Fire and Sword (31 page)

If Salokan had known beforehand that Daavis was going to be such a tough nut to crack, he might have reconsidered his strategy. His generals continually assured him that the city’s fall was imminent, but as far as he could see the only thing that was imminent was another failed and bloody assault. He was tired of seeing long streams of Haxan wounded making their way to the hospital corner of the camp while the walls of Daavis stood there scorched and battered but still standing. He had no idea what casualties Charion’s forces were suffering, but he was damn sure it was considerably less than those she was inflicting on him. “When I take the city,” Salokan said aloud, “I am going to hang Queen Charion from the main gate. I will hang her by her feet. Alive. And naked.”

Some nearby officers chuckled appreciatively, secretly relieved he was not yet talking about hanging them upside down and naked from the walls of Daavis. If the city did not fall soon, they knew they could expect little in the way of kindness from their king. The problem was no one had expected Charion to be so effective in rallying the defense of her capital.

Salokan studied his officers, accurately reading their minds.
I need an advantage,
he thought.
I need something Charion does not have.
He sighed heavily. And, of course, that something was Lynan Rosetheme. Then he could parade the exiled prince up and down the country raising the province against its own diminutive queen now bottled up in Daavis. Symbols were important, he knew, just as he knew his army’s continued lack of success against the city was also a symbol: a symbol of his failing invasion of Grenda Lear.

It was not supposed to turn out like this,
he told himself. By now he was supposed to be inside Daavis preparing for the inevitable counterattack, with Lynan in one pocket and Charion in the other.

There was a cry from behind him, and he looked around to see some soldiers pointing to a flock of pigeons coming from the west and heading northeast.

“That’s strange, isn’t it?” he asked allowed but of no one in particular. “There are no pigeons on the Oceans of Grass, are there?”

“No, your Majesty,” said an aide, then cleared his throat. “They could be ours.”

Salokan looked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they could be the pigeons we sent with Thewor for Rendle’s expedition.”

“They couldn’t all be carrying a message, could they?” someone asked.

“I think they are all bearing the same message,” Salokan said bleakly.

Farben shook his head as if to clear his ears. “I’m sorry, your Highness, but I’m not sure I understood you correctly.”

“You understood me, Farben. Don’t lie.”

“But we don’t have enough soldiers.”

“See, I knew you understood me. We
do
have enough soldiers.”

“But we are safe inside the city walls,” Farben argued, knowing even as he did so that he was arguing for a lost cause. “Salokan’s forces are bleeding to death out there. Why risk such a venture?”

“Because anything we can do to demoralize the enemy increases the chances of them breaking off the siege.”

“But Areava’s army will be here soon! They can do the fighting! Our soldiers are weary, most are injured in one way or another ...”

“Our soldiers would jump at the chance of striking back at the enemy,” Charion declared. “You do not know them as I do.”

“Undoubtedly, your Highness. Is there nothing I can do to dissuade you from this course of action?”

Charion shook her head. “And tell them that I will lead them personally.”

Salokan himself organized the next assault. He planned for the catapults to concentrate their bombardment on the northeast wall, near the camp. The enemy would assume either that wall or its opposite, the southwest wall, would be attacked in force. Two regiments of foot would take scaling ladders and assault the southwest wall to reinforce that impression. Then the main attack, consisting of five regiments of foot, would attack the north wall, with no warning. With luck, they would reach the parapets and clear the walkway to the southwest wall allowing the decoy regiments to join them. With seven regiments in the city, they should be able to open the main gates to let in the rest of Salokan’s force, including his cavalry.

At first it went well. The catapults hurled their stones accurately from the second shot, and a short while later, for the very first time, a part of the wall was seen to crack from parapet to base. Salokan then gave the order for the attack on the southwest wall to start, and that, too, went better than expected. Several ladders managed to stay against the wall long enough for some of the infantry to actually reach the parapets. When Salokan determined Charion would have committed her reserves to the southwest, he ordered the general attack on the north wall. It was then that things started to go wrong.

