Red Valor

by Shad Callister

  Damicos shrugged. “The men we leave behind are our insurance. They effectively hold the city hostage.”

  “Half! Each group only half as strong, half as capable of facing whatever threats lie ahead.”

  “What are you afraid of, Jamson?” Damicos asked. His horse swelled its belly to avoid too tight a cinch, and he waited patiently for it to exhale in defeat before jerking the strap snug. “This is what we came for.”

  “You take unnecessary risks. Dead men spend no coin.”

  “So I’ve heard,” was the dry response. “I was as surprised as you at the queen’s offer. True, it may be a trap, or a ruse. But I think not. We are a thorn she cannot remove save by cooperation. Is it not more likely that she truly needs our help to gain her own ends? We use each other, I grant you that, but what is wrong with that as long as we keep our eyes open?”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “Nor I. We don’t have to. Set the risks we take against what we stand to gain. Wealth untold! Power for the buying, if you want it.”

  “I wanted to discover a lost city and exploit its treasures. But we walk a knife’s edge here. She’d slit our throats if she could.”

  “Of course she would; what ruler wouldn’t? But she needs us. Aye, there’s madness in her soul, but I mean to take advantage of it, not run from it. And consider this: stay behind, and the best chance we have is in subjugating a lot of sullen civilians that might turn on us at a moment’s notice. Go ahead and sink our teeth into this motherlode in the wilderness, and we’ll have control of an unending source of wealth, free and clear. That’s a far better proposition. It assures the future of my company as well as your own fortunes.”

  The conversation went out of earshot after that, but it left Cormoran mulling over the fate that lay ahead in the deep forest. The captain’s words stirred the avarice in his soul, but he was no fool. Too many men had pushed their luck, pushed the gods’ favor, in pursuit of just a little more plunder, just a touch more gold. Their bones bleached in the sun in every land under the sun. Why push it?

  And yet.

  Cormoran had long held close a private dream he spoke of to no one. A small farm, tucked away in a hidden valley, where a man could raise some grain, some fruit. Sit in the sun on a bench and guzzle sack with no sergeants bawling you out. No more marching…

  It was a fool’s dream, he knew. Soldiers often had something of the sort at the back of their minds, a pleasant fiction that they leaned on and told themselves they were working toward. Most never achieved it. Nor, he admitted, would most enjoy it if they did.

  But it would be nice to have the chance to try, and if this gamble paid out his share in the spoils might be enough to buy that farm, keep him comfortable the rest of his days.

  Horns blared, interrupting his reverie.

  Her majesty the queen exited the city, surrounded by her guard. She strode purposefully, resplendent in a glowing blue gown, a rod of office in her hand topped with a chunk of greenstone as large as a goose egg.

  Grooms held the reins of a giant black cat, which lashed a tail as big around as Cormoran’s forearm. The saddle and tack were of an unusual and inventive design to match the contours of the great panther’s body. Leisha mounted without difficulty, apparently accustomed to the beast, and Cormoran saw that her skirts were divided for riding. The queen held up an imperious hand.

  “To the Valley of the Red God,” she called out in a loud voice. “For the last time. For our people. For glory!”

  There was a cheer from the queen’s troops. The queen nodded to Gladwin, who waved a gauntleted fist. The column started off, beasts bellowing and hissing as their riders booted them into motion.

  Leisha’s panther sauntered over to Damicos and Jamson, whose horses snorted and shied away. The queen smiled thinly.

  “I would ride with you. There is much to discuss.”

  Damicos bowed in the saddle, though the effect was dampened by his restless mount. Nostrils flaring, the sorrel gelding pranced around in a state of near-terror to be so close to an unnatural predator.

  Jamson fared little better. Finally the captain brought his steed under control, but it wouldn’t take much more prodding for it to bolt. He gripped the reins tightly.

  “We are honored, Majesty.”

  Gladwin headed east, following a well-worn pathway that had seen much traffic in the recent past. Damicos signaled his men to follow Leisha’s troops by a respectable margin, which was fine by Cormoran. He’d developed a profound mistrust of all large Ostoran fauna over the past months.

