Dwarven Ruby

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “No,” protested Emil. “We already wasted a lot of time trying to lose them. If you leave the city now, you will miss the boat. I do not want to go to Tice alone.”

  “I must, Emil,” declared Sydar. “I have to lure them out of the city until you leave on the boat. I will make my way to Tice by land.”

  “Can’t you just kill them?” asked Emil. “Then we can leave together.”

  “They are Targa soldiers,” frowned Sydar. “Not all Targa soldiers are bad men. They are just doing the job they were assigned. Were it Colonel Salvo, I would not hesitate, as he seeks to deny the queen her rightful place, but these men have done nothing wrong. They are just tracking us to report back to the colonel.”

  “I thought the Red Swords were enemies of the Targa army now,” puzzled Emil.

  “No,” sighed Sydar. “The vast majority of soldiers in the Targa army wish to serve their country as I do. It is the current leaders of Targa that have gone foul. Oh, I imagine that there are a few soldiers who will need to be weeded out of the army, but most of them are young men who will serve the queen proudly when she returns. I cannot kill men like that because I do not want them to report on my travels. I will lead them out of the city while you get on the boat. When they see me head north of the mountains, they will turn around and go home.”

  “I suppose you know what you are doing,” resigned Emil. “I don’t like being separated from you, but I know that I cannot change your mind. When will you leave?”

  “Right away,” decided Sydar. “Getting you safely in this room was my goal, and you are here now. You can see the harbor from the window, and there is plenty of food in the pack I am leaving with you. The room is paid for two weeks. Do not leave the room for any reason until you see the boys on the ship. Promise me.”

  “I think it is silly,” pouted Emil, “but I will promise. Maybe you can lose the men and come back before the ship arrives.”

  “I will try,” promised Sydar, “but do not wait for me. Ships to Tice do not normally stop here. David must have pulled some strings to arrange all of this.”

  Sydar kissed his sister on her forehead and left the room. He scanned the common room again as he walked down the stairs. He could not shake the feeling of being watched, but nobody appeared to be paying any attention to him. He turned at the bottom of the stairs and exited the inn through the back door. He looked around cautiously as he made his way to the stables. He untied his horse and walked it into the yard.

  “Going somewhere?” asked a voice as the Targa soldier stepped out of the shadows.

  “In fact I am,” Sydar replied as his hand went to the hilt of his sword and his eyes darted left and right, looking for the other soldier. “I can save both of you a lot of time and effort. I am not worth following and Colonel Salvo will gain nothing for your efforts. Why don’t you return to Tagaret?”

  “We can’t return to Tagaret until you lead us to the queen,” sneered the soldier. “We are getting pretty tired with this scenic tour. Why don’t you just tell us where she is and we will let you live?”

  The back door to the Harbor Inn slammed shut, and Sydar’s head swiveled to see his sister coming towards him.

  “I forgot to kiss you goodbye,” smiled Emil as she ran towards the stables.

  The second soldier dashed from behind a shed and grabbed Emil by the hair. He swiftly pulled her close to him and held a knife to her throat.

  “Stop this,” demanded Sydar. “You have no cause to hurt the woman. I do not know where the queen is. I could not lead you to her if I wanted to. We are just wandering looking for a new home after being kicked out of Tagaret.”

  “If you don’t tell us where the queen is,” threatened the second soldier, “and tell us now, the wench dies.”

  “Threatening the woman can’t make me tell you something that I do not know,” pleaded Sydar.

  “Then what good is she?” snarled the second soldier as his knife sliced through Emil’s throat.

  “NO!” shouted Sydar as rage consumed his body.

  Sydar dropped the reins and drew his sword before Emil’s body hit the ground. He swung his sword instinctively and decapitated the first soldier as he raced towards the second soldier. The soldier threw his knife at the approaching Red Sword, and it nicked Sydar’s shoulder before bouncing off.

