Battledragon (29 page)

Thus they heard that there was a rumor that they were going to the Lands of Terror, over the mountains far away.

Nobody knew much about this place; it was at the edge of the world and few who went there ever returned.

They also heard that there was some disorder in the Czardhan camp. Bands of knights from the Trucial States had been involved in a fracas with knights from Hentilden. Other states had lined up on either side, mostly on the side of Hentilden.

Count Trego had been working for hours to bring about a reconciliation and prevent a pitched battle in the morning. The knights of the Trucial States were very prickly, aware of how disliked they were by the other Czardhans.

Meanwhile there was a mysterious problem among some of the Kassimi princelings. They had been involved in the abduction and rape of three young countrywomen shortly before their arrival in Koubha.

An old man had appeared soon after their arrival and pronounced a curse upon them while shaking a Gu-Ku head, a shrunken human skull in which burned a magical fire.

The Kassimi princelings had been struck soon after by nausea and then by a disease that seemed to rot them from the inside out. Their flesh grew soft, and blood leaked from their mouths, noses, and eyes. They cried out in agony, and no palliatives known to the Kassimi doctors would ease the pain. They were expected to die before dawn.

Relkin nodded and gave Endi a warning look. Local girls could mean trouble, and consorting with the local women of a foreign land was often an invitation to an unpleasant punishment. Endi seemed to have taken the news to heart. He fell quiet, and they resumed work in silence.

Once they'd finished the scrub up, they headed back to the stables, exhausted from the long day.

General Baxander had unexpected visitors to his tent. The king himself, great Choulaput, had come with a small group of advisers. Baxander had dealt with the king several times before, and knew him to be a man of sharp intelligence. However, all previous meetings had been in the royal palace.

Choulaput was a powerfully built man who carried himself like a king. He wore a suit of the light Bogoni armor, made of lacquered hide, with purple silk pantaloons and a small round helmet, also of hide. He wore a necklace of enormous, daggerlike teeth and a short, ceremonial sword with a golden hilt and pommel. On his feet were sandals bound with golden thread. His advisers were similarly clad, though with somewhat less opulence.

Choulaput explained in archaic Verio that he had come because time was short and he wanted to see the Argonathi army at first hand, without having to go through the bother of a formal review. He expected there would be fighting very shortly. The enemy had not pulled back very far.

"I fear that they have trapped you, General. Perhaps you should not have come to Koubha."

"Wherever the enemy is, there shall we go. It is our business to get to grips with them."

Choulaput smiled at the general's bravado.

"My friend from Argonath land, the Kraheen are in numbers like the leaves of grass that show after the spring rains. When I took my army up to meet them, we found we could not hold back the host of the Kraheen. They attack like men possessed of no fear. They overlapped our line on both ends, and we would have been destroyed if we had fought on. And so we were made to withdraw, although our hearts were heavy at having to allow this invasion of our land. They came here and surrounded the city. I thought that Koubha must fall when they had completed their siege engines. I

prayed for the intercession of the gods, and we made sacrifices every evening. Twice the Kraheen attempted to storm our walls, and twice we drove them back. Then at last, you came and they dispersed at once. They even abandoned the engines they had been building. We have already destroyed most of them. Thanks be to the gods, for they heard our prayers."

"They feared being caught between our forces, perhaps," said Baxander.

"I do not think so. I think they wish us to believe that they fear us. They wish us to go forth up against them filled with confidence."

Baxander smiled grimly. "Good. I expect them to become emboldened now that they have seen how few are our numbers. That will be their first great mistake."

The king's dark eyes bored into Baxander's.

"They will outnumber our combined force by two to one. How can you go up against them? They are not cowards; they fight like fiends possessed."

"Your Majesty, this campaign will be fought by a professional, highly trained military force. That is what I represent. You have never seen the legions make war. No enemy will surprise a well-equipped legion. No enemy can stand before a legion's charge."

Choulaput seemed undecided.

