The Last King's Amulet pof-1

by Chris Northern

  “One day my family will be able to look back on seven hundred years of family history, just as you can.”

  “I am sure you are right,” of course his descendants could never trace their people back to our founders and three generations before as I could, “and I am sure they will be proud of you and your efforts on their behalf.”

  “If I don't make patron status one of my sons will.”

  “Pray for lucrative wars, and successful generals!” I laughed.

  “I do!”

  “Unfortunate that this isn't going to be one of them.”

  He shrugged. “There will be booty. Even ten slaves is a thousand, and half as much or more in loot. Not bad for what will likely be one or two small-scale battles.”

  I had to agree. Two months, maybe a little more. It is not the stuff fortunes are made of but there would be returns for what was a fairly minimal amount of risk and time. I asked about his estates and he was glad to tell me; two large farms, a factory and a warehouse from which a couple of wagons supplied a haulage and storage service. I tuned out as he went into detail, surveying our surroundings just as, to be fair, he was also doing. We were well past the Modrasin hills. The lands we were traveling through were mainly flat with the occasional hill. To describe such terrain as flatland conveys the wrong impression, one could rarely see the horizon due to gentle undulations in the landscape. There were also some woodlands dotted about, but on the main visibility was good. We were coming close to a ripple in the terrain that would drop visibility to a hundred yards. Without discussion we turned that way and kicked the horses into a canter. There was no more talk as we concentrated on the path we were taking. No one wants a spill from horseback or to lose the value of the animal. But the ground was hard and dry, the low scrub sparse and it was easy enough to steer around any potential hazard. Before long we were climbing, the horses putting in more effort as we urged them on. As we breasted the rise I stood in the saddle and gave a signal as an instinctive reaction. Less than two hundred yards away, a band of armed men were making their way in loose formation toward us.

  I divided my attention between the potential enemy and the next pair of horsemen back down the line. One split off at once, heading for the main body of the army. He didn't know what he was reporting in detail but the army would stop and prepare for anything. The other signaled back down the line and, when sure he had been seen, headed our way as fast as the terrain allowed. At the same time the men who were making toward us hesitated in a disorganized ripple, then responded to an order and came to a halt.

  “What do you think?”

  “Too early to be sure.” I started scanning the terrain all around as far as I could see, checking for any other threat. Yebratt was doing the same and, like me, also glancing at the armed band to see what they did next.

  The sound of a horse pounding up the hill behind us, all powerful breaths and drumming hooves, did not distract either of us from our vigil. In the distance we could hear the march of the army, dull pounding of boots on stone.

  After a brief consultation two men broke away from the armed band and began to move our way. They set a medium pace, purposeful but not hurried.

  “They mean to talk.”

  I shrugged. “If they have the password, all well and good.”

  Our man joined us. He took in the situation but said nothing. I could hear more horses coming our way and now an occasional cry as orders began to be passed through the main army. I loosened my sword in its scabbard, making sure it would free cleanly at need, though I intended that we withdraw if the band moved our way. There would be only nineteen of us, assuming all my command had reached me. I resisted the urge to glance back; the rest of the tactical situation wasn't my business right now. Even if there were other units closing in, these hundred men in front of me were what I had to deal with one way or another.

  When the next pair joined us I instructed them to hold this position unless threatened and passed control of the whole group to Yebratt. Taking one man with me I went to meet the two soldiers who were making their way forward. A hundred yards has never seemed like such a distance. As they had started moving first we arrived at a position where we were close enough to hail each other at about the mid way mark and here I halted and called out to them to identify themselves.

  “Rastrian Bacht, bringing my unit to Tulian Dural Verrans at his order.”

  “Give me the password.”

  “Raspberries!”

  I felt a chill in my stomach. “Say again!”

  He raised his voice. “Raspberries!”

  We were close, maybe only thirty feet between us. The rest of his band hadn't moved. They looked pretty relaxed. They were not in formation, but spread out and clustered as they saw fit. Quite a few of them weren't even looking our way. I made a decision and acted on it at once, kicking loose of my stirrups, I slid down to the ground and tossed the reins to my companion. “Don't do a damn thing unless I head back at a run.”

  Rastrian Bacht was watching me. He knew something was wrong, maybe from the worried look on my companion's face. He stood with his hands ostentatiously away from his weapons and then began to move forward as I did. I watched his face as we closed the distance between us. Puzzled but hiding it, wary but relaxed. By his dress and armor he was not a man of the city. The short sword at his side was curved with the blade on the inside of the curve, a chopping weapon, not the straight blades or sabers we favor. His dark hair was bound back with a leather thong and he wore no helmet and carried no shield. I could see the others were more or less the same, no two identical. They were foreign mercenaries for certain. We stopped walking at a comfortable distance, close enough so that we didn't have to raise our voices.

  “That is not the password I have, Rastrian Bacht.”

  He didn't look too concerned. “I guessed something was wrong. This is the twelfth, isn't it?”

