by John Marco
“What was that thing, Doreshen?”
“A rass,” gasped Doreshen. He broke from the soldiers and cried, “Grak!”
“He’s gone,” said Trager. “Bitches and whores, I lost him.” He got to his feet, his sword dangling weakly in his fist.
Doreshen slumped into the sand, weeping. Akeela stood over him, unsure what to say. All the men were staring, their faces ashen. The echoes of Grak’s screams still seemed to fill the night.
“A rass,” whispered Akeela.
He had never heard the term before, but he knew now that the desert had deceived him. Grak was wrong. The desert wasn’t peaceful or full of magic. Like everything else, it was evil and not to be trusted.
50
For Baron Thorin Glass, there was no greater disgrace than having to share a mount. In his youth, before his maiming, he had been a peerless horseman, but there were few horses in Jador and none of them could compare to the quick and powerful kreel. Worse, he had only one arm these days, and so could not ride the way he used to, galloping with perfect balance over any terrain. That was a luxury lost to him. Though he could still ride he could not do so with the skill and ferocity of his youth, and it pained him.
Tonight he had ridden out into the desert with two of Kadar’s men, sharing the back of a kreel with one of Kadar’s closest friends, a warrior named Ralawi. Ralawi spoke little of his tongue but the other scout was well-versed in the northern language, a lucky break for the baron, who had picked up no Jadori in his days with Kadar. The moon was rising when they’d left the palace, and now the sands shimmered in its silver light. Far in the distance, Jador sat uneasily on the horizon, a city bracing for battle. Thorin had been with Kadar when the first scout had returned, bringing the bad news.
Akeela’s army had been sighted.
Baron Glass chose to investigate. Only he could properly surmise their enemy’s strength. And since he could do no actual fighting, he was anxious to do his part. No sooner had the scout given his news then he had ridden from the palace himself. An hour later, he was crouching with Ralawi and a scout named Benik. A great dune hid them and their two kreels from the army on the western horizon. Thorin Glass lifted his eyes over the dune and let out a dreadful groan. He had never expected Akeela to bring so many men.
“Great Fate,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Ralawi only nodded. The first scout had reported a large force, but had not stayed long enough to really see their numbers. But now the moonlight revealed the truth to them. Akeela’s army was vast indeed. Thorin counted the mass and put their numbers at perhaps two thousand. Among the horses and men were scores of drowa, which had no doubt been used to carry the bulk of supplies. The cost of the operation boggled Thorin’s mind, and he knew that Akeela had spent a fortune, maybe more than he really had. A great blackness seized the baron’s heart. It was his money Akeela had used to prop up his reign, his and the money of other noblemen. Now he was essentially penniless, while Akeela continued to squander gold. More than anything, Thorin wanted to battle in the morning. There were years of crimes needing to be avenged.
“So many,” he whispered. “I did not expect it.”
“No,” agreed Ralawi.
Benik was defiant. “By the morning we will be ready,” he declared confidently.
“So will they,” retorted Thorin. “They’ll be expecting us.”
He could tell by the way their camp was arranged that Akeela’s army didn’t plan on staying long. Relatively few of the tents were erected; men milled about in alert pockets with pikes and lances, or grooming their horses or sharpening their swords. These were battle preparations; Akeela and Trager knew they’d been seen. Even now they knew Jadori scouts were in the dunes, watching them. The cockiness of their stride was meant to intimidate and frighten.
Ralawi asked a question in Jadori, which Benik translated. “He wants to know where they will attack,” said Benik, “In the city?”
“Yes,” replied Thorin, “unless we take the fight to them.”
Ralawi understood well enough. A grimace gripped his face. “Bad,” he said. They all knew Kadar wanted to fight on the sands, rather than risk the people in the city. More, that’s where they would have the advantage. The desert terrain was well-suited to their swift kreels. They had hoped it would be enough to offset the size of Akeela’s force, but now that he saw the Liirian army, Thorin lost that hope. He knew now they would need a miracle. He had spent his time in Jador training Kadar’s warriors, telling them what to expect, the tactics Trager might employ. And he had been impressed with the Jadori and what they and their kreels could do. They were fierce and skilled fighters, and if the odds were even could easily have bested the Liirians. But the odds were heavily skewed. Akeela had come with every Royal Charger and a dozen other companies. Kadar’s kreel riders numbered barely three hundred.
