Shadow of a Dark Queen (43 page)

Calis and Zila and some others sat at one table, while other men in Zila's company drank heavily and did indeed look like beaten men. Praji had joined Calis and was nodding as Zila said, “I've seen thirty
years of fighting, man and boy, but nothing like this.” He drained his tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Calis raised an eyebrow at Erik, who said, “Half the mounts either need a month of grazing and no work or need to be put down. The rest could be ready to be ridden if they lay up a week.”

Calis nodded. Zila said, “We don't have much—being on the losing side pays little—but we'll buy some mounts from you if you'll sell them.”

“What are you planning to do?” asked Calis.

“We're heading for Maharta. The Raj is sending his Royal Immortals to help the Priest-King of Lanada defend against the greenskins and their army. That means his war elephants and those drug-crazed maniacs of the Priest-King are on the same side for a change.”

Praji said, “Things must be grim to make those two old enemies take the same cause.”

Zila waved for another tankard, and Shabo hurried over to replace the empty one. “Yes, but it also means the Raj will need more fighters to keep peace around his city, so there will be work for us. I could use a couple of years of keeping farmers in line after what we just went through.” He looked at Praji and Calis. “You say you were at Hamsa?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

“It was ten times as bad at Khaipur. Before this war began, we were like you, a company of mercenaries who plied our trade between Khaipur and the Meeting Place”—Erik knew he spoke of the annual meeting of the Jeshandi horsemen and other tribes who came to the boundary of the steppes to trade with the nomads of the eastern grasslands—“or we
worked along the central Vedra. Once we even took a caravan across the Plain of Djams to Palamds on the Satpura River.” He shook his head. “But this war, this was like nothing I've seen. We signed on after the fall of Kilbar. I've heard enough from those who survived to know it was bad, but nothing prepared us for what happened at Khaipur.” He stopped as if collecting his thoughts. “Bilbari signed us on to ride picket and run messages. The Raj of Khaipur had one of those pretty little armies that look so nice on parade, but he knew he needed veterans to slow down the invaders while he hired some mother-killers
to train his army and make real fighters out of them. My comrades and I aren't Jeshandi, but we ride and fight well enough for the job.

“A month after we signed on, we got our first glimpse of the invaders. A company much like yours, about sixty seasoned fighters, rode skirmish against our forward position, then retreated without doing or taking much harm. We reported the contact and settled into wait for the next assault.

“We woke up one day and the sky was brown with dust to the northwest. A week later, ten thousand men and horses rode into view.”

Zila laughed a bitter laugh. “Old Bilbari messed his pants but good, and I'll tell you he wasn't the only one with brown breeches that day. There were maybe two hundred of us in a fortification not as stout as this one, and it took us all of a minute to decide to get the hell out.

“By the time we reached the city walls, every company to the north and west of the city was also heading in. There was no fighting except at the city wall. Then from that day forward, they just came at us.”

He glanced at the faces in the pavilion, as now every eye was upon him and every man listened closely. “Some of the boys gave as good as they got and by the third month of siege, those pretty home-guard soldiers of the Raj had turned into as tough a bunch as I've seen. And they fought for their homes, so they were more motivated than we were.”

He fell silent. Calis said nothing for a long while, until finally he asked, “When did they call for surrender?”

Zila looked uncomfortable. “That was what caused everything to fall apart.”

Erik knew from what he had heard around camp that the behavior of mercenaries was strictly governed by convention and tradition. Zila's manner suggested something out of the ordinary had occurred.

At last Calis asked, “What?”

“They didn't call for surrender. They just came to the limit of our arrows and started digging, setting up their siege trenches and readying their engines. For a week there was no real fighting, just a few shots from the walls to keep them alert. The Raj was a brave enough man for someone who had never held more than a ceremonial sword in his life, and he stood at the head of his army . . .” Zila closed his eyes. He covered them with his hand, and for a moment Erik thought he might be weeping. When he removed his hand, Erik didn't see tears, but he did see bottled-up rage.

