The History of Krynn: Vol V

by Dragon Lance

  Ash used his hands to cling to a rough outcrop of rock, but as he worked his way around the obstacle he saw quickly that the horses would never be able to follow in his immediate tracks. Instead, he released his grip and backed along the trail for several steps. A narrow chute led upward, allowing him to scramble up to the relatively flat surface of a shoulder, where there was space enough for a dozen horses to stand and rest. He lent a hand to Sir Kamford, and with a clattering of loose rocks, the knight persuaded his mount to scramble up after him.

  The elf moved onward and up while the captain of knights caught his breath. One after another, the human knights and their jumpy horses clambered onto the broad surface. When the shoulder’s flat space became too crowded, Sir Kamford led his charger after the elven guide, with the next knights falling into file behind him. In this fashion, each of the humans and horses had a short chance to breathe, but then quickly rejoined the steady, upward progression of the march.

  Soon afterward, Ash reached a section of loose rock. The pressure of his moccasin began a sliding, clattering cascade, and the elf sprang backward while a mini-avalanche of stones spilled down the smooth mountainside – fortunately to the side of the precariously balanced knights and horses below. Only when the tumbling had ceased did he again advance, this time finding the footing more secure.

  He heard a shout of alarm and the panicked whinnying of a horse. Ashtaway looked down the slope and saw several knights hauling and straining on the lead of a great black charger. The animal’s hooves had slipped from beneath it and it lay on the rocks, kicking frantically at any human who came close. The Kagonesti was certain that the beast was lost, and he only hoped that the riders would have the good sense to abandon it before any of the other mounts, or even a man, slipped downward to join it.

  To his frustration, the knights wasted precious minutes coaxing and soothing the animal, helping it to get its hooves underneath its belly. Ash couldn’t mask his surprise when the horse at last scrambled to its feet and once again resumed the climb, pounding upward as if anxious to make up for the delay.

  The minutes dragged into hours, morning’s light swiftly waning into late afternoon, and still the file of dismounted horsemen crept up the mountainside. Slipping and staggering frequently, the men somehow continued without a dangerous fall. Progress was slow and careful, though the knights instinctively picked up the pace as they sensed that they would, indeed, make it to their objective.

  Ash reached the notch of the pass with several hours of daylight remaining. Towering heights rose to each side, and smoky fog obscured much of the valley before him. He remembered that the descending trail curved around the slope of a great mountain, and that the city itself didn’t come into view until one walked some distance from the pass. Still, it was the perfect gathering place for the knights, since the geography and the air itself combined so effectively to screen them from observation.

  As the wild elf looked at the winding column, which still extended nearly halfway to the bottom of the slope, he hoped that all the knights would reach the summit before nightfall rendered their task impossible. Still, as the file straggled into a long, sinuous formation, he wasn’t at all sure that they would.

  The summit of the gap was a broad saddle between two towering mountains. Here, one by one, the knights gathered in the shelter offered by several overhanging rocks. The humans stroked and spoke to their nervous steeds, while the horses stared in wild-eyed fear at the barren landscape, at the specters of smoke and steam spewing from several of the nearby summits. The elf was impressed by the way in which each rider seemed to understand his own horse’s fears – the men clapped their steeds on the neck, or patted their muzzles and withers, soon able to restore their animals’ calm.

  Though Sanction was not visible from the notch of the pass, the knights, like Ashtaway, saw that this fact worked to their advantage. Steadily the humans assembled, resting and grooming their mounts without having to worry about observation from below.

  “Which way to the city?” asked Sir Kamford when several dozen knights had gathered in the pass.

  Ashtaway pointed. “The trail down is wider and more gentle than the climbing route. If you move slowly and stay alert for sentries, you should be able to spy your target without being observed.”

  “Very well.” Sir Kamford, accompanied by Sir Blayne and several other knights, left their horses with the others and went off to perform a reconnaissance on foot.

