The horse was a cream-colored gelding, a little long in the tooth but deep in the chest and strong of spirit. The saddle and tack were serviceable. Aristide took the barb for a brief ride over the desert to get acquainted, then fed the animal and watered him. He sorted through the bandit’s belongings but found nothing of interest.
He helped himself to another of the sultan’s free meals, then slept in the bandit’s tent for a few hours, until the sound of trumpets and shells told the travelers to ready their mounts and assemble.
Aristide walked his new horse through the bustle. Dust rose, obscuring the sun, and he drew the tail of his headdress over his lower face. By chance Aristide passed by Ashtra, who was struggling to lift her heavy water bag to its place on her palfrey’s saddlebow.
“Permit me, madam,” he said. He performed the task, bowed, and departed, his senses alert in case she called him back.
She didn’t. He walked on.
The caravan, big as a small army, didn’t actually get under way for another three turns of the glass. Once it moved, it moved slowly. The guards were mounted on horses, bipedal lizards, or the red six-legged lizards that moved with a side-to-side motion, like giant snakes. The lizards were cold-blooded, but in the high desert, beneath an unmoving sun, that scarcely mattered.
The others in the caravan rode horses or Bactrian camels, mules, or asses. There was one African forest elephant. Their carts and wagons were drawn by oxen, horses, or ridge-backed dinosaurs. No small number proceeded on foot, sometimes accompanied by a dog pulling a travoise.
Aristide had his own difficulties, in that his new horse was afraid of his cat, snorting and backing away whenever Bitsy approached. It was an unfortunate fact that many animals disliked Bitsy—perhaps she didn’t smell right—and in the end Aristide had to hide her, making her a nest on the saddle blanket behind the high cantle of his saddle, where the horse couldn’t see her. The horse still scented her from time to time, snorted, and gave a nervous look backward, but these alarms only increased its desire to move faster along the trail.
Nadeer and the other leaders worked in a desperate fury to get the huge convoy ordered and to move them at a steady pace. A huge cloud of dust rose above the column and turned the sun red.
“The bandits will see this for fifty leagues,” Grax said, as he and Aristide rode ahead of the column. “We may as well have let the spy live.”
“He won’t be able to tell them how we’re organized.”
Grax showed tombstone teeth. “We’re organized?”
The caravan only made five leagues before Nadeer called a halt, but at least the day was useful as a shakedown. The guards had got used to working with one another and had developed a system for scouting ahead. As the caravan laagered, as guards were posted, the last of the dust drifted away on the wind, and the curses of the drovers and the captains and one large, green ogre echoed through the camp, Aristide thought that perhaps the little army had done better than Nadeer knew.
The glasses turned sixteen times before the trumpets blared again, and the vast column heaved itself onto its feet and began its trek. Everyone had got practice by now, and though the caravan didn’t move appreciably faster, it was more orderly and better behaved. The guards were efficient, organized into an advance guard, flankers, and a rear guard that complained of wandering in the dust. Patrols regularly trotted ahead to the next hill, or rocky outcrop, to make certain no ambush was lurking therein.
The principle delays occurred at water holes. It took hours to water the animals.
The terrain grew rougher and began to descend. Each hill gave a broader view than the one before it, though the farthest views were always hidden by heat haze.
After eight or nine leagues the group came upon a battlefield, the water hole where the bandits had routed three caravans and their sixty guards. Dead animals and bodies lay in the sun amid broken wagons, flesh turning to leather, lips snarling back from teeth. It looked as if the caravans had been attacked when in camp, their tents strewn across a valley floor in no particular order.
“A lesson in forming a proper laager,” Aristide told Nadeer. But Nadeer was busy shouting down those who wanted to stop and give the bodies a proper burial.
“Do you want to join them in death?” Nadeer demanded. “Our lives depend on moving quickly through this place!”
Nadeer lost the argument, chiefly because the convoy took so long to rewater that there was time for the burials anyway.
