D & D - Red Sands (25 page)

"May the Thirty Gods smile on you, generous captain," he said with phony heartiness. Fu'ad spat, wheeled about, and dug in his spurs.

Nabul immediately began working on the spike. The finger-thick staple was deep in the cleft, and no matter how hard he pulled or twisted, it wouldn't budge. Curses on the mother that bore you! he thought of Fu'ad. Nabul would need a tool or more force to free the spike.

Force. Like the power of a racing horse. An idea grew

in Nabul's quick brain.

Fu'ad's thirty-six men disposed themselves in close c olumn, four men wide and nine deep. His men without horses were riding double with those whose mounts had survived. The overburdened horses would never be of use in a straight cavalry fight, but against infantry they would be quite effective.

Back down the trail there was a shallow draw connecting the upper trail to the lower. Fu'ad's Invincibles mustered in the draw and waited for signs of the enemy. The men and horses stood as still as a bas-relief.

Heavy feet crunched on the gravel path. A double line of gnoles appeared, marching in broken step. Dark, hairy muzzles protruded from under the wide brims of their iron hats. Each gnole carried a large, steel-sprung crossbow over one shoulder and a studded mace on his belt loop. They did not look up as they went past Fu'ad's position. The Invincibles waited. They would hit the end of the column, trapping the gnoles away from their base.

The last pair of beast-men slogged by. Fu'ad hand-signaled "Forward, slowly." When the first rank of horsemen had turned onto the lower road, Fu'ad lowered his lance and cried, "Invincibles, charge!
Wah-lai-lai!"

The rearmost gnoles whirled when they heard the captain's cry. They had no time to cock their bows or grab their maces before the lancers struck them down. The rest of the gnoles scattered and climbed the steep hillside where Fu'ad's horses could not follow. They struggled to get their crossbows loaded.

Fu'ad saw the enemy was retreating out of range of his lancers. Rather than sit on the road and be picked off by quarrels, he ordered his men to dismount and close with

their swords.

"I want prisoners! Get me prisoners!" he ordered.

The Faziris closed on the outnumbered gnoles. The latter were disadvantaged by their weapons, for the bows could not be fired fast enough to keep the Invincibies away. Nor were their clumsy maces as effective as the Faziri swords. The gnoles were tremendously strong, much stronger than an equivalent number of men, but when three-quarters of them had been slain, a cry for mercy went up.

"Round them up," said Fu'ad. Marad and eight troopers shoved the five remaining gnoles down to the road. They were forced to their knees. Their wrists were secured with rough strips of rawhide.

"Now," said Fu'ad, striding before the prisoners. "Who among you speaks Faziri? Anyone?" The gnoles said nothing, but panted loudly, their black tongues lolling over their prominent teeth.

"I don't think they can speak," Marad said. His face was streaked with blood from a cut on his forehead where a gnole had hit him a glancing blow with a mace. "Faw! They smell awful!"

"Their smell is no matter to me. I want information, and I believe at least one of them understands me." He stopped walking. He pushed the first gnole's head forward with a fingertip. Then, with one powerful swing of his scimitar, he struck the beast-man's head from his shoulders.

The other gnoles shrank back from their dead comrade. They made hoarse, choking sounds. One or two whined.

"As I thought," said Fu'ad, wiping his blade on the dead gnole's tunic. "For all their ferocity, these creatures are afraid of death."

"Not afraid," rumbled one gnole.

Fu'ad brightened. "Ah, it's found its tongue. What did you say, animal?"

"We not afraid of death. We sorrow for our dead sergeant."

"Is that what it was? The goddess of chance has favored me. In choosing the first available neck, I also found your leader, eh? So, beast-man, tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

The speaking gnole looked at his fellow prisoners. He grunted a few syllables and the others replied in kind.

"They say, no hurt to speak. I Mukduth, soldier of the host of Ubrith Zelka. Zelka great general. Fight many, win many. He came to mountain to recover strength after long march."

"And where did this Ubrith Zelka march from?"

"Nomgorod city."

