by RW Krpoun
“So, what is next?” Pieter asked. “According to what I have established with sign language, mhm there are two Ukar, two vassals, and one slave in the vine camp.”
“We wait for Provine Sael to fully rest,” Hunter opened another pot of ale. “Meanwhile, Pieter and I study the vassals’ work and Torl lets his ribs knit. When Provine Sael is ready, we’ll go into the vines and kill the rest of the Dusman group.”
“Hopefully before they come out to check on why they haven’t heard from the camp,” Hatcher shrugged. “I gotta say, I’m not all that comfortable with this new, motivated Hunter. I liked it better when you complained all the time.”
“I liked it better, too,” the ‘slinger admitted. “But we’re seeing and experiencing things that are unheard of. Or at least are legendary. We have been instantly moved half the width of a continent, and are seeing sights and wonders. Even a cynic such as myself cannot avoid being impressed.”
“Most of which must remain a secret,” Torl noted.
Hunter waved a hand. “As to that, I am not bothered; I have never been interested in academic renown. But I would not have reached my current degree of skill without some love of learning. Or you, for that matter. The great ones in any field never stop seeking knowledge.”
The scout nodded shortly, and stood. “I have the first watch. Grog, Burk, get some rest. There will be more fighting soon.”
My wounds were less painful when we gathered for breakfast, Provine Sael among us. Blacksap poultices speed up healing, not nearly as fast as Provine Sael’s Arts, but still impressively quick. They also are not scar-free.
Igen made a sort of firecake for breakfast, and the meal was wolfed down in appreciative silence. Laun joined us again, and seemed to be more aware of his surroundings, although his sunken eyes were still dull. He limped off to his cot after eating, and Hatcher fed Rose.
“Thank you, Igen,” Provine Sael said as the girl took her mess kit to be washed. She sighed. “Today we will enter the vines and secure the enemy camp. Burk, you will remain behind to guard Pieter, Rose, Laun, and Igen. I would like to leave someone to assist you, but that isn’t possible.”
Burk nodded stiffly.
“Why not leave Torl?” Hatcher asked. “Close-quarters isn’t his best suit.”
“His navigation skills will be needful.”
“Actually, perhaps not,” Pieter noted. “In the captured paperwork, mhm it describes how to navigate within the vines by means of carved stones set throughout the site.”
“Plus we can see smoke from the camp’s fire,” Hatcher observed.
“Torl?”
“Burk is better suited for the vines, especially given the condition of my ribs,” the scout shrugged.
“All right, then that is settled. Hatcher, have you tested the burning sticks?”
“Yep.” The little Nisker gave Rose a loud smooch on the cheek, sending the baby to thrashing. “We need to toss a couple sticks on the fire and sit close while someone fans the smoke over us; then each person keeps one stick smoldering on their person. The trick is to really get the smell sunk into your clothes and hair, in addition to the burning stick. I got some rag strips that have been smoking all night, a couple for each of us. We shouldn’t have any problems.
“Well,” Provine Sael dry-washed her hands. “I suppose we should get started.”
“As a battle speech, that lacks a great deal,” Hunter grinned.
“I am weary of the killing,” Provine Sael snapped. “The wounds from the last fight are not yet healed, and I must send this group into battle yet again.”
“We do not mind, mistress,” Burk assured her.
“It has to be done,” Hatcher hugged Rose. “No one else knows what is happening here. We must deny the Dusmen the fruits of this expedition’s research, and see what secrets we can wrest from this place.”
The Dellian nodded, but I could see pain in her eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
Hung about with the dry, aromatic scent of the smoke from the sticks we entered the vines, Burk in the lead. The vines visibly twitched as he entered, and the thinner ones slid out of our path, making it much easier to move; Hunter quickly found one of the carved stones, checked his notes, and pointed us in the right direction.
“The dragon is awake,” Hatcher noted, waving her burning stick at a vine that was slithering out of our path.
I shushed her. “The dragon may let us pass, but there is a fight ahead.”