The caravan rolled on. Halfway to the next water hole Nadeer called a halt, and the laager was formed by grim-faced drovers who made sure their weapons were within easy reach. Aristide wandered through camp until he found Ashtra. He observed her as she brewed tea over a paraffin lamp. She was in the company of a family moving to Gundapur, the father, a pregnant mother, and three children traveling in a two-wheeled cart. They were sharing their bread and dried fruit with her.
Aristide watched for a few moments, then left unobserved.
The next watering hole was a spring that chuckled from the foot of a great slab of basalt that towered over the little dell like a slumbering giant. Guarding the source of water was a deserted military fort, its tumbled walls having been breached at some point in the dim past. A black and unnaturally flawless menhir stood above the empty Pool of Life. Though the gates had long since been burned for firewood, the fort nevertheless provided more protection than the open desert for the most vulnerable members of the caravan.
The next march took them along the watercourse from the dell. The spring water was absorbed by the ground before the convoy had gone very far, but the dry watercourse was full of scrub that testified to the presence of water below the surface. The watercourse widened in time into the Vale of Cashdan, the great zigzag slash in the wall of the plateau that led down to the plains of Gundapur. White birds floated far below, like snowflakes drifting in the wind. Crags crowned with trees loomed above the narrow caravan route that wound through green patches of mountain grazing. The blue of a stream was barely visible before the Vale vanished into a huge floor of brilliant white cloud that stretched to the far horizon. Never would the convoy again be without water.
Aristide stood with the captains on the edge of a precipice overlooking the Vale, peering down and pondering their options.
“At least we no longer have to worry about a mounted charge over flat ground,” Eudoxia said, her blue arms crossed on her chest. “I was troubled the whole body of them would charge in and cut us in half—they would have wrought such havoc that we might not have recovered our balance.”
“Now we’re going to have to worry about people rolling rocks on us,” Aristide said.
“Ay,” said Nadeer. His single eye glittered. “Like those fellows over there.”
“Where?” Scanning the jagged walls of the valley ahead.
Nadeer bent and picked up a rock the size of Eudoxia’s head. He hefted it for a moment in one green-skinned hand, then reared back and pitched the rock up into the gray sky. They all watched as it fell onto a granite pinnacle two hundred paces distant. There was a thud, and a cry, and a clatter as of a weapon dropped over the edge.
“Good shot!” said Grax, impressed rather in spite of himself.
“There’s one more.” Nadeer chose another rock, hurled it. There was a clang, and then they saw a body pitch off the crag, landing some thirty paces below.
Aristide looked at the ogre. “Your depth perception,” he said, “is better than I expected.”
Nadeer dusted his hands. Aristide turned his attention once more to the valley below.
“We’re going to have to keep them from getting above us,” he said. “May I suggest small parties to secure each height before the main body arrives?”
They grumbled about that, and Grax pointed out that his Free Companions were mounted soldiers, not mountain goats. But in the end they worked out an arrangement, much as Aristide had suggested, and the convoy again began to advance.
Hours passed slowly b
efore every beast and cart at last began the precarious descent into the Vale, and then finally a rest halt was called with the convoy stretched along the headwaters of the Cashdan River, with every beast and every person within easy reach of water. It was impossible to laager, because there was no single place level enough to hold the entire body. On the other hand the possibilities of attack were severely limited, and the air was fresh and cool. Dry tongues, dry skins, rejoiced.
The convoy continued its slow crawl down the escarpment, crossing and recrossing a river that grew louder and swifter as streams running in from the side canyons contributed more water. Two horses and a lizard were swept away, but their riders were saved. The clouds fled and the green hills of Gundapur, full of vines and the shimmer of olive trees, were now visible below them. The silver river cast its loops back and forth across the fields, with the sultan’s road a straight brown line across it.
Two more rest stops had been called before the caravan ran into trouble. One of the advance parties, sent to secure a ridge above the track, was repelled by a shower of arrows and rocks. Nothing daunted, Nadeer reinforced the party and tried again. Advancing under the cover of their own archers, and aided by Nadeer’s remarkable throwing arm, the party pushed the bandits off the ridge and onto another fold of higher ground beyond, where they remained, watching and jeering.