"That's in Permesia!" Mukduth nodded his broad head. "You mean, you marched five hundred leagues from Permesia just to find these mountains?"

"Great General Zelka have—how you say?—falling out. Him fall out with lord, High Boyar in Nomgorod. Take Gray Wolf Company away to south, find new lord to serve."

Fu'ad digested this. There was one point he still didn't understand. "Why have you stayed in this range so long?" he asked. "What keeps you here? The Kaipur-ian plain is far richer in plunder than these remote mountain villages."

Mukduth cast his black eyes down and licked his dry lips. "Great general's orders. We stay."

Fu'ad raised the gnole's muzzle with the flat of his blade. "Why don't I believe you? I think there's something you're not telling, Mukduth."

"Tell much."

It took the deaths of three comrades before Mukduth spoke again. "I tell!" he said. "I tell! Great general wants treasure. Much treasure!"

"What treasure?" said Fu'ad calmly.

"In mountains live little men with wings. Flying men collect anything that shine—gold coin, jewel, glass. Keep in big pile in village. No guard, no soldier. Great general wants to find treasure. With treasure he raise big army, take Nomgorod away from High Boyar.
Skriick."
The last was Mukduth's imitation of a throat being cut.

Fu'ad took Marad aside. "What do you think of that pretty tale?"

"A pretty tale indeed. Flying men. Treasure! But the beast believes it, I'm certain," said Marad.

"Now that we know what the beast-men are after, we should be able to keep clear of them."

Marad tilted his head toward Mukduth. "What do we do with that one?"

Fu'ad shrugged. "Serve him the same as the others."

The gnole wasn't terribly bright, but his ears were keen. He knew he was about to die, and he wasn't going to sit still for that. Especially since Fu'ad was no longer standing over him with a drawn sword.

Marad turned and came toward Mukduth. He planned to administer a quick strike with his dagger. He never got the chance. Mukduth sprang to his feet and butted the lieutenant in the belly. Marad went down with a great outrush of breath.

"Stop!" shouted Fu'ad. He aimed a high overhand slash at the fleeing gnole. His blade bit deeply into the studded leather on Mukduth's shoulder, but the burly gnole kept running. "Troopers! Ride him down!" said Fu'ad.

Two troopers who had been idling in the road snapped to attention and spurred after Mukduth. He bellowed a challenge so loudly one Faziri's horse shied. The other came on, and at the last moment, the gnole ducked under the lance tip by hurling himself in front of the horse. Hooves clipped Mukduth's legs as he rolled in the dust. The tough gnole wasn't done yet. He got to his feet and limped to the edge of the road. As another pair of lancers bore down, he jumped. Down he slid on the seat of his pants. The rocks and gnarled roots clawed at him. Mukduth slid fifteen paces and halted only when he hit bottom in the narrow ravine. He was up and going again by the time Fu'ad got to the edge of the road.

"Shall we go after him, my captain?" asked a trooper.

"No, you would never get a horse down there, much less a man in mail, tie's gone."

Marad came up, rubbing his stomach. "Hard-headed savage! I think he cracked my rib!" He saw Mukduth's broad back disappearing among the scrub cedars. "He'll warn his general about us," he said.

"If he lives. He must have torn something in that fall, and his hands are still tied. There are many wild beasts in the mountains." He turned his back. "Troopers, assemble!"

They rode back to the place where Nabul had been left. A score of paces from the boulder, a loud voice sounded: "Stop where you are!"

"Who goes there?" countered Fu'ad.

"Nabul, son of Zelir, you carrion bird!"

"It's that worthless thief." Fu'ad eased his horse forward a few steps.

"I've had enough of your cruelty, captain of swine! I lere's where it ends!"

"Keep wagging your tongue, vermin, and I'll have it out," Fu'ad shouted.

"Come and try! "Vou're very bold with unarmed nomads, women, and children. How many helpless people have you butchered, noble captain? A hundred? A thousand? How many enemies of the sultan have you murdered as they slept?"