There were far more defenders atop the north wall than he thought would be possible, unless Charion had double-guessed him. He refused to believe that; too many of his troops already believed she was preternaturally lucky. Scaling ladders were pushed off as soon as they were put up. A hail of arrows and rubble pierced and pelted his troops. Just as he was about to call back his forces to reform and attack again, he heard the great main gate start to creak. His heart leaped with joy! He was certain it could only mean the two regiments attacking the southwest wall had made it over despite the odds against them and were now opening the city to Salokan. He hurriedly shouted new orders and his generals scurried to obey them. The five infantry regiments dropped their ladders and lined up on the causeway in front of the gate while his cavalry eagerly readied their columns behind the infantry.

But instead of his forces being greeted by two friendly regiments inside the walls, they were met by a cavalry charge. Salokan watched in horror as his waiting foot regiments were cut down like wheat before a scythe. His army panicked and started to spill off the causeway, and still the Hume cavalry came on, hewing left and right. What was worse, leading the enemy attack was Charion herself, shining in polished mail, her saber whirling, glittering in the air, seeming twice her size in combat.

Salokan screamed for his own cavalry to engage the enemy, but his infantry was in the way. Between the charging horses in front and the pressing mass behind, a large portion of the foot regiments could not move at all and the soldiers were simply stabbed or slashed or suffocated where they were, the dead left standing because there was no room for them to fall down. And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the attack ended and the enemy retreated, the gates closing behind them before the Haxus cavalry could get through their own infantry to reach them. Salokan sat on his horse in shock, staring at the heap of Haxus dead on the causeway, almost overwhelmed by the cries and groans of the wounded and dying.

It was a small river town, made up of little more than a single street ending in a wharf and with houses on either side. There was a small inn, a ramp near the dock, a stable. A few townspeople were engaged in their business despite the early hour. One stall was open, selling freshly-baked bread. And there were soldiers.

“Infantry?” Magmed asked.

“I think so,” Galen agreed. He pointed to the stable. “It doesn’t look large enough to hold more than a dozen horses, and I see no camp nearby.”

“How many enemy?” he asked eagerly, anticipating a battle, and pleased to be away from the upstart Sendarus. Galen Amptra might not yet own his father’s title, but he was at least a member of the Twenty Houses.

Galen shrugged. “Hard to tell. If what we see now are just the sentries, then they have fifty down there at least.”

“Just a garrison.”

Galen was not so sure. From their position behind a fringe of trees on a nearby hill he could see no other sign of the enemy, but it worried him that there was no cavalry nearby. It made little sense to garrison a town with just infantry, who could be cut off and isolated by any enemy force with even the smallest mounted arm.

“I think we should explore a little more,” Galen said.

“We could take the town in a single charge,” Magmed said. “Give the signal and ...”

“And we could find ourselves engaged in a large-scale battle without hope of reinforcements.”

Magmed waved his hand dismissively. “What of it? The sooner we beat off this Salokan, the sooner the war will be over.”

“We are under instruction,” Galen said. “Our orders are clear.”

“From that Amanite upstart,” Magmed said, his disgust obvious.

“From our queen’s consort,” Galen told him sternly, “and from the holder of the Key of the Sword. Would you go against him?”

Magmed snorted derisively but said nothing. Galen shook his head. Too many of the nobles were nothing but bluster. They had gotten so used to being dominated by the throne, and so used to doing nothing but complain about it, that when they had some freedom of choice they did not know what to do with it. Well, Galen did know what to do with it; he would do everything in his power to work for the good of the kingdom, and that meant reconciling the Twenty Houses with Areava. He wished others saw the situation as he did, including his father, but maybe if he showed through example, he could help change things around.

“I think we should explore a little more,” Galen repeated, and went down the other side of the hill to the waiting knights to put together a scouting party.

