The Silent Enemy (24 page)

“Zarac’s the worst,” growled Valamon when pressed.

“Is Zarac a man or a place?”

“A place. A foul, barbarous place. Started by an exiled brigand named Karothius, who was poisoned at his dinner by his mistress, Selenia. She ruled for all of five weeks before being knifed in her bed by her lover, a Brythunian half-breed called Alto. He—”

Nermesa stopped him there. “Who rules now?”

“Geris. Makes those before him seem like priests. Has all his hair shaved off save for a mane down the middle. Scars all over his face, some of them self-inflicted.” Valamon spat at the ground. “Shames me to think we both were once officers at the same time.”

The Black Dragon frowned. “Officers?”

His guide chuckled. “Aye, Aquilonian. Geris . . . and me . . . we both were officers serving the bastard. I was exiled for not following orders that I found too damnable. Geris, he was exiled for obeying similar orders, but with too much gusto even for old Tarascus . . .”

After that, Nermesa kept his sword drawn.

By the end of the day, they had long left Haral’s territory behind. From Valamon, Nermesa learned that one reason Geris had never sought to expand his hold northward to the settlement was that it was too far away for him to hold without spreading thin his forces. The one time that he had attempted such a thing, Haral had led his people out of the settlement, then, one by one, picked off Geris’s patrols until finally the cutthroat had pulled them back. Geris himself had never ridden north, preferring to rule from his sanctum in Zarac in order to prevent someone taking over while he was away. Such transitions of rule apparently took place often in Zarac.

Because Valamon sought to avoid a confrontation with any of Geris’s men, the party’s route meandered a great deal. Nermesa fretted inside, concerned that each passing day might mean that King Conan was already dead. Yet to rush straight to Aquilonia was to risk his being slain and thus not serving his liege well should Conan still live.

Valamon evidently sensed his concern, for the former officer finally told him, “We’re dead east of Zarac now. Two days away. Ursonia is the next nearest settlement, but ’tis a day and a half over those hills. We should have a clear path now to Aquilonia.”

“How long will that take?”

“No more than another day and a half. Have patience. Haral and me, we want you back home as much as you . . .”

They made camp on the eastern side of a large hill near a small stream that Valamon knew of from past forays. The other men in the escort expertly prepared the encampment. Like most in the Border Kingdom, they were clearly used to foraging for everything.

“Is all the Border Kingdom like this?” Nermesa asked, when he and Valamon sat around the campfire. One other man, a gaunt, beady-eyed fellow by the name of Yuronius, sat with them although he seemed not inclined to be part of the conversation. The other three guarded the perimeter. Nermesa and his present companions would replace them in two hours, with their shift ending four hours later, and so on.

“I hear that there are some better places more northeast, near Brythunia,” the bald man said with a shrug. “But what’s hearsay and what’s truth, that’s another thing. No one travels much in this part of the kingdom, not, that is, if they want to live.”

“Then how do you know this path so well?”

“Travel’s one thing, spyin’s another.”

The Black Dragon let Valamon’s answer stand at that. The less he knew about the situation was probably for the better.

Once they had finished their rations, Valamon suggested that they get some rest before their turn on guard duty. “You’ll need all your strength tomorrow, Aquilonian. We’ll be riding hard through some truly uneven and unforgiving country.”

Taking his advice, Nermesa found a spot near his horse and bedded down. Riders in the Border Kingdom tended to sleep near their mounts even despite any discomfort that might cause. As Valamon put it to him, “Without your animal, you’re dead out here. That beast’s more your life than any of us, understand?”

Considering all that he had been through since riding to Poitain, Nermesa understood, indeed.

Despite his exhaustion, though, the knight found it hard to fall asleep. His thoughts raced on to Tarantia and what he might find there. If the king was already slain, what would Nermesa do then? Certainly defend his homeland and his loved ones, but against whom? Whatever usurper had taken the throne? What if the people rallied around the villain? It was Conan himself who was the glue holding Aquilonia together. Without him, none of his followers—not even Pallantides or Trocero—would be able to keep stability. Even Queen Zenobia, as popular as she was with the common folk, would not last long. She was an outsider and someone who had betrayed King Tarascus. It was almost certain that she would die soon after—if not
before
—her husband.