"I expect that we shall discover for ourselves how true these claims are. The Kraheen have not gone that far away, and they will be back. We will fight again within the week."

Baxander nodded, "I absolutely agree. We will be ready."

Choulaput's expression changed. There was a hint of concern, even worry in his voice now. "In the meantime my people are suffering. We have had little food in the city for a week or more."

"Your Majesty, we will do our best for your people as soon as my supply trains arrive. They are out in the eastern hills now, guarded by our cavalry and a regiment of foot. I expect their arrival soon after dawn."

"I pray that it will arrive safely. The enemy has cavalry of his own, riders out of the deserts beyond the Nub, in the Lands of Terror. They are devils!"

Baxander felt a tremor go through him. The "Lands of Terror," that was what the witch had spoken of. Would they really have to go that far? Baxander had hoped all along that by disposing of this enemy army, they would obviate the need for the rest of the expedition.

The interior regions of the continent were largely unknown. But the legends of the Lands of Terror were known to the few who were interested in such things. Baxander had learned much of these things on his voyage from the Argonath. The legends had left him uneasy.

Baxander took a deep breath. He was exhausted. It had been a long week of marching. The mountain of planning he and his staff had constructed beforehand had paid off handsomely, and still there had been innumerable crises. The king had no idea; that was why he was so oblivious to what the legions could achieve.

"My scouts tell me that the enemy's main host has withdrawn eight miles to the west. We have contact with his outriders. I will be kept informed of his movements. If he wishes battle, then he will find it."

The king was not finished. His face became graver still.

"There is another difficulty. The armored knights have been troubling our granaries with demands for feed and grain. We have none to spare, but they are most insistent and have even drawn their weapons on my soldiers."

Baxander sighed. Those Czardhans would be the death of him!

Not for the first time Baxander wondered if it was worth having the Czardhans with them. Heavy cavalry might provide them with a grand weapon against the Kraheen, but so far the knights had been nothing but trouble.

"I will speak to the count at once."

Choulaput smiled broadly and stepped forward to clasp hands with Baxander. His smile became bitter.

"Thank you, General. Even if we die together on the battlefield, I am assured that we will give them a fight that they will sing of for a hundred years."

Baxander ignored the pessimism in the king's voice.

"My men should be rested and ready for battle by noon. How will it be with your army, Lord?"

"My men are ready, but they are weak from hunger. If we can feed them tomorrow, then they will grow stronger. They thirst for revenge upon the Kraheen, who have laid waste our land and taken many of our people as slaves and sent them into the interior. Even if we defeat the Kraheen, by the will of the great gods, we shall never see our people again. They will be lost into the Lands of Terror."

"By the Hand of the Great Mother," vowed Baxander. "We shall chasten them for these foul deeds. And if they do not disturb us for another half a day, then I can assure you we will be perfectly ready for them."

Just let the men and dragons rest; get in that supply train at dawn and feed everyone in the forenoon. Then let the enemy show his face!

"We will speak again at dawn!" Choulaput clasped hands again with Baxander. "You have filled my heart with your fire, General. We shall make war together, and they shall sing of us!"

The king left, and immediately Baxander signaled his aides and wrote a message to the Count Felk-Habren.

Back at the stables Relkin and Endi found, to their dismay, that they'd missed the evening water cart and therefore had nothing to set out for their dragons, who might wake thirsty in the night. As both boys knew, dragons were often dehydrated by prolonged marching.

With weary groans, they took up a barrow and pushed it down to the watering station, set up behind the regimental cookshack. There was a mountainous woodpile to one side, and a wagon park to the other. The sound and smell of great numbers of oxen filled the air. Drovers were moving their huge animals around to water them, and their whips and cries cut the night as the wagons creaked past.

At the watering station, they waited in line behind a handful of legionaries on unit water details. Freshwater was kept in hundred-gallon barrels stacked on specially designed long wagons. From these barrels smaller containers were filled as needed. When their turn came, Relkin and Endi filled a pair of drinking barrels and stacked them on the barrow. Then they started the return trip, taking turns to push the barrow.