  The soldier swiftly drew his sword, but Sydar was already upon him. Sydar’s first swing severed the soldier’s arm from his body. The sword clattered to the ground, still clutched in the man’s amputated hand. The soldier’s face registered more shock than pain as he backed away and held his other arm up before him, as if to ward off the attack. Sydar’s eyes were wide with rage and he screamed loudly as he attacked the soldier. The soldier’s other arm was severed by Sydar’s furious swing, but Sydar did not stop attacking.

  Four Miram soldiers raced into the courtyard, drawn by the screaming. They slid to a halt as they saw Sydar hacking up the soldier’s body. Body parts were spread around the courtyard, and Sydar was on his knees in a large pool of blood. He knelt there plunging his sword, over and over, into the dead body of the Targa soldier. They shouted at Sydar to drop his weapon, but Sydar kept screaming and plunging his sword into the body, as if he was unaware of the presence of the Miram soldiers. One of the Miram soldiers retrieved a large log from the woodpile and snuck up behind Sydar. He brought the log down on Sydar’s head, and the Red Sword fell to the ground.

  * * *

  The torrential downpour tapered off to a drizzle and Tedi gazed up at the cloudy sky. The light rain felt good on his face, but he longed for a dry spot to change out of his soaked clothes. He inhaled the sweet scent of the wet forest and shook his head. Droplets flew from his hair, and he heard Natia giggle behind him.

  “You act like a dog,” she giggled softly. “Perhaps you should sleep outdoors.”

  Tedi turned and grinned at her. Adan snapped his fingers to halt the banter, and Tedi returned his attention to the trail. Moments later, Adan held up his hand for caution. The trio rode silently for a few minutes before cautiously entering the clearing where the gypsies had previously camped. The trio dismounted and tied their horses at the edge of the clearing. Adan and Natia walked immediately to the rock map in the center of the clearing. Tedi walked around the circumference of the clearing, staring at the ground. After a few minutes, they all met by their horses.

  “Mandal did well,” Adan said approvingly. “The site he chose will be far away from where Caroom leads the Lanoirian soldiers.”

  “Should we destroy the rock map?” asked Natia. “Caroom may return to look at it again when he does not find the encampment.”

  “That is a good thought,” replied Adan, “except we do not know if the other tribes have seen it yet.”

  “Would the tribes come here to read the map?” asked Tedi.

  “Only one of their riders would come,” answered Adan. “Gypsies have learned to be cautious. Why do you ask?”

  “There have been three separate riders here,” answered Tedi. “Or a group of three riders. I cannot be sure which.”

  Natia looked at the churned mud of the clearing and shook her head. “How can you possibly know that?” she asked. “There have been so many horses through here that it is impossible to tell.”

  “Difficult,” grinned Tedi, “but not impossible. Most of the tracks in the mud were made from a very large party of riders. I suspect that is the Lanoirian army because one of the tracks is exceedingly deep. Caroom weighs a great deal more than the average rider. It also shows that they were here after it started raining. The wagon trails were made before the rain though. At least we know that the gypsies have a head start on the army.”

  “What about the other three riders?” questioned Adan.

  “Those three came in from the west,” responded Tedi. “They left the same way. I cannot tell if they were together or not though.”

  “Before or after the rain?” asked Adan.

  “After the rain,” replied Ted
i. “In both directions. In fact, they came after the army.”

  “Impressive,” smiled Adan. “Someday I must learn about the rest of your skills. The gypsies send one rider ahead of the tribe to read the rock maps or to check on a campsite. Three tracks would indicate that all of the tribes have seen it. I think we can safely destroy it.”

  “What bothers me,” posed Tedi, “is that the Gypsy tracks are clear to read, and yet the army left in a different direction. If Caroom is trying to lead the soldiers to the gypsies, why didn’t they follow the tracks?”

  “Following gypsy tracks is a good way to get lost,” laughed Adan. “While it is not easy to hide the tracks of a passing wagon, we have learned ways to lead followers astray. Always the track will meander and at some point will pass by a lookout. The lookout is a short distance from the new camp, but a long distance if you are following the tracks. We would have sufficient time to prepare an ambush, or move the camp again before you got there.”

