Red Valor

by Shad Callister

  The men of the Tooth and Blade rode in perfect formation down the lakeshore, bronze gleaming. Every man of them knew that a show of strength now could frighten the fugitives into submission without a fight, could be the difference between a bloodless victory and an unfortunate slaughter.

  About thirty paces from the half-finished gate, Pelekarr called a halt. Instantly the company stopped and held their lances motionless, pointed skyward. Only the horses’ tails moved, swishing lazily. The sun was hot overhead. A smell of mud and fresh water rose off the lake, borne on a cool, gnat-laden breeze.

  The captain studied the crowd before him in the gateway, noting the divisions among them: the defiant ones, the dejected ones, and most importantly, the undecided. He had not donned his helmet. After a moment, he slowly dismounted, signaling for Keltos and Makos to do likewise.

  Slowly they advanced. Keltos, on the left, held the company banner, and Makos, on the right, carried the captain’s shield and helmet. Sergeant Bivar came behind with three more men on foot at his back, swords ready. A muttering arose from the settlers as they approached, and when ten paces away Pelekarr halted once more.

  For a long moment, there was silence. Then a bald giant sporting a full white beard stepped forward. His clothing was as coarse and work-stained as the others’, but he had an air of authority.

  “You’ve found us, then.” There was resignation in his voice, but also a touch of defiance. “The baron sent you.”

  “So it would seem,” replied the captain. “It took a few days to sort out your trail.”

  “Didn’t I tell you all we should have hidden our tracks for another league?” snarled a burly black-bearded man. “I told you. Now we’re dead men.”

  “Hold your tongue, Ormos,” the whitebeard grunted. “What’s done is done.” He stared at Pelekarr. “Bax wants us back, does he?”

  “He does,” said Pelekarr. “Or rather, his younger brother.”

  “Faugh! Don’t speak to me of that simpering fool. It’s Bax that pulls the strings.” He glared at Pelekarr. “You aren’t wearing his colors, though. You look like paid men.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Mercenaries.” The whitebeard spat. “Hired killers. I knew Dectros would want us back, but I didn’t think he’d convince his brother to pay out enough for the likes of you.”

  Keltos wondered why the captain was letting the man prattle on, having the run of the conversation. It was unlike Pelekarr, whose usual mode was icy control. There must be some stratagem in it. Let the man talk himself to a standstill, perhaps, and lose the energy keeping his fear bottled.

  “Hired killers? That’s hardly fair,” Pelekarr said. “Whether or not anyone is killed is entirely up to you.”

  “Sure it is!” The whitebeard nodded in the direction of the column. “And those fellows there, they just came to fish in our lake.” Pelekarr didn’t reply, and the man went on. “I see a woman yonder in your ranks, a barbarian. You in league with the savages?”

  “The composition of my company is my own affair,” the captain replied. “Your only concern, as of this moment, is how quickly you can get your people ready for travel.”

  Whitebeard heaved a sigh, and glanced down at the woodsman’s axe held in one knotted fist. Keltos eased his hand closer to the hilt of his saber and sensed Makos doing likewise.

  But Whitebeard laughed suddenly. “Mishtan’s mercy! It was a fool’s gamble from the start. Should have assumed old Bax would send someone to fetch us who had the chops for it. All right, boys, weapons down. We can’t fight these men. They’re hardened warriors all.”

  There was muttering, but one by one the crowd lowered their axes and makeshift spears. Whitebeard spread his arms wide.

  “Welcome to Ashtown, my lords. Westernmost settlement in Ostora!”

  Nightfall found the company bivouacked in the trees north of the lake. Captain Pelekarr and the white-bearded chief, whose name was Ashon, agreed to keep the soldiers and settlers apart, for the common good. A campsite was chosen near a small creek, sentries were posted, and the bulk of the men remained in the camp under strict orders to keep ready. Tibion began cooking dinner for those who would remain outside the settlement, but even he was uneasy about what the coming hours might bring.

