by Dragon Lance
Dead and wounded were piling up when a section of stockade finally collapsed. With a roar the Ergothians flooded through the gap, overwhelming the horseless nomads. Beset on two sides, the plainsmen abandoned the fight. Many leaped onto horses, cut their tethers, and galloped away bareback.
The remaining nomads threw down their arms. Tylocost had to restrain his fevered troops from killing their surrendered foes in revenge for the outrages they’d perpetrated. Tylocost felt the professional’s distaste for partisan warfare. Battles were much easier to control when the forces involved were true-born warriors, not armed peasants who lost control of their emotions.
Fortunately, cooler heads – old guardsmen from Juramona – prevailed, and helped him herd the captives into a corner of the stockade. Order was restored, and torches lit.
The nomad camp was unusual. Plainsmen didn’t usually bother erecting a stockade. The reason for it soon became clear. Not only were there several hundred horses in the gully, but also heaps of valuables liberated from Ergothian strongholds. The horses weren’t plains ponies either, but long-legged Ergothian breeds. Judging by their brands, most had been captured from Lord Bessian’s shattered army.
Tylocost pulled off a weathered tarp covering a head-high pile of goods. A hodgepodge of kegs, crates, and baskets was revealed, each filled with plunder. They held gold coins, silver plate, loose gems, jewelry, bolts of brocade and silk, fine swords, and ritual objects stolen from Juramona’s razed temples. Other piles contained armor, weapons, and the war standards of the defeated hordes. There were enough sabers to equip eight or nine hordes.
Zala asked the elf why he looked so grim. She found the treasure an exhilarating sight.
“What do you suppose will happen when the men find out what they’ve captured?” he said. “What’s to stop them from seizing this loot for themselves?”
“You will. Remind them who they are and what they’re fighting for. Their pride will stop them.”
He appraised her anew. “For an unschooled woods-runner, you have insight.”
The double-edged compliment drew a snort from the half-elf.
Omitting only the troops that were needed to guard the nomad prisoners, Tylocost assembled his army. All eyes widened as the men beheld the piles of looted treasure the elf had left uncovered.
“Here are the stolen treasures of your country!” Tylocost shouted, his voice ringing through the nomad camp. “The gods have seen fit to reverse the tide of war and return it to you. Now we have a grave duty. We must secure this hoard for Lord Tolandruth until the rightful owners can he found.”
A rumble of talk sounded from the assembled men. One called out, “Can’t we make use of just a little of it, General? I got a homemade spear and brass pot for my head. There’s real blades and armor there!”
Tylocost looked thoughtful, as though the notion had not occurred to him. “That does sound fair,” he allowed. “I’ll appoint a quartermaster to distribute the arms appropriately.”
There were nods and grins all around.
Tylocost added, “The rest of this booty shall be sacred. No one is to touch it, on pain of death.”
The men nodded. Theft by a soldier in the field was punishable by hanging, and every man present remembered the fate of the deserters at Juramona.
Guards were posted to watch over the valuables. Tylocost called for volunteers with riding experience. These men were mounted on captured Ergothian horses and ordered to find Lord Tolandruth’s army and report what they’d captured. Heavy wagons would be required to move the weighty treasure, and until they arrived Tylocost and his troop would remain to safeguard it.
Daybreak arrived, cloudy and warm. The ravine seemed airless, cut off by the hills from the usual summer breezes. Face red with heat, Tylocost soaked a kerchief in water and knotted it around his neck.
“Hey, gorgeous, whatcha doin’?”
The unfamiliar, high-pitched voice brought Tylocost whirling around in surprise. He saw a kender perched atop a pile of treasure. The little fellow was idly twirling the elf’s floppy hat. No one had seen him arrive, much less climb up the mound of booty, so his appearance prompted much consternation and drawing of swords.
“Who in Chaos are you?” Tylocost demanded. “And give me my hat!”
“Curly Windseed. Fine. It’s too big for me anyway!” the kender replied rather confusingly. His brown hair was clipped short and a fringe of straight bangs fell into his light blue eyes.
He sent the hat spinning through the air to its rightful owner. Tylocost caught it deftly and ordered him off the treasure pile.