"Aiyah!
I'll have your head for polo!" Fu'ad roared. He couched his lance and dug in his spurs. He could see Nabul's feet projecting from behind the boulder. He would split the foul-tongued rascal from end to end!

Fu'ad shifted his lance over his horse's head and prepared to skewer Nabul as he galloped past. As he reached the boulder, a line of stout chain sprang from the road. The feet were sandals stuffed with grass. Nabul was on the
other
side of the road, holding the chain taut as a barrier-

Horse and rider slammed into the chain. Both fell, and the impact tore the spike free. With a yelp of triumph, Nabul ran forward and leaped on the fallen captain. He pinned Fu'ad's arms with his legs and wrapped a loop of chain around his neck.

The other Invincibles rushed forward when they saw their leader fall. Nabul found himself fenced in by a forest of lance points, each wielded by a grim Faziri.

"Keep off, or I'll wring his neck!" Nabul said. His voice cracked with emotion.

"Release him or die like a dog!" Marad snapped. Nabul tightened the chain a fraction, and Fu'ad, who had been stunned by the fall, coughed his way back to consciousness.

" You,"
he sputtered.

"Yes, my fine captain. Now I'm in the saddle, and you are my captive."

"Marad, slay this vagabond!"

A lance tip wavered before Nabul's face. The thief said, "Even if you spit me, I'll still have enough strength left to snap his neck!"

"What do you say, my brother?" asked Marad.

"Hold your hand." To Nabul, Fu'ad said, "What are you scheming for, thief? %ur life? Ytu may have that, too."

"Yes, I would have it, as long as it took to draw one breath after releasing you. Then I'd be paled like a gamecock, eh? Well, not Nabul!" He looked at the encircling troopers. "Who has the keys to these manacles?"

"I," said Marad after a long moment's hesitation.

"Unlock them." Marad did. Nabul yanked the dagger from his belt. "Move away," he said. "All of you move away! Ride away, around the bend. I don't want to see anyone!"

"You'll kill our captain," Marad objected.

"Him?" said Nabul, tapping the flat of the dagger to Fu'ad's bearded cheek. "I shall protect him as I would a babe. Now go!"

"Sir?"

"It's all right, Marad. He won't hurt me. He knows what will happen to him if he does."

Marad led the Invincibies away. Nabul got up slowly, the forked tip of Marad's dagger pressed against Fu'ad's neck. "Rise," he said, "but have a care to go slowly. My hand is none too steady."

Fu'ad got to his feet. "Put the manacles on your own wrists," said Nabul. Glaring, Fu'ad complied. Nabul backed away. He wrapped several turns of chain around the captain's chest, binding his arms tightly.

"Now we walk, noble horseman." "To where?" asked Fu'ad.

"Some place less frequented by your fellow Invincibles."

"Then what?"

"Then we shall talk, good captain. I have a bargain to offer you."

Hand in Glove

The city thief and the cavalry captain walked the better part of a league before Nabul called a halt. He kept looking back over his shoulder for signs of the Invincibies. He saw none. That was the disturbing aspect, for he knew they'd follow.

"Nervous?" asked Fu'ad casually.

"Don't be witty," said Nabul. He scanned the open vista along the top of the ridge. "This seems like a good place."

"For what?"

"Just shut your mouth and open your ears,
noble
captain. My bargain is this: your life for the lives of myself and my companions."

"The proportion of worth is right, but I'm afraid duty won't permit me to make such a trade. You see, my men and I are charged by the vizier himself to bring back the foreign boy alive, and the rest dead. So you might as well kill me now, as it is the Emir Azrel you must bargain with, not me."

"Are you made of stone, man? You're a hundred leagues from Omerabad and the vizier. Ride back and tell him we all died in the desert. You found our picked bones in the sand." Fu'ad shook his head. Frustrated, Nabul struck the captain across the face.

"By the Thirty! Save me from men of honor! You're as mad as they are!" he said. "Am I doomed to be the only reasonable man in the world?"

He grabbed a handful of links and hauled Fu'ad forward again. "What now?" asked the captain.