by Angus Wells
I said, bitterly, “I see that.”
He said, “The gods know, Gailard, that if you were not hurt I’d keep you with me. I know I could ask for no braver man—but you are hurt, and so you’ll take the wounded back over the river. The gods willing our boats shall still be there, and I shall buy you enough time. Which is the easy part of what I’d ask.”
I gasped, for that seemed the harder part. I said, “And defend Antium?” Antium was the port of our departure. It was our mightiest port, and one of the Great Roads ran from there directly to Chorym. Should Talan take possession of Antium, he’d have a direct path to the heart of Chaldor.
“No.” Andur shook his head. “Leave Antium. May the gods forgive me, but I’d ask that you take the hurt to Chorym without delay. Go to the city and speak with Ryadne. Listen to her, eh? Heed what she says, and obey her as you would me.”
That was a hard thing to ask of me. I respected his queen, but still she was of the Dur, and I sensed some element of magic in this. And the gods knew, I’d had enough of magic these days. I asked why.
Andur glanced at the sky, at the fires of the Danant army, as if he feared invisible ears. “I’d not say it plain here,” he said, and reached out to clasp my hand. “Ryadne shall explain it as I cannot, but it’s to do with Ellyn.”
“Ellyn?” At mention of that unpleasant child I reared back, almost breaking Andur’s grip, but he held my hand tight.
“Only see her safe, eh?” He took my other hand and stared fervently into my eyes. “I’d put her life into your keeping, Gailard. Be her guardian, for my sake and Chaldor’s. For the world’s!”
I stared at him and said, “What do you mean?”
He looked about, his gaze shifting to the fires that burned around the pass, where Talan camped with his Vachyn sorcerer, and answered, “I’d not tell you here, where magical ears might hear. Only go directly to Chorym, and Ryadne shall explain.”
It was a long night, all filled up with the cursing and whimpering of hurt men as we struggled eastward to the river. Mounted archers attacked us from both sides, and wounded as we were, we could put up only a poor defense. More fell along that sorry road, and we with no time to honor them, so that we must leave them where they fell and mutter our prayers as we continued along our grim way. I voiced a plea to the gods that Andur survive and find us at the riverside, but if the gods heard me they did not acknowledge my entreaty, for I heard later that Andur fell as the sun rose on the second day and Talan ordered his full force in pursuit.
Even so, that rear guard bought us the time we needed to reach the river. I saw it a little after noonday, shining bright and broad under the hot sun, our boats tossing on the current. The few men we had left with the vessels raised a shout as we approached, then fell silent as they saw how few we were, and how badly hurt. The commander—a younger man than I, whose name was Kerid—approached me and asked how the battle went. I heard trepidation in his voice that got no better as I told him.
“Lost,” I said. “Our king fights a rearguard action, and we must get these men across the river.”
“What of Andur and the rest?” Kerid demanded. “Shall we abandon them?”
“No,” I said. “(My get these hurt folk across, and leave two boats for the others.”
“Two?” Kerid’s eyes grew wide. “Only two?”
“That shall be enough.”
Kerid nodded, realization settling grim upon his face, and shouted orders that gangplanks be placed and our retreating army be seen safe aboard.
“I shall stay,” he declared, “until Andur comes. Or Talan forces me to sail.”
I decided I liked him. I said, “And I with you.”
He ducked his head and left me on the dockside as he saw to the embarkation. I found a bollard and settled on it like some ancient bird weary of flying. My knee hurt abominably, as if a fire were lit under the cap to send flames coursing up my thigh and down the bones of my leg. I thought to strip off my breeks and examine the wound, then thought better of it. The other cuts I’d taken did not hurt so much, but still flies gathered about me so that I grew irritable of their interest and swatted them away. I slew fewer than I had of the Danant men.
In a while the boats took off the wounded, all save a hundred I held back to defend the exodus. It was by then dusk. We ate what little food we had left, and drained our waterskins and wine flasks. We waited as the moon rose over the river and stars filled up the wide sky. Then men began to straggle in—the sad remnants of our infantry first, followed by what was left of our cavalry, all telling the same tale.