  Twenty men, Keltos and Makos among them, were to accompany the captain and Perian to a feast held in their honor within the half-built settlement.

  Sergeant Bivar shook his head. “I don’t like it, Captain. It’s a perfect setup for an ambush.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” Pelekarr replied. “But this Ashon seems level-headed. If harm comes to us the rest of the company would make quick work of them, and Ashon knows it. There would be nowhere for them to hide.

  “No, I think this will prove to be a last, eloquent attempt to dissuade us from our purpose. And twenty of us ought to be able to hold our own against this rabble in any event. I saw no real soldiers among them, so it’s likely the lumber camp garrison are dead or fled. We’ll know more tonight.”

  Despite his trust in Pelekarr’s judgment, Keltos was inclined to agree with the sergeant. Foolish it might be to ambush the delegation, but desperate men might deem it worth the risk. If they could, by killing the captain, cut the head from the snake and throw the rank and file into a panic, they might aim to make a getaway.

  Keltos knew it wouldn’t work, but these bumpkin renegades might just be idiotic enough to believe in such a scheme. They had already accomplished something like it at the other fort. And if the feast really was a pretext to talk the mercenaries out of their purpose, what cause did the captain have to listen anyway?

  The guests arrived at Ashtown at sundown, armed but unarmored—terms Ashon had grudgingly agreed to. They were seated on crude benches around a central fire in the middle of the new fort, as no building big enough to hold them all had yet been built.

  Dinner was served immediately, hardly worthy of the word feast, but Ashon and his counselors went out of their way to put the soldiers at ease. Not a weapon was in sight among the settlers, and all drank freely from leathern jacks of foaming ale. The food selection was limited but hearty: soup, loaves of crusty bread, and fresh game along with small bowls of early berries.

  As the meal progressed, Keltos found himself relaxing. The tense mood of earlier had melted away, and there seemed to be genuine earnestness in their hosts’ words and actions. Young women, flowers woven in their hair, served sizzling collops of meat from spits and filled every drinking vessel as soon as it was emptied. The men had been given orders to avoid heavy drinking, however, so it was with regret that Keltos shook his head at repeated offers of more ale. The mercenaries had, of course, carefully waited for their hosts to begin eating and drinking before partaking themselves, and Ashon had chosen not to make an issue of it.

  Finally, when all had eaten their fill, the elders settled in close for the serious talk. As the food was cleared away, Ashon sat staring into the fire, stroking his beard with one hand. The other elders remained silent, waiting for their leader to speak.

  Pelekarr appeared to be in no hurry. A show of impatience or arrogance was unnecessary, Keltos realized, and would be counterproductive—let them broach the subject in their own time. Men who felt their grievances would be heard were less likely to turn to throat-slitting.

  Finally the white-bearded chief spoke, eyes still on the fire. “We never meant to commit treason, captain.”

  Pelekarr said nothing.

  “It was that dung-stain magistrate, Tomos. Pellia’s bones! How we hated him! He was the sole cause of our disaffection. I have no proof to offer you, save the word of we who have gathered here.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the elders as Ashon continued. “It was his death that opened the door, so to speak. We’d be there yet, still felling timber for Bax and his brother, if the monster hadn’t taken Tomos. It was a sign from the gods.”

  “Monster?”

  “Centipede. Big one, like nothing I’d ever
seen before, and I’m third generation Ostoran. Ostora bites, they say: in this case it bit him nearly in half! Ha! Yes, I’d call it a monster.”

  “You met the creature itself, then? We found its den,” Pelekarr said.

  Ashon cocked his head. “Den?”

  Perian spoke for the first time. She had eaten little and drunk less, and it was plain that none of the settlers trusted her—nor she them. Her voice was low and scornful now. “The female mekkilak dig a cave in which to lay their eggs, always near water. Wet sand is their favorite. You built your little fort directly atop the next generation of centipedes, slumbering in their eggs beneath you all the while.”

  Ashon smacked his fist on his thigh. “That explains much.”

  “Did none of you notice the smell?”

