‘You look ridiculous,’ said Waylander.
‘Most probably. But will it serve?’
‘It will serve to draw the Vagrians to you like flies to a cowpat.’
‘I do feel rather foolish.’
‘Then take it off and find yourself something less garish.’
‘No. I can’t explain why, but this is right.’
‘Then keep away from me, priest. I want to stay alive!’
‘Will you not get yourself some armour?’
‘I have my mailshirt. I don’t intend to stand in one place long enough to be cut.’
‘I would appreciate some advice on swordsmanship,’ said Dardalion.
‘Gods of Mercy!’ snapped Waylander. ‘It takes years to learn and you have an hour, maybe two. There’s nothing I can teach you – just remember throat and groin. Protect your own, slice theirs!’
‘By the way, I told Sarvaj – the soldier who greeted us – that your name was Dakeyras.’
‘It does not matter. But thank you anyway.’
‘I am sorry that saving me has brought you to this,’ said Dardalion.
I brought myself to this; don’t blame yourself. Just try to stay alive, priest.’
‘I am in the hands of the Source.’
‘Whatever. Keep the sun to your back – that way you’ll blind them with your magnificence! And get yourself a canteen of water – you’ll find war dries the throat.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that now. I …’
‘No more speeches, Dardalion. Fetch yourself some water and position yourself down there by the wagons. That is where the action will be.’
‘I feel I ought to say something. I owe you my life … But the words are all trapped inside me.’
‘You need say nothing. You are a good man, priest – and I am glad I saved you. Now, for pity’s sake, go away!’
Dardalion returned to the courtyard and Waylander strung his crossbow, testing the strings for tension. Satisfied, he laid it gently on the stone rampart. Then, taking a short length of rawhide, he tied back his hair at the nape of the neck.
A young, bearded soldier approached. ‘Good morning, sir. My name is Jonat. This is my section.’
‘Dakeyras,’ said Waylander, extending his hand.
‘Your friend looks dressed for a royal banquet.’
‘It was the best he could find. But he’ll stand firm.’
‘I am sure that he will. Do you intend to stay up here?’
‘That is what I had in mind,’ said Waylander drily.
‘It is just that this is the best spot to cover the gap and I would prefer to place one of my archers here.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Waylander, picking up his crossbow and drawing back the upper string. Snapping a bolt in place, he glanced down at the wagon blocking the ruined gate; the wagon tongue had been pushed up, making a cross with the oxen bar. Waylander pulled back the lower string, slipping a bolt into position.
‘How wide would you say the bar is?’ asked Waylander.
‘Narrow enough to make a difficult target,’ agreed Jonat.
Waylander’s arm came up and a black bolt flashed through the air to punch its way through the right-hand bar. A second bolt thudded into the left side.
‘Interesting,’ commented Jonat. ‘May I try it?’
Waylander handed him the weapon and Jonat turned it over in his hands. It was beautifully constructed. Loading only one arrow, Jonat sighted on the centre tongue and let fly. The arrow glanced from the wood and hit the cobblestones of the courtyard, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
‘Nice weapon,’ said Jonat. ‘I would love to practise with it.’
‘If anything happens to me, you can have it,’ said Waylander.
Jonat nodded. ‘You’ll be staying here, then?’
‘I think so.’
Suddenly from the eastern wall came a shout of warning and Jonat ran to the battlement steps, joining the stream of men rushing to see the enemy. Waylander settled back against the ramparts; he had seen armies before. He took a swig from his canteen and swished the warm water around his mouth before swallowing it.
On the eastern wall Gellan and Sarvaj were joined by Jonat.
Out on the plain some six hundred Vagrian horsemen came into view and two scouts rode from the enemy ranks, galloping their horses to the western wall. Then they returned. For several minutes nothing happened as the Vagrian officers dismounted and sat together at the centre; then one rose and remounted.