They waited, most of them impatiently, for the rest of the day. The scouts returned as evening fell, and the news was as Galen expected. There was a larger enemy force nearby— a large camp not five leagues from the town with at least one regiment of cavalry and two of foot.

“They patrol between the camp and two river towns, including this one,” one of the scouts told Galen. “Destroy the camp, and you can secure both towns.”

“And you saw no other enemy forces?”

“Only patrols from the camp. They were not expecting trouble, and did not see us. They are lazy soldiers.”

Not that lazy,
Galen thought.
Look how deep into our territory they already are. But overconfident, perhaps.

“So we attack the camp!” Magmed declared. “And then we can attack the towns!”

“No,” Galen said emphatically. “If we attack the camp, we risk being repelled. We have to make sure we destroy the three regiments, not simply damage them. To do that we have to bring them out into the open.”

Magmed, who was not stupid, saw the wisdom in Galen’s words and where they led. “So we attack one of the towns first with only some of our knights.”

“Drawing the regiments out,” Galen said, nodding. “Then when the enemy is clear of the camp, we attack with the main part of our force. Wiping out the regiments should distract Salokan from the siege long enough for Sendarus to catch up with us. Then we can engage in a general battle with the main Haxus force.”

Salokan knew that the actual physical damage done to his army by Charion’s sortie was comparatively light—a few hundred dead, no more—but the damage to his army’s morale was considerably greater. Not only had they not yet breached the walls of Daavis, it seemed that Charion felt so little threatened by the siege that she could storm out of the city any time it took her fancy and wreak havoc.

Salokan knew that something had to be done urgently if Daavis was to be won ... indeed, if the campaign and thus the war was to be won. It seemed obvious to him that Ren-dle had failed in his mission—he should have delivered Lynan by now, and there had been that strange flight of pigeons from the west that bespoke unknown disaster to him—so everything now rested on taking the province’s capital. Subtlety had to be thrown aside and brute force applied to the problem. He ordered the catapults to work on the northeast wall where the crack had appeared. At the same time his sappers mined several tunnels under the same section of the wall, too many for the enemy to detect all of them in less than two days. In the night he mobilized his entire army—including the cavalry, which he dismounted—dividing them into three divisions, and moved them into position. They were given extra rations of wine that night.

His generals complained to him that if the morning’s assault was unsuccessful the entire army would be too exhausted to launch another attack for many days. Salokan told them he understood that, but that he also understood that the army could not be expected to endure continued failure.

“I believe we must win this battle now, or risk losing everything,” he told them, and they could not argue him out of it.

The next morning dawned fine, with the promise of a warm day ahead. Salokan was sure it boded well. Then the rider from the east came with the news that Kendran heavy cavalry had destroyed the best part of three of his regiments and recaptured two river towns. The enemy relief column, it would seem, was less than a day’s hard ride away. Soon after, two boats sailing upriver from the towns carrying the remnants of the garrisons that had managed to escape, brought the same news. Salokan was numb with shock. If the assault on Daavis failed, he would be caught between the city and a comparatively fresh army. If the assault succeeded, he would have less than a day to rebuild the walls and stock up for a long siege. Salokan had no choice, and the realization almost crushed him. His generals came to see why he had not ordered the assault and were sent back with instructions to break the camp and prepare for a retreat.

If they moved fast enough, the army could reach Haxus and some measure of safety in less than a month. But what then? Would the army of Grenda Lear come after Salokan? Almost certainly. He knew Areava would neither forget nor forgive his incursion. The king understood suddenly that he had started a war he might lose.

The Chett army came to the Strangers’ Sooq. The inhabitants came out to stare, for they had never seen anything like it before, not even in the days of Korigan’s father. They did not cheer, but stood open-mouthed, amazed, seeing something they did not ever think they would see. An army of their own. For the first time many of them started thinking of themselves as Chetts and not simply as members of a clan. Their horizons had expanded, and the most far-sighted of them realized this meant their ambitions could expand, too.