  The trees soon enveloped them, hiding the city from view. Cormoran muttered a prayer to Telion, god of war, under his breath, hearing similar murmurs from those behind. It was a bad place to be, and only a fool would deny it. Unknown terrain, unknown destination, unknown enemy combat capabilities.

  Only the gods could help them now, and the captain would no doubt be obliged to offer a whole bullock to Telion if they returned safely.

  As they rode just ahead of Cormoran’s position, the captain and Jamson continuously fought to keep their mounts under control. If the queen was aware of it, she didn’t seem to care. On the contrary, Cormoran thought he sensed a subtle enjoyment on the woman’s face whenever she turned and he caught a view of her profile.

  She acted unaware, but her panther kept padding sideways, nearer to Damicos’ horse and causing it to snort and sidestep away. Eventually she seemed to tire of her game, moving the panther a few paces away.

  Corm eyed the queen’s panther with trepidation; it reminded him of the bansheecat that had nearly deafened him in the tavern on the coast some weeks earlier, but it was far bigger and had three-inch fangs jutting from its lips. He was aware of a new respect for the woman who rode so easily on its back.

  In any case, the extra distance forced she and the captain to speak louder, and Cormoran, marching now in the second row with fellow hoplite Meeks, could hear every word.

  “Where do you keep that monster when you aren’t riding it?” Damicos asked, gesturing at the powerful cat.

  “In the palace,” Leisha replied. “I have bonded closely with this one. Its grand-sire was my first steed after the horses I brought from the coast died.”

  She noted his inquiring look and explained further. “We resorted to alliance with the denizens of the wilderness in the early days of our flight to the interior. We would not be thriving as we are if not for our harnessing the ferocity of Ostora’s creatures. You call them monsters, but we here understand that they are but animals, bendable to the will of one strong enough.” She turned and looked at the captain intensely. “I am strong enough.”

  “I do not doubt that you are,” Damicos replied. “You had to find some way to survive, far from all contact with even the nearest coastal settlement. But how did you first subject one of them to obey commands?”

  “It took years,” the queen admitted. “We had to kill many in the early days, ones that tasted the flesh of a man and could not thereafter be controlled. But I and a few others with me came to find that we had an affinity for certain of the creatures, almost a spiritual connection. A way of understanding.” She reached forward and patted the great cat between the ears.

  Cormoran exchanged a disbelieving glance with his fellow marcher, Meeks. He had wondered about the queen’s mental balance when first he’d listened to her in her throne room. Now he was sure she was at least half-mad.

  The ground steadily rose, growing rockier. Here they skirted the edge of the foothills that ran up to the peaks above on the north. The country was rugged, but allowed for winding trails that circled trees and boulders so it wasn’t difficult on foot.

  Finally the combined army entered a forest of tall pines, plodding along in relative quiet over a carpet of dry needles. Half an hour into this pleasant forest, Cormoran heard a slight commotion behind and turned to look.

  Four ranks back, two men had caught hold of a youthful-looking fellow wearing a helmet but with no breastplate. The
youth struggled vainly in the grip of two seasoned hoplites used to carrying shield and spear for hours at a time. He couldn’t have weighed much more than their arms and armor.

  The captain was deep in conversation with the warrior-queen Leisha, and Corm’s sergeant continued forward oblivious. But he and a couple others fell back to see what was going on.

  “What’s the matter?” Leon Stonehand asked, leaving a discussion with another sergeant and joining the men that had caught the third between them. They were skirmishers, and one of the men was Stevos Adda, The Sickle, who Corm had become acquainted with on this campaign.

  “This lad just came up out of the trees, thinking to fall in line with us,” Stevos explained. “Never seen ‘im before.”

  “He’s not one of mine, that’s for sure,” the skirmisher sergeant said. “I do believe he’s from the city we just left!”

