The Doomfarers of Coramonde by Brian Daley Page A

curious club-like
affair of wood and metal, longer than a man’s arm.
    The scholar
leaned out over the merlin’s lip and spoke back. His teeth were showing, but it
was no smile. “Tell your commander and your counterfeit Ku-Mor-Mai that
we don’t surrender ourselves to usurpers or their ass-kissing messengers.”
    “I wonder
what’s happened in Earthfast?” Andre was saying, one cogitative finger at his
thick lips.
    “—and if you’ve
seen what I did to your friends in Erub,” Van Duyn continued, apparently with
huge enjoyment, “you’ll know enough to stay well away from our walls. Or would
you like a taste of this?”
    He brought his
rifle to his shoulder, sighting down it, Springbuck thought, rather as one
would squint down an arrow to gauge its trueness. There came an explosion.
    A spit of flame
and smoke shot from the armament’s end and a clot of dirt leaped between the
feet of the herald’s horse. The air was filled with the same smell that the
Prince had noticed lingering in the air in Erub, and the horses threatened to
go mad, eyes rolling white and ears flattening to their skulls in terror as
they screamed in fear.
    Springbuck
staggered back with a yell of alarm at this, ears ringing from the blast. The
outlander was calmly lowering his weapon, watching herald and standard-bearer
withdraw in disarray.
    A small capsule
of metal had been flung from some hidden opening in the rifle and now lay
smoking at his feet. Springbuck picked it up, juggling it to keep from burning
his fingers, and found that it exuded that peculiar odor. He thought about the
tongue of flame and about the curious wound-holes in the dead cavalrymen in
Erub.
    “Who were the
two who remained at a distance with the other troops, those in bright
clothing?” Van Duyn was asking.
    The sorceress
answered, perfect brow wrinkled for an instant in thought. “Creatures of
Yardiff Bey. He in the golden full-helmet is Ibn-al-Yed, Bey’s right arm. The
other, I believe, is Neezolo Peeno, known as a premier druid. It would seem
that, while he cannot do us the honor of attending our demise in person, Bey
sends his closest vassals to do so.” Amazingly, she chuckled. Seeing Andre’s
face afflicted with doubt and concern, she stopped her low laugh and asked,
“Why so glum, brother dear?”
    “What about the
soldiers?” Springbuck interrupted.
    She turned her
mocking gaze to him. “What about them? Here you are, dressed and plumed for war
and wearing a sword. Have you no suggestions?”
    She slipped her
arm possessively through Van Duyn’s and waited.
    Springbuck’s
ire rose. Spotting the youngster who’d fetched Van Duyn’s rifle, he said, “Find
yourself four more men and begin making forked poles to push scaling ladders
away from the walls. Make them at least fifteen feet long.”
    The boy looked
from the Prince to Van Duyn and the deCourteneys. At length Andre cleared his
throat and said, “Do as he tells you, Byree. His idea makes sense.”
    Byree dashed
off as the wizard turned to Springbuck. “What else can we do?”
    Springbuck
showed no sign of hesitance, knowing how important confidence was in a leader.
Other, more vital abilities would come only with painful experience.
    “Start some of
the others assembling makeshift mantlets and have them brought up here. And set
out buckets of water and earth or sand in case they loft fire arrows at us.
We’ll need anything we can get as polearms: scythes, flails, pitchforks,
anything.”
    “Have you no
orders for me?” Gabrielle asked with heavy sarcasm.
    “Yes,” returned
the Prince, “you could gather some help and pull the birds’ nests from the
chimneys.”
    The patchwork
command took shape quickly. A room was prepared for any wounded they might
suffer. Springbuck walked among the men of Erub and divided them into
subgroups, selecting those he deemed most alert and aggressive-looking for
leaders.
    By this time it
was deep dusk and the cooking fires were burning in the two