Dragons of War (44 page)

"We have what we came for. We must return at once. Every day is vital."

"Is the bull free?"

"Yes. The sleeve is but a sham, held by a thread, he could break it at any time."

"Good. Then we are ready."

The mature bull of seventeen summers had spent the most interesting hours of his life listening with his whole being to the thought dreams presented by the mouse. He knew it was no ordinary mouse that addressed him.

These ideas had infected him with a deep excitement. In his inner being, he fairly trembled from it. He was promised his chance at revenge. He would go wild.

He remained calm, however, peacefully feeding on whole corn, thinking only about the best times he could remember. The first receptive cow. The days of playfulness as a young mammoth. Even his mother and the family group of his time as a calf.

The mouse had told him that when the time came, the thing that held his heel would break and he would go free. There would be a signal, and he would act.

Once outside the pen, he would be guided by the mouse. It claimed to know the way.

The gates opened once again to admit the dung cart and the slaves that pushed it. They took up their shovels and worked slowly through the pen, moving around the mammoth carefully. He was not normally a bad-tempered mammoth, but you never knew with these huge, dangerous beasts.

The doors opened again, imps leaned in to call on the slaves to hurry up.

Nobody noticed at first, but the placid bull had slipped his chain. He was by the dung cart in the next moment, and he knocked it over onto the trio of imps. He erupted out of the gate the very next moment. Riding on his right ear was a mouse, clinging on for dear life.

Flying up above and behind was a tiny bird.

Running ahead of him was an ever-growing tide of terrified men and imps.

At one junction he caught up with a milling group of imps. He crushed some, hurled others about like rags, and left the rest cowering in abject terror.

He broke into a stall and tore the chains out of the wall to free a young cow.

He broke into another stall but was unable to help the cow there, who was distended by some enormous pregnancy.

He raged along the stalls, smashing them open and liberating two more cows, both were only recently impregnated, still mobile, and just as angry as the bull.

Men with spears came. The mouse told the bull to pull up sections of the wooden stalls and to wield the wood like a branch, to fling it in effect.

The men threw their spears, but from a distance, and scored only a single glancing wound. The sight of entire stable doors flying back through the air at them was too much, and they turned and ran.

The maddened mammoths rumbled on, now bursting out of the mammoth-breeding zone entirely, scattering the guard at the gate and killing a dozen imps who foolishly stood their ground.

The mammoths took wounds, swords, arrows, and spears, but they did not seem to notice. This was a death ride, and in their huge feet and their flailing trunks, they carried a final message from their kind to the oppressors.

The mouse had deduced that a secret entrance to the higher Deeps had been dug recently. The mammoths could not have been brought down through the Tetralobe in secret, so there had to be another way in, and therefore out.

They reached a passage that widened to the left. To the right it diminished. The doorways were dark, windows shuttered. The mouse spoke into the mammoth's ear. The beast turned right, and the cows followed.

The mob of fugitives running ahead of them had turned left. The wren darted ahead. There was a gate ahead, guarded by a dozen imps and a pair of albino trolls.

The trolls attempted to halt the mammoths. The bull charged. A troll swung a massive club. The bull jerked to a halt, dodged the swing, caught the club with his trunk, and tore it out of the troll's big hands.

He knocked the troll over and trampled it heavily. The cows did the same for the other, although it managed to cripple one of them with its club. She was slain by imps with spears who were in turn slain by the bull. Then they went on, through the gate and up a spiraling passageway that ascended to another gate.

There were more guards here, and four trolls. The fight was longer and quite severe. The bull of seventeen summers triumphed, however, despite taking some punishing blows. He was speared, and badly, at the last. Another of the cows was down, dying with spears in her belly. But the younger cow was still alive, and she was helping him. The mature bull of seventeen summers stepped forward, and together they walked out into the light of day under the sun, into the cool air of the outer world.