  One by one, the rest of the knights made their way into the cold, bare shelter of the pass. Each human reacted differently – some with obvious relief, others with swaggering bravado, still others with a pause for reverent thanks to the gods of good. All of them looked at the tattooed figure of the wild elf, with wonder, respect, and perhaps a little bit of suspicion on their faces. Yet the men then looked past, staring into the smoldering valley below, as if reflecting with amazement that their mission was on the brink of decision.

  Dozens of knights still remained on the mountainside when Sir Kamford returned. The knight’s mustache bobbed up and down, and his eyes flashed with enthusiasm as he joined Ashtaway beside the trail.

  “It couldn’t be more perfect. The plateau on this side of the city is virtually unguarded. They assume any attacker would have to fight his way through Sanction to reach it!”

  “And is this plateau worth attacking?” wondered the elf.

  “Undeniably! I saw large wooden bins where they store the coal for their forges, and the great barns, with their doors open, were full of grain. Those stockpiles would keep the army in the field over the entire winter if they get delivered – and if we’re successful, they’ll burn for days once we give them the spark. And they’ve built huge depots for weapons – spears, arrows, and the like. Those, too, we’ll put to the torch! Then there are the corrals – huge things, really. They’ve got horses, mules, and oxen, a thousand of each if they have a pair. I don’t doubt for a moment that we’ll scatter the lot of them to the four winds!”

  “I am glad the route might prove useful. Let us hope that the rest of your men can reach the crest by nightfall.”

  Sir Kamford, with a worried frown, looked over the tail end of his column. “Let’s step up the pace there, lads!” he called. “Don’t want to get stuck down there in the dark, now do we?”

  Grumbling, the knights who were within earshot pressed ahead, while the last few struggled as quickly as they dared to close up the gaps. Even so, the sun had set before the final knights reached the pass, though enough daylight remained for even these last humans to see the path barely a few feet in front of their faces.

  “That’s the lot!” cried Sir Kamford when the full company of men and horses had gathered in the pass. The warrior’s elation had continued to grow with each new arrival, and now Ashtaway marveled at the keen energy that seemed to possess his human companion.

  “You will attack tomorrow?” asked the elf.

  “As soon as we can get down there – I want to start the descent before sunrise,” Sir Kamford asserted.

  The human looked again at the sweeping mountainside they had ascended during the day, then turned to fix his dark eyes on the wild elf’s face. “I wasn’t at all sure we could do it, you know. When first you showed us the path, I thought we were doomed. Now here we are – and without losing a single horse on the climb!”

  “Would that the battle be so kind,” Ash remarked.

  Sir Kamford’s expression sobered. “It won’t be,” he acknowledged. “But, thanks to you, we’ll have the chance to strike a solid blow in the name of the Oath and the Measure.”

  CHAPTER 18

  RANK OF CHARGE

  In misty purple light, an hour before damn, Ashtaway started down the smooth path toward Sanction. The knights were already active in the mountain camp, brushing and feeding the horses before cinching saddles and bridles into place. As if sensing the impending battle, the animals snorted softly and pawed the ground with barely contained tension. Still, secrecy wa
s paramount. By the time the elf had moved fifty paces from the camp, he could hear no sounds of humans or horses.

  Instead, he was bombarded by a sensory onslaught from the city that gradually came into view. Sanction expanded to fill the horizon as steady progress brought Ashtaway around the great bulk of the volcano. Even in the predawn darkness the city was alight, illuminated by glowing fissures in the bedrock. Flaming rivers of lava spewed heat and fire into the air, washing the entire, crowded valley in erratic pulses. Now, as dawn diffused the harsh, fiery illumination, Sanction promised to remain a place more of smoke and shadows than of daylight.

  One of the Three Smoking Mountains – the peaks the knights called the Lords of Doom – belched forth a river of molten rock. This flowage blazed and hissed across the face on the opposite side of the valley, and Ash could see the course of the lava stream as it sputtered through the heart of the city.

