by Dragon Lance
He left Egrin to finish examining Wornoth’s secret papers. Queen Casberry was departing, and Tol wanted to see her off.
Egrin waited until his friend and commander had gone, then picked up certain of the bundles again, riffled through them, and extracted a sheaf or two. These he burned in the flame of his lamp, watching the doorway all the while.
*
Tol, Casberry, and her bearers were just inside the north gate of Caergoth. Evening had come and Luin was rising, casting its pinkish light over the open landscape.
Tol asked the kender queen about her escort and received the breezy assurance that both Royal Loyals and Household Guard were “around somewhere.” She had already turned down his offer of an armed escort, saying she might not be heading directly home. Kender were afflicted with wanderlust, and the queen was the most kenderish of them all.
Front and Back hoisted the heavy sedan chair onto their shoulders, seemingly without effort. As usual, Queen Casberry offered a steady stream of advice to the duo on the best way to carry the chair and, as usual, the men ignored her. Tol smiled. They were certainly an odd threesome.
When he thanked her again for her assistance, she patted him on the head. “You’re a good fellow, for a human.” Putting her little prune face close to his head, she added, “You’re getting a bald spot up here, you know that?”
Tol cleared his throat and stepped back. He was past forty now, and it was true. Age was beginning to tell on him in many ways.
“Okay, boys, pick up your feet!” she said, and Front and Back headed for the open gate.
“Oh, your Majesty!” Tol called. “Where should I send the payment you were promised for your troops?”
Casberry lifted both arms and waved. Her arms, from wrist to elbow, were covered with gold and silver bangles.
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that!” she said, cackling.
The little party seemed so lonely, so vulnerable, Tol found himself following them out. The bearers kept to the center of the white-pebbled road, which curved away to the northwest. Before Casberry had gone a quarter-league, however, small shadowy figures joined her out of the darkness. Kender. More and more appeared as she progressed, falling in behind their clever, rapacious queen.
The cryptic phrase Casberry used so often – “no kender is ever alone” – was, Tol knew, true enough. He also knew the treasure recovered from the nomads was by now somewhat diminished. It didn’t matter. The kender had earned their “found” valuables.
Tol walked back into the city, and the guards closed the gate. He rode through the darkening streets, now empty of the crowds of refugees. Trash blew along the wide lanes, last reminders of the thousands who had crowded into Caergoth to escape the chaos outside. On their own initiative, a brigade of street sweepers had organized to clean the city. Before long Caergoth would once more be a byword for cleanliness in the empire.
Daltigoth lay forty leagues southwest, a ride of five or six days on the Ackal Path. Daltigoth was his journey’s end. All Tol’s goals were there, he reflected, with Valaran his prize. So wrapped up was he in thoughts of his distant love, that Tol didn’t notice a caped figure emerge from an alley as he passed. But after a few paces, he said (without turning around), “Did you find her, Tylocost?”
The elf chuckled. “Your senses aren’t bad for a human, my lord.”
“Your sandals creak.”
Tol had dispatched Tylocost to find the Pakin princess, Mellamy Zan, reported by Hanira to be in Caergoth.
“I found her,” Tylocost said, putting back his hood. “I believe she will accept my protection. Her advisors were against it, but she overruled them. She seems remarkably intelligent and accomplished – for a human.”
“Remember where your allegiance lies, General.”
With irritating Silvanesti aplomb, Tylocost inclined his head gracefully. “I remember, my lord.”
Tol offered his hand. As Tylocost clasped it, Tol said, “Thank you. And now you’re free, General. You are no longer my prisoner.”
Tylocost’s eyes widened. “But so much remains to be done!”
“I know, but I also know that I may not return from this last ride. You’ve done amazingly well by me, and I’m grateful, so I give you your freedom.” But he tightened his grip until Tylocost winced. “That does not excuse you from the duty I expect you to perform.”