We were beaten and Andur was slain, his head mounted on Talan’s chariot; the Danant army came close behind. I questioned sufficient men that I could no longer cling to any remnant of hope. Their eyes were dull and their voices bereft of optimism. They wanted only to go home, to escape. I consulted with Kerid and we saw the last stragglers on board, loosed the mooring lines, and turned the prows of the two boats east.
It was some small time after midnight then, and as we quit the anchorage Talan’s advance guard came up. I must admit that I enjoyed a certain vengeful satisfaction as I watched them halt on the farside of the conflagration I’d ordered.
The town was called Taxias, and it burned well, guarding our backs from Talan’s men. I did not then feel any pity for the inhabitants whose homes and livelihoods I’d torched. Indeed, had I been able, I’d have danced as I watched the place burn. Whatever pity I felt came later; then, I only laughed and clapped Kerid on the shoulder, telling him we paid them back in some small measure for the slaying of our noble king.
“Perhaps,” he said, his face somber. “But shall they not do the same when they cross the river after us?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that we’d meet them on the bank and throw them back, but then I remembered the geas Andur had laid on me, and that I must leave Antium to its own defense as I went on to Chorym. I bit back my hearty words and frowned. Kerid seemed a brave man and I wondered what he’d make of me, did he know I must run for Chorym’s walls to seek Ryadne’s advice. Or did I go to take her orders? I did not know; nor could until I spoke with her.
Kerid waited on my reply, then ducked as the night split apart in a thunderous explosion of brilliant light. It was as if some great torch were lit—so hot it rent the world, so bright it dimmed the moon and stars, sparks tumbling from the effulgence to sizzle on the water and scorch our rigging.
Kerid shouted, “Magefire!” and I knew that Talan had come with his Vachyn sorcerer, and stood beyond burning Taxias to fling dread power against us. I thought also—and congratulated myself on it—that had I not set the town afire, the sorcerer should easier find us and destroy us. But as it was he could not properly see us—only fling his magicks blindly through the blaze.
Even so, it was a perilous crossing, and Kerid must set men to hauling buckets from the river to douse the fires that started. I could only curse and pray that we reach the farther bank unscathed. I saw the second boat hit by that weirdling fire, and it was as if vast fingers of white flame reached down from the heavens to condemn the vessel, light coursing over masts and deck, running swift and oily over the rigging, so that for horribly long moments the craft was lit stark, outlined against the river and the night. Then it burned, as does a ball of dust tossed into a fire: in the instant of a heartbeat. The vessel was there and lit, and then gone—and across the Durrakym drifted a cloud of ash that stank of burning. I heard men scream then, and saw lesser fires dot the river. None lasted long, but sank, which was likely a merciful release. I wondered why such powerful magic had not been used before; perhaps Talan had forbidden it, that he might claim a military victory, or there were limitations on the Vachyn’s power that I did not understand.
I knew fear then, for I am no riverman and feel no great love for water, save to slake my thirst or cleanse my body. I am, at best, a poor swimmer, and hurt as I was, and dressed in full battle armor, I should surely sink and drown. I thought then to strip off
my armor, then thought better of that, too. How should it look, did I land on Chaldor’s shore armorless? I’d not have men name me a coward. So I gritted my teeth and clutched a rope that I not fall down with the ship’s rolling, and watched the sky light up. I heard men shouting in terror and limped to the inner rail, from whence I shouted down that they remain calm and that our captain should see us safe ashore. I put into my voice a conviction I did not feel, and when I returned to Kerid’s side he grinned at me, though his expression held scant humor.
“Brave words,” he said. “The gods grant I live up to them.”
“Can you?” I asked, as another thunderclap divided the troubled night and fire roiled above our stern.
He spat to what I think is called leeward and shrugged. “I’ve no more wish to pay Ardan my coin than you, my friend; I’ll do my best.”
I nodded and asked, “Shall they pursue us across the river?”