  The elders exchanged significant glances. Ashon shook his head. “We thought it to be the river mud, some decaying plants, perhaps one of the striped reekers wandering past.”

  Perian shook her head. “No. All Ostoran creatures know that scent. It means fear and death.”

  “Then, when the creature attacked, it was—”

  “—checking its eggs.” Perian nodded. “No doubt it laid them some time ago, and in the interval you built your fort wall, blocking access to the cavern. The centipede must have been maddened.”

  Ashon nodded. “I was fishing with my son, upriver, and so I did not see the attack. But many here can tell you. Dymos?”

  A rawboned man leaned forward, eyes glittering. “I was there. Kif’s fingers! It nearly took my breath away to watch it. We heard a shout from the guard on the wall as it clambered right over, scuttling with a thousand wriggling legs. It just kept coming, at least twenty cubits long! The guard’s spear couldn’t pierce the thing, and it shore him in twain with those jaws. We didn’t have any lumber parties out that day, so the whole garrison was inside the fort.”

  The man swallowed and licked his lips, then continued. “They tried to fight. It plowed right through them, left a bloody shambles in its wake. Tomos heard the screams and ran out on his porch. Then the thing just… tore him apart.”

  Ashon took up the tale. “Most of us workers escaped, ran for our lives while the guards fought. The monster seemed content to drive us away, and it didn’t follow. The soldiers were all dead when we returned, though. And Tomos too, gods curse him.”

  “Most of us ran down to the river gate and got out in the boats,” added Dymos. “But the beast took a few that were stuck inside the fort; four men and three women. No children, thank the gods.”

  “What did the centipede do after slaying Tomos?” Pelekarr carefully asked.

  “We never knew. We were too busy paddling for our lives across the river to safety. The next day, when we returned with our axes ready to trap and slay the creature, there was no sign of it. Just the dead soldiers in the streets. It must have dragged off our seven missing, eaten them whole.”

  Keltos swallowed with a dry throat as he met Makos’ gaze across the fire. Every one of them knew the real fate of the missing settlers, and they all looked at the captain, Perian included. But Pelekarr chose to remain quiet, and Keltos breathed a silent sigh of relief. There was no point in revealing the grisly truth to them; only further pain and grief could result. Better to let them think their lost comrades had met with a quick death.

  “May Mishtan receive them with mercy,” was all the captain said, and everyone nodded in agreement.

  “We faced a choice, captain,” Ashon continued. “Our hated magistrate was dead. He could no longer abuse and drive us. All his soldiers were dead. We were all of us deep in debt to Baron Bax, true, little more than slaves really. But by Rukhal’s beard, hadn’t we suffered enough? Hadn’t we paid enough price to our lords? A chance like that comes but once a lifetime, and we took it.”

  “Freedom.” Pelekarr’s voice was carefully neutral.

  “Aye, freedom! A chance to live our own lives, to cut down trees to build our own homes instead of filling the baron’s lumber quota. I could tell you, we all could, of the daughters and wives that Tomos and his men ravished—at Dectros and Bax’s urging. They’re of the opinion it keeps us in our place, and they quickly silenced our pleas for mercy.”

  Pelekarr glowered. “I can believe that the baron and his brother used you harshly. But surely you could have sent word to the royal governor, appealed your cause to the king if needed?”

  Ashon shook his head vigorously. “That’s what I’m telling you, sir. We were no better off than the barbarian slaves he sends to his mines. We’d signed ourselves away to work for him, I can’t deny that, but none of us counted on this kind of life. I can show you the whip scars on our backs, if you like, to prove it.” He pointed at a serving girl that walked by. “That girl, there. She bears scars up and down her body, and that’s just what you can see on the outside.”

  Pelekarr held up a hand. “Please, leave the girl be.”

  Ashon nodded. “Under Tomos there were daily beatings and even torture for those that defied him. The brute labor he drove us to day after day nearly broke us—did break some, any that fell sick or grew weak. We’ve been isolated out here, cut off from the rest of Ostora, with Tomos as the absolute law.” He swallowed the spittle that was beginning to form in his beard and calmed himself. “So he met his fate, and we faced our choice. Why should we go back after all that? To keep the forges of His Royal Highness burning day and night? To build fleets of galleys for his wars? We wanted to be free men, and the centipede’s coming gave us that.”