Smoke or not, I had my axe in hand and an un-rimmed Dusman shield ready; I did not trust the vines, and there were Ukar ahead. I was concerned lest we took them by surprise and Burk got to kill both, which would not be proper nor fair.
We moved single file: Burk, me, Hunter, Hatcher, Provine Sael. As we worked our way through the vines (which was still slow work despite the dragon apparently trusting our smell), we saw more of the carved guide-stones, and more commonly, the skeletal remains of birds and animals; initially I thought they had wandered into the vines, but as we got deeper in I realized that vine-men must have carried the carcasses in from the edge.
Burk and me moved quietly, ears straining, weapons ready; Ukar were no slouches in a fight, and neither of us were at our fighting best, but we were both eager to get stuck into it.
We found the camp near the center of the mass of vines, just a couple of crude shelters pitched in the lee of a cluster of thick vines erupting from the ground, each stalk at least three feet wide where it emerged from the dirt. The ground was bare for a rough circle sixty or so feet across, and sticks smoldered atop six-foot poles spaced evenly around the perimeter of the open space.
A man and a woman in the robes of Dusman vassals were studying a sheet of leather held between them, each seated in the same sort of folding chairs we had back in our captured camp, a burning stick held in a cunning holder at their waists, and a young woman dressed like Igen was squatting near the fire chopping something. One Ukar was coming off the ground on the far side of the camp from where it had been resting, and the other was soundlessly rushing us even as the vassals looked up.
Burk headed for the one getting up, squaring the Dusman shield he had taken to replace his ruined shield as he went, and I stepped into the clearing to receive the other’s rush, discarding my axe and shield as I moved, bringing Fallsblade off my back and side-stepping to the left to draw the beast away from Hunter.
The Ukar coming at me had a two-handed, double-bitted axe that looked like it could split an ox in two, which didn’t impress me because I am not an ox. I stood in a hanging guard, my right shoulder towards the Ukar and Fallsblade’s pommel held just above my left eye, the blade angling down. It is an awkward-looking stance to the novice, but for an expert with a mastery of wrist-work it afforded a lot of options. The Ukar coming at me was massive, shorter but broader than I am, and it brought its axe down in a momentum-fueled overhand stroke that could have easily split me from pate to waist, armor and all.
Except that I sidestepped right and brought Fallsblade around in a shoulder-high horizonal stroke that went in over its weapon as his axe cleaved air, slicing halfway through the Ukar’s bullish neck, splitting a vertebrae before stopping. I used his continuing momentum to twist my blade free as he staggered past me, blood jetting from the terrible rent. He collapsed, twitching, and I checked on Burk, who was busy hacking his foe into a bloody ruin.
The slave was staring in wide-eyed horror at us, one vassal was horribly burned, sprawled in a chair which was starting to catch fire, and the other was down with a throwing axe between her eyes.
“Count bedrolls,” Hunter ordered. “Make sure we have no surprises.”
That was a good idea, but a quick check established that the number of bodies matched the sleeping arrangements. I wiped Fallsbade on a handy blanket and sheathed it, waiting for orders. Burk was sloshing water from a bucket across the front of his armor.
“If you know what you’re doing, you don’t end up looking like a butcher’s apprentic
e,” I observed helpfully.
“It’s dead, isn’t it?” he retorted. “One of these days you’ll go for a master stroke and catch a blade in the face instead.”
“Not today.”
“Not so far today.” He scrubbed the remaining clots away with a handful of dirt, and then rinsed with the last of the water, tossing the bucket aside. “But I doubt we’ll get another chance to fight today.” He nodded to himself. “I like killing Ukar.”
“It is good,” I agreed. “Let me finishing healing up, and I’d like another shot at a Dusman.”
“I’ll wait until I get a better weapon. This axe is nice, but I miss my star.”
“You just like mashing brain pans.”
“Nothing wrong with smashing in a skull; they don’t get back up when half their brain has been sprayed around.”