“We will win,” said Ralawi, his face hard. He had learned the term from Thorin and repeated it constantly, like a mantra. He looked at the baron for support. “Win?”
Thorin bit his lip. “I don’t know.” With his one arm he rolled himself onto his back, feeling the warm sand beneath him and looking up into the stars. His mind was reeling. Back in the palace, Kadar was hurriedly preparing for battle, hoping to ride out and meet the invaders at dawn. He was a brave man who truly loved his people, and Thorin hated the idea of him dying. He wished Lukien were with him, and wondered how the Bronze Knight was faring in Grimhold. As he stared up into heaven, he decided that the best they could do was take out as many of the Liirians as possible, giving the Inhumans a fighting chance.
“We go back now,” he said.
Ralawi and Benik looked at each other. Benik asked, “What do we tell Kadar?”
With effort Baron Glass got to his feet and brushed the sand from his breeches. “We tell him it’s time for battle,” he said, then turned and walked toward the waiting kreel.
Kahan Kadar’s army was ready before the sun rose.
With the advice of Baron Glass, they had arranged themselves at the crest of a long dune, so that the rising sun struck their kreel-hide armor and glinted off their spear tips. Kadar had mustered his three hundred riders, with another hundred or so warriors guarding the gates of the city. If the Liirians broke through here, Glass supposed the warriors would have little chance. After that, it would be up to the people of Jador to defend themselves. Glass hoped Akeela would be merciful.
He sat astride a kreel with Benik, who had been ordered by Kadar not to leave Thorin’s side. Neither of them were to join the fight. Neither man appreciated the order, but both understood. Thorin would be little use in battle, Kadar had told him frankly, and would be more valuable in warning Grimhold of the outcome. Kadar himself was grim-faced as he sat upon Istikah, his own magnificent kreel. Both were armored in heavy green and brown scales, a light and flexible suit that made the pair seem like a single reptilian beast. The kahan wore no helmet. His gray hair shone in the sun, proud and disdainful. At his side was a whip. In his left hand he held an erect spear decorated with white feathers. Like his kreel, he was silent. Istikah’s tongue darted out to test the air. Her sparkling eyes watched their distant enemies with almost human hatred. She had sharp claws that she flicked from time to time, eager for combat. She was beautiful, though, and Thorin admired her. If only there had been more time; he knew they could have built an army strong enough to best his old countrymen.
Three hundred yards away, Akeela’s army stood at the ready. Ranks of heavy horsemen waited at the forefront, bearing lances and swords, their silver armor reflecting sunlight in all directions. They were arranged in a line, as Thorin had predicted, with lancers in front. One by one the lines would be called into battle. There would be no distance fighting with archers this time. It would be a clash on the sands, hand to hand and hoof to claw. Behind the lines sat Trager atop his black charger. The general looked splendid, his helmet held in the crux of his arm as he surveyed his Jadori foes. A standard-bearer sat next to h
im, boldly displaying the Liirian flag. The air was breezeless and the flag hung still. Thorin wondered if Trager recognized him up on the dune.
Then out of the camp rode Akeela, his white stallion prancing through the sand as he joined Trager. He wore no armor, just a kingly tunic and royal cape. On his head sat his golden crown. He looked older to Thorin, even from the great distance, with a serious expression that enhanced his twisted reputation. Kadar bristled when he noticed Akeela, letting out a low growl.
“The snake of Liiria,” he pronounced loudly. Down the line his men affirmed the accusation, rumbling their hatred. The kahan turned to Thorin. “He will offer terms?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” confessed Thorin. He was uncomfortable sitting behind Benik on the kreel, so he slid off the creature’s back. Kadar scowled. “I can’t see a damn thing up there,” Thorin shot back in frustration. At his side he wore a sword, in case a lucky opportunity arose. He felt like a coward letting others do his fighting, and thought of pleading with Kadar to let him join the fray. But it had already been decided. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he watched the distant Liirians. “Akeela wants Lukien,” he said finally. “He may offer something in return.”
