The dread gnawed at him, but Kylon could do nothing about it. All his attention was needed here. Even if the Huntress was hundreds of miles away, this battle still hung in the balance.
That, and Rhataban might kill the leadership of the army himself. He was as lethal as the Huntress, and Kylon had defeated the Master Alchemist through luck during their first encounter. He knew better than to trust to luck for their second fight.
Kylon spotted Strabane striding towards Tanzir’s banner, flanked by a dozen of his Kaltari warriors, the skulls hanging from their belts clicking and tapping as they walked. Kylon ran to join them, and Strabane raised his hand in greeting.
“Lord Kylon!” called Strabane. “Come join us! We shall soon have fighting enough, and the Kaltari would be pleased to fight alongside you.”
“I need to remain near the prince and the emir,” said Kylon, “if the Huntress comes for them.”
“Or Rhataban,” said Strabane. “That man could win the battle on his own.”
“Aye,” said Kylon.
Strabane grunted. “Unless you kill him first.”
“Or he kills me first,” said Kylon.
Strabane laughed. “Maybe, maybe. Battles make everything simple, do they not? Kill or be killed.”
“The drums,” said Kylon. “We’ve seen the Grand Wazir’s army?”
“I assume so,” said Strabane. “We’ll know soon enough.” Again Tanzir’s drums boomed out. “That’s the call for battle assembly. The emir wouldn’t call for battle assembly unless we saw the enemy.”
“Bad place for it,” said Kylon. The Trabazon steppes were mostly flat, but here and there wide ravines marked the plains. Last night the rebel army had camped alongside one of those ravines, a deep V-shaped gash in the earth, its sides lined with weathered boulders. That kept any enemies from approaching the army from the west, but it also meant a clever commander could pin the rebels against that ravine. Erghulan Amirasku did not seem that clever.
Maybe Rhataban was.
Strabane shrugged, and they reached the heart of the camp. As before, Tanzir and Sulaman and the chief captains of the host had placed their tents upon a low hill. With the flat plains around them, it commanded an excellent view. From the hill’s top Kylon saw the army arranging itself battle. The Kaltari warriors and the southern militia formed up in the center, bristling with sword and spear and shield. Before them waited the tribes of Istarish nomads upon their horses, short bows ready. On the left and the right wings gathered the heavy horsemen, the guards of the emirs themselves and the mercenary companies Tanzir had hired. Most of Kylon’s experience of war had been aboard ships, but he saw Tanzir’s and Nasser’s plan well enough. The Istarish skirmishers would draw the enemy in, and the Kaltari and the footmen would meet them. Once the enemy footmen had committed, the heavy horse could charge and break their lines. It was a good plan, and Kylon saw Nasser’s and Martin’s hands in it.
A good plan…but only if the enemy cooperated.
Kylon doubted that the Grand Wazir would oblige.
To the north, perhaps three miles away, he saw the advancing mass of the Grand Wazir’s army. At this distance the masses of troops were indistinct blurs, but Kylon picked out their formations. The Immortals massed in the center, thousands of them. Behind them came lighter infantry in spiked helmets and chain mail, veterans from Istarinmul’s wars who had remained loyal to the Grand Wazir. On either side of the infantry waited wings of heavy horsemen, emirs and their personal guards, armed with spear and lance and sword.
It was a formidable force, but the activity behind it concerned Kylon even more.
The Grand Wazir’s engineers were constructing catapults. That in itself was not alarming. Catapults were a danger, but they were difficult to aim and in the fluid conditions of a battle, were as much a danger to their own men as to the enemy. Yet Kylon had seen the Grand Wazir’s men pulling carts of Hellfire, and Tibraim’s scouts had spotted hundreds of amphorae of Hellfire in the Grand Wazir’s supply train, all of it guarded by Immortals and Alchemists. That much Hellfire, unleashed at a charging army, could decide the battle. Tanzir’s army had a smaller supply of Hellfire, stolen from the fortresses in southern Istarinmul, but the rebels had planned to hold it in reserve for the siege of the city.
Without the Hellfire engines, Kylon thought Tanzir’s army had a solid chance of defeating the Grand Wazir. But with those engines in the mix…
He shook his head and followed Strabane to the emir’s banner. Tanzir Shahan stood there, wearing his armor, not far from Sulaman and Mazyan. Gathered around them was Nasser, Laertes, Lord Martin, Lady Claudia, Kazravid, Shopur, and the other chief commanders of the army.