Nermesa tried to put his mind away from such matters. He could do nothing to prevent disaster from happening unless he reached the capital. Therefore, it behooved him to get as much sleep as possible to keep on his guard. Considering the terrain through which he had already ridden, Nermesa could only imagine what tomorrow’s trek would bring—

The brief, muted snort of a horse stirred the Aquilonian to attention. He realized that, at some point, he had drifted off to sleep. His own mount stood right next to him. The three belonging to the men on guard duty were tethered to a bush in what he believed the opposite direction from which the snort had come. Neither Valamon’s nor Yuronius’s horse was also near the area in question.

Sword held tight, Nermesa listened more. He heard nothing, but was certain that something was amiss.

With caution, he crawled toward where Valamon lay. The bald fighter snored deep.

“Valamon . . .” Nermesa whispered as he neared. “Valamon . . .”

The snoring did not stop, but the former soldier’s hand suddenly moved in what Nermesa realized was a signal to him. Valamon was not asleep; he, too, must have heard the snort.

The hand made a gesture indicating that the Aquilonian should return to where he had been sleeping. Nermesa did not argue; if Valamon had a plan, the knight was willing to follow it.

There was a rustling of leaves—

Several cloaked men charged into the encampment, clearly certain of the advantage of surprise. Had they been only facing the three guards, that advantage would have been tremendous, but suddenly Valamon leapt to his feet. He let out a cry to which both Nermesa and Yuronius responded. Instead of three swords, the villains now faced double that.

But that hardly meant that the battle belonged to Nermesa’s party. As the knight charged the man nearest him, he estimated that there were possibly twice as many attackers as defenders. Bolontes’ son quickly sought to even the matter out, his sword cutting an arc through his foe’s unarmored chest with little effort. However, as the man fell, two more charged the Aquilonian and the only thing he could do was just fend them off as they pressed him back against his mount.

One of Valamon’s men fell next, a sword through his belly. Valamon uttered an oath, then shouted, “Group! Group!”

Yuronius immediately slipped to the bald fighter’s left. The gaunt man chopped at the leg of one attacker, then, when the latter fell to one knee, all but decapitated him.

One of the other guards managed to make it to Valamon’s right side, but as the remaining defender turned to follow, he was caught twice in the back. The dying fighter stumbled to the ground, then fell dead just before the campfire.

Nermesa’s three companions created an impressive wall, fighting off half again as many men while attempting to back up to where the knight made his stand.

One of the Aquilonian’s adversaries made a lunge, which was immediately followed by a thrust from the second foe. Nermesa foiled their two-pronged attack, moving aside and pulling the first man forward while at the same time parrying the second’s strike. He then slew the fallen attacker before the latter could rise.

But just as he began to have hope that they could fend off the rest, from out of the brush to the south came what Nermesa estimated to be at least five more.

Valamon, too, caught sight of them, for he suddenly shouted, “Mount up, Aquilonian! Mount up!”

The Black Dragon dealt with the last of his opponents with a wicked thrust through the rib cage. “No! I’ll not leave you!”

“You’ve got a task that must be seen through! Deal that bastard Tarascus whatever mischief you can! Go!”

As much as Nermesa despised leaving, he knew that Valamon had the right of it. Still clutching his sword, Nermesa tore his steed’s reins free, then leapt up into the saddle. He prodded the horse in the flanks, urging it to great haste.

But as a last gesture to those who might be sacrificing themselves for the sake of his mission, Nermesa charged
through
the attackers, striking expertly as they scattered out of the horse’s path. At least one of Nermesa’s attacks was a success, the villain’s cry music to his ears.

Then the Aquilonian rode past the battle and into the hills. There were shouts and the whinnies of horses. Nermesa had no doubt that pursuit was not far behind him, but all he could do was concentrate on the dark path ahead.