  Despite the destructive forces raging around the valley on the ground and in the air, to the wild elf the city of Sanction seemed an ancient, timeless place – a place where the works of nature ruled with far more authority than the audacious constructs of humankind.

  Ashtaway got a clear view of the plateau, with its smooth eastern approach and the scattered clusters of buildings, corrals, and storage depots. As he moved farther, he saw the teeming slums come into sight, buildings sprouting like weeds on every patch of level ground and some places that were very steep as well. Narrow, twisting streets forced their way through these packed structures, and the wild elf could only wonder at the kind of desperation that would compel free creatures to dwell in such squalid, tightly packed surroundings.

  Many towering edifices of stone rose among a tangle of lesser buildings, and wide avenues cut through the chaos to link numerous teeming alleys and lanes. The whole of the crowded metropolis blocked the valley between two huge volcanoes, with the broad expanse of the Solamnic Plain extending beyond. Where the city met the plain, the high wall of stone had been erected, and though it was pierced by numerous gates, Ash could see that it presented a daunting obstacle to anyone attempting to attack the city from the west.

  Finally the mighty temples, grand structures that flanked the city on three sides, came into view. Even these left him cold. How could their grandeur hope to compare to the majesty of even the smallest mountain peak? Beyond the farthest temple stretched the high wall, studded with towers, bristling with parapets, screening Sanction against any army that dared to approach it from the plains. For the first time, Ashtaway began to see the true potential of Sir Kamford’s plan, suspecting that the knights might meet with bold success even though they attacked a place where, all told, they might be outnumbered by something greater than one hundred to one.

  The mountain trail led down from the east, and from his vantage the elf got a better look at the broad clearing on this side of the city. Many corrals had been erected there, and though some were empty, others held large herds of horses or oxen. He could also see the tents and barns, lined in neat rows, where Sir Kamford had said they would find the accumulated weapons and stores of the Dark Queen’s reserve.

  Ashtaway wondered briefly about his own presence here, on the fringes of a place that would soon become a savage battleground. On his previous visit to the pass, when he had discovered the trail, he had ventured only far enough through the saddle to get a look at the city. This was not a place he had any desire to explore. Yet even with that memory – and the same feeling now, only much stronger – he continued to creep toward Sanction’s festering and polluted fringes.

  Certainly, the knights no longer needed the Kagonesti’s help to reach their battle. The trail down the mountain was smooth and wide, aided by the fact that the slope was far more gradual within Sanction valley than without. Still, Ashtaway never considered departing before the charge. He had been impressed by these serious warriors with their great steeds, and he was very interested in seeing their attack.

  He knew that the column of horsemen must have started down the trail, though they remained out of sight behind him. Sir Kamford was determined to commence his attack with the earliest hours of full daylight, while sleep still dulled the senses and impeded the reactions of the snoring garrison troops.

  Nearing the bottom of the slope, Ashtaway felt his scalp tingle with a sudden sense of alarm. He wondered, briefly, what might happen if the dragons came back. It did not take a great deal of imagination to see that, if Sir Kamford was wrong about the strength of Huma’s campaign and several of the serpents returned to Sanction to keep an eye on their precious reserves, a military disaster was inevitable.

  Concealed by a knobby outcrop of rock beside the trail, Ash studied the smoke-screened skies. He saw no sign of anything flying there, not even a bird, and gradually convinced himself that his alarm had not been triggered by the arrival of evil dragons. It was probably just the pungent smell of this place, the elf told himself, as the bitter air stung his nostrils and wisps of sulphurous smoke brought tears to his eyes.

  As he moved along the foot of the mountain, leaving the path to take advantage of the concealment offered by the rough ground at the base of the slope, he saw that the plateau of Sanction was terribly vulnerable to attack from the east. At this early hour even the slaves still slept, and the great racks of weapons – as well as the bins of coal and the stone-walled edifices of the city’s great forges – stood for the most part undefended. Animals rustled and paced in the crowded corrals, bellowing and lowing as if they sensed the danger of which their masters remained blissfully unaware.