“My lord headman,” said Tanzir. “Thank you for coming.”
Strabane grunted. “I wouldn’t want to miss a fight.”
“It seems,” said Nasser, calm as ever, “that the enemy stole a march on us. Likely the Grand Wazir marched his troops through the night, and formed up in battle array once the scouts spotted us.”
“At least his troops will be tired from the march,” said Kazravid, “and ours shall be fresh.”
“Hellfire doesn’t care if a man’s exhausted or wide-awake when it burns him,” said Strabane.
“It does not,” said Sulaman. “It is the most terrible weapon the Alchemists of the College ever devised. For it to be used against the sons of Istarinmul is grievous indeed.”
“But it seems to me,” said Tanzir, “that our enemy has made a mistake.”
“Oh?” said Nasser. “How so?”
“The catapults,” said Tanzir, waving an armored hand at the distant shapes. The enemy engineers had assembled six of the catapults, and Kylon saw carts of Hellfire amphorae waiting next to each of the siege engines. “Catapults like that have a limited range…ah…”
“For a missile the size of an amphora of Hellfire, about a mile or so, my lord,” said Laertes. “A shorter distance if they want to throw multiple amphorae at once. Likely they will.”
“In effect, they have pinned themselves in place with their weapons,” said Tanzir. “They will want to fight within range of them, so they can bring the Hellfire to bear against our men. That means we can be sure they will not venture more than a mile from their catapults, not unless we force them to do so.”
“I agree,” said Martin.
Kylon nodded, a little surprised. He had missed that himself, but Tanzir’s logic rang true. Caina had spoken well of Tanzir’s intellect, but Kylon had not been entirely convinced the emir’s talents extended to practical matters. It seemed that Caina’s judgment had been correct.
“How do you suggest we proceed, then?” said Sulaman.
“I am open to suggestions,” said Tanzir.
“It seems like the Grand Wazir is treating his catapults like a fortress,” said Strabane. “That means this is a siege. Send the Istarish nomads to harass them, and bands of Kaltari to raid them. We can move fast enough to escape and avoid the Hellfire engines, and sooner or later we will provoke the enemy into a rash response. Then we can take them.”
“Caution would be best, though,” said Nasser. “The Grand Wazir may be trying to lure us into a clever trap.”
Martin snorted. “The Grand Wazir isn’t that clever.”
“No, I fear he is not,” said Tanzir. “One of his advisors may be, though. Is he planning something sorcerous, perhaps?”
“I have not detected any spells from the army,” said Claudia. She had donned chain mail and leather armor over her riding gown. Kylon sensed irritation in her emotional sense, but she had to recognize the necessity of armor.
“Nor have I,” said Kylon.
“Very well,” said Tanzir, rubbing his jaw. He looked older for a moment. Kylon recognized that expression. He had ordered men to their deaths before, and he knew what it felt like. “Headman, your plan seems good to me, so we shall pursue it. Once the army has moved into battle formation, we shall select bands of Istarish nomads and Kaltari warriors t
o…”
“Wait,” said Kazravid. “My lord emir, they are doing something.”
A band of horsemen rode from the enemy lines, flanked by a score of Immortals. The lead rider flew the Padishah’s banner, and below that rippled the personal banner of Erghulan Amirasku, Grand Wazir of Istarinmul. One of the horsemen wore white armor, a brilliant white cloak streaming from his shoulders. Even from a distance, Kylon recognized the Master Alchemist Rhataban.
He also started to feel the malice of the nagataaru housed in the Master Alchemist’s flesh.
“I think,” said Martin, shielding his eyes, “I think that is Erghulan himself.”
One of the other horsemen raised a lance, and a white banner billowed from its end.
“A parley,” said Tanzir. “It seems that the Grand Wazir wishes to speak.”
“Come forth!” thundered a voice from the band of horsemen. The voice was faint, but audible. Likely Rhataban was using a spell to augment the herald’s voice. “Come forth! Erghulan Amirasku, Grand Wazir of Istarinmul and Captain of the Towers of the Sea, invites the emir Tanzir Shahan and his allies to come forth in parley. Your safety is guaranteed by the solemn oath of the Grand Wazir.”