Enemies were coming, a great many enemies. There was a thunder of horses hooves and the cries of Baguti horse archers sighting the two mammoths resounded across the open space. But for a few moments they had succeeded. They had rebelled and broken their chains and escaped the Hell imposed on them by the oppressors. Their trunks entwined and remained that way even as the arrows began to rain down on them.

Two miles away the mouse scrambled across the moss, with the wren flitting back and forth ahead. The sky was wide-open and blue, with scarcely a cloud to be seen.

This was a time of terrible danger, the mouse felt more vulnerable even than when they were inside the Tetralobe. Hawks could be swinging in at any moment.

A shadow slid over them. They froze, the mouse looked up and prepared to throw herself to either side. A great eagle hovered, with wings beating, and then landed with a bounce on the lichen of the frost meadow.

Cuica had seen the sudden appearance of two great mammoths out of a cave dug into the east face of the height of Padmasa. Such an irruption could only mean one thing.

Now an exhausted mouse climbed onto the eagle's neck and crawled to the leather cup and curled up inside, completely spent. The wren perched beside her.

The eagle lofted away and flapped across the death scene of the young mammoths, surrounded by a circling, ululating horde of blood-crazed Baguti. Rising higher, the bird was seen by the watchers in the Square. A report was made.

In the Hall of Nectars and Essences, the Five conferred.

"Send out the batrukhs, capture that eagle," said Heruta Skash Gzug. "Preferably alive, but dead if necessary."

Hour after hour, the army of the Masters came over the High Pass. Division upon division of imp, regiments of trolls, brigades of cavalry, endless trains of wagons, in all, a vast river of men, horses, and monsters, pouring through the pass and on down into the lovely lands of the Argonath.

They passed flasks of black drink and chewed strips of dried meat, thousands of drums thundered to keep their feet in motion.

The command post moved in ten-mile shifts before settling again to examine the maps. General Lukash had learned long ago that it was vital to know exactly where one was and where one's forces were deployed. With this army, three times as large as the army he had lead to victory at Barasha, he most feared losing control. To counter the centrifugal tendencies of such a vast host, he had determined to be constantly aware of his dispositions.

One problem was caused by the Baguti. They were good cavalry and able scouts, but had an annoying habit of delaying their reports until after they'd secured any booty that was available. Lukash was always worried that his leading force might crash into an ambush. He knew he wasn't facing some collection of royal armies here. The Legions of Argonath had the reputation of being the best armed force in the history of the world. Lukash respected that reputation.

Lukash was much changed. In just a few days, he had lost his wild ebullience. In fact, Lukash was but a shadow of his former self. Thrembode the New rode beside the general everywhere in a mood that approached pure serenity. A sense of swelling purpose was growing in the magician, a sense of his inevitable destiny. Everything was going perfectly.

The vast army was stretched out from the Upper Alno, back to the bottleneck at the top of the Lis gorge. In Alno, they marched down past burning villages into the plush lands of Arneis. Rolling hills fell away in row upon row to a misted horizon. They passed green fields lush with summer corn, grapes ripening on the vines, and barley ready to mow. Ahead some thirty miles now lay the large town of Cujac. It was walled, but not strongly held. Once they laid some troll-powered rams to the gates and walls, they could quickly take it down.

And just seventy miles beyond lay Kadein, the great city of the Argonath.

Thrembode had to restrain himself from singing for joy. The skies were blue and virtually cloudless, and the countryside was beautiful, a patchwork of little wheat fields and orchards, with neat houses of stone and thatch. All ripe for the looting!

But the prime reason that Thrembode felt like singing was the change in General Lukash. Two nights back, the batrukh had returned unheralded from Padmasa, carrying a passenger, on its back. The passenger was no ordinary presence, but was indeed the Mesomaster Vapul. The Mesomaster had immediately gone to Lukash's tent where he roused the general and drove out everyone else. Those who dared to try and eavesdrop came under a stinging spell that began as a ringing in the ears and then quickly grew louder until it became unbearable. It took half an hour or more to fade.

When Lukash eventually emerged, his leathery visage was visibly pale, his eyes wandered, his voice was flattened, neutral, toneless.

