among his followers came
more often from hardship than from enemy action.
He camped below the ruined city several days, recuperating, till
wholesale desertions by plunder-laden troopers informed him that
his soldiers were sufficiently rested.
Five thousand men followed him in his march toward Charm.
The Tower was sealed. They recognized him in there. They did not
want him inside. They named him rebel, traitor, madman, scum, and
worse. They mocked him. She was absent, but her lackeys remained
faithful and defiant and insufficiently afraid.
They set worms of power snaking over stone already adamantine
with spells set during the Tower’s construction: writhing
maggots of pastel green, pink, blue, that scurried to any point of
attack to absorb the sorcerous energy applied from without. The
wizards within the Tower were not as great as their attacker, but
they had the advantage of being able to work from behind defenses
erected by one who had been greater than he.
The wicker man spewed his fury till exhaustion overcame him. And
the best of his efforts only left scars little more than stains on
the face of the Tower.
They taunted and mocked him, those fools in there, but after a
few days they tired of the game. Irked by his persistence, they
began throwing things back at him. Things that burned.
He got back out of range.
His troops no longer believed him when he claimed that the Lady
had lost her power. If she had, why were her captains so
stubborn?
It must be true that she was not in the Tower. If she was not,
then she might return anytime, summoned to its aid. In that
instance it would not be smart to be found in the wicker
man’s camp.
His army began to evaporate. Whole companies vanished. Fewer
than two thousand remained when the wicker man’s sorceries
finally breeched the Tower gate. They went inside without
enthusiasm and found their pessimism justified. Most died in the
Tower’s traps before their master could stamp in behind
them.
He fared little better.
He plunged back outside, rolled on the ground to extinguish the
flames gnawing his body. Stones rained from the battlements,
threatened to crush him. But he escaped, and quickly enough to
prevent the defection of his few hundred remaining men.
Toadkiller Dog did not participate. And he did not hang around
after that humiliation. Cursing every step, the wicker man followed
him.
The Tower’s defenders used their sorcery to keep their
laughter hanging around him for days.
The cities between Charm and the sea paid, and Opal doubly. The
wicker man’s vengeance was so thorough he had to wait in the
ruins six days before an incautious sea captain put in to
investigate the disaster.
The wicker man’s rage fed upon his frustration. The very
fates seemed to conspire to thwart his revenge. For all his
frenzied and indefatigable effort he was gaining no
ground—except in the realm of madness, and that he did not
recognize.
In Beryl he encountered wizardry almost the equal of that he had
faced at the Tower. The city’s defenders put up a ferocious
fight rather than bend the knee to him.
His fury, his insanity, then, cowed even Toadkiller Dog.
----
----
XIX
Tully sat on a log and scratched and stared in the general
direction of the tree. Smeds didn’t think he was seeing
anything. He was feeling sorry for himself again. Or still.
“Shit,” he muttered. And, “The hell with
it.”
“What?”
“I said the hell with it. I’ve had it. We’re
going home.”
“Listen to this. What happened to the fancy houses and
fancy horses and fancy women and being set for life?”
“Screw it. We been out here all damned spring and half the
summer and we ain’t got nowhere. I’m going to be a
North Side bum all my life. I just got a big head for a while and
thought I could get above myself.”
Smeds looked out at the tree. Timmy Locan was out there throwing
sticks, a mindless exercise that never bored him. He was tempting
fate today, getting closer than
more often from hardship than from enemy action.
He camped below the ruined city several days, recuperating, till
wholesale desertions by plunder-laden troopers informed him that
his soldiers were sufficiently rested.
Five thousand men followed him in his march toward Charm.
The Tower was sealed. They recognized him in there. They did not
want him inside. They named him rebel, traitor, madman, scum, and
worse. They mocked him. She was absent, but her lackeys remained
faithful and defiant and insufficiently afraid.
They set worms of power snaking over stone already adamantine
with spells set during the Tower’s construction: writhing
maggots of pastel green, pink, blue, that scurried to any point of
attack to absorb the sorcerous energy applied from without. The
wizards within the Tower were not as great as their attacker, but
they had the advantage of being able to work from behind defenses
erected by one who had been greater than he.
The wicker man spewed his fury till exhaustion overcame him. And
the best of his efforts only left scars little more than stains on
the face of the Tower.
They taunted and mocked him, those fools in there, but after a
few days they tired of the game. Irked by his persistence, they
began throwing things back at him. Things that burned.
He got back out of range.
His troops no longer believed him when he claimed that the Lady
had lost her power. If she had, why were her captains so
stubborn?
It must be true that she was not in the Tower. If she was not,
then she might return anytime, summoned to its aid. In that
instance it would not be smart to be found in the wicker
man’s camp.
His army began to evaporate. Whole companies vanished. Fewer
than two thousand remained when the wicker man’s sorceries
finally breeched the Tower gate. They went inside without
enthusiasm and found their pessimism justified. Most died in the
Tower’s traps before their master could stamp in behind
them.
He fared little better.
He plunged back outside, rolled on the ground to extinguish the
flames gnawing his body. Stones rained from the battlements,
threatened to crush him. But he escaped, and quickly enough to
prevent the defection of his few hundred remaining men.
Toadkiller Dog did not participate. And he did not hang around
after that humiliation. Cursing every step, the wicker man followed
him.
The Tower’s defenders used their sorcery to keep their
laughter hanging around him for days.
The cities between Charm and the sea paid, and Opal doubly. The
wicker man’s vengeance was so thorough he had to wait in the
ruins six days before an incautious sea captain put in to
investigate the disaster.
The wicker man’s rage fed upon his frustration. The very
fates seemed to conspire to thwart his revenge. For all his
frenzied and indefatigable effort he was gaining no
ground—except in the realm of madness, and that he did not
recognize.
In Beryl he encountered wizardry almost the equal of that he had
faced at the Tower. The city’s defenders put up a ferocious
fight rather than bend the knee to him.
His fury, his insanity, then, cowed even Toadkiller Dog.
----
----
XIX
Tully sat on a log and scratched and stared in the general
direction of the tree. Smeds didn’t think he was seeing
anything. He was feeling sorry for himself again. Or still.
“Shit,” he muttered. And, “The hell with
it.”
“What?”
“I said the hell with it. I’ve had it. We’re
going home.”
“Listen to this. What happened to the fancy houses and
fancy horses and fancy women and being set for life?”
“Screw it. We been out here all damned spring and half the
summer and we ain’t got nowhere. I’m going to be a
North Side bum all my life. I just got a big head for a while and
thought I could get above myself.”
Smeds looked out at the tree. Timmy Locan was out there throwing
sticks, a mindless exercise that never bored him. He was tempting
fate today, getting closer than
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