The engagement was over by the time Aristide arrived. He had been in the middle of the convoy when the fight broke out, helping one of the immigrants with the repair of his cart, and by the time he managed to ride to the head of the column, threading between carts and camels, the fight was over. He left his horse under the care of one of Grax’s lieutenants and scrambled up the ridge, where he was in time to dissuade Nadeer from launching another attack on the enemy survivors.
“They can always retreat to the next ridge beyond,” he pointed out. “And they know this country better than we do. You could run into an ambush.”
“Wretched bags of rat piss!” Nadeer lisped, referring no doubt to the bandits.
An arrow protruded from one shoulder, where it had penetrated his armor but failed to pierce his hide. He wrenched it out with a petulant gesture.
“I want them crushed!” he said.
“You’ll get your chance soon, I think,” Aristide said. “I expect there will be more of them. These were intended to attack us in flank when the main body hit us somewhere else.”
Nadeer’s single eye turned to him. “Are you certain of this?”
“No. I claim no more than the average amount of precognition. But it’s logical—these weren’t numerous enough to fight our whole force.”
Nadeer glared at the bandits on the next ridge. “If we move on, it will leave them behind us.”
“We want them all behind us.”
Nadeer gnashed his tusks for a few moments, then told half of the guards to hold the ridge until the convoy had passed and the rest to rejoin the advance guard. The caravan continued its slow crawl down the valley. Five turns of the glass later—as the rear guard passed the ridge where the skirmish with the bandits had taken place—scouts reported that the road ahead was blocked by a substantial force.
Aristide joined the captains as they viewed the enemy. From where they stood at the head of the column, the track descended and broadened into the base of a side canyon and was cut by a stream that joined the Cashdan; then the track rose for two hundred paces and narrowed to a pass twenty paces wide, with the river thundering past on the right. This pass had been blocked with a wall of stones, and behind the stones the dark forms of bandits milled in large numbers. More bandits perched on the rocks above, armed with bows.
“The group on the ridge were to attack our rear when this group encountered our advance guard,” Aristide said. “They meant to panic us.” He scratched his chin. “I wonder if this group knows we drove the others off their position. If so, we might draw them out by feigning panic.”
“A formidable position,” Eudoxia said. “They chose well.” “Our people will be better fighters,” said Aristide. “Criminals are by nature a superstitious and cowardly lot, and few choose their profession because of a love of military discipline or order.” “The same might be said of caravan guards,” Grax pointed out. “If your people need heartening, you could point out that if they don’t win this fight, they’ll be sacrificed to evil gods.”
Grax looked at him in astonishment. “That’s supposed to make them feel better?”
Aristide shrugged. “Perhaps it’s best to show that the enemy are, after all, mortal. Why don’t I dispose of a bandit or two and thus raise morale?”
Eudoxia looked at him. “How do you plan to do that?” “Walk up and challenge them. Grax, you should charge them the second I dispatch an enemy. Nadeer, may I advise you to personally lead the attack on the rocky shoulder above the pass? It’s the key to the position.”
Nadeer looked a little put out. “It’s true I’m not much use in a mounted charge,” he admitted. “But why don’t I challenge them to single combat?”
“For the simple reason,” said Aristide, “that no one would dare to fight Nadeer the Peerless.”
Nadeer considered this, then brightened. “Very true,” he said. He reared to his full height. “I shall lead the attack up the rocks, as you suggest.”
Aristide dismounted and performed a few stretching and limbering exercises while the captains gathered their forces and arranged their assault. “One last thing,” he said when they were ready. “Remember to capture a few prisoners. We want them to lead us to the Venger’s Temple and the loot taken from all those caravans.”
“Indeed,” said Nadeer, brightening even more.