“Of course not. I would wish you luck, my lord, but you seem plentifully supplied already, so I’ll give you a warning instead: be certain of nothing.” Pale blue eyes bored into Tol’s brown ones. “You stand in the center of events so complex and loyalties so tangled that even I cannot see all the threads. Make certain your will is as hard as that steel blade you carry, and trust no one.”
Smiling a little, Tol asked, “Not even you, General?”
The elf’s expression was grim. “Not even I.”
Before Tol could say more, Tylocost was gone, melting into the darkness. Instinct told him he would never see the Silvanesti again.
It was very late when Tol retired to his room in the Riders’ Hall, but hardly had he lain down when someone slipped into the room.
“Peace,” said the figure, and he recognized Kiya’s voice. “I wish to sleep here tonight.” ¦
He was dumbfounded. Not in twenty-odd years together had they ever been so intimate, despite Kiya’s status as his wife.
He stuttered rather incoherently for a moment and she hissed, “I’ve not come to seduce you! My father snores so loudly, I can’t sleep in the room he shares with his men. Move over, Husband.”
He complied, but felt oddly shy. Kiya lay down with her back to him and muttered, “Don’t get any strange ideas.” There seemed no safe answer to that, affirmative or negative, so Tol said nothing.
He was just dozing off when someone else entered the room. “Husband, I – Kiya! What are you doing here?” Miya demanded.
“Trying to sleep! Shut up!”
“Both of you shut up,” Tol growled. He was exhausted, and in no mood for sisterly wrangling.
Miya elbowed her way in next to Kiya. “You think I can sleep with Father’s snoring? And I’m certainly not leaving you two here alone.” Kiya told her she had too much imagination.
With the two tall forester women in the bed, there was scarcely room for Tol. He slid off onto the flagstone floor. While the sisters sniped at each other, he claimed a blanket and curled up beneath it.
Twenty years together, and now his wives wanted to sleep with him. The prospect was so daunting he vowed to get the final drive to Daltigoth underway as soon as possible.
*
The day dawned cloud-capped and windy. Before sunrise, the Army of the East marched out of Caergoth and formed on the great road to the capital – the Ackal Path. Virtually every Rider in the city had joined Tol, giving him a total strength of forty-four full hordes, six demi-hordes, and the two hordes of Juramona Militia, the only foot soldiers in the Army. There was great disaffection among the imperial warriors for their poor treatment by the emperor and the emperor’s deputy, Governor Lord Wornoth. The proud Riders were ready to march on Daltigoth and present their grievances to Ackal V in the most direct manner possible – at sword point.
Even so, it was a tenuous coalition, held together by anger and injured pride. The Riders of Caergoth and the provincial Riders of the landed hordes would fight if contested, but privately Tol wondered how they would respond if the emperor sought to appease them. That didn’t seem likely. Ackal V was clever, but he was not the sort to placate anyone, even with a sword at his throat.
The first rays of sunlight had just touched the tops of the city wall when the last men fell in place. Each horde commander rode out to meet Tol, who waited in the center of the road on a new mount. The Riders’ stables had yielded up a fine dappled gray war-horse.
Tol greeted the horde commanders by name and assigned them their places in the march. Two wings of twenty hordes each would ride west, each wing flanking the imperial highway. Th
e bulk of the army, and the baggage train, would proceed on the road.
“If we are challenged, do we fight, my lord?” Lord Wagram asked.
“We’re not going to Daltigoth to attend a festival!”
There was much smothered laughter at Zanpolo’s quip. The legendary warlord was mounted on a large horse as black as its rider’s forked beard.
Wagram reddened, demanding, “Do we attack imperial troops on sight then?”
This was a legitimate question, one Tol had long been considering. “No, my lord. If any hordes confront you, try to parley and convince them to join us. If they spurn your advances, ride on. If you’re attacked, fight back. But don’t start battles yourselves. Our quarrel is with Ackal V, not every Rider in the Great Horde.”
Another of the Caergoth warlords, Quevalen by name, asked, “What exactly is our quarrel, my lord? Wornoth has paid for his perfidy. Are we to depose the emperor, or merely seek redress for our many grievances?”