  “Clever,” nodded Tedi. “I think there is much that I can learn during my stay with the gypsies.”

  Adan frowned at the thought of Tedi and Natia leaving the gypsies, but he was resigned to it. He walked back to the rock map and scattered the stones.

  “How do the rock maps work?” asked Tedi. “Do they show the direction of travel to the next set of stones?”

  “No,” replied Natia. “The maps describe a place. The size and position of the stones matter greatly. When Mandal changed the map, it described a totally different place. It will be hard for the Lanoirians to find the new campsite, even with Caroom’s help.”

  “But they will eventually,” countered Tedi. “If they are determined enough, they can follow the tracks.”

  “The Lanoirian army does not have the patience for that,” interjected Adan. “When Caroom leads them to the wrong place, they will tire and return to Lori. Caroom, however, will continue to track us. He must be eliminated before he can report back to the army that he has found the new campsite.”

  * * *

  Lord Parsiki of Southland stood upon the wall around the city of Klandon. His fingers stroked his long thin mustache as he gazed out over the multitude of worshipers spread out before the city gates. Only once before in his thirty-five years had he seen anything like it, and he had not liked the outcome the last time he had witnessed it. He looked momentarily at the slightly older man next to him and then returned his gaze to the plain outside the city.

  “It is a potent show of force,” Lord Parsiki said to the man next to him.

  “It is a large gathering of misfits,” scowled King Altaro, his military frame held erect. “This Azmet may be able to gather people to his cause, but a load of rabble does not an army make.”

  “That does not make it any less dangerous,” retorted Lord Parsiki. “His people are willing to die for him. Ten thousand martyrs are enough to defeat any army.”

  “That is where we disagree, Lord Parsiki,” insisted King Altaro. “Would ten rats chase you from your home?”

  “If they were poisonous rats that could kill you with one bite,” nodded Lord Parsiki. “Do not underestimate these people, King Altaro. Death does not deter them. They believe that a better life awaits them beyond the pall of death. They are much too eager for the solution you wish to deliver to them. Even in death, their poison will destroy your kingdom.”

  “That is something that does concern me,” frowned King Altaro. “Your description of the devastation inflicted on Southland troubles me greatly. It is imperative that not one of these fools enters the city.”

  Even as he spoke, King Altaro watched the young man emerge from the small hut situated on the wagon behind the statue of Abuud. The martyr leaped off of the wagon and began running towards the city gates. King Altaro watched dispassionately as the martyr came closer to the city.

  “Fire!” bellowed King Altaro.

  Half a dozen arrows flew through the air. Four of them struck the martyr and he tumbled to the ground. Shouts ran through the assembled worshipers like waves in a storm, but nobody attempted to retrieve the body of the fallen martyr.

  “Burn it,” shouted King Altaro.

  A lone flaming arrow sped its way to the corpse below. The arrow imbedded in the martyr’s back, but the flames sputtered out. Three more flaming arrows flew from the wall. Two ignited the pants of the martyr and the third struck the red headscarf. King Altaro watched as the clothing began to burn.

  “We need a more effective way of burning the bodies,” King Altaro voiced with frustration.

  “Some of the fire glue used in the old wars against the goblins would do the job,” offered Lord Parsiki.

  “It would indeed,” nodded King Altaro. “If only any of us knew the formulation of it. While the fire glue was passed out to the archers in that war, the formula was not. I doubt there is any more of it left in the world.”

  “Perhaps,” mused Lord Parsiki, “but I have heard of it being used recently. Or at least rumors of it.”

  “What have you heard?” probed the King of Klandon.

  “Some time ago there was a massacre in a pass of the West Mountains,” stated Lord Parsiki. “Dozens of Dark Riders were burned in the pass. It was eerily reminiscent of the goblin wars. Even more interesting was the timing. About the same time the name Alexander Tork began circulating. If anyone has a source of fire glue, my bet would rest with Tork.”

  “Little good that does us,” frowned King Altaro. “Rumors of Tork have been around for twenty years, but nobody ever seems to be able to find him. I would be willing to bet that his name surfaced because of the use of fire glue, not because anyone actually saw him alive. Still, it does indicate that there may be some fire glue left in the world. I would give almost anything to get my hands on some of it now.”