“No doubt in time,” he answered, “but not soon.” Then he chuckled with genuine amusement. “We think alike. Before you ordered the town burned, I took it upon myself to see their boats torched. So Talan must find himself some more vessels before he can raise a fleet to chase us or bring his army over.”
“How long?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Six or seven days, I’d guess. Is Talan’s army large as you say, then he shall need a great many boats. I’d reckon a seven day at worst, two at most.”
“What chance of halting them on the water?”
“Little chance,” Kerid said dourly. “Talan built a pirate fleet, and we’ve too few such craft to compete with those.”
I frowned, not understanding this nautical talk.
“River war is not so different from land war,” Kerid explained. “There’s light and heavy—like cavalry and infantry. Talan shall need big, heavy boats to transport his troops, and they must be protected—just as you’d use cavalry to protect your infantry. The pirate craft will protect the transports, and we’ve too few to oppose them.” He sighed and added, “Andur never saw fit to commission such a fleet.”
I asked why he could not use this craft we sailed on, and he told me, “This is a merchantman, my friend. She’s fit to haul cargo or men, but as a warboat she’s too cumbersome.”
My frown grew darker. “We cannot halt them?”
Kerid barked a sour laugh. “Not now; nor ever easily. But we can try, and I shall! Listen—do you only organize the landward army, I’ll do what I can on the river. And the gods be with us both.”
He caught my eyes and I saw that he was fervent in his conviction. I felt no doubt but that he would fight Talan as best he could, even to his death. And then a terrible guilt that I might not be able to satisfy the promise he sought, for Andur had set that geas on me and I must journey on. I did not know what Ryadne might ask of me, only that I could not renege on that. I wondered if I lost my honor as I took Kerid’s hand and said, “I shall do all I can.”
“And I.” He smiled. “Between us, Gailard, we’ll defeat Talan.”
“The gods willing,” I agreed, feeling like a traitor.
We found harbor as the sun topped the horizon. The sky was very bright, as if the gods scoured away the clouds that they might better observe our maneuvers. Gulls mewed at our arrival, and all along the wharves I saw the glitter of light on armor, shields, and spearheads. There seemed not a single empty space, but all filled up with waiting men.
Kerid said, “I’ll see you safe ashore, then take my boat away. What I can do to halt Talan, I shall. You’ll hold Antium?”
“He’ll not enter easily,” I dissembled.
I fumbled my way down the narrow ladder to the deck and limped to the outflung gangplank. A sailor helped me down that swaying platform, and when I thanked him said, “The gods be with you. Guard our land, eh?”
I turned to answer him, but he was already gone.
I had hoped to slip away, to pass unnoticed back to Chorym, but as I stepped onto the flags of Antium’s dock-side, I found all that was left of Chaldor’s army facing me. Shields and spears rose in salute, and I looked back at Kerid’s boat, thinking that some greater commander had been aboard. But only damaged men came after me, and I realized that this salute was for me alone. I felt my heart sink as it dawned on me that all these men looked to me for orders, whilst I must obey my dead king and leave them.
Then Haldur, whom I knew and had drunk with, stepped forward to innocently augment my guilt.
“The king passed word, my friend; you lead us now. What shall we do?”
I limped to where a wagon stood and rested my weight against its side. River mist coiled thick about the wharf, and the risen sun glittered on it like fire on water. At least the magefire had ceased now, but that likely meant only that Talan gathered his army for invasion. I looked Haldur in the eyes and gathered up my courage.
“Andur commanded me to Chorym, to Ryadne’s side.”
Haldur hesitated a moment in his reply, then gave me back, “Then go to Chorym, but first order our defense here. The gods know,” he gestured at my leg, “but you’re sore hurt, and Chorym shall need a strong commander.”
I felt a great weight settle on me then, and had some inkling of what Andur must have suffered as he ordered men to their deaths—the terrible weight of trust and loyalty. Almost, I told Haldur to flee, to take his men and all the others and run, but that should have branded me coward. And so I grunted and heaved my paining body atop the wagon. I looked about and saw that our army was not so much now. I thought that only a thousand or so manned Antium’s shoreline.