Rounding the turn by the woodpile, they saw a party of Bogoni men, nobles from the expensive look of their armor and accouterments. In the center was a tall, commanding figure.

Suddenly they burst into hearty laughter at a joke, the laughter was so open and honest that Relkin was moved to smile, despite the deadening sense of exhaustion he felt. The barrow was very heavy and hard to keep balanced. Endi wasn't doing much of a job on the balancing side, either.

And then with astonishing abruptness, there came a sudden rush from out of the depths of the woodpile. At least ten men, perhaps more, clad in black and with steel in their hands, sprang from concealment and hurled themselves at the Bogoni nobles.

With cries of alarm and rage, the nobles turned to defend themselves, but they were taken by surprise and they were heavily outnumbered. In a flash of steel, one of them was cut down. A second was run through and dropped to the ground.

The tall one in the center had drawn a short sword and engaged three attackers. Swords flashed and flickered, but still he held them at bay. The survivors of his party steadied around him.

Relkin came alive at the same moment.

"Push!" he yelled to Endi, and together they heaved their barrow along, the heavy barrels jouncing ominously together. With newfound strength, he got the barrow fairly flying and in ten strides they burst into the rear of the fight. The barrow took down two of the assassins, running over the back of their legs, then it went out of control and tipped over and shot out a barrel that bowled over several more like ninepins. The other barrel burst on the ground, and the barrow caromed into the center of the fight, momentarily driving back the attackers.

At this point Relkin found he wasn't carrying any weapons. He'd left his dirk back in their stall. Endi had only his knife. Then he was too busy trying to stay alive to worry about the lack. A sword parted the air where his head had been a moment before as he ducked. Fortunately, he kept his balance and now moved fluidly to kick the sword wielder hard in the belly. The man was taken by surprise and staggered back. Before his sword could move again, Relkin kicked him once more, this time in the crotch. With an explosive "oof," the man doubled up and fell to his knees. Still, Relkin could not pry the man's sword out of his hand. The man even tried to bite him.

Another came at him, and he spun away. To his right he glimpsed the tall Bogoni noble striking down a black-clad figure, and then despite a desperate duck, something hit Relkin hard on the side of the head and he fell to his knees. Some self-preserving instinct made him fall into a forward roll.

That saved him from losing his head. He bounced up against some logs and dropped back. Everything hurt, his head was ringing, but there was no time to sit there and think about it. He hauled himself back to his feet, with doubled vision and a ringing in his ears.

Still operating on instinct alone, he grabbed a piece of firewood as long as his arm and swung it around just in time to intercept a sword coming down. The sword stuck fast in the wood, and Relkin let go. The sword was pulled down, the man put a foot on the wood to pull free, and Relkin hammered him over the head with another piece of wood.

Now Relkin pulled the sword free and flung himself back into the fight. His vision had steadied, though his ears were still ringing. He put a hand up to the side of his head and felt some blood, but it was not a river of it, and he concluded he'd been struck by something blunt.

When would someone finally hear what was going on here behind the woodpile, Relkin wondered as he engaged an assassin, sword to sword.

The uproar of drovers and ox teams masked even the sounds of steel on steel, the oaths and cries of men at battle.

The assassin wielded his sword with furious energy but not the greatest skill. Relkin turned the slashes aside and sought to get in a thrust. The sword in his hand was heavy, and it seemed a little clumsy to one who had always wielded the steel weapons forged in Cunfshon.

Still it was an edged weapon with a point, and Relkin had trained and fought with such things since he was six years old. His opponent tried a kick, but gave away his intentions far too soon, and Relkin avoided it, then turned the fellow's blade and drove his point home into the man's thigh.

The assassin made no sound but pulled back for a second before attacking again.

Endi came out of the dark; he, too, had acquired a sword, but its tip was gone. He deflected blows rained down on him by a burly man with a black mask and silver workings on his robe.