As surprising as the army was its leader. Small, marble-white, scarred. He was like an ancient idol come to life, and as unapproachable. They did not know him well enough to welcome him, but just by seeing him, they felt they knew him well enough to be afraid of him. They already knew of Korigan—their own queen—and in the next few hours learned about Lynan’s other companions: the famous Kumul Alarn, the crookback Ager Parmer, the powerful magicker from the east with her entourage of Chett magickers, Gudon of the Red Hands—who resembled a certain barge pilot Jes Prado had taken prisoner only a few days before. It seemed as if the stuff of legend was coming alive in front of their very eyes.

The army and its leaders rode silently through the main street of the sooq, eventually halting before a single man who stood in their way. The inhabitants were surprised to see it was Kayakun, the most reticent and retiring merchant in the town. He stood before the terrible, pale Lynan and bowed, but not too deeply. They watched as Lynan dismounted and went to Kayakun and embraced him. Lynan was joined by Gudon, and then Korigan.

The people of the Strangers’ Sooq did not know what to make of it all, but they knew it was something they would remember for the rest of their days.

Jenrosa was squatting in the dirt. Lasthear sat opposite her. In between them, they had leveled the ground with the palms of their hands. Words appeared in the dirt, then an eddy would come and the words would disappear, and new words would take their place.

“I read
Charion
,” Lasthear said.

“And
slaughter”
Jenrosa added.

“The city of the river.”

“The retreat of an army.”

Lasthear again leveled the ground between them. “But whose army?” she asked aloud, and words appeared again, were erased, and were replaced with more words.

“
I am done, I am done, I am done
,” Jenrosa read.

“
The hanging sword
,” Lasthear said.

“All march north.”

“All march north.”

The pair waited, but no more words came.

Jenrosa sighed heavily and leaned forward, her head in her hands.

“Is there pain again?” Lasthear asked.

“A little. It gets easier every time. Tell me, did we read what has happened or what will happen?”

Lasthear looked at her apologetically. “I am sorry. I wish I knew, but no one has performed this magic since the True-speaker’s day.”

“I am not the Truespeaker,” Jenrosa insisted.

“You continue to deny it, but every day I see you do things that only a Truespeaker could do.”

Jenrosa stood up unsteadily.

Lasthear watched her with concern. “What are you afraid of?”

“Why am I able to do so much so quickly? I could perform nothing but the simplest tricks before I came to the High Sooq ... before I met you.”

“Because you had no one to guide you, no one to show you the way, to let your natural talent mature.”

“But the theurgia—”

“Imprisoned you with their ceremonies and procedures and complex incantations. The way of magic is always simple, and always dangerous. From what you have told me, the theurgia want to convince you that magic is always complex and difficult, and about as dangerous as learning how to bake bread.”

“You make it sound as if the theurgia were created to control magic, not use it.”

“Maybe they were,” Lasthear said seriously. “Originally, at least. Do you wish to do more now?”

Jenrosa shook her head. “No. Not today.”

“Then we will meet again tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Jenrosa said without enthusiasm.

Lasthear stood up. “I told you the way was dangerous. I told you that courage was necessary.”

“You did not lie to me,” Jenrosa admitted. “What about the words in the sand? Should we tell someone?”

Lasthear considered the question, then said, “Perhaps you should tell Lynan. He may be able to make sense from them.”

“The hanging sword?” Kumul asked. He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Most of the rest of it makes a kind of sense,” Ager said. “Charion’s name is the key.”

“I agree,” Lynan said. “The city of the river is Daavis. We know from Gudon that Salokan intended to besiege the city. Where there is battle there is always a slaughter. And if armies are moving north, then Salokan lost and is retreating. He is the one who is crying ‘I am done.’”

“So you think the siege of Daavis was broken,” Korigan said, “and that the Haxus army is retreating north, probably being pursued. By Charion?”

Lynan shrugged. “I don’t know. I think ‘the hanging sword’ may be the key to that.”

“That’s it!” Jenrosa said suddenly.

The others looked at her. “What’s it?” Ager asked.