“The silly bastard stood there, wearing a gods-thrice-damned golden crown, holding a peacock fan of office, while those lizards rode around below his walls. He
commanded
them to leave.”

Calis said, “What else?”

“He couldn't understand that this was no war out on the plain over control of trading routes or to settle some matter of honor with the Raj of Maharta or the Priest-King of Lanada. He didn't understand even when they swarmed into his palace and started cutting up his wives and children in front of his eyes . . .” Zila closed his eyes, and then whispered, “I don't think he understood when they hoisted him up and impaled him before his own palace.”

“Impaled him?” blurted Erik.

Calis looked at him for a moment, then said, “What aren't you telling?”

“Ah, it's a nasty business,” said Zila. “And I speak ill of the dead to repeat it. And of myself, truth to tell.”

“You're protected by the peace of the camp,” reminded Praji, his ugly face turned even less appealing by dark suspicion. “Did you turn coat?”

Zila nodded. “My captain, and the others . . .” He seemed lost in the tale and said, “You know there are ways in and out of a city under siege, for a crafty man with enough money. The lizards didn't ask for our surrender. They just came at us again and again. The men fighting with them were worse than any I've met, and I've met some black-hearted murderers in my time. But the lizards . . .” He took a long drink. “They stand nine, ten feet tall, and they're as broad as two men across the shoulders. One blow with their sword can numb a strong man's arm to the shoulder or split a shield. And they have no fear. They didn't attack until the wall was breached.” He shook his head. “Until we quit the wall and gave it to them.

“They sent an agent who found my captain and some others and told us there would be no formal
offer of truce and that after the battle, those in the city would be put to the sword. They said those of us who abandoned the walls and stood aside would be free to join in the looting.”

Praji looked ready to attack the man, as he slowly rose. He stared at Zila for a long, dark moment, then spit on the ground and left. Calis seemed more interested in facts than in condemning the man. “What else?”

“The captains brought the offer to us. We knew we were beaten. Every day more men and supplies would come downriver to bolster them, while we grew weaker. Someone had set fire to a grain warehouse”—Erik winced in anticipation; he knew that grain dust in the air could explode if touched by spark or match; that was why no fire was permitted near the mill or the grain silos near Ravensburg—“and the explosion took out half the supplies of grain as well as a block of dwellings. Someone else poisoned a good amount of the wine being harbored near the palace, and at least a score of men died screaming as they held their bellies.” He closed his eyes, and this time a tear did fall, one of rage and frustration as well as regret. “And their damn spellcasters. The Raj had hired his own, and some were good. A few priests were there, too, healing the wounded and sick. But the lizard magicians were stronger. Strange noises would come during battle, and a man would feel terror no matter
how well the fight went. Rats came boiling out of the sewers in broad daylight to bite your ankles and climb up your legs. There were clouds of gnats and flies so thick you inhaled them, or swallowed them if you opened your mouth.

“Fresh bread turned moldy moments after being taken from the oven, and milk soured in the bucket
below the cow. And every day the lizards dug their trenches and turned their siege engines and kept hammering at us.”

Zila looked around at the faces. “I don't know if you'd have done different in my place, but I doubt it.” His tone was defiant. “My Captain came to us and told us what was going to happen, and we knew he wouldn't lie to us. We knew he was no coward.” He said to Calis, accusingly, “You said you knew him?”

Calis nodded. “He was no coward.”

“It was the lizards that broke the compact. They changed the rules of war. They gave us no choice.”

“How did you escape?” asked a voice from behind, and Erik turned to see de Loungville, who had come up sometime during the narrative.

“Something the lizard's agent said bothered my Captain. I don't know exactly what, but I do know that when they impaled the Raj in front of his own people, they told everyone still alive that they could either sit a stake next to their former ruler or serve.”

“You weren't given the day's grace to quit the field?” said Foster, from behind de Loungville, and Erik stepped aside so they could see Zila better.

