The Blue Sword (Damar #2)(6)

"No," she said.

"Well, they were sorcerers - or so the story goes. Magicians. They could call the lightning down on the heads of their enemies, that sort of thing - useful stuff for founding an empire."

Sir Charles snorted.

"No, you're quite right; all we had was matchlocks and enthusiasm. Even magic wanes, I suppose. But I don't think it's waned quite away yet; there's some still living in those mountains out there. Corlath can trace his bloodlines back to Aerin and Tor, who ruled Damar in its golden age - with or without magic, depending on which version you prefer."

"If they weren't legends themselves," put in Sir Charles.

"Yes. But I believe they were real," said Jack Dedham. "I even believe they wielded something we prosaic Homelanders would call magic."

Harry stared at him, fascinated, and his smile broadened. "I'm quite used to being taken for a fool about this. It's doubtless part of the reason why I'm still a colonel, and still at the General Mundy. But there are a number of us old soldiers whose memories go back to the Daria of thirty, forty years ago who say the same thing."

"Oh, magic," said Sir Charles disgustedly, but there was a trace of uneasiness in his voice as well. "Have you ever seen lightning come to heel like a dog?"

Dedham through his politeness looked a little stubborn. "No. I haven't. But it's true enough at least that the men who have gone up against Corlath's father and grandfather were plagued by the most astonishing bad luck. And you know the Queen and Council back Home would give their eyeteeth to push our border back the way we've been saying we would for the last eighty years."

"Bad luck?" said Lady Amelia. "I've heard the stories, of course - some of the old ballads are very beautiful. But - what sort of bad luck?"

Dedham smiled again. "I admit it does begin to sound foolish when one tries to explain it. But things like rifles - or matchlocks - misfiring, or blowing up; not just a few, but many - yourself, and your neighbor, and his neighbor. And their neighbors. A cavalry charge just as it reaches full stretch, the horses begin to trip and fall down as if they've forgotten how to gallop - all of them. Men mistake their orders. Supply wagons lose their wheels. Half a company all suddenly get grit in their eyes simultaneously and can't see where they're going - or where to shoot. The sort of little things that always happen, but carried far beyond probability. Men get superstitious about such things, however much they scoff at elves and witches and so on. And it's pretty appalling to see your cavalry crumple up like they're all drunk, while these madmen with nothing but swords and axes and bits of leather armor are coming down on you from every direction - and nobody seems to be firing at them from your side. I assure you I've seen it."

Richard shifted in his chair. "And Corlath - "

"Yes, Corlath," the colonel continued, sounding still as unruffled as when he thanked Lady Amelia for his cup of tea, while Sir Charles' face was getting redder and redder and he whuffled through his mustache. It was hard not to believe Dedham; his voice was too level, and it rang with sincerity. "They say that in Corlath the old kings have come again. You know he's begun to reunite some of the outlying tribes - the ones that don't seem to owe anyone any particular allegiance, and who live by a sort of equal-handed brigandry on anyone within easy reach."

"Yes, I know," said Sir Charles.

"Then you may also have heard some of the other sort of stories they've begun to tell about him. I imagine he can call lightning to heel if he feels like it."

"This is the man who's coming here today?" said Lady Amelia; and even she now sounded a little startled.

"Yes, Amelia, I'm afraid so."

"If he's so blasted clever," muttered Sir Charles, "what does he want with us?"

Dedham laughed. "Come now, Charles. Don't be sulky. I don't suppose even a magician can make half a million Northerners disappear like raindrops in the ocean. We certainly need him to keep the passes through his mountains closed. And it may be that he has decided that he needs us - to mop up the leaks, perhaps."

Lady Amelia stood up, and Harry reluctantly followed her. "We will leave you to discuss it. Is there - is there anything I could do, could arrange? I'm afraid I know very little about entertaining native - chieftains. Do you suppose he will want lunch?" She spread her hands and looked around the table.

Harry suppressed a smile at the thought of proper little Lady Amelia offering sandwiches, with the crusts neatly trimmed off, and lemonade to this barbarian king. What would he look like? She thought: I've never even seen any of the Freemen, the Hillfolk. All the natives at the station, even the merchants from away, look subdued and ... a little wary.

"Oh, bosh," said Sir Charles. "I wish I knew what he wanted - lunch or anything else. Part of what makes all this so complicated is that we know the Free Hillfolk have a very complicated code of honor - but we know almost nothing about what it consists of."

"Almost," murmured Dedham.

"We could offend them mortally and not even know it. I don't know if Corlath is coming alone, or with a select band of his thousand best men, all armed to the teeth and carrying lightning bolts in their back pockets."

"Now, Charles," Dedham said. "We've invited him here - "