  “You risked much in coming west,” Pelekarr observed. “One might almost prefer the former life to what you can now expect at the hands of the barbarians and other terrors in this wilderness.”

  Ashon’s voice was hard. “Only a free man, one who hadn’t lived the way we lived, would say that. Ask any of us. We all agreed to take our chances. If we die now, we die free.”

  The mood had changed. Keltos felt the mellow congeniality of the feast evaporate, and the chiefs at the fire were tense, hanging on their leader’s words. He didn’t sense that they were near violence, but they were certainly united in their rebellion and unwilling to recant. Ashon’s eloquence had reminded them of their grievances.

  “Well, I think I can complete the tale,” Pelekarr said. “You buried or burned the dead soldiers and erased all sign of what had occurred. You gathered your supplies and livestock, and you crossed the river. Then you pushed as far as you could into the wilderness and found this lake. You didn’t burn the fort because it would have created a column of smoke that could be seen for leagues and would alert any barbarians in the area.”

  Ashon nodded. “That’s it. We hoped anyone searching for us would think we’d been carried off by savages.”

  “And your entire strategy was to go as far as you could in the hope that no searchers would be able to follow?”

  “Aye. Even if they found the trail, fear might keep them from coming after us.”

  “You underestimated the baron. He wants you back badly enough to hire us. The Tooth and Blade does not turn back at the first obstacle.”

  Ashon sighed. “Our labors brought him much wealth. He spent little enough for our upkeep, I can tell you that much. We had nothing to lose!”

  “But now you have been found, despite your best efforts.”

  “We won’t return.” Ashon was adamant, and his fellow chiefs bristled defiantly.

  “We can force you.”

  “You’d have to drag us back, Captain. And we’ll resist.” He held up his hands. “Don’t misunderstand me. You would prevail in the end, no doubt. We’re not warriors. But we’re still strong, and by the guts of Rukhal, we’d down enough of you to hurt your chances of making it back to the coast again.”

  Pelekarr’s face was iron. “Then I take it that this show of hospitality is merely an attempt to divide my forces?”

  Ashon grinned widely and gave a short laugh, as he had at the gates earlier. “Nay, captain. This feast was just to get us talkin
g. I had hoped to persuade you to the justice of our cause.” He scowled again. “Failing that, however, it serves as our final meal, a banquet for those about to die on the morrow. Fighting is hungry work… aye, and thirsty.”

  Keltos and his comrades sat tensely, swiveling their eyes to ensure that no one was sneaking up behind them.

  Pelekarr held his drinking horn out. “Thirsty indeed. More ale!”

  Ashon and the chiefs watched, bemused, as a serving girl quickly filled the horn Pelekarr had been given. The captain drank deep, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Perian studied him with a faint smile on her face. Keltos wondered if she knew something he did not; he watched the captain’s face carefully and waited for an order along with the rest of the soldiers.

  Pelekarr sighed. “Death’s a poor ending to the tale that you’ve told me, Ashon.”

  “Have you a better ending?”

  “I have.”

  CHAPTER 21: ON THE BACK OF THE BEAST

  “There!” Kairm whispered, his voice tight and hoarse. “There. You see him? It’s real, it’s all real. I told you it was, and here we are. Now you see!”

  The trapper nearly shook with excitement, and Damicos felt a surge of adrenaline himself as he watched man and beast across the small pond. No one moved.

  The brown-haired man sat tall atop his strange mount. It was hard to make out many details at that distance, but the rider remained so still that despite the gentle lapping of water along the bank he stood out like a statue. The little waterfall tumbled and splashed behind him, soaking the area with spray, but the rider didn’t seem to notice. The six-legged, horned beast he was riding had been drinking from the slow-moving river, but now it stared back at the armed column, alert and wary.