“We weren't given enough time to pick up our own kits! But Bilbari knew they were up to something and had us gather by the smallest gate to the south. We fought our way out, and they were too busy to send anyone after us. That's where our Captain died, leading us out of the city we had betrayed.”

Calis said, “It was your Captain's choice.”

Zila said, “I'd be a liar if I told you. We're regulars, and until then every man had a contract with Bilbari. We voted on it, like regulars do.”

“How did you vote?” demanded de Loungville.

“Does it matter?”

“You're damn right it matters,” he answered, his face set in an angry mask. “Turning coat is the lowest thing a man can do.”

Zila said, “Every man voted to leave.”

Calis said, “You have the peace of the camp until sunrise the day after tomorrow. See that you're gone by then.”

He rose, and as he left the pavilion, Erik hurried after him. “Captain!”

Calis halted, and Erik was shocked at the anger he read in the half-elf's face. “What?”

“Some of their horses need to lie up. If they don't, give them another couple of days and they're useless.”

“That's Zila and his companions' problem.”

“Captain, I don't give a nail's head for Zila and his men. I'm thinking of the horses.”

Calis looked at Erik, then said, “Tend the horses as best you can, but do nothing special for them. Hay and water, that's all we'll give them. What they buy from the villagers is their own business.”

“There's a man named Rian who wants to know if we'll take him. Says he doesn't want to lie around Maharta.”

Calis was silent for a moment. Finally he said, “If one of those turncoats is in sight when the sun reaches the sky the day after tomorrow, he will be killed.”

Erik nodded and returned to the remounts. There he found Rian and said, “My Captain says we have no room.”

The man's expression shifted, and for an instant Erik thought he'd appeal, but at last he said, “Very well. Will you sell horses?”

Erik said, “I don't think it would earn me my Captain's thanks to keep you here.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Keep what little gold you have. Take that buckskin gelding over there.” He motioned toward the horse. “He's just come sound from a stocked-up leg—he got it kicking out for no damn reason at all—and he's got rocks for brains. But he's fit enough to get you out of here in two days.”

The man named Rian said, “I don't think I'll wait that long. My Captain's dead, and so are Bilbari's Regulars with him. I'm heading south to find a billet before word gets down there. Once a man's labeled turncoat, no one will ever trust him.”

Erik nodded. “Zila said you had no choice.”

Rian spat. “A man always has a choice. Sometimes it's to die with honor or live without, but there's always a choice. That pretty Raj was a man. He might never have fought a day in his life, but when it came time to surrender he spit over the wall. He cried like a baby when they hoisted him up onto the stake, and he howled like a broken-backed dog when he felt it coming up his gut. But even while he hung there with his own shit and blood running down the pole, he never asked for mercy, and if Khali-shi”—he used the local name for the Goddess of Death, who judges the lives of men—“has any goodness in her, she'll give him another chance on the Wheel.”

Erik said, “Zila said you were never offered the chance of surrender.”

“Zila's a lying sack of pig guts. He was our corporal, and with the Captain and sergeant dead he thinks he's our Captain. No one's killed him yet because we're all too damn tired.”

“Come with me,” said Erik.

He led Rian to the hut Calis used as his office and quarters and asked to see the Captain. When Calis appeared, he looked at Rian, then at Erik. “What?”

“I think you should hear this man out,” said Erik. Turning to Rian, he said, “What about the offer to surrender?”

Rian shrugged. “The Raj told the lizards he would burn in hell before he'd open the gates of his city to them. But he offered any captain who wanted to quit the city the chance to leave—without pay, of course.” Rian sighed. “If you knew Bilbari, you'd know he was one greedy son of a mule. He took a bonus for staying, then made a deal with the lizards to betray the city and join in the looting.” He shook his head. “But that was the joke. It was the worst betrayal of all: as soon as the fires started and the looting began, they hunted down the mercenary companies one at a time. Those that stood died, and those that surrendered were given the choice of swearing service or taking the stake. No day's grace, no laying down of weapons and walking away, nothing. Serve or die. A few of us managed to get free.”