“This is the property of the Ergoth Empire,” the Silvanesti added.
“So this is Ergoth? Good!” the kender pronounced, leaping nimbly to the ground. “You know, gorgeous, you could use a new hat. For a fee, I could find you a really good one.”
Before Tylocost could deliver a scathing reply, he heard himself hailed. A soldier was running toward him through the piles of stolen goods.
“Strangers are in camp!” the soldier cried. “Kender!”
Tylocost muttered, “Of course. There’s never just one aphid on the roses.”
“Friends of yours?” Zala asked Curly Windseed.
“Sure. Well, some of them. I don’t much like Duck; he cheats at games. And Rambletoe snores like a donkey. Downy’s okay – Downy Redfoot, that is. She —”
Tylocost gave a frustrated snarl and stalked away to order his troops to assemble. Zala was fascinated. A few minutes with a kender had shattered the Silvanesti’s impeccably cool demeanor.
Soon, ten kender had gathered around Curly Windseed. Tylocost pegged them as wanderers, poking their noses where they weren’t wanted, and ordered them sent on their way.
Zala wondered at their attire. All the kender were armed with short swords and dressed in scale shirts and matching green leggings.
“Why are you dressed alike?” she asked Curly.
Idly poking through a crate of stolen goods, he said, “Because we’re scouts.”
“For the Queen’s Own Royal Loyal Militia,” another kender put in.
Zala whirled on Tylocost, exclaiming, “These are the allies Lord Tolandruth sent for!”
The elf sneered in disbelief, but Curly confirmed that they had indeed been led here by their queen, Casberry of Hylo, and a towering, blonde human woman whose name he couldn’t remember.
“Kiya!”
Curly shook his head at Zala. “No, that’s not it.” He and his comrades began arguing amongst themselves over the giant’s proper name.
Tylocost put a hand to his forehead. “Lord Tolandruth must be mad, sending for these pests.”
Zala reminded him how easily the kender had penetrated the stockaded camp, with the Ergothians awake and vigilant. If Lord Tolandruth could harness the natural abilities of the kender, it could only help their cause, she said.
Another runner arrived, bringing additional news: more kender were coming, following a strange wooden fetish borne on the shoulders of two brawny humans. The fetish was attended by a Red Robe wizard.
This was incredible, even for kender. Tylocost and Zala hurried through the nomad camp. At the north end, by a broken-down section of the stockade, they found the kender – and Kiya.
The Dom-shu looked sunburned and weary. Beside her was a man of middle years, wearing a dusty, faded crimson robe. His hands were bound in front of him, with Kiya holding a rope attached to his bonds. Behind them stretched a long, straggling column comprising a couple hundred armed humans and a substantial sprinkling of kender. The procession was indeed headed by two brawny, sweat-slicked men bearing on their shoulders an elaborate sedan chair of cedar and gold. A tiny figure sat in the chair. As the runner had said, the figure appeared to be carved from dark hardwood, weathered by long exposure to sun, wind, and rain. It was draped in shiny purple cloth.
Kiya hailed Tylocost. “By the gods, I never thought I’d be glad to see your face again!” she said.
“And you
smell as delightfully as I remember,” the elf retorted. “What is this menagerie, woman?”
“What Husband requested. This is the army of Hylo – and may Corij have mercy on us all!”
She jerked the rope and brought her prisoner forward.
“This fellow claims to be Helbin, chief of the Red Robe wizards in Daltigoth, but will say no more about his business. He’s certainly a wizard all right, so watch him.”
“I demand to be taken to Lord Tolandruth,” Helbin said irritably.
Ignoring the wizard for now, Tylocost asked Kiya, “What is that peculiar fetish at the head of your army? It’s hideous!”
Kiya looked blank. “Fetish?” The truth dawned on her, and she threw back her head and laughed. “Come. I’ll introduce you!”
When they drew nearer, they could hear a faint rasping coming from the figure.
“It’s alive!” Zala exclaimed.
“Very.” Kiya rapped a fist against the chair rail. “Your Majesty! You have visitors!”
The wizened doll opened one eye. “Hmm? Is it noon already?”