“That’s true,” I admitted.
Hatcher was trying to reassure the slave with improvised hand gestures, and Hunter set me and Burk to dumping out chests and bags.
“Should we kill it, mistress?” Burk asked Provine Sael, pointing at the massive stalks of the vines where they emerged from the ground.
“No,” Hunter answered for her. “It’s not that sort of plant.”
“All that would do is remove the protection of the smoke and expose us as enemies,” Provine Sael agreed. “I believe that killing it would require knowledge we do not currently have.”
Hunter and Provine Sael conferred over the sheet of leather the vassals had been examining while Burk and I sorted through the various containers. In the end we took a lot of papers and folios and the camp’s supply of smoke-sticks.
“That settles the Dusmen’s hopes and efforts,” Hunter observed to Provine Sael as we headed back to our camp. “They’ll be starting over on page one when they find out this bunch are dead. Now what?”
“Our supply situation is restored,” the Dellian noted, scrambling over a vine as thick as her waist. “We have only to head south to find friendly territory, albeit a long way south. There were no pigeons in the main camp, so the Dusmen are not expecting this group to report any time soon; from the scale of the food supplies Torl estimates that they intended to remain out here until the approach of winter forced their retreat. Lacking any other urgent business, I plan to do some poking into the buildings dotted throughout the vines. Perhaps we can find something of value. Thereafter, we return to the Empire and see what use we can be to the war effort.” She paused to root an animal skull out of the dirt and look at it before moving on. “I have come to believe that you are correct: the Dusmen tampering with First Folk artifacts caused the activation of the staff in the Emperor’s tomb. I suspect that the Dusmen are simply activating as many artifacts as they can find in order to create mischief, sow confusion, and distract Imperial attention.”
“So you don’t think that they have found anything new?” Hunter bent a vine back so she could pass, and held it until Burk grabbed it so he and I could pass.
“Do you?”
“I think they have been looking with enthusiasm.”
“That is a good turn of a phrase,” she nodded. “I’m sure at the least they would like the Emperor and his generals to worry about the possibility.”
“But if they have nothing new, why invade now?” Hunter scowled. “Tensions and clashes have been constant for decades.”
“Perhaps because the Empire is on the cusp of healing,” Provine Sael suggested. “The Emperor is of age, and has an heir, albeit an infant.”
“It would have made better sense to invade five years ago.”
“We don’t know what sort of internal or external issues the Dusmen have had to deal with,” Provine Sarl pointed out. “Or how well they grasp what goes on within the Empire. Seen from the north, the Empire may look weaker than it has in years.”
“The border patrols have been less frequent for the last few years,” Hatcher piped up. “Of course, that’s due to the Emperor ordering the re-organizing of the Imperial Army and cutting out a lot of graft. Besides, what do the Dusmen have to worry about? The bulk of the dying on their side will be Tulg and Ukar.”
“Armies run on money, no matter whose army and what they use for money,” Hunter stopped to check his notes and then crouched to look for engraved stones. “There it is.”
“We knew the war was coming,” Hatcher scrambled over a vine. “The only thing we didn’t know was when. Turns out the ‘when’ was this year.”
“She’s right, this is hardly a surprise,” Provine Sael nodded. “And no matter what they have found or will find, this will not be a short war. And if the Empire survives, not the last war, either. In its present condition the Empire can only hope for a draw, and the Dusmen will try again in the future.”
“So basically you’re saying that I’m over-thinking this?”
“Perhaps. But it is certainly an important issue, and every point of view deserves consideration.”
“Grog, what do you think?” Hatcher asked over her shoulder.
“I think that Dusmen die like everything else does.”
The Nisker chuckled.
The new slave girl’s name was Kalos, and she was Igen’s older sister; the two were happy to be reunited. Kalos vaguely resembled her sister, but was sturdy in build, with a broader face and a chin that wasn’t as sharply pointed. She also knew a few words of our language, and Pieter wasted no time in trying to teach both girls our language.