For a moment no one said anything, and then the herald started to repeat his message.
“The solemn oath of the Grand Wazir,” said Kylon, “means nothing at all. He is Callatas’s puppet and nothing more. Likely Rhataban is holding his strings.”
“I know,” said Tanzir, face grim.
“Yet Lord Tanzir cannot refuse the invitation to parley,” said Nasser. “To do so would be an admission of cowardice.”
“It would also,” said Kylon, “but a perfect opportunity for the Red Huntress to strike.”
“I know,” said Tanzir, taking a deep breath. “Lord Kylon, I request that you accompany me to the parley. If the Red Huntress reveals herself, you are the one among us with the best chance of overcoming her.”
“I shall accompany you as well, with your permission,” said Nasser, and Laertes nodded. “The Huntress and I have crossed swords before.”
“And I, as well,” said Sulaman.
“Forgive me, lord prince, but is that wise?” said Tanzir.
“It’s not,” said Nasser at once. “Your presence, Prince Kutal Sulaman, provides legitimacy to this entire army If you are slain, we go from loyal men supporting the legitimate ruler of Istarinmul to a band of rebels rampaging through the countryside.”
“It is not wise,” said Sulaman, “but it is necessary. If I am to ask men to die fighting for me, then I cannot turn away from the same risk. That, and we have an advantage.” He gestured at Mazyan. “My Oath Shadow will accompany us. Both you and Lord Kylon have seen his prowess in combat. If the Huntress chooses this moment to strike, Mazyan’s aid may be invaluable.”
Kylon started to object, but fell silent. Sulaman had a point. Mazyan had carved his way through the Immortals at the Desert Maiden with ease. If Kylon was to fight the Huntress again, he would prefer to have both Mazyan and Nasser at his side.
Or if he had to fight Rhataban again, for that matter.
“Very well,” said Tanzir. “Strabane, Shopur. Choose an escort from your soldiers. We will meet the Grand Wazir, and see what he has to say.”
The escort assembled, and Tanzir, Sulaman, Mazyan, Nasser, and Laertes rode out from the army, Laertes holding a lance flying a white banner. A troop of Kaltari warriors and mercenary horsemen accompanied the captains, and Kylon walked alongside them, the valikon loose in its sheath. Tanzir had offered him a horse, but Kylon had turned it down. He fought better on his feet, and did not want to waste valuable seconds in the event of a fight.
Against foes like the Huntress and Rhataban, seconds made the difference between life and death.
They rode a mile and a half from the rebel army, stopping ten yards from the Grand Wazir’s embassy. Belatedly Kylon wondered if this had been a ruse to lure them within range of the Hellfire catapults, but the engines were too far away, and any shot of Hellfire would likely wipe out the Grand Wazir’s embassy.
Or, for that matter, the Grand Wazir himself.
Erghulan Amirasku sat astride his horse, glaring at them, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was in his late fifties, still fit and strong despite his age, with a hard face and a hooked nose than made him look like a hunting hawk. He wore elaborate plate armor, its edges silvered, a jeweled scimitar hanging at his belt, a velvet cloak thrown back from his shoulders. The armor looked expensive and ostentatious to the point of absurdity, and Kylon could just imagine the cutting observation Caina would have made.
He wished he could have heard it.
Next to the Grand Wazir waited Rhataban, helmet resting upon the horn of his saddle. It seemed the nagataaru had healed the damage Kylon had inflicted upon him. Rhataban’s black eyes fell upon Kylon, and for a moment a flicker of purple fire went through his gaze, the fury and rage of the nagataaru pulsing against Kylon’s senses.
He wondered if the Grand Wazir knew of Callatas’s plans. He wondered if Erghulan would have cared if he knew.
The two embassies stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak first.
At last Tanzir cleared his throat. “We are here at your invitation, Grand Wazir. I assume you have something you wish to say?”
“Well, well,” said Erghulan. “It is quite the collection of rabble you convinced to join your little ill-advised rebellion, Tanzir. Anshani mercenaries, Kaltari hillmen,” his eyes flicked over Kylon and Nasser, “along with an exiled Kyracian failure and a wanted criminal. Such powerful allies. And…”
Erghulan saw Sulaman, and he fell silent.
