A Man Rides Through Read Free Page B

range, even for the iron-trussed crossbows some of the Alends carried, the brown shape sailed out toward the catapult and over it and away again, back in the direction of the castle. The Prince thought he heard a faint, thin cry, like the wail of a seabird.
     
    And from out of the smoke as it passed overhead came plummeting a rock as big as the one which the catapult had pitched at Orison.
     
    Powerful with the force of its fall, the rock struck the catapult and shattered the wood as easily as if the engine had been built of kindling. Splinters and bolts burst loose on all sides; chunks of timber arced away from the impact and hit the ground like rubble. Two of the men fleeing from the catapult went down, one with a ragged stave driven through his leg, the other with his skull crushed by a bit of the engine's iron. The rest were luckier.
     
    The vague brown shape had already dropped out of sight beyond the parapets of the castle.
     
    A shout went up from the army—anger and fear demanding an outlet, calling for blood. But Prince Kragen stood still, his face impassive, as if he had never been surprised in his life. Only the white lines of his mouth hidden under his moustache betrayed what he felt.
     
    "My lady," he said to Elega in a tone of grim nonchalance, "you have lived for years in the proximity of Imagers. Surely Orison has always been full of rumors concerning the Congery. Have you ever heard of or seen such a thing before?"
     
    She shook her head dumbly and studied the wreckage of the catapult as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
     
    "It is possible," he muttered for her ears alone, "that during King Joyse's peace we have forgotten too much of the abomination of Imagery. Clearly the Masters have not been inactive under his rule.
     
    "My lady"—he closed his eyes just for a moment and allowed himself to be appalled—"the Congery must not fall into the hands of High King Festten."
     
    Then the Prince took command of himself again and left her. First he ordered the captain of catapults to bring forward another siege engine and try again, taking whatever precautions were necessary to protect the men. After that, he went to talk to his father.
     
     
     
    The Alend Monarch's tents were sumptuous by his standards. Margonal liked to travel in comfort. Also he knew that upon occasion a grand public display was good for morale. Nevertheless High King Festten would have considered the Monarch's quarters a hovel. Alend lacked the seaports and hence the trade of Cadwal. Compared to Festten, Margonal was no wealthier than one of his Lieges. If Mordant hadn't lain between Cadwal and Alend—and if the Cares of Mordant hadn't been so contentious, so difficult to rule—a quality which made them an effective buffer—the High King and the forces which his wealth could procure would long since have swallowed up his ancient enemy.
     
    Prince Kragen was conscious of this, not because he was jealous of the High King's riches, but because he felt acutely vulnerable to Cadwal, as he pushed the canvas door-flap aside and was admitted to his father's presence. He could feel Alend's peril in the cold wind that curled about his neck like a garotte.
     
    The Alend Monarch sat in the fore-tent where he held councils and consultations. The Prince could see him well enough: braziers intended for warmth gave off a flickering illumination that danced among the tentpoles and around the meeting chairs. But there was no other light. The seams of the tent were sealed with flaps, and Margonal didn't permit lamps or torches or even candles in his presence. Privately, Prince Kragen considered this arbitrary prohibition a vestige of the tyranny to which his father had formerly been accustomed. Nevertheless he accepted it without question. As anyone who looked on the Alend Monarch's face in good light could see, Margonal was stone blind.
     
    It was unimaginable that any vision could penetrate the white film which covered his eyes like