his vision. Those remaining should be only the ones
still able to play an active part in the day’s events,
enough to present some possible danger to the Dark
King’s person, or his cause. This might not always be
easy for a busy demon to judge; in doubtful cases the
filtering familiar was to let the wounded person
remain visible, even if esthetically offensive.
This morning, when Vilkata left his small tent and
mounted his war-steed, amid the usual thunderous
applause of his troops and officers, his army appeared
before him in his demon-sight as neat ranks of
polished weapons, the human form attached to each
blade or bow not much more than a mere uniformed
outline.
A look at the best maps he had available had
persuaded him that it ought to be possible to intercept
Sir Andrew’s force if he moved swiftly, staring at first
daylight. The morning’s march was hard and long.
Scouts, some of them human beings mounted or afoot,
some of them winged beasts, kept coming in with
reports of what appeared to be the rear guard of Sir
Andrew’s force not far ahead. They estimated that
the enemy army was even a little
smaller than earlier intelligence estimates had made it
out to be.
But Vilkata, still prudent despite the overwhelming
advantage that he thought he held, ordered his infantry
forward as against a foe possibly almost their equal in
numbers. He also ordered a swift cavalry movement,
a reconnaissance in force, to move around Sir
Andrew’s army, to try to engage the enemy front and
if possible prevent successful flight.- Meanwhile he
maneuvered the main body of his own troops into
battle array. Stationing himself just behind the front of
this force, near the center, he awaited more reports,
and remained ready to draw the Mindsword for what
he calculated would be maximum effect upon foe and
friend alike.
The first skirmishes broke out ahead. The Dark
King drew his weapon of great magic and advanced,
mounted, holding overhead what he himself perceived
as a spear of fiery glory. He saw the enemy
rearguard, in a view tailored by his familiar to his
wishes, as mobile though inanimate man-sized
obstacles. Still he could see their shapes and their
numbers perfectly well, and even note the fact that
many of them wore orange and black.
Vilkata saw also, and felt with joy, the terror that he
inspired in those men and women ahead when they
first saw him, and how swiftly that terror was altered
by his Sword’s magic into a mad devotion.
He saw with delight how Sir Andrew’s soldiers,
who at first glance would have formed a rank and
fought him, at sight of the Mindsword fell down and
worshipped him instead. And how, when he
presently roared orders at them, they rose and
turned, and went running like berserkers against their
former comrades, who must now be just out of sight
and trying to get away.
One of the last to bend to the Mindsword’s power
was a woman, a proud sorceress by the look of her,
no longer young and evidently of some considerable
rank. One counterspell after another this arrogant
female hurled back at the Dark King and his Sword;
but they had all failed her, as he knew they must, and
as she too must have known; and she too turned at
last,.snarling with mad joy, like the others, at being
able to serve the future ruler of all the Earth.
Denis the Quick had been offered the chance to
remain in the swamp, along with a handful of
wounded and others who could not travel quickly,
when Sir Andrew led his army out. Reports had come
in indicating that it would not be wise for Denis to
attempt to make his way home alone to Tashigang,
and Sir Andrew could afford no escort for him. The
situation around the city had deteriorated rapidly since
Denis’s departure. Strong patrols of the Dark King’s
forces were in the very suburbs now, challenging the
few troops that the Silver Queen had in the region.
The wealthy owners of suburban villas had fled, into
the city or far away from it. This news offered hope
of a kind to Sir Andrew and his people, as it was
evidence that the situation between King and Queen
was now moving rapidly toward open conflict.
But Denis had declined to stay in the swamp. There
was no telling how long he’d be stuck there if he did
so, or when a better chance of getting out would
come, if ever. He preferred to be out in the great
world, to know what great events were hap
pening. He was willing to take his chances on getting
back eventually to the city he loved, and to the two
women there whose images still stirred his dreams.
On the afternoon of the third day since the army
had left the swamp, Denis was walking with some
members of Sir Andrew’s staff. Sir Andrew himself
was on hand at the moment; the Knight had been
riding up and down the column of his army, trying to
preserve its organization-years of guerrilla tactics in a
swamp were not the best practice for a long overland
march-and had stopped to talk with Denis about
conditions among the people in Tashigang.
They talked of the White Temple, and its hospitals,
in some of which Denis had worked during his
apprenticeship as Ardneh’s acolyte. They began a
discussion on how to put Woundhealer to the best
possible use; this was of course purely theoretical, as
Denis had been unable to deliver it as charged. Sir
Andrew still did not appear to blame him, however.
Doomgiver was with the column, being carried by an
officer of the advance guard, who, as it had seemed
to Sir Andrew, had the greater likelihood of
encountering the enemy today.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of
a small flying scout, with a message from the rear
guard.
The true bird, intelligent enough to manage
elementary speech, cackled at them: “Black and gold,
black and gold. Many many.”
“Then Ardneh be with my Dame,” Sir Andrew
muttered, reining in his mount, and looking behind him
fiercely. Dame Yoldi was in the rear. “And with us
all.”
He cried out then for swift messengers to go ahead,
to summon back with all speed the trusted friends
who were carrying Doomgiver in the van. Then the
Knight tried the movement of his helmet’s visor, and
with more shouted orders set about turning what few
units of his army were in direct range of his voice,
and heading them back to the relief of the rear guard.
These did not amount to much more than a handful of
his own bodyguard and friends.
And Denis heard, even as he saw, Shieldbreaker
come out of its sheath now. He heard the legendary
pounding sound, not fast or loud as yet but dull and
brutal: The matchless magic of the Sword of Force
beat out from it into the surrounding air, not with the
tone of a drum whose voice might stir the blood, but
rather with the sound of some relentless hammer,
nailing up an executioner’s scaffold.
Now the Knight himself and his close bodyguard, all
mounted, set out for the rear of their army, or what
had been its rear, at a pace that Denis on foot could
not hope to match.
But, as he would be otherwise left virtually alone, he
tried to keep up. He might have run in the other
direction instead, but he thought the rest of the army
would soon be pouring back from there, and he would
have to face round again and join them, or appear as a
deserter.
Denis was about a hundred meters behind Sir
Andrew and his mounted companions, and losing
more ground rapidly, when to his surprise he saw at a.
little distance to his right what looked like the deserted
remnants of a carnival, set down for some reason
right out here in the middle of nowhere. The booths
and counters, the apparatus for the games of
skill and chance, were all broken and standing idle.
No one was in sight at the deserted amusement
place, as Denis halted nearby, panting. The people
belonging to the show-and who could blame
them?-appeared to have run off even before the
tramp of marching armies had drawn near.
Sir Andrew and his bodyguard had not yet got
out of Denis’s sight, when a cry went up from the
same direction and only a short distance ahead of
them. Denis, turning his head away from aban-
doned tents and wagons, saw what had to be Sir
Andrew’s rear guard, running toward Sir Andrew
and his immediate companions, who had just
halted on a little knoll. It appeared to be a desper-
ate retreat, though as far as Denis could see the
rearguard was not yet panicked totally. They had
not thrown their weapons away as yet . . . and then