  The listless sentries Ash saw included many humans and a few bored, lazy ogres. The guards on duty seemed more concerned with finding a comfortable place to rest than in protecting their precious stockpiles. And even when one of them did sit up and look around, the elf noticed that the guard paid a great deal more attention to the city beyond than to the smoldering mountain rising so close by. Obviously, the notion of an attack from the east was a thing that these guards – and, by inference, their commanders – had long since discounted.

  Dawn seeped veins of crimson light through the smoke, bringing an otherworldly glow to the mountainous horizon. Whips cracked, and hulking ogres urged columns of slaves from their barracks to the mines and forges on the plateau. Ash saw these miserable laborers marching dully forth, responding only to the extent necessary to spare the sting of the lash. What must life be like for them, he wondered? How could any sentient creature surrender to such an existence? He knew that he, or any Kagonesti, would sooner accept death than allow himself to be compelled into a life of servitude.

  He heard the clanging of a heavy metal object and ducked once more into a crevice between two lava-scarred rocks. Several ogres appeared, apparently marching right out of the mountainside, clomping within a stone’s throw of the concealed elf. Only then did Ashtaway notice that they had emerged from a tunnel, leaving a pair of great iron doors standing open in the mouth of their subterranean passage.

  Squinting in the growing light, the Kagonesti observed that the file of ogres numbered at least a dozen. The brutes were coated with black dust and tromped along slowly, with an unmistakable air of fatigue. They wore large swords at their sides and dented, battle-scarred helmets on their heads. Obviously these were not workers, but warriors.

  “Good to see sky again,” one grunted, coughing with an exhalation of dust.

  “Tunnel’s too blasted long,” another groused. “Too many days underground.”

  “But at least we get to Sanction,” a third growled. The latter seemed to be some sort of commander. He cuffed the two complainers across the backs of their heads. “Straighten up! March good-like!”

  Still muttering, the rest of the monsters took steps to obey, brushing the heaviest layers of dust from their arms, adjusting their swords at their belts so that the weapons hung straight. They even tried to collect their file into a double rank, but in this they were less than successful. The elf watched as they marched out of earshot, discer
ning that the ogres veered sharply left, apparently heading for the city and not the labor fields of the broad plateau.

  Ash took careful note of the concealed entrance, wondering if his knowledge of yet another path might prove useful in the immediate future. Sidling sideways, darting from one cluster of rocks to another, he sought to get a look inside.

  The tunnel opened into a low cut in the rocks, which helped to conceal it from outside observation. The two large doors must have weighed many tons each, and for a moment Ash couldn’t understand how anyone could have opened them. Then the elf saw a curious wheel, set on its side with spokes extending out beyond the rim. Around the axle below the wheel was a tight coil of rope, and though he couldn’t understand how it worked, the Kagonesti guessed that this mechanism was the means of opening and closing the door. Leaning farther, he saw a second, matching wheel beside the other door.

  Movement within the tunnel caught his eye as several figures advanced from the shadows. He heard the cracking of a whip and a sudden yelp of pain.

  “Move, you toads!” growled a deep voice – a sound that could rumble only from an ogre chest.

  Ash crouched just a few feet outside the still opened doors and observed a number of small figures scrambling and tumbling toward him. The whip snapped again, and the small figures scattered to all sides.

  “Get back here! Turn that capstan! Now, by the Dark Queen, or dere’ll be no gruel for you!”

  Whimpering pathetically, the little fellows gathered, cringing, around one of the curious wheels. Seizing the spokes where they emerged beyond the rim, the dwarflike figures began to pull. With a creaking groan, the nearest door began, very slowly, to move.

  Now Ash saw the overseer, who was indeed an ogre. The monster wore a black tunic of stiff leather studded with nails. An old specimen, the brute had lost both his tusks, but his bloodshot eyes still sparked with evil and cunning. He raised a clublike fist, and the elf saw the supple strand of the whip lash back, ready for another strike at the tiny, pathetic slaves.