Tol wouldn’t impose his private vengeance on every man in his service, but neither would he deceive them.
“Ackal V seized power illegally from Prince Hatonar, his brother’s heir,” he said. “And I have evidence he was behind the illness and death of his brother, Ackal IV.”
He sought the eye of every warlord before him. “We seek the ouster of Ackal V and the restoration of the imperial throne to the rightful heirs of Pakin III and Ackal IV. The new emperor will see to it our grievances are heard.” Again, he stared at each of them, slowly turning in his saddle. “If anyone here cannot accept this, let him depart now without blame.”
There was restive movement, especially among the younger officers, but none broke ranks.
“Remember, my lords, no one here is a rebel. We do not seek to overthrow the empire. We mean to save it!”
He put heels to his war-horse’s sides and set out at a trot. Egrin and Pagas came close after, then the warlords of the landed hordes – Argonnel, Mittigorn, Trudo, and the rest. Soon the whole army was in motion. The noise of massed hoofbeats was thunderous.
In the rear, at the head of the baggage caravan, Kiya slapped the reins against the backs of her four-horse team, setting the animals into motion. Miya, sitting next to her on the wagon seat, finished tying a scarf over her head and signaled to the teamsters to follow.
“Can he do it?” Miya asked.
Kiya squinted against the rising dust. “Husband is doing it.”
Chapter 24
CHANCE’S CHOICE
The Army of the East rode ready for combat, but the first two days of the journey passed without hostility. The countryside, which had been emptied of people by the parallel invasions of bakali and nomads, had sprung to life again. As Tol’s army passed out of the Caer Hundred into the Heartland Hundred, strange things began to happen.
Ordinary folk, who normally wouldn’t have come within a league of an armed horde, turned out by the hundreds. Word spread that Lord Tolandruth was leading the hordes to Daltigoth to set things right, so cautious observers left their hiding places and came forward to cheer. Nor did they come with empty hands.
The bountiful countryside between Caergoth and the capital had not been ravaged in the recent invasions. No nomads had made it this far west, and the bakali had passed far to the north. With high summer upon the land, the fertile heart of the empire was bursting with plenty. Even the drought that gripped the Eastern Hundred had not affected crops here. The peasants brought fruits, vegetables, and smoked meats. Before long, Riders were festooned with bags of grapes, onions, melons, and carrots, and even several live chickens, their feet lashed together.
Kiya and Miya, having gotten the baggage caravan started, left it to join Tol at the head of the central column. A farmer’s wife rushed up to Miya, shoved an enormous ham into her arms, and hurried away, all without a word. While the Dom-shu sisters were amused by the joyous reception, Tol found it unsettling.
Miya, staggering along with the ham, said, “They’re happy, Husband! They know what you’re going to do!”
Egrin remained dour. “If we fail, the results could be grave for those known to have given us aid.”
As it developed, there were other, more immediate considerations. Gifts of beer and wine began to arrive, and the Army of the East grew merry indeed. Lord Argonnel cantered over from the right wing, where similar conditions prevailed.
“My lord, this must stop!” he said. “Discipline is failing. If the emperor attacked now, our men would flounder under an ocean of foodstuffs!”
“But the people love us!” Miya replied. “And it’s for them you’re doing this, Husband!”
Argonnel was right, but Miya had a point as well. How could they extricate themselves from the flood of well-meant gifts without alienating the good people of Ergoth?
It was Kiya who showed the way. Two children approached her, each bearing pots of berry jam. Even the tough warrior woman couldn’t bear to wound them by refusing, but her hands were already full. Exasperated, she held out a bag of grapes.
“I can’t take anything unless you take something in return!” she declared.
Laughing, Tol made Kiya’s frustrated bargain a general order. No one in the army was to accept another gift without giving something back. He also ordered the pace of the hordes quickened. This would make it harder for the peasants to reach the warriors.