“May I present Queen Casberry of Hylo,” Kiya said. “Your Majesty, this is the famous general from Silvanost, Janissiron Tylocostathan, known as Tylocost.”
Casberry leaned forward, staring hard at the elf. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “How did you survive such a beating? What a face they left you with!”
Her bluntness made Zala blink. The elf replied genially, “Bold words indeed from a carved totem.” He bowed in the best courtly Silvanesti fashion. “Your Majesty is a tribute to her embalmer.” It was clear these two were not going to get along.
Kiya explained they had gone first to Juramona, but learned Tol had moved on. They had been following the track of Tylocost’s column, knowing it would lead them to Tol eventually.
Queen Casberry wanted breakfast. The little group made their way to the center of the former nomad camp, where Tylocost’s men had kindled a cookfire. Kiya, still leading the sullen Helbin, asked Zala about Tol. The half-elf reported she hadn’t seen him for some days now.
“That must have been quite a fight at Juramona,” Kiya said.
Zala’s memory echoed with screams, and the remembered scent of blood caused her to shudder. To her surprise, the stoical Dom-shu woman gave her back a consoling pat.
“Things happen around Husband. They always have.” Rubbing her hands together, Kiya added, “I’m starving! How about you, wizard?”
The three of them joined the others at the cookfire, where the Ergothians were dishing up boiled bacon and bean porridge left behind by the defeated nomads.
After breakfast, the balance of the day was spent repairing the stockade and sorting through the arms they’d discovered. Once the presence of treasure was discovered by Gasberry and her troops, the number of kender in camp began to decline rapidly. The treasure piles also underwent a reduction. Despite Tylocost’s alert guards, the gemstones and trinkets weren’t safe, and entire kegs vanished. By sundown, the Royal Loyal Militia was down to half its original strength.
Gathered again at the cookfire for supper, Kiya demanded that Casberry stop her people from stealing.
“Kender don’t steal,” Casberry said quite seriously. “That’s a great lie spread about my people wherever they go.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Tylocost said dryly.
In addition to a purple silk gown and a short leather vest dyed brilliant scarlet, the queen now wore a golden circlet. It was the first badge of office Kiya had seen her wear, and she wondered which pile of Ergothian loot had yielded the delicate crown.
While the others debated the reputation of kender, Zala slipped away. She wandered through the covered piles of booty, with no particular goal in mind, and came upon Helbin. Kiya had picketed him, very like a horse, away from the campfire, so the mysterious wizard couldn’t overhear their plans for the coming days. Two spearmen had been left to guard him, but they stood at a wary distance. The wizard sat on an overturned keg, his hands bound, seemingly lost in gloomy thoughts.
Noticing her, Helbin rose. Zala mumbled an apology for disturbing him and backed away.
“Please, don’t go. You’re not unknown to me. You’re called Zala, yes?” She kept going, and he called desperately, “We have something in common. Release me and I’ll tell you what it is.”
She laughed. “That ruse is older than both of us!”
Zala was about to vanish around a pile of loot when Helbin blurted, “You and I owe allegiance to the same master! Or, I should say, the same mistress? The Lady of the Books.”
She hesitated. Pressing his advantage, the wizard said, “I know you are Zala Half-Elven. It was I who searched the hunting fraternity for a skilled female tracker and found your name. I recommended you to her in the first place.”
“What was my charge?”
“To find Lord Tolandruth and bring him back to Daltigoth.”
That was not good enough, and Zala told him so. That information was common knowledge now, among the Juramona Militia.
“I also know your human father is held hostage to your success. He’s a prisoner in Caergoth.”
The mention of her father sent anger flooding through Zala. She drew her sword. The wizard recoiled as she put the sword tip under his chin and demanded to know what he was up to.
“We’re on the same side!” Helbin insisted. “Set me free! I cannot work bound up like this. Dire things may happen if I am not free!”
“If you’re such a high sorcerer, why don’t you hex the cords from your hands?”
Helbin grimaced. “I am not a sorcerer. I am a wizard of the Red Robes.” Such distinctions obviously mattered little to her, so he added, “I need to move my hands in order to perform conjurations —”
She dropped the point of her sword to his chest. “Is my father safe?” she asked, voice husky with fear.