  “I think we can agree on that.”

  “So yesterday's password was Thistle.”

  I didn't concede the point. “The fact remains that your password is incorrect, so I can't let you pass right now, Rastrian Bacht. Still, I'm guessing there has just been a cock-up here and that you are expected, so let's you and me go down to the main army and you can present yourself to Tulian Verrans; if he knows you, all well and good.”

  “There's quite a force gathering at your back.”

  “I can see your men starting to pay attention. Best reassure them or this could get ugly.”

  He turned at once and called to his men. “Stand easy, lads!” He turned back to me. “Your turn.”

  I turned and saw that thirty riders were bunched at the top of the rise, with more arriving even as I watched. I raised my hand and waved them back.

  “Coming?”

  He grinned. “Surely. But let's each go talk to our men first, eh? Like you said. This could get ugly.”

  I agreed. “Embarrassing at the least.”

  Without another word we walked away from each other. My back itched all the way back to where my man was waiting with my horse. Rastrian Bacht had a spring steel crossbow on his back. And as soon as I'd seen it I'd looked for others and seen that all of his men carried similar weapons. I was sure that Gatren Teciba Orans had given me the wrong password. I was also sure that he had done so deliberately. Still, I could be wrong. I could get a quarrel in the back any moment. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. My man was watching the crossbowmen intently.

  “Relax,” I told him as I swung into the saddle.

  “Ours, sir?”

  “Pretty sure of it. I'll need your horse in a moment.”

  We rode back to the main group, most of which had dropped back out of sight. Yebratt and the rest of my unit were waiting in a single line, ready to react either way. Someone else was with him, one of the commanders whose name I had not caught. I berated myself for that. I should know and I didn't. He sat his mount to one side, observing the crossbowmen but didn't acknowledge me, so for the moment I ignored
him.

  “Problem?” Yebratt said.

  “Wrong password. I'm taking their captain in to meet the commander and sort it out. I think they are ours. But keep an eye. I'll get some of them,” I gestured down slope to the hundred or so cavalry who were now gathered there, “to get out and scout, just in case. You stay put and watch them.” I'd pitched my voice so that the commander could hear what I had in mind, and was watching him as I spoke. He glanced at me and nodded when I was done, informed me that he would take care of the scouts, then turned his mount and rode back down the slope. So, Tulian would know what was going on before I got there. I hoped he approved. I was going to catch shit any way it turned out but worse if I made what he considered an error in the meantime.

  I took the spare mount back with me to meet Rastrian Bacht at the mid point, watching his men as I did so. They were pretty much the same as before, but conversation had stopped and they were all looking my way now. He came alone, mounted without a word, and we rode side by side back toward my men.

  “You don't carry tower shields,” I commented, making it a question.

  “I requested that Tulian Dural Verrans buy enough for my men and bring them with the baggage train. It's a pain to carry them on foot, you understand.” He had used Tul's full name again, making it clear that he knew exactly who he was.

  I imagined carrying a tower shield and guessed it would be a pain. “And you traveled cross country because…?”

  He grinned at me. “Best route from where we were. Pretty good calculation, eh?”

  I thought about it. Actually it was, depending on where they had come from. I would, now I thought about it, have expected them to hit the road either ahead or behind us. I thought about it some more. “You have a sorcerer with you.”

  “Shaman, he calls himself. From the south.”

  We passed through my men and over the ridge. Things had changed. The equestes had split into two groups, now each a hundred strong, and were well to the left and right of the place where we crossed the ridge and headed down toward the army. Another cavalry unit of maybe twenty men was making its way out from the main body. The army had stopped and formed up either side of the road facing both ways, ready for anything. It was an impressive sight, the men as still as statues, the light breeze moving the grasses around them and the occasional shadow of a cloud passing over them contrasting with their own lack of movement. We made our way down the slope at no great speed. I didn't want anyone getting edgy, best to keep things slow and smooth. The small group of equestes changed their line a little and I could see the commander's banner among them. Thinking things through as I rode, I knew my reputation was going to suffer. I'd got the password wrong and there were only two people who knew I had been fed the wrong information. His word against mine. I hadn't realized our first meeting, where I had almost invited him to duel, had stuck in his craw that much; but I should have. We are a prickly lot, our personal and family honor and dignity precious commodities. There was still a chance I was wrong but I doubted it. I was bloody furious and he would pay, but I held that at arm's length. Be professional and do the job. Take the lumps. State the case and leave it.

  I pulled rein when we had closed with the commander's troop and they did the same, spreading around us. Gatren Teciba Orans was with the commander, his face too carefully neutral. I found myself facing Tul and went for it.

  “Sir, this is Rastrian Bacht, captain of a company of crossbowmen whom he claims are here at your request. There is some confusion over the password and I felt it better to be safe than sorry.”

  Tul took this in calmly, nothing showing on his face. “The confusion over the password?”

  “Your aide gave me the password Strawberries at this mornings staff meeting. Rastrian Bacht gave the password as Raspberries.”

