Beyond the tents, along the road, there was an army drawn up in marching order, stretching out of sight into the forest in both directions.
Anya stared. The former frogs were no longer clad in rust and rags, but in shining new mail like her own, of fine dwarf-make. Some still carried quarterstaves, but most had spears or swords. They stood proudly in ranks, a regiment waiting its chance to take revenge for lives and time lost to evil sorcery.
Bert lounged against a tree, accompanied by dozens and dozens of Responsible Robbers, clad in their various shades of green and russet. All of them were armed to the teeth, their longbows most prominent. They carried extra sheaves of arrows on their backs, in addition to full quivers.
There was a cart and donkey, laden with bags, bottles, and a huge surgical chest, with Princess Saramin in the driver’s seat, and the three merchants and Martha sitting behind her. Hedric and five druids sat cross-legged behind the cart, long-handled scythes laid on the ground before them. The young Gerald the Herald stood nearby, writing feverishly in his notebook.
The Seven Dwarves, clad from head to foot in articulated plate armor of their own design, were gathered close by, their huge axes at rest and their visors open. Erzefezonim caught Anya’s eye, tapped her own armored chest, pointed at Anya, and smiled. The princess nodded in thanks, recognizing that it was the youngest dwarf who had cleaned and dressed her.
Behind the dwarves, Parengoethes, the oldest warden of the High Kingdom, stood with a standard, the slight breeze ruffling it open enough for Anya to see the device, a simple square of gold on a white field.
“The flag of the High Kingdom, representing the Only Stone and the All-Encompassing Bill of Rights and Wrongs,” said Dehlia, landing near Anya with a flurry of her old wings.
Ardent came from behind to stand on Anya’s right, putting his head under her hand. Smoothie reared up on the princess’s left and made an encouraging chirruping noise. And rather surprisingly, Shrub crept out from under the hawthorn and hesitantly took up a place nearby.
Sir Malorak marched over. She had new mail and a sword, which she used to salute Anya.
“Your army awaits the order to march on Trallonia Castle, Frogkisser.”
“Our army,” said Anya. The words came out as a squeak. She took a very deep breath and spoke again, much more loudly.
“Our army! Marching under the standard of the Bill of Rights and Wrongs. Tonight we retake Trallonia and defeat the evil sorcerer Rikard!”
“Very good,” said Ardent as everyone cheered. It was an amazing sound, a full-blooded cheer from hundreds of throats, which made all the birds fly out of the trees and small animals even half a league away take to their burrows.
“I hope we do defeat Rikard,” said Anya very quietly. This army was impressive, but Rikard’s probably was too. And he had his sorcery, which had continued to grow and grow in strength, as seen by the creation of the bone ship.
Who knew what other horrors he might have in store?
Anya was brought up to date with the latest news as the army marched out of the forest and across the fields towards the castle. The sun had set as they emerged from the tree line, but it was a clear night with many stars and the promise of the silver moon.
“The Duke has withdrawn his troops into the castle,” said Sir Malorak. “The count is at least fifteen score weaselfolk, four large beasts that may be trolls or lesser stonefolk of some kind, a baker’s dozen of assassins, a bandit troop of seventeen or eighteen—one may have been counted twice when she changed her hat—and the Duke himself.”
“That’s a lot,” Anya observed.
“Twice our numbers,” said Sir Malorak. “But any one of ours is worth three or four of the Duke’s, save perhaps the trolls.”
“Is this where I say ‘seize the castle’?” asked Anya.
“You may, if you wish,” said Sir Malorak. “The plan remains the same. We will draw up on the water meadow—it is dry enough—and stand ready to charge in when your party opens the gate.”
“I suppose we’d better get on with it, then,” said Anya. She cast an anxious look at the sky. “Particularly if those other sorcerers might arrive before the dawn.”
“Eat what’s in front of you first,” said Ardent. He spoke gravely, and for once wasn’t leaping about or talking too quickly. “Don’t worry about them till we have to, Princess.”
“Lead us to the tunnel, Ardent,” said Anya. She turned to the small group with her. “Is everyone ready?”
There was a chorus of ayes and yeses and of courses! Only Shrub didn’t speak. Anya looked at the huge orange newt curiously. What was he up to? His large bulbous eyes met her gaze briefly; then he looked away. Anya frowned, but she didn’t have time to find out what was going on with him.
It was strange walking in the starlit night among an army getting itself ready for an attack. The dark silhouette of the castle could be seen a few hundred yards away, against the lighter sky, but there was no activity on its crumbling walls. Anya’s troops went quietly to their positions, rough shapes moving with only the occasional whisper, but there was still the occasional jangle of armor or weapons as the soldiers collided by accident, stepped in a rabbit hole, or slipped in the damp mud of the water meadow.
The Duke had to know there was an enemy force getting ready out in the darkness, Anya thought. But perhaps Rikard presumed his sorcery was so powerful it didn’t matter who was moving against him, and he was watching from the battlements, smiling his secret smile, a cackle about to rise in his throat …
Anya banished that thought, and concentrated on following Ardent. His golden coat was bright under the stars, and she let her hand fall on his back and gave him a little scratch of encouragement. His tail wagged twice, but he was concentrating too, leading them to the tunnel entrance.