By the third day – halfway along in the journey to Daltigoth – the bounty of food and drink had greatly subsided. Near the border of the Great Horde Hundred, in which the capital lay, it ceased altogether. The farmers were no less glad to see the Army of the East, but the influence of Ackal V’s spies was greater. The first scouts were seen, watching Tol’s hordes advance through the lush orchards and verdant pastures east of Daltigoth. Riders from Zanpolo’s Iron Falcons tried to flush out them out but failed to catch them. The spies were mounted on fleet, carefully chosen horses, and they knew the countryside well. Tol took Zanpolo’s failure in stride.
“If you can capture a scout, fine, but if not …” Tol shrugged. “We want everyone in Daltigoth to know we’re coming. The time is fast approaching when all must choose – as you did, Zanpolo – whether to be with us or against us.”
The first clash came soon after.
At the intersection of the Ackal Path and the Mordirin Way was a customs house. Here, imperial officials levied tolls on caravans passing east or west, and north or south. Comprising a stout stone building and a wooden tower enclosed in a stockade faced with sloping walls of earth, the customs house seemed an unlikely spot for a showdown. But as Riders from Mittigorn’s Black Viper Horde approached, a shower of arrows greeted them.
Mittigorn sent word back to Tol, then dismounted sixty men and proceeded to attack. After storming the grassy scarp, the Vipers fell upon the occupants of the stockade. Much to their surprise, they discovered their opponents were not imperial warriors, but ordinary footmen armed with bows. Twenty-two bowmen and the customs officer constituted the entire garrison.
Tol arrived with his warlords and the Dom-shu sisters. The captured bowmen were sitting quietly on the ground, hands clasped atop their heads. Not so the customs officer. He was stretched out facedown, wrists lashed together behind his back, held at sword point. Both face and fists bore the bloody evidence of his resistance.
Ignoring the fuming customs officer for now, Tol addressed the leader of the bowmen, a man with a city haircut and light sandals on his feet. “You, stand up. What’s your name?”
“Fengale, my lord.” He spoke like a city man – pronouncing “my lord” as “ma ludd.”
“Why are you here, Fengale?”
The sergeant shrugged. “One of the emperor’s chamberlains hired us to defend this post. We arrived here only last night.”
Kiya wondered why Ackal V would deploy hired soldiers when he had plenty of warriors at his command, but this was no mystery to Tol. The emperor had withdrawn all his hordes, concentrating his warriors closer to the city. What Tol couldn’t fa
thom was why Ackal V had bothered to defend the customs house at all.
He turned his attention to the customs officer. Two warriors dragged the fellow forward. He fought and cursed the whole way.
“Traitor! Rebel! Your head will feed the crows for this!”
Tol waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Who are you?”
The officer couldn’t break the grips of the burly Riders holding him, so he settled for stating loudly, “My name is Hathak. Captain Hathak, of the Imperial Customs Service!”
“Well, Captain Hathak, what’s so special about your house?”
The petty official made a great show of not understanding, and Tol added, “We aren’t fools, Captain. There has to be a reason the emperor wastes even a small number of troops defending a solitary customs house.” To Mittigorn he said, “Have the house searched thoroughly.”
Mittigorn’s men carried out the order enthusiastically. Partitions were torn apart, floorboards pried up, and soon enough a shout of triumph rang out.
Two chests of gold coins (ironically stamped with the profile of Ackal V’s revered father, Pakin III) were found secreted under the floor of the house. In the rafters the men found sheaves of spears, bundles of shields, and sabers. All the metal implements had been dipped in wax to keep away rust, and all bore the stamp of the imperial arsenal in Daltigoth. Some were of recent make, others were older weapons.
Tol studied the cache carefully, all the while wondering why the weapons had been secreted here. A commotion outside interrupted him, and Miya appeared in the customs house door.
“You’d better come!” she said gravely.
Outside, they found Kiya standing over Hathak, once more facedown on the ground. The Dom-shu woman had her sword out and was glaring at several Riders standing nearby.
“They started beating him to make him talk,” she reported. “I put an end to it!”
Tol looked to Mittigorn and the warlord, still mounted, shrugged. “One way or another we have to find out what he knows, my lord,” he said.