“The hanging sword may be the
key
to that,” she said excitedly. “The Key of the Sword!”

“The ‘hanging sword,’ of course!” Lynan said. “It hangs around Areava’s neck.”

“So Areava is pursuing a defeated Salokan north to Haxus after raising the siege of Daavis,” Gudon said, putting it all together.

They all looked at each other. “I think so,” Lynan said, then he saw that Jenrosa seemed doubtful. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s so
complete,”
she said. “I don’t know that magic works for us that easily.”

“But what else could it mean?” Kumul asked. “It makes sense, based on what intelligence we have of goings-on in the east.”

“I don’t know. But by itself, magic cannot tell you everything.”

“I could always ride east again and see what I can see,” Gudon said, but with little enthusiasm. The wounds inflicted by Prado were still healing, and would not be helped by a long ride across the Algonka Pass and into Hume.

“No, thank you, my friend,” Lynan said. He glanced at each of the others in turn, took a deep breath, and said, “It is time I went to see for myself.”

“Not by yourself, you won’t,” Kumul declared. “I’m coming with you, at least.”

Lynan smiled. “I wasn’t thinking of going by myself. Indeed, I was thinking of taking the whole army with me.”

It was late at night when Ager returned to his clan’s camp. He was about to enter his own tent when he noticed that a lamp was still burning in Morfast’s tent. He went over, found the flap was untied, and opened it.

“Morfast?” he called from the threshold.

“You can come in, you know,” she answered. “You are my chief.”

Ager entered. Morfast was lying in her cot, still dressed, her hands behind her head.

“Why are you still awake?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I had never been in a battle before,” she said.

“From your scars I thought—”

“I’ve fought many Chetts, for one reason or another,” she said. “But that was different. Much more personal.”

Ager scratched his head. “The opposite for me. I’ve been in very few fights that weren’t part of some larger battle. In fact, none before I met Lynan.”

“Your prince has changed the world for both of us, then.”

“Does that upset you?”

Morfast frowned in concentration. “I’m afraid, I think.”

“And you’ve never been afraid before?” he asked, quite willing to believe it.

“Of course I have been, but for myself. When you slew Katan, I became afraid for my clan. Now I’m afraid for all of us.”

“There’s a great deal at risk, but I think that would have been the case whether or not the Chetts tied their fortunes to Lynan.”

Morfast said nothing, and Ager started to feel uncomfortable. “Do you regret asking me to be your chief?”

“No!” she said quickly. “Never that! You cannot know how much it has meant to the Ocean clan. We are proud to have you for our chief.”

“Even though I am so closely linked to Lynan?”

“That is fate, but knowing that does not stop me being afraid. I cannot see where our future lies anymore. Once, it was easy. We would protect our clan, mate and raise children, live and die on the Oceans of Grass. Now, I do not think I will die on the Oceans of Grass, and that saddens me.”

“You and your people can return to your territory, you know. I will not be angry—”

“Me and my people?” she said angrily. She sat up and stared at him. “You mean
your
people, don’t you?”

“Well, yes ...”

“You still don’t understand, do you? We made the decision to continue as a clan under you. It cannot be taken back, and we will never regret it.”

Ager felt humbled by her words, and ashamed. “I am sorry, Morfast. I am proud to be your chief, prouder than words can express. But being chief of the Ocean clan means I must also consider what’s best for them, and going east with me may not be what’s best for them. I am thinking that most of you should rejoin the herd in the clan territory, leaving behind only that contingent conscripted in the army. Other chiefs ride with the army, but with no more than a few hundred of their warriors.”

“It comes back to Lynan, Ager. You are not just a chief; you are one of the White Wolf’s companions. We understand that, and can no more desert you than you can desert Lynan. Do not talk again about sending us back to our territory.”

Ager looked away from her. “Is it just the future that makes you afraid?” he asked.

He heard her hold her breath, and found himself hoping—and at the same time fearing—she would say the words he wanted to hear.