  Tul turned to his aide. “Is this true?”

  “No, sir. I gave the correct password. Raspberries. Sumto must have misheard me, or misremembered.”

  “Well?”

  “I would thank your aide to use my rank when speaking of me and there is nothing wrong with my hearing or my memory, sir.”

  I could see him decide to let it drop. “I will speak with both of you about this in camp this evening.” He turned his attention to the crossbowman. “Rastrian, well met. Bring your men in. Sumto, go with him and keep them for now.”

  Gatren's eyes and mouth opened in surprise as though he were about to protest but caught himself in time. I was right, he'd lied to set me up for a fall and he was going to pay. For just a moment I watched the anger on his face, but not directly, I didn't want anyone to see that I was pleased by his reaction, then I saluted and obeyed my orders. Ha!

  I could not suppress my grin of joy as I rode away, Rastrian at my side.

  Behind me Tul was issuing commands and his staff broke up to obey, riders heading off in various directions at fair speed.

  “So, commander, what's got you happy? Pleased to be my boss?”

  “Pleased enough,” I said. “How many are you exactly and what is your command structure?”

  I listened attentively as he told me. In brief I gave him back the same information he'd just given me and asked for confirmation. There is nothing wrong with my memory. It occurred to me that Tul would know that. He was my cousin. Families talk about other family members. Hell, the whole class of patrons were almost all related on some level. Gatren had clearly just listened to the negative gossip and not the few gems that would have saved him from being on the losing end here. Sumto speaks several languages, is a scholar, has a remarkable memory; all he had heard was Sumto is a drunk, shirks his responsibilities, refuses military service on any thin pretext that comes to mind, is a bad debtor… I stopped myself there; the negative list was getting too long for comfort.

  It completely slipped my mind to talk to my new men. I put it down to a mixture of relief and triumph.

  15

  The next day the army picked up the pace to a forced march. Our men and horses were good for it but my new command was suffering. There were a hundred and twelve men of varying ages and from a range of lands. The most striking of them was an old, dark skinned man who wore no armor, his only visible weapon a stout staff. His clothing was mismatched and brightly colored, including bright yellow trousers and a shocking pink headband, the back of which was tied intricately into hair that had matted into several clumps which hung down his back. He dropped out early and I sent a man to find out why. The message came back that he could not possibly keep up the pace.

  “He is demanding a horse. Not asking, sir. Demanding, like I was a servant.”

  I thought about it and then arranged one for him and another for Rastrian and had them join me at the back of their troop. I rode at the back so that I could see how they were holding up and also see if anyone dropped out, as the old man had.

  Rastrian took his horse with gratitude and fell in with me and my original command of six. The old man in the bright clothing did the same with an arrogant assumption that he would be welcome that I had to admire. They both rode well enough that I didn't feel I had to worry about them.

  “You must be the Shaman.”

  The old man turned his face to me, utterly without expression. His eyes were the same. It was like there was no one behind them. He didn't answer at once. If he had not turned to face me I would have thought he didn't know I was there.

  “I am Dubaku, Shaman to the Urindu.”

  I gave him my name and position. For some reason he demanded my respect on a level I couldn't quite define. I have met kings and felt less need to show them any respect.

  “You're a priest, then?”

  He tutted in disapproval and turned away. No, I corrected myself. He had said something. I reproduced the sound and he turned back to me, laughing openly, though none of his facial expression touched his eyes, which I thought was a neat trick.

  “What does it mean?” I made the noise again.

  He didn't hesitate. “Idiot.”

&
nbsp; “Exactly that?”

  “You could say callow, young, ignorant. Same thing.” He said something else, mostly clicks and plosives and I repeated it exactly.

  “You are a mimic.”

  “No. I'm just good with languages. What did that mean?”

  “A Shaman is not a rapist.”

  I said it again, to make sure I had it. “And priests are?”

  “They take spirits of their followers, binding them in life and warping them in death to serve as tools without minds or will. A Shaman touches the spirits of his own ancestors, and sometimes others, and asks those with ability for aid which they sometimes give.”

  We of the city are not much interested in religion. The fact that there was some form of existence after death was well known and considered indisputable. Our philosophy teaches that life is for the living and death for the dead. The dead seem to feel the same way about it, revealing nothing of whatever their experience might be. I had not made any study of foreign practices, though I knew that priests could summon spirits that each had a power or ability. My ancestors had slaughtered many such and destroyed many temples. Most of the sacred writings were also burned. We do not like rivals, and priests were rivals to our sorcery. Individuals we now tended to leave alone as curiosities, but any attempt to preach or propagate a faith would still be mercilessly put down.

  “I see the distinction.”

  He looked away from me. It was so clearly a dismissal that I almost laughed aloud at his arrogance. What was he, a patron? I took no offense. I liked him. And I wanted to learn his language while the opportunity was there. I have a thirst for learning that is just fundamentally part of my make-up.