Aristide took an arrow from one of the caravan guards, stuck a white headcloth on it, and began his walk toward the bandits. He paused after a few steps, then turned and said, “Look after my cat, will you?”
He walked down the slope to the mountain freshet, waded through ankle-deep water, and began the walk upslope to the improvised wall. He stopped a hundred paces from the wall and called out over the sound of the rushing water.
“While my colleagues are working out what to do next,” he said, “I thought to relieve your boredom, and come out to challenge your bravest fighter to single combat.”
Among the bandits there was a general muttering, followed by jeers and scornful laughter.
“No takers?” Aristide called.
Someone behind the barrier threw a rock. Whoever threw it was no Nadeer. Aristide stepped to the side and let the rock clatter on the stones. He waited for the laughter to subside.
“I’m disappointed that there’s no one among you with courage,” Aristide said. “It will make it all the easier for us to slaughter you.”
In response came more laughter, some obscene suggestions, and a few more rocks.
“Just,” Aristide said casually, “as we slaughtered those friends of yours, up there on the ridge a few leagues back. They’re lying on the rocks for the vultures to peck at. Surely one of you had a friend among them, and now possesses a burning desire to avenge his life?”
“J do,” said a voice. The figure that jumped on the barrier was vast, gray-skinned, and female. She was as large as Grax and had an additional pair of arms: the upper pair carried two throwing spears, the lower an ax and a target shield with a spike in the center. Her grin revealed teeth like harrows. She stood on the barrier, acknowledging the cheers of the bandit force.
“You present a formidable appearance, madam,” said Aristide. “Perhaps you will make a worthy opponent.”
“Perhaps?” the troll demanded. She jumped down from the barrier and advanced. Chain skirts rang under armor of boiled leather. Her crude iron helm was ornamented with horns and a human skull. Cheers and laughter echoed from the bandits. She advanced fifty paces and then halted. She paused and said, in a theatrical voice, “Prepare to meet thy doom.”
“You first,” Aristide suggested, and tossed the arrow with its white rag to the side.
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br /> The troll crouched and came on, preceded by a wave of body odor. The upper arms held the two spears, which she declined to throw, instead reserving them as thrusting weapons. The ax clashed on the shield.
In a single motion, Aristide drew Tecmessa. The sword flashed beneath the dim sun.
There was a sudden crack, as of thunder, that echoed off the rocks. Observers had an impression that something had twisted into existence, then out of it, too fast for the eye quite to follow. A wave of air blew out toward the bandits, visible as swirls of dust in the air.
Of the troll, there was no sign.
Silence fell upon shocked ears.
“ Uh-oh” said a bandit clearly, in the sudden stillness.
Aristide whirled his sword up, then down, in an impatient Come-on-let’s-ckarge motion that he hoped would remind the caravan guards of what they were supposed to be doing at this moment.
“Anyone else care to fight?” he asked.
Arrows whirred down from above. Tecmessa’s point rotated slightly, there was another crack and a blast of wind, and the arrows vanished.
“Anyone else?” the swordsman called.
There was a deep-voiced bellow behind Aristide, and then shouts, the clatter of armor, and the rush of feet. Apparently Nadeer had finally remembered his assigned role.
“Oh well,” Aristide said, “if you won’t come to me ...”
Aristide began trotting forward at a pace calculated to bring him to the barrier about the same time as Grax and his Free Companions. He didn’t want to get trampled by his own side, but neither was it wise to face the whole body of the enemy at once—Tecmessa’s powers had their limits. The sword was held in both hands, the point moving in a circle.
More arrows came. More arrows disappeared in claps of thunder and whirls of dust.
Behind him, Aristide heard the sound of animals splashing through the shallow freshet, and increased his pace.
The stone barrier was breast-high, topped by ranks of spears and figures in helmets. As the swordsman approached, the bandits in front shrank back, while those in the rear—who hadn’t seen what had occurred—pressed forward. There was an incoherent shouting and a rattle of spears, sure signs that the morale of the bandits was not what it had been.
Alien Crimes Page 39