  Lieutenant Leon poked the young man on the top of his helmet, which was clearly too big as it tilted and nearly fell off his head. “I recognize you,” he said with a snort. “You’re the street boy, the one that wanted to take up with us.”

  “Tilo, master. I couldn’t stay in my city; they’re looking for me there. Don’t send me back! I’ll fight alongside you. You’ll find me useful when we run into a cairn-crawler or a nest of the pit vipers.”

  “Where’d you get that helmet?”

  “Took it off your baggage men in the rear, sir,” the boy replied. “They weren’t paying attention. I needed it to mingle with your troops!”

  “You’re a liar and a thief as well as a vagabond, then,” the skirmisher sergeant said. “A runt like you couldn’t slip past our sentries. Here, Leon, I’ll see him off.”

  He took Tilo by the back of the shirt and made to throw him bodily off the side of the trail.

  “Hold,” Leon said. He was staring at the boy and thinking hard. Cormoran knew Leon to be a fierce fighter and a loyal man at arms, often occupying the place at Damicos’ side in battle. But he’d never taken the lieutenant for a clever thinker, and to watch him struggling now to calculate a scheme in his mind, Corm grinned.

  “Let him come along in my troop,” Leon finally said. He peered up the column to where Damicos and the queen were jouncing along on their steeds. “It may be of some use to have one that knows the ways of this place, yet isn’t in the thrall of her majesty.”

  The skirmisher sergeant was mystified, but let go of the boy. Leon thought for a moment longer, then nodded to himself. “Get a spear, boy, and join my men a few paces back, here. And stay out of sight of your own people if you can, d’you hear?”

  “Yes, sir!” Tilo nearly shouted. “Can I keep the helmet?”

  “For now. You’ll need it if you mean to live through this venture. I expect rough action ahead.”

  The boy fell back, slipping himself between two hoplites who bemusedly allowed him to do so after a hand signal from the lieutenant.

  Cormoran formed back up behind his troop. Leon had surprised him. The lieutenant had more brains than Corm had given him credit for. And he seemed not to trust the queen any more than Corm did.

  The captain was now speaking of future plans with the queen, which seemed premature to Corm. It remained to be seen if they made it out of this forest with anything valuable. But the captain kept her talking.

  “Just how far is our objective? Do we expect to return on the morrow?”

  “Perhaps not,” Leisha replied. “It is some leagues from my valley, and my people have never attempted a direct route to the Valley of the Red God.”

  “You’ve never seen it yourself?”

  “Many of my servants and scouts have been there. But always with caution, using a roundabout approach. It is difficult to reach, and there are things there that we do not wish to lead back to our home.”

  She smiled at the captain. “But now we have you and a legion of armored men with us. We will force our way through, and open the trade route of the century.”

  “Hardly a legion, Majesty, but we will do our part. You anticipate running goods all the way to the coast?”

  “We can stage the riches in my city, then run caravans through the forest as the seasons permit.”

  “Very well. My men and I will need to accompany the first shipment to the coast.”

  Leisha snapped her head around. “Why? Would you leave me so soon, Damicos?”

  “I must see that the trade goods arrive and are dealt for fairly. I must also consult with my fellow company commander, and we have allies to contract with. Then the barons must be sold on it all. These things cannot happen in my absence.”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t make it far without me, Captain. Your supplies cannot last, you know not the way. You would blunder into the path of migrating beasts of ferocious aspect. It’s a miracle you made it out this far in the first place.”

  “All this is true,” Damicos replied. “For this reason we will ask for your blessing, and your supplies.”

  “I will accompany you. I wish to be at the meeting when prices are negotiated. I wish to see their faces when they hear what we have brought to their doorstep.”

  She fell silent, brooding and staring out at the trees surrounding the marching columns. Damicos did not respond.

  CHAPTER 31: A TERRIBLE PRICE

  Far out in the night, Perian and Harnwe were fleeing for their lives. Riding hard through thicket and fen, leaping boulders and clattering through shallow creeks, they desperately ate up the ground. The light of the moon, more than half full, gave just enough light to keep them from breaking their necks.