“He lives. He’s held by the governor of Caergoth, Lord Wornoth.”
“What is your purpose here? Speak true, or I’ll cut your throat!”
“Our lady has sworn me to silence. I may speak only to Lord Tolandruth!”
He seemed genuinely distressed, but that meant nothing. City folk were like that, Zala knew. They lied as easily as they breathed.
“If you kill me, all we have fought for will be lost!” Helbin announced.
“And what exactly are ‘we’ fighting for?”
Zala flinched hard at the unexpected voice behind her. Her sword point pierced Helbin’s silk robe, and he yelped.
Tol had just emerged from behind a pile of treasure. Arrayed behind him were Kiya, Tylocost, Queen Casberry, and a sextet of warriors.
“So, Master Helbin,” Tol said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Chapter 14
DEBTS REPAID
An eerie silence had enveloped Daltigoth. Born of terror, it was a palpable presence, like an evil spirit unknowingly summoned from the Abyss. Streets were empty, market squares abandoned, and wind tumbled rubbish over the cobbles where commerce once reigned. Ground level windows were either boarded up or broken out, empty black holes hinting at tragedies within.
Ackal’s Wolves had run rampant through the city for four days. The rioting, which had plagued the capital off and on since the beginning of the bakali invasion, ceased completely. So had all trade. From the Quarry District to the canal quay, Daltigoth was quiet – as a corpse is quiet.
Backed by imperial authority, Captain Tathman had proclaimed a curfew. Anyone found outdoors between sundown and sunrise faced swift, certain death. No one was immune – neither lords nor ladies, wizards, priests, artisans, or laborers. Ackal V’s thugs moved in a body from district to district, sounding their terrifying wolf calls. These strange instruments, made from cow horn and brass, gave a perfect lupine imitation, the last sound many ears in Daltigoth heard.
Thieves, malcontents, spies, and petty intriguers who continued to ply their trades were slain. So, too, were innocents slaughtered. Workers caught unaware
s, and folk whose only crime was to be drunk enough to think they could negotiate the back alleys with impunity, paid for their folly. The curfew also gave the Wolves a legal excuse to dispose of their personal enemies. Most were dragged out of their homes, declared in violation of the curfew once on the street, and summarily executed.
The number of deaths was so large a wagon service had to be hastily organized to remove the bodies, to prevent the outbreak of disease. Prisoners from the city jail were conscripted to dig a mass grave. Each morning the wagons rolled to the green fields outside Daltigoth’s vast walls and deposited their cargo in the hard earth.
The City Guards, the usual keepers of the peace, had achieved nothing more than a stalemate after a half a year battling the rioters. When the Wolves began their pacification of the unruly streets, some Guards joined them. The rest returned to their barracks and closed their shutters.
With the city growing more tomb-like each day, the emperor became increasingly buoyant. He’d ordered Tathman to keep detailed lists of the “criminals” executed, and he pored over these lists at breakfast and dinner. When he spotted the name of some old enemy, the emperor drank a toast to the victim’s demise, then added a gold coin to the cup as reward for Tathman.
One evening, Ackal V held a macabre banquet in the great plaza. He was the only guest. He sat at the head of the great banquet table dining on venison and squab, while facing him was rank upon rank of empty chairs, arranged in lines as precise as a military parade. Each chair represented a resident of Daltigoth slain by the Wolves. The emperor ate and drank well into the night, served by silent, expressionless lackeys. Now and then one would bring a new chair to the rear of the formation.
Empress Valaran lost contact with her chief agent in the city on the second day of the curfew. She sent him another message written in Yetai’s secret ink. The courier also disappeared.
In the late afternoon, a few days after her husband’s bizarre banquet, Valaran ascended to a high palace corridor to look out on the city’s now-quiescent streets. She avoided her old sanctuary. The palace roof reminded her too strongly of Winath’s death. She contented herself with the view of the city’s southwest quarter offered by this high, long corridor, which connected the imperial suite to the Consorts’ Chambers. From here she could see much of the New City and the Canal District.