In the night, the hills seemed a veritable maze, one at times he was certain would send him riding directly into the enemy. Yet not only did that not happen, but when he looked for riders behind him, Nermesa saw nothing. Still, the Black Dragon continued to race his mount as if capture or death nipped at his heels.

He rode so for nearly an hour. Then, having sighted no one behind him in all that time, he finally slowed his animal to a walk. The horse, its great chest heaving from the prolonged effort, gladly obeyed. Nermesa looked around for any sign of a stream, well aware that not only did his steed need water, but so did he.

After several minutes more, he located just such a source. Giving thanks to Mitra, Nermesa dismounted. Choosing a spot upstream of the horse, he took his fill while the animal did the same.

The sounds of the battle still echoed in his thoughts, and once again he regretted the choices that had forced him to abandon the others. Nermesa hoped that Mitra would watch over Haral’s men, who had proven to be far more than the cutthroats for which he had first taken them.

His mind fresher now, Nermesa pondered his progress. Valamon had indicated that they were not all that far from Aquilonia, but surely there had to be at least some settlement between his present location and his homeland. Nermesa would have to ride carefully.

Mounting up, he rode slowly through the hills. The knight had no idea how much territory Zarac claimed for itself. It was possible that its control extended all the way to the border. From what both Haral and Valamon had explained to him, the territories within the Border Kingdom constantly fluctuated. It was possible that Zarac had a new leader again, which would explain the unexpected attack on the party.

Over the next several hours, the battered knight made slow progress, but at least it
was
progress. He was fairly confident of his sense of direction this time and hoped that he could make it to Aquilonia by the next evening at latest. However, exhaustion soon reared high again, forcing Nermesa at last to call a halt. He located a thick copse of trees which, despite their gnarled appearance, gave him plenty of protection from searching eyes. There was some grass for the horse to forage, which also helped.

Taking care of his mount, Nermesa settled down for what he hoped would be only a short nap. Better that he wait until he was safely in Aquilonian territory before he fully relaxed.

Yet it seemed that he had only shut his eyes when his trained senses detected the faint sounds of someone approaching. Nermesa did not move save to glance around seeking any imminent threat. Finding none, he cautiously rose, sword already gripped tight.

The slight clink of metal against metal immediately informed Nermesa from which direction the riders were coming. Making certain that the horse was calm, the knight peered through the trees.

There were three men. At least, that was how many Nermesa could count so far. They rode well-worn beasts and, from what little he could see, had a look akin to Valamon’s men. Yet, these could not be from Haral’s settlement, and so the Aquilonian tensed, ready to defend himself.

None of the three spoke, and all had their weapons out. Two were armed with swords—one broad and the other a short blade—while the third had a bow. They looked around as they rode. Nermesa finally surmised that they were on a routine patrol and that, with any luck, they would soon pass him by.

None of the three seemed at all inclined to be out. Their stooped shoulders indicated to the experienced knight that they had been riding for some time. That meant that they would be more lax, less interested in finding
anything
.

But just as it appeared that they would miss him, the leader abruptly raised one hand high. Immediately, the other two fighters straightened. All sense of indifference vanished.

“There,” muttered the foremost rider, pointing to a spot just a little ahead of where Nermesa hid. “Go look.”

The man with the short sword rode forward while the archer readied an arrow.

Nermesa watched as the lone hunter surveyed the region that his leader had indicated. The man dismounted, then prodded the shrubbery.

To the knight’s dismay, the searcher suddenly glanced in his direction. Nermesa pulled behind a tree, certain that he had been seen. Yet, after a tense moment, the Aquilonian heard the figure remount and return to the waiting pair.

“Nothing,” muttered the man upon his arrival.

“All right . . . let’s move on.”

Smothering an exhalation of relief, Nermesa listened as the trio rode past. The Black Dragon did not relax until long after he was alone again and even then he did not return to his nap. Instead, Nermesa checked on his horse, then remounted. He wanted to be far from his present location just in case the patrol decided to return. While Nermesa believed that he could take the three men he had seen, he could not take a chance that there might be others about.