Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [155]
The village of Gladestone was secure at last.
Bronwyn, however, felt anything but safe. They were too close to Summit Hall. She said her farewells to the villagers, and she and Ebenezer rode out into the fields.
“That’s that,” he commented. “Did what you came to do.” She wasn’t so sure. Yes, she did have the Fenrisbane, but she felt a bit like a farm dog who habitually chased-and finally caught-a horse-drawn cart and thought, what now?
“Best be getting back to the city,” the dwarf commented, breaking her troubled reverie. ‘Way I figure it, that Brian Swordmaster fellow has only two more days to talk my kin into staying around for good. I’d just as soon add my voice to the matter.”
“True. And I’ve got to make arrangements for Cara and decide what to do with these trinkets.”
The dwarf scratched his chin. “After all the trouble we went through to get that toy, I’d like to take a look at it. You feeling up to a little magic?”
Bronwyn thought this over. She had only two of the three rings and only one of the two people whose agreement was needed to activate the siege tower’s power, but even a partial result, if that were possible, would be enlightening. She certainly owed the dwarf that much.
She took the tower and gestured for him to follow her. They walked out onto the rye field, beyond the sight of the villagers. She set the small tower down on a furrow and took the two rings from the thong around her neck. “I don’t know if this will work, but here it goes,” she said.
Bronwyn slipped first one, then the other ring into the slots on the tower. For a moment nothing happened. Then the tower began to grow, a quick, smooth spreading motion that looked as if a massive tidal wave was rising from the young rye.
Ebenezer hauled her up by her collar, and they both kicked into a run. After a hundred paces or so, they turned to look.
“Stones,” whispered the dwarf.
The tower rose into the sky, tall as the forest trees. The front fell in a straight line, the back was sloped down. Strips of wood offered footing to soldiers who needed to climb up to the massive attack deck. A huge counterweight stood ready to drop, thus ifinging the contents of an enormous trebuchet. The ballista was an monstrous machine. Next to it, stacks of bolts stood ready. The whole structure was built of thick, solid oak planks, with a sheen on it that suggested some sort of protective coating far superior to the wet animal hides that draped most siege towers. Bands of iron and thousands upon thousands of spikes held the massive construction together. But for all its size, it was little more substantial than a strong wind. Bronwyn could see through it, to the trees beyond. The rising sun caught and shimmered on its faintly luminous outline.
The Fenrisbane was a marvelous, indestructible, deathdealing… ghost.
It was also larger than Bronwyn had anticipated, and thus clearly visible from the village. She turned around to see if they had witnesses. Indeed, most of the villagers came at a run, swiftly at first, then dropping off at a safe distance to take stock of this marvel.
Ebenezer whistled softly. “Nice piece of work,” he admitted, eyeing the Fenrisbane with naked awe. “Not much starch to it, though.”
That was true, and it left Bronwyn with a bit of a dilemma. How to get the rings from the attack deck? But either the incomplete magic wavered, or the magical tower responded to her thoughts, because the monstrous attack machine swiftly shrank back down to a toy, and Bronwyn pulled out the rings and slipped them onto her fingers.
The dwarf glanced over his shoulder at the gaping villagers. He did a quick double take and swore. “Lookit there,” he said grimly, pointing to the hills south of the village. A white horse was clearly visible and approaching fast. With the rider were four others. “Now that they’ve seen this thing, they’ve got one more reason to run you down. We’d best be riding, and fast.”
* * * * *
The incident in Thornhold’s chapel weighed heavily on Dag Zoreth, as did the disturbing information that Ashemmi had passed on. He went to his