“The hurt are gone,” Haldur advised me. “We who remain are all hale” He grinned. “And mostly Highlanders. We can hold them!”
I set a hand upon his shoulder lest I fall down—my knee hurt abominably—and slumped onto the wagon’s seat. “Talan’s a Vachyn sorcerer in his employ,” I said. “You know what the mage did to us. You saw that boat burn?”
Haldur shook his head. “I saw lightning, no more.” His grin faded. “What do you say, Gailard?”
My belly rumbled, and my mouth was dry as a soldier’s purse. I felt a weariness settle on me, and wished for nothing more than a mug of ale and a soft bed, to sleep and forget all this. I cursed myself and scrubbed hands through my hair, feeling them all ashy from the relicts of the burned boat.
“Andur told me to go to Chorym,” I said slowly. “I …”
“I know that,” Haldur interrupted. “But what of Antium? What of our defense?”
“He told me to leave Antium.” I spat; my mouth seemed filled with ashes. “I must go to Ryadne—on Andur’s command.”
He made a sound that might have been a protest, and I saw confusion in his bloodshot eyes then, and perhaps disapproval. I was very weary, and in more than a little pain, so perhaps I spoke sharper than I should. “I tell you what Andur said to me, Haldur; no more, nor any less. Talan comes against us with many times our number—and a Vachyn sorcerer! And I must go to Ryadne.”
“So you’ll not command us?”
I shook my head.
Haldur climbed off the wagon and stared up at me. “So you go to Chorym? I’d thought you made of stronger stuff, Gailard. Did those Vachyn magicks invade your soul?”
In other circumstances I’d have challenged him for that. He was, like me, of Devyn blood, and knew what he said. But I had no more stomach for this argument. I wanted only to be gone from his accusing gaze, from the waiting men. Some amongst them were of my own five hundred. “I have my orders. Now find me a sound horse and put me on it.”
He nodded and turned swiftly about, marched briskly away. I sat atop the wagon as he bellowed orders, and saw all those expectant faces turn toward me, and the disbelief there as word spread. I wished then that the sorcerer’s magicks had taken me, and came close to cursing Andur for this geas.
Then Haldur brought a horse and I clambered awkwardly from the wagon, aware that none moved to help me mount. I stripped off my battle armor and let it clatter to the cobbles
of the wharf. I kept only my sword and shield. I took the reins and could not lift my damaged leg to the stirrup, so that the horse skittered and began to prance nervously.
“Shall you help me?”
It hurt to ask that, but less than the look in Haldur’s eyes as he motioned men forward to heave me astride.
I set my buttocks in the saddle and took up the reins. Then said, “I’d not have it this way, Haldur.”
“Nor I,” he answered. “I’d not thought to see you run away.”
“Andur commanded me,” I said, and before he could reply, or I voice some lamer excuse, urged the horse forward and rode away from Antium.
CHAPTER TWO
Chorym stood atop a hill that rose like a great dais above the fertile plain. Good farmland, fed by streams and patch-worked like a vast quilt with olive groves and vineyards, fields of wheat and barley, orchards, and green meadows where sheep and goats and cattle grazed. The four Great Roads ran from the city, die-straight to the compass points until they reached the distant horizon where hills soared like misty shadows toward the wide sky. And in all that lovely landscape, Chorym was the jewel: a city of white walls and colored tiles, of ocher roofs, and doors and shutters stained blue and green. A city of gardens and wide avenues lined with trees, a city of stone and wood and fountains, of plazas and taverns and eating houses: a pleasant place to live. But still defensive; about the foot of the hill ran a high, thick wall surmounted by watchtowers, inset with the four huge gates that opened onto the four Great Roads. The commercial districts there—the warehouses and trading posts, stables and barracks—and then higher, another, lesser wall, and more rising up the hill, so that all was concentric circles spinning upward to the citadel.
That was a great limestone edifice, entered by a single gate, and built by Chaldor’s first rulers. Its walls were sheer curtains rising to wide ramparts that contained an inner city, the monarch’s palace within.
