Arutha said, “We have no common language in which to parley, unless you mean to send Tully out under a flag of truce.”
Fannon said, “He’d go, of course, but I’d not risk him. Still, the bodies could be trouble in a day or two. Besides the stink and flies, with unbuned dead comes disease. It’s the gods’ way of showing their displeasure over not honoring the dead.”
“Then,” said Arutha, pulling on the boot he had just taken off, “we had best see what can be done.”
He returned to the gate and found Gardan already making plans to remove the bodies. A dozen volunteers were waiting by the gate to go and gather the dead for a funeral pyre.
Arutha and Fannon reached the walls as Gardan led the men through the gate. Archers lined the walls to cover the retreat of the men outside the walls if necessary, but it soon became evident the Tsurani were not going to trouble the party. Several came to the edge of their lines, to sit and watch the Kingdom soldiers working.
After a half hour it was clear the men of Crydee would not be able to complete the work before they were exhausted. Arutha considered sending more men outside, but Fannon refused, thinking it what the Tsurani were waiting for. “If we have to move a large party back through the gate, it might prove disastrous. If we close the gate, we lose men outside, and if we leave it open too long, the Tsurani breach the castle.” Arutha was forced to agree, and they settled down to watch Gardan’s men working in the hot morning.
Then, near midday, a dozen Tsurani warriors, unarmed, walked casually across their lines and approached the work party. Those on the wall watched tensely, but when the Tsurani reached the spot where Crydee men worked, they silently began picking up bodies and carrying them to where the pyre was being erected.
With the help of the Tsurani, the bodies were stacked upon the huge pyre. Torches were set, and soon the bodies of the slain were consumed in fire. The Tsurani who had helped place the bodies upon the pyre watched as the soldier who led the volunteers stood away from the mounting flames. Then one Tsurani soldier spoke a word, and he and his companions bowed in respect to those upon the fire. The soldier who led the Crydee soldiers said, “Honors to the dead!” The twelve men of Crydee assumed a posture of attention and saluted. Then the Tsurani turned to face the Kingdom soldiers and again they bowed. The commanding soldier called out, “Return salute!” and the twelve men of Crydee saluted the Tsurani.
Arutha shook his head, watching men who had tried to kill one another working side by side as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then saluting one another. “Father used to say that, among man’s strange undertakings, war stood clearly forth as the strangest.”
At sundown they came again, wave after wave of attackers, rushing the west wall, to die at the base. Four times during the night they struck, and four times they were repulsed.
Now they came again, and Arutha shrugged off his fatigue to fight once more. They could see more Tsurani joining those before the castle, long snakes of torchlight coming from the forest to the north. After the last assault, it was clear the situation was shifting to the Tsurani’s favor. The defenders were exhausted from two nights of fighting, and the Tsurani were still throwing fresh troops into the fray.
“They mean to grind us down, no matter what the cost,” said a fatigued Fannon. He began to say something to a guard when a strange expression crossed his face. He closed his eyes and collapsed. Arutha caught him. An arrow protruded from his back. A panicky-looking soldier kneeling on the other side looked at Arutha, clearly asking: What do we do?
Arutha shouted, “Get him into the keep, to Father Tully,” and the man and another soldier picked up the unconscious Swordmaster and carried him down. A third soldier asked, “What orders, Highness?”
Arutha spun around, seeing the worried faces of Crydee’s soldiers nearby, and said, “As before. Defend the wall.”
The fighting went hard. A half-dozen times Arutha found himself dueling with Tsurani warriors who topped the wall. Then, after a timeless battling, the Tsurani withdrew.
Arutha stood panting, his clothing drenched with perspiration beneath his chest armor. He shouted for water, and a castle porter arrived with a bucket. He drank, as did the others around, and turned to watch the Tsurani host.
Again they stood just beyond catapult range, and their torchlights seemed undimimshed. “Prince Arutha,” came a voice behind. He spun around Horsemaster Algon was standing before him. “I just heard of Fannon’s wound.”
Arutha said, “How is he?”