Vapul then summoned Thrembode and informed him that the magician's role in the coming campaign was to be increased. Thrembode was to have the task of monitoring the general and reporting to Vapul. Vapul was now in overall command, but Lukash would continue to run and fight the army. Lukash was a good tactician. But his personality type tended toward the grandiose, he became unstable. It was necessary to choke him off a little every so often. This Vapul would do, while giving affairs an overview.

To control Lukash day by day, Thrembode had been given a little silver whistle. One note and Lukash trembled and shook, and instantly fell silent. Thrembode's suggestions were always acted upon swiftly. Thrembode idly thought it might be amusing to have Lukash clean and polish his boots. It would be good both for Lukash and for Thrembode's lovely Talion riding boots. However, Thrembode also knew that Lukash was extremely busy with the campaign. Later there would be time for the boots, perhaps.

Vapul came and went, riding on the batrukh from some high cold ledge that he had chosen for a resting perch. There, he meditated to achieve the esoteric plane and make contact with the great powers in Padmasa.

Since that moment, Thrembode had found a positive joy to living. The great army moved to the schedule like some colossal clockwork toy. They were cutting into the heartland of the damned Argonathis like a hot knife through butter. They'd be in Cujac on the morrow and in Fitou a couple of days later. Oh, the loot to be had in Fitou! A richer, lovelier little city had never existed. And then after Fitou, it would be Tupin and the lovely land of Pengarden and then on to Kadein itself!

And after they had taken Kadein and reduced the other cities, then he, Thrembode, would be the new ruler in the great city. It was an intoxicating thought.

They dismounted and took up the task of piecing the army's positions together once more. Baguti came in followed by several of the hard-faced mercenary riders who served Padmasa with the terrible skills learned in lives of war in Kassim and Czardha. Several of these men had served in the conquering armies of the Trucial States and had done almost every bestial thing, long before they had even entered the service of Padmasa. Now they brought vital information for Lukash.

Thrembode listened carefully and watched the general make calculations.

Cujac was already besieged and gave signs of being very lightly held. Ample supplies of food were being seized in the farmlands of Epi, Alno, and Fenx. Baguti scouts had penetrated the outskirts of Andelain, where there were signs the enemy's resistance would stiffen. It appeared they intended to fight for Fitou.

Lukash barked orders, and his staff hurriedly wrote them out. Lukash read them and then had them sealed and sent at once. Couriers rode off in all directions. The gigantic host began to enter the crucial maneuvers. Surprises lay in store for all!

In the swampy midsection of the Kalens Valley, the situation approached complete disaster. Captain Eads had used every trick he could think of to maximize the weight of his little force and slow the onrushing five thousand imps, but the string was running out.

Day after day for weeks now they had marched, the men and dragons crisscrossing the swampy plain before Lake Wattel. Setting ambushes, driving in the enemy's pickets, forcing delays, and then retreating—always retreating.

All, men, dragons, and boys, had passed into a mental state beyond exhaustion. They walked on a grey inner plane toward a distant unfathomable horizon. Their eyes were dead to the light, but they marched and when required to, they fought.

Captain Eads had served them well. He and his officers had performed prodigies of tactical planning and skillful maneuver. They had fought dozens of little engagements, and yet the losses had been minimal, some five Talion troopers, four bowmen, and ten legionaries slain. They had some walking wounded, up ahead with the refugees. Three dragons were wounded and inactive. Two were still marching but not able to fight, although Anther might be able to return shortly. Tenebrak, who was close to death, had been sent in a long boat upstream. But considering how much action they had seen, it was a very slim casualty list. Eads's own wound had come from an arrow, fortunately not poisoned and had responded well to cleaning with Old Sugustus and ten stitches from the surgeon.

Still, all their work had not been enough. The enemy was on their heels, and the refugee column ahead of them was stumbling toward collapse. And now the trails recoalesced into a single road on the south side of Lake Wattel. The enemy was pushing much harder than before, scenting the chance to get among the refugees all bunched together on the trail.