“Grand Wazir Erghulan,” said Sulaman, his voice calm and clear. “It has been a long time.”
“What are you doing here?” said Erghulan. “Callatas said…” He drew himself up. “Prince Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon. You honor us with your presence.” He glared at Tanzir. “It seems you have fallen in with liars and rebels, my lord prince. Please, come with us, and we shall return you to Istarinmul and your rightful place in the Golden Palace.”
“There is no need,” said Sulaman. “Rather, I extend an invitation to you in turn.”
“Oh?” said Erghulan. “And what invitation is that?”
“Turn from this madness,” said Sulaman. “Abandon the Grand Master and join us. You have seen the ruin Callatas wrought upon Istarinmul. He murdered our subjects in his laboratories to produce his wraithblood…”
“Lies,” said Erghulan. “Tanzir has been telling you falsehoods.”
“He set the Slavers’ Brotherhood to kidnap the innocent and sell them illegally into slavery,” said Sulaman.
“More lies,” said Erghulan.
“And he allied with dark powers, selling Istarinmul to devils in exchange for a false dream of power,” said Sulaman. “You have aided him in his work, I know, and have been rewarded with power and prestige. Yet you are a noble of Istarinmul. You have seen firsthand Callatas’s evil, again and again and again. It is not too late. You can turn back.”
Erghulan snorted. “You think to defeat the Grand Master? He has given his support to your father the Padishah, and you rebel against the Most Divine Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon…”
“My father is either dead or a prisoner,” said Sulaman. “Callatas murdered my brothers, and only I remained free. You helped his crimes, but you can be free of him. Yes, I mean to defeat the Grand Master. I mean to kill him or drive him from Istarinmul. I mean to smash his wraithblood laboratories and undo every evil he has done. I mean to restore sound government and justice to Istarinmul so that our nation may flourish once more. It is not too late for you, Erghulan. Whatever hold Callatas has over you, whatever threats he has made, you can escape them and you can be free of him.”
Erghulan said nothing for a while.
“You truly think that you can defeat him?” said Erghulan. “You don’t know his power.”
“Grand Wazir,” said Rhataban, but Erg
hulan raised a hand, and the Master Alchemist fell silent.
“I mean to try,” said Sulaman. “No man can see the future. Not even I, with the gift of the Tarshahzon blood, can see the outcome of this battle. But it must be done. Istarinmul has bled in the Grand Master’s corrupt grip long enough. It is time for his misrule to end, and I mean to see his evil stopped. Your help would be welcome, Erghulan.”
For a long moment Erghulan said nothing, his emotional sense unsettled, and Kylon wondered if the Grand Wazir would actually do it.
Then scorn flooded his sense, and Erghulan laughed.
“Enough!” said Erghulan, sneering. “I have had enough of lies!”
“I agree,” said Sulaman calmly.
“You think I do not know the truth?” said Erghulan. “You think I am a mindless dupe of the Grand Master? Fool!” He struck his armored fist against his saddle horn, and his horse whinnied in distress. “I know everything! Who do you think forced the Brotherhood to sell him slaves? Who do you think hired the Kindred to work for him? Who do you think let him build wraithblood laboratories in the Widow’s Tower and the Craven’s Tower and a dozen other fortresses of the realm? Who do you think instructed the Teskilati to hunt down the Grand Master’s enemies and purge the Ghost circle form Istarinmul? I, Erghulan Amirasku, did these things, freely and of my own will!”
“Why?” said Sulaman, still calm. “Why did you commit such appalling crimes?”
Erghulan smiled. “For something no Padishah can provide. Immortality and power beyond imagination! When the Grand Master finishes his spell, he shall summon Kotuluk Iblis himself to this world. Those of us who have been the Grand Master’s loyal friends shall receive nagataaru spirits into our flesh,” he waved a hand at Rhataban, “and we shall rule over the rabble of mankind for all eternity as…”
Kylon burst out laughing. He could not stop himself.
“Do you find something amusing, Kyracian?” snapped Erghulan.
“You are a fool,” said Kylon. “Callatas will discard you the moment he has what he wants. Even if he is telling the truth, his plan will fail. You won’t become the immortal lords of mankind. The nagataaru will rampage across the face of the earth. Even if you survive, you’ll have nothing left to rule but ruins and bones.”
Ghost in the Pact Page 24
