been sublimely overconfident as a result of the supposed
cowardice of my army, and all they expected was a leisurely stroll from
the River Camaar to the city with little if any resistance. So It was
that they marched blithely into the fire I’d set to greet them. To make
matters even worse for them, their soldiers weren’t accustomed to
fighting on open ground. Asturia’s one large forest, and Muros
stands on an unforested plain. My generals had been trained by
Ontrose, so they not only knew how to fight in the woods, but also
how to fight in the open. The Asturians didn’t realize that they’d
been encircled until they were suddenly assaulted from all sides at
once. It was not so much a battle as it was a slaughter. What few
Asturians escaped fled back across the River Camaar – where the
bands of Wacite patriots were waiting for them.
T enmo -satisfaction in the knowledge that the army that had
destroyed Vo Wacune and killed my beloved Ontrose was annihilated
on that frosty autumn afternoon. That was the first part of my
revenge.
The second part came somewhat later.
After our victory at Muros, Wacite refugees began streaming
across the border, and I was a bit hard-pressed to find places to
lodge them and supplies enough to feed them. Malon served as mY
eyes and ears – and hands – so he was a very busy man throughout
that winter. We built new villages – mostly on my own estates
and my storehouses provided food. The conditions and diet were
hardly luxurious, but my new subjects got through the winter.
Malon had predicted that Wacite refugees of a suitable age would
be eager to join my army, and he wasn’t far off the mark on that
score. I instructed Halbren to enlist them in new battalions led by
former officers in the Wacite army. Those officers took on the chore
of training the new recruits, and that left Halbren and my other
generals free to defend the southern border.
Though I was still more or less confined to mother’s cottage by
my father’s continued surveillance, Malon and I were growing more
and more adept at our peculiar form of communication. When we’d
set up the southern army headquarters in Muros, I actually had
done a few things to our ‘enchanted room’ to make it possible for
a selected few to also use it to communicate directly with me – just
in case. I’m certain that father or one of the twins hiding nearby to
watch me were convinced that I’d been rendered insensible by what
had happened at Vo Wacune, but actually the blank look on my
face was usually an indication that I was deep in conversation with
Malon or one of my generals.
The Wacite patriots across the River Camaar continued to ambush
and murder Asturians, of course, but far more importantly, they
also passed word to us of Asturian troop movements and military
buildups. I probably knew more about the location and condition
of Carteon’s army than he did. My real advantage, though, was
strategic. I chose not to follow up my victory in the battle of Muros
by invading Asturia or the former Wacune. There was no real need
for me to do that, since I was getting everything I wanted without
raising a finger. The mass migration of Wacite refugees across the
river was effectively depopulating northern Wacune, and without
serfs to work the land, Carteon’s conquest hadn’t gained him a
single thing. All he had to show for his enormous expenditure were
empty forests and weed-choked, unplowed fields. My Wacite spies
kept me informed about Asturian troop concentrations, so every
time Garteon tried to make another river crossing, I was ready for
him. It wasn’t long until Asturian soldiers – and eventually
Garteon’s generals – began muttering about ‘witchcraft’ and other
absurdities, and that worked to my advantage as well. After my
forces had easily repulsed a few tentative attempts to cross the river,
the Asturians became convinced that ‘the witch-woman of Muros’
knew their innmost thoughts, and a sudden epidemic of timidity
broke out in the Asturian ranks. I’m fairly certain that Carteon’s
tame Grolim knew better, but for some reason he wasn’t able to
convince the Asturian army that I couldn’t turn them all into toads
with a wave of my hand. The legend of ‘Polgara the Sorceress’ was
too deeply ingrained in the Arendish consciousness to be dispelled
by simple scoffing.
Then we had a stroke of luck. Had Carteon and his Grolim
remained in Vo Astur, there’d have been no way for us to get at
them, but finally Carteon absolutely had to go have a look at what
his army had done to Vo Wacune. Gloating about a triumph is
probably very natural, but it can be terribly dangerous sometimes.
It was about a year after the battle of Muros, in the autumn of 2944,
that the Duke of Asturia and his Angarak friend left Vo Astur
alone, if you can believe that – and traveled to the ruins of my
beloved city.
Malon Killaneson had always religiously passed all information
on to me just as soon as it fell into his hands, but this time he didn’t.
He disappeared instead. I was more than a little startled – frantic
would be a better word – when General Halbren’s voice broke in
on my harvesting of my garden to advise me that Malon was
nowhere to be found.
Horrid visions of Asturian assassins flooded my mind even as I
went falcon and almost tore off my wings getting to Muros. Malon
was the one indispensable man in my entire duchy.
The first thing I did upon my arrival was to order General Halbren