  “What do you think Azmet will do next?” asked Lord Parsiki. “At Southland we never got to see anything past this point other than burning our own dead.”

  “I suspect that he will try several more of his martyr attacks,” mused King Altaro. “At least one of them will be at night when we can not see what they are doing. After that things will get truly dangerous. If they have any military people with them, they will start building catapults to hurl their martyrs over the wall.”

  “There is little you can do to stop that,” frowned Lord Parsiki. “Will you evacuate the city then?”

  “We will not roll over for them like a pet dog,” snarled King Altaro. “We will evacuate the women and children by rafts down the river to Mya. My men are building the rafts as we speak.”

  “You are committed to keeping your men here then?” quizzed Lord Parsiki.

  “We are also building catapults of our own,” sneered the King of Klandon. “When we start hurling the infected bodies back at them, they may decide that spreading the Black Death is not in their best interests.”

  “Surely your own men will become infected by loading the catapults,” gasped Lord Parsiki. “Your people will revolt and throw open the gates to Azmet.”

  “My men are also willing to die to preserve their home,” retorted King Altaro. “Do you think Azmet will stop his pillaging once Klandon falls? It is logical that Mya will be the next city that Azmet targets with his foul disease. That is where the families of my men will be. I will have no shortage of men to fill those catapults.”

  * * *

  “Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” greeted Oscar Dalek as he walked into the plush sitting room. “I trust you had no trouble with getting into the city, Sergeant Trank?”

  “Not with the likes of what Targa has guarding the walls these days,” smiled General Gregor’s sergeant. “After all, we have managed to get three thousand men in so far, and I am not quite as noticeable as they are.”

  Konic and Alan laughed along with Oscar at the sergeant’s sense of humor. Oscar soon adapted a more serious pose as he sat with his five guests.

  “The Sydar incident troubles me,” Oscar began. “We came very close to destroying the cover
tness of our operation. If that happens, civil war will erupt. We must avoid that at all costs.”

  “Has Sydar been heard from?” asked Sergeant Trank.

  “He has been sent to Tice with his sister,” stated David Jaynes. “A ship with her children on it will depart from here in a few days and pick Sydar and his sister up in Miram. Fortunately, he revealed practically nothing to Colonel Salvo, but it did point out how weak our operation is. Frankly, we cannot continue to hide three thousand men in this city.”

  “You can’t possibly be thinking of sending them out of the city,” interrupted Alan. “It has taken so much time to get them in place.”

  “I would not think of such a thing, Alan,” replied Oscar. “Sergeant, how close are we to bringing the queen into the city?”

  “A lot of that depends on the reception she gets here,” answered the sergeant. “Our plan was to rule the Council before she arrived. Are we there yet?”

  “No,” sighed Oscar. “It has become almost impossible to eliminate the competition. We have three solid votes for the queen and three solid against her. The last three sit on the fence, although I like to think that we exert a fair amount of control over them. We truly cannot depend upon them though.”

  “So you are asking the queen to increase her risk?” summed up Sergeant Trank.

  “It would appear so,” Oscar nodded hesitantly. “This pleases me much less than you, Sergeant. Remember that she is my mother. Still, I cannot sit idle and watch what we have built up being destroyed. Can we do it? Can we bring her in now?”

  Sergeant Trank sat silent for a moment before answering. “If I were to ask Queen Marta,” replied Sergeant Trank, “I know what she would say. She is a feisty mother that you have Oscar. She would not think twice about endangering herself for Arik. In fact, I think she realizes that her participation in this scheme will result in her death. That is the part of this that General Gregor and I are least fond of.”

  “What about the Red Swords?” asked Mitar Vidson.

  “The Red Swords at the farm are prepared,” Sergeant Trank reported. “We have gone over the procedures until each man has them memorized. Their physical training is complete. In short, we have an excellent fighting force assembled. They are properly armed and motivated to move at any time.”