“Your king is a fool if he thinks I would give up a comrade so easily. He thinks I am like him, a whore?” asked Kadar angrily.
“As I said, I don’t know,” replied Thorin.
“Get back on your kreel.”
“I can direct the battle better if I can see, don’t you think?”
“I direct the battle,” said Kadar. “And you will be safer on the kreel. Mount.”
Baron Glass ignored the order.
“I see Glass,” said Akeela with a frown, “but where’s Lukien?”
Trager snorted, “Hiding, no doubt.”
The answer irked Akeela. “I’ve come all this way for Lukien, and he doesn’t even bother to face me?” He craned his neck to see past the cavalry. On the dune far ahead were a line of mounted warriors, ready on their kreels. In the center of the line was a man Akeela supposed was Kadar. He was an impressive looking leader, tall and spartan, with dark skin and a hard expression. Next to him stood a man with one arm. Akeela had immediately recognized his old adversary, Baron Glass.
“Not only does he flee, but he helps my enemies,” he seethed. “Well, we will make short work of him.”
“Agreed,” said Trager. His aide Colonel Tark rode through the ranks, barking orders at the men. The lancers would go first, followed by a wave of swords. It was a good plan, Akeela supposed, but not being a military man he couldn’t say for sure. Trager, on the other hand, was supremely confident. When he had seen how they outnumbered the Jadori, he had grinned like a schoolboy. Still, Akeela was unsure. Before his death Grak had warned him of Jadori skill, and the ferocity of their kreels. “They could tear a man’s throat out in an instant,” Grak had told him, and his brother Doreshen had echoed the sentiment. Doreshen had led them the rest of the way to Jador after Grak’s death, and now was safe in the rear with the drowa, but his warning still rang in Akeela’s head like a bell.
“Why do they wait?” Akeela asked. “For our terms?”
“Probably,” surmised Trager. “And to hold the high ground.” He considered the Jadori position. “A good tactic. It will make this tougher.”
“But we will defeat them, yes?”
“Of course. But then we’ll have to secure the city.”
There was an unhealthy gleam in the general’s eyes. Akeela warned, “I want no massacres, Will.”
Trager replied, “My lord, if they oppose us, we’ll have no choice. Don’t get soft on us now.”
Akeela said, “For the sake of our men, then. Have a herald come forth. I wish to deliver my terms.”
Trager was incredulous. “Terms? What terms?”
“I see no point in a slaughter if they’ll hand over Lukien and Glass.” He thought for a moment, wondering if he should demand Gilwyn Toms in the bargain. “The boy is not really a concern. Just the traitors. And the amulets.”
“Akeela, we’ve come all this way to punish your enemies. Not just Lukien, but his allies as well.” Trager pointed to the dunes where Kadar waited. “Would you have that barbarian go free?”
The words gave Akeela pause. He had been so full of anger on the trip, but he was tired now and just wanted to rest, and he admitted to himself that he was afraid of the coming fight. Visions of his long ago battle in Norvor flashed through his mind.
“All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is Lukien,” he said. “If they turn him and Glass over to me, I will spare their city.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “That is my bargain. Once Kadar hears it, he will agree. No king would risk his own city.”
“You did,” muttered Trager.
Akeela shot him an angry glare. “What was that?”
Trager took a steadying breath. “It’s a mistake. If you let the Jadori go they’ll attack us as we retreat. We must destroy them.” He leaned over and whispered, “They’re your enemies, Akeela.”
Akeela licked his lips. “Yes . . .”
But something else was in his mind, a memory of Grak and their last conversation, and of being called Akeela the Good so very long ago. He began rubbing his temples.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. Have my terms delivered.”
“Akeela . . .”
“Do it!”
General Trager looked at his aides, young lieutenants that followed him everywhere. Their faces were distressed. He said finally, “Very well. I’ll deliver your terms myself.”