The next ten days were full of work: Provine Sael and Hunter entered the vines at first light and spent all day seeking out the ‘buildings’, which turned out to be small dolmans. From the hill, the thick vines pressing close on all sides had prevented us from seeing that they were nothing but a roof and supporting slabs. The vines did not go under the slabs, which sheltered a boulder with carvings on its face. Provine Sael and Hunter carefully copied the carvings and then set me or Burk to smashing the carvings until nothing but fresh broken rock was left on the face of the boulder.
So every day Burk and I sledgehammered boulders while Provine Sael and Hunter copied carvings and Torl scouted; Pieter did his chores, aided by the two girls, and taught them our language. Hatcher took care of Rose and occasionally helped with the language lessons. Laun’s fever broke, and he spent the days sunning himself and sipping broth or tea while he used writing materials from the Dusman stores to reconstitute his notes from memory.
It was a pleasant interlude, as Igen and Kalos were excellent cooks, and the work was good for upper body strength and afforded plenty of time for thinking. I pondered the novel, which I had finished and returned to Pieter, and the idea that the vines were where at least some legends of dragons came from, and that not all Men spoke the same language, and Dusmen. Especially Dusmen: those who we had fought had been nearly as good as Ebon Blade High Rates. I wondered if all Dusmen were as skilled, which was not a happy thought. Fortunately, everyone agreed that there weren’t a lot of Dusmen around. It occurred to me that this undertaking in the vines must have been very important to the Dusmen to have sent two such warriors to oversee it.
In addition to smashing the carvings, Burk and I would gather the larger pieces off the boulders in sacks and bring them back to camp in order to prevent the Dusmen from putting the pieces together enough to puzzle out what was there.
On the tenth evening we gathered after supper; the girls were out of earshot, cleaning up, and Laun had retired to his cot.
“We need to bring our stay here to a close very soon,” Provine Sael announced.
“Why?” Hatcher asked, Rose cradled in her arms. “There’s still plenty of food.”
“Hunter and I have examined and copied each of the carvings; there are several we need to re-examine, but that will not take long.”
“I would think you would want to mhm smash all the carvings,” Pieter observed. “Burk and Grog have destroyed fifty mhm so far, but there must be at least eighty in total.”
“We will not get to all of them; perhaps a dozen will be
left intact. Hunter and I have marked the most important of those which remain, and they will not survive our stay.”
“What’s the hurry?” Hatcher tickled Rose, and the baby chortled and thrashed her limbs. “These boulders are the treasure the ‘dragon’ is guarding, after all.”
Provine Sael and Hunter exchanged glances. “We have business elsewhere. Timing will be important.”
“How?” Torl asked. “You said this Dusman group was studying the dragon.”
Provine Sael sighed, and looked to ensure the girls were still out of earshot. “This stays within our group, and our group only. Hunter and I believe that the Dusmen were not aware of the carvings here, but that does not mean that they do not know what they contain from other sources. It is reasonable to assume that this is not the only cache the Elder Ones left behind. Or that these carvings are unique to this place.”
“So what’s so special about these carvings?” Hatcher asked, and gave Rose a loud smacking kiss on the cheek.
“The First Folk kept their knowledge on stone,” Hunter took a swig of dark ale. “This place was like a library, or maybe a vault, storing things that were very important to them, and which they might need in years to come. From what we have worked out from our brief study, and we’ve just scratched the surface, time and circumstances are going to come together soon that will give the Dusmen a great advantage in the war.” He took another swig. “And despite my better judgement and reasoned arguments, our fearless leader has decided that we merry few must pit our strength against the whole of the Dusmen nation in a desperate bid to stop their effort.”
“I feel better hearing you complain,” Hatcher assured the ‘slinger. “But won’t the Dusmen have troops standing six deep around anything that important?”
“They would,” Provine Sael nodded. “But Hunter and I may have found a chink in their plan, a part that is unguarded. If we are right, we can cause them to miss their crucial date.”