“You already know the answer to that question,” she said.

It has come to this
, he thought.
And I do not know what to say
.

Morfast reached out to take his hand and pulled him to her cot. He sat down beside her. She gently turned his face so he was looking at her, and kissed him.

Jenrosa was alone in the middle of a wide green plain. It was not on the Oceans of Grass, the vegetation was too green for that. She was in the east. All around her were the signs of what had been a great battle: spears in the ground like bare saplings, abandoned helmets and shields and weapons, streaks and puddles of blood, the smell of shit and rotting flesh, the sound of flies and ravens. But there was no human, alive or dead, as far as she could see. It was the moment just before evening, and the plain was brushed in a golden light.

Something glinted on the ground not far from her. She walked over to it. Curled in the grass like a snake was a golden chain. She picked it up and saw that it carried an amulet. It was the Key of the Sword. She sensed something nearby. She spun around and saw Lynan. He was standing straight as an elm. He was dressed simply in tan riding breeches and an open jerkin. His eyes were staring at the horizon. Around his neck hung the Key of Union.

She went to him, stood before him, but he looked right through her.

“Lynan?”

No sign of recognition. He did not know she was there. The chain she was holding suddenly became very heavy, and she knew what she had to do with it. She carefully put it over Lynan’s head, then stepped back.

Lynan’s body started to shimmer and blur. His eyes changed color, his hair grew longer, his clothes metamorphosed into bark and twigs and leaves. And then he was gone. Standing in his place was Silona. Only the Keys of Power remained unchanged.

Jenrosa tried to run away, but she was frozen in place. Silona’s eyes closed, then opened. She looked straight at Jenrosa and recognized her.

“You,” the vampire breathed, and reached out a hand.

Again Jenrosa tried to run away, but something held in her in place. Silona’s fingers curled around Jenrosa’s hair, and her mouth opened. A long, green hollow tongue flickered in and out.

Jenrosa screamed.

She woke sitting up, Kumul sitting next to her, his arms around her shoulders.

“God’s death!” Kumul cried. “What’s wrong?”

Jenrosa was panting for breath. “It was her. Silona.”

Kumul’s face went pale. “Where? Is she in the camp?”

She shook her head. “No, no. In my dream.” She started shaking and wrapped her own arms around Kumul to try and stop it.

Kumul hugged her tightly. “It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I’m here. No one can harm you.” After a while, he asked, “Can you tell me about it?”

She haltingly described the dream, still fresh in her memory.

“No wonder you woke up screaming,” Kumul said.

“What if it wasn’t a dream?” she said. “What if I was seeing something in the future?”

“You have no reason to believe that,” Kumul told her, but she heard the doubt in his voice.

She closed her eyes, and the image of Silona was still there, reaching out to her. “Oh, Kumul, I wish that was true,” she said, and started to cry.

Lynan and Korigan were in his tent squatting on the ground and looking over a map that rested between them. The Algonka Pass marked the westernmost edge of the map, the Sea Between the easternmost edge, and in the middle were the provinces of Hume and Chandra.

“If we have correctly interpreted the words Jenrosa and Lasthear read with their magic,” Lynan was saying, “then Salokan will be making directly for his border. His rate of march will be determined by how closely he is being pursued by Areava and her army.”

“The problem is, we don’t know if the magickers are telling us about something that has happened or will happen,” Korigan said.

“That is why we have to cross the pass as soon as possible. If we send scouts a day or two ahead of us, they should find signs of a retreat easily enough, if there is one. Then we will know where to strike next.”

“You are looking for another battle, then?”

Lynan nodded.

“With whom? Areava or Salokan.”

“We both know, I think. Areava’s forces will be spread out—scouts well north, a vanguard, then the main body of infantry. Her cavalry will be out wide on her northwest and northeast flanks to make sure Salokan doesn’t double back. She will not be expecting a threat directly to her western flank. We could decide the whole issue if we defeat her centre, then destroy her detachments in detail.”