“You?” blurted Akeela. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Trager turned his eyes toward the distant Kadar. “I want to get a closer look at this scrapper.”
Trager’s arrogance didn’t surprise Akeela, and he didn’t want to argue. “Very well,” he relented. “But be quick about it.”
Baron Glass waited patiently beside Kadar and his warriors, refusing to give up the high ground by attacking first and wondering if there was enough humanity inside Akeela to offer them decent terms. After long minutes of waiting, a small group of horsemen broke from the Liirian ranks and approached across the sand. To Thorin’s great astonishment, Trager was among them.
“I don’t believe it,” he said with a grin. “The devil’s minion himself.”
Kadar was confused. “That is the general?”
“Trager,” nodded Thorin. “Coming to deliver the king’s message.”
“Why would a general come himself to give terms?” asked Kadar.
“I’m not sure.” Glass narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “To see us for himself, I suppose. Arrogant pisser.”
Kadar straightened in his saddle. “Then we will face him. Mount your kreel, Baron. I want to see this soiled dog myself.”
With Benik’s help Thorin mounted the kreel, holding fast to the extra set of reins looped to the beast’s saddle. Kadar called two more of his riders forward, and together they rode down the dune to face Trager. They were many yards from each other but the two leaders kept their eyes locked as they closed the gap. More than anything Thorin wanted to be alone on his kreel; it pained him to face Trager as a cripple. He had never cared for the brash soldier, not even when he was young. But Trager wasn’t young anymore. As they drew near him, Thorin could see the age on his face, the bit of gray in his beard, and leatheriness of his skin. Sixteen years ago, he’d been oddly handsome. Now he simply looked cruel. The general brought his horse to a stop and raised a hand to halt his company. Kadar rode until they were only a few yards apart, then reined in Istikah. Benik and the others fell in close behind. Trager’s eyes immediately went to Thorin.
“Well, old man, I never expected to see you again,” he said.
Baron Glass grinned. “I’m a hard man to kill, Trager.”
“Yes, I see that,” replied Trager. “But you’re still a coward, Glass. Still hiding behind others.”
The insult tempted Thorin to dismount. His hand twitched, aching for
his sword. “You’ve brought that poison adder Akeela into Jador,” he said. “He’ll be sorry for that.”
“We shall see who’s sorry,” laughed Trager.
“Enough,” growled Kadar. “What is your message, murderer?”
Trager’s smile was infuriating. Casually he gazed over Kadar’s shoulder. “Where is that coward, Lukien? I’d hoped to see him and finally cut his heart out.”
“Deliver your message, dog,” spat Thorin. “Does Akeela offer terms?”
“Is Lukien hiding?” asked Trager. He seemed delighted by the notion. “Somewhere in the city, maybe?”
“Your message!” thundered Kadar. “What is it?”
“Only this, barbarian—Akeela of Liiria says that you are a fool and he curses you. He says that by day’s end you will be a portion for vultures, and your city laid to waste.” Trager’s mocking grin spread across his face. “That’s what you get for hiding Lukien.”
Kadar cursed in Jadori and raised his spear.
“No!” shouted Thorin. “Don’t, Kadar.”
Trager laughed. “No, the baron’s right, Kahan Kadar. He knows I can best you too easily.” Before Kadar could answer he whirled his horse around and headed back toward his army. He called over his shoulder, “But don’t worry, Dirt-King—we will battle soon enough!”
Seething, Kadar prepared to toss his spear. Thorin pleaded with him to stop. “No, that’s what he wants! Your men would be leaderless without you.”
Kadar slowly lowered his spear. Trager was already out of range, his escorts trailing behind him. “You are right,” he hissed. “He is the devil’s own!”
Quickly he turned Istikah and headed back up the dune. Benik and the others followed. When Kadar took his place back among his warriors, he raised his spear and his voice in angry challenge. Thorin didn’t understand the words but the meaning was clear. The Jadori fighters let loose a loud war whoop. Their reptilian mounts joined the song with a bloodcurdling cry.