  There was no way to tell how far behind them the mekkilak was, and there was no way to tell how far ahead the lake was. It was too difficult to judge in the darkness of the night. Was that patch of wild oak the same she had noted three or four leagues out from the lake, or was it another of similar size?

  They had to be at least two leagues from the place still, and possibly as much as four. If it were four, they were dead, she and Harnwe. Their horses wouldn’t last, the thing would overtake them, and there would be nothing left of them.

  Her horse was slowing. Both mounts were rasping for breath, foam flecking their cheeks and nostrils straining for more air, and now the one she rode was slowing noticeably, its hoof-beats coming down not as hard or as fast. Harnwe was gaining on her, behind and to the right. Perian kicked viciously at the horse, but it was already straining its limits and could not go faster.

  The animal suddenly twitched its head, and Perian saw its bulky neck muscles spasm. She worried that it was about to collapse, but then the horse laid its ears back and screamed, violently twisting its head to look behind it.

  She jerked the reins to force the creature to keep its course, and turned her head to say something to Harnwe. But her breath caught in her throat and turned to a choking scream.

  There, looming in the darkness of the forest directly behind them, was the mekkilak.

  Perian couldn’t see it all, couldn’t even gauge how big the mother-centipede truly was, but she could make out its monstrous head moving sinuously against the shadows behind it. It was coming at them from only ten or twenty paces back, and going at least as quickly as the horses. How it had approached so close without her sensing, she never knew.

  Harnwe heard her, saw the look in her eyes, and turned in her saddle. It was the archer’s undoing.

  In turning, Harnwe momentarily lost control of her mount, which slowed slightly. They were riding into the wind, which gave all the advantage to the centipede and took it from the horses. They could scarcely hear the monster’s thousand whispering feet, and had smelled only what was ahead of them until the last second.

  Harnwe grappled with her bow and drew an arrow, allowing her mount to slow further. A more experienced rider, a cavalryman like those the horse was used to serving, would have pressed onward to maintain distance from the oncoming monster. But the young woman of the bow put to use the tool she knew best, miscalculating the effect its miss
iles could have on such a vast and determined creature.

  Harnwe’s single shot flew backward and missed the thing’s head. She was unaccustomed to mounted archery, and it was only by luck that the arrow struck the mekkilak in the side, halfway down its length. It was the razor-tipped arrow the smith had given her, and she used it now in her moment of desperation.

  The custom-made arrow cut deeper than a bronze tip would have, shredding through the great insect’s carapace and drawing beads of slimy ichor out the wound. But the single arrow wasn’t enough to stop the beast.

  The thing barely paused in its relentless stride, surging forward with impossible ferocity and speed, and took the archer from behind with its pincers. They flashed in the moonlight and Harnwe screamed, dropping her bow. Perian’s own cry of horror and pity mingled with her companion’s, but it was in vain.

  Dark blood sprayed backward from the terrible wound the creature had dealt Harnwe, and the archer slumped forward in the saddle, grasping at her mount’s neck. The horse galloped at top speed, managing to keep just ahead of the undulating bulk of the monster behind.

  Poor Harnwe could not possibly recover from such a wound as the mekkilak had dealt; if her spine wasn’t cut, then the muscles in her back would never heal. More likely, she would die from blood loss in minutes, with no way to stop and staunch the flow.

  Perian’s steed was going all out and not quite managing to keep pace with the oncoming creature. Her own death was near.

  She reached out and grasped the reins of Harnwe’s horse, keeping the galloping animals neck and neck. Then, gripping the saddle with her knees, she reached over with her right hand and looped a leather strap around the dying archer’s leg to hold her in place.

  The mekkilak let out a piercing cry that was only a whir in the night air but a blinding pain in Perian’s mind, which still shared something of the brutish connection she had forged with the thing.

  It wanted blood, it wanted the horseflesh ahead of it, it wanted Perian to die, and it wanted the egg she carried.