The payload itself was of a much simpler design, but was the reason for all the effort expended upon creating the contraption from which it would be launched. It consisted of a leather sack containing several gallons of the stuff Slan had found seeping from the hills of his youth, surrounded by a tightly woven ball of dry grass or hay. The black tar had been brought from various locales in Valrie by his provisions details; the hay was supplied by the farmers of Basura, some of whom had perished in foolish defense of their own property.
Just before launching, the hay would be set on fire. Upon impact, the leather bags containing the flammable tar would burst, sending the stuff, now blazing, spewing in every direction. The barn that had been targeted in the last trial run had exploded into flame on the instant, and became an inferno within seconds of impact.
When his reinforcements arrived, Slan intended to assault the Basuran city to his front, to be sure, but first he meant to burn it to the ground.
Gazing at the distant walls through the glass, thinking of the conflagration and carnage to come, he smiled to himself once more.
55 .
Manon was startled when the bit of himself which had years before been implanted into his servant, Hurack Soroba, abruptly cried out to him across a great distance, seeking contact with its progenitor. It was lost, somewhere to the south, in Bracken, blindly seeking its way to him. Astonished that it was no longer part of his servant, and wondering about the causes for its abandonment, he reached out with his mind and guided it in, making it a part of him once more.
It had been a terrible blow to lose Vulgur, and now…
Soroba dead as well?
How?
Though the man had been but a temporary tool, to be used and then consumed when there was no further use to be made of him, Manon nonetheless felt a sense of loss. To lose him now was another set-back, for it deprived the grim lord of discovering exactly how the troublesome Aram had succeeded in destroying his eldest child. Further, Soroba had been his main contact with the increasingly recalcitrant land of Elam and its foolish High Prince.
Pondering this new development, tamping down the unease engendered by a lack of knowledge of what had caused it, pushing away the urge to surrender to fury; Manon decided that the course he had chosen to bring his plans to fruition must be implemented as soon as possible. Elam could wait. All the rest of the world could wait. For now, he must put an end to the difficulties presented by Joktan’s heir.
He must make the man come to him.
Making his way to the door high in his tower that opened toward the south, he opened it with a movement of his hand, and sent a thought out into the ether, summoning the great vulture, Bezathog. As it happened, the enormous bird was already very close, even then on its way to report to the Lord of the World.
Knowing the bird was near, Manon remained in the opening, gazing into the southwest, thinking how best to order the sequence of events. Within the hour, Bezathog came to hover in the air before the tower.
“You summoned me, master?”
“Where is the thing of the woman?” Manon demanded.
“It is even now in the possession of Kolgar, chief of the wolves of Vallenvale,” the bird replied.
“And he brings it to this tower with all due speed?”
“Yes, master,” the vulture answered. “I informed him myself of your wish that he come with dispatch.”
Manon looked back toward the southwest, considering alternatives, but in the end he decided that the wolf would be quick enough. He turned back to Bezathog. “Soroba is slain and therefore cannot tell me of Vulgur’s death. Go now; tell Kolgar that none else is to touch the thing he brings me, and to hasten. Then, go into the south, send out your spies, discover if you can why Soroba was slain – and find the truth of Vulgur’s destruction.”
The vulture stared. “Soroba is slain?”
With an effort, Manon masked his displeasure at Bezathog’s outburst. “I sent him into Elam by way of Aniza. You will discover the truth of his end somewhere along that road. Go yourself and find it – and learn what you may of Vulgur’s death. Go.”
The bird flapped its enormous wings, rising into the air. “At once, master.”
56.
After leaving General Kraine at Tobol, Aram rode eastward, letting Thaniel find the way while he closed his eyes and requested Alvern to repeat his description of the ground to the north, through which Aram would lead his small army in the pre-dawn darkness of the coming day. When they arrived at Sevas, he, Marcus, and Amund stopped at the great house while the others went on to rejoin the waiting army.
The gray-haired head of the House of Basura was waiting on the porch as if he hadn’t moved from that spot since they’d left him.
He peered anxiously at Aram as he came up. “What do you think, my lord?”
“General Kraine has done well in securing the defense,” Aram replied. “I would suggest to you that he be allowed to move the front line further to the west once the enemy has been driven away.”
“Once the enemy has been driven –?” Heglund’s eyes widened. “You think it will be so sure a thing, then?”
“We will hit them hard at dawn,” Aram responded shortly. “They will run, I assure you.”
“But they are so many,” Heglund stated. Though delivered as a sort of protestation, the older man’s tone was one of desperate hope.
“Yes, they are many,” Aram agreed. “But numbers matter little unless the armies be equal in experience. The two armies that will meet on the morrow are greatly unequal on that score. And we will not face the entire army at once, but rather a piece at a time, upon their flank. The enemy will run,” he repeated.
Heglund glanced at his son and then looked at Marcus before bringing his gaze back to Aram. “If it is as you say, then I do not know how we may reward you, my lord.”
Aram felt irritation rise in him at the suggestion that he might seek to be rewarded for his actions, and made to utter a reproach. Out of deference to the elderly man in front of him, however, he bit off his retort, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Sir,” he said. “When Rahm Imrid’s army is put to flight on the morrow, it is inevitable that he will be reduced. The political realities of this land will change. It may be that you will see the time come when the current High Prince may be deposed.” He glanced at Marcus and then continued. “There is a man here today, upon this very porch, who would fitly sit that throne. If ever you wish to do me a good deed, see to it that a friend sits upon the throne of Elam with the full support of the House of Basura.”
Here he let his eyes rest briefly upon Marcus again, and then turned his attention back to Heglund. Inclining his head slightly, he said, “By your leave, sir; I will now return to my men and prepare for the work that must be done on the morrow.”
Heglund was watching Marcus with an odd light in his eyes, a light that brightened further as he looked at Aram. Then he frowned as Aram’s words sank in. “Leave, my lord? But I had hoped that you might stay and sup with me. There is much I would like to discuss with you.”
“My apologies, sir,” answered Aram, “but the day wanes away and there is much to do. When the work before us is done, I will return and give you as much of my time as I can spare before I return into the east.”
Heglund bowed slightly. “Thank you, my lord. May the Maker grant you safety and success tomorrow.”
Taking his leave of Amund and Heglund, and granting Marcus one hour to see to his private business, Aram rode into the woods where more than eight hundred men plus horses and three hundred wolves rested in the deep shadows of the forest.
Calling his captains together, he told them of his intentions for the coming engagement and then instructed them to gather the men and horses in an amphitheater-like bowl beneath two enormous, spreading beeches that arced over a small meadow where another, even larger tree had gone down in some long-ago storm. Durlrang called in all the wolves to collect beneath the trees at the edg
e of the meadow. When all were gathered, Aram stood up on the trunk of the fallen tree and spoke to them.
“We will make camp in the forest this night and rise three hours before sun-up,” he stated. “Durlrang will let me know the hour. We will advance to the place of engagement in the dark hours. This is the reason why I had you practice dressing the horses in the dark. Each of you will armor his horse, and then dress into his own armor. The wolves will lead us north of the town and westward across the fields to the first river crossing, which is shallow and wide. We will ride two abreast. After the first crossing of the river we will swing to the northwest; then turn southward and come directly to the second crossing west of the city, beyond which we will find the enemy. The wolves will swim across first, under cover of darkness, in order to secure the far bank and neutralize any of the enemy that might be watching the river.
“When they have secured the southern bank, the rest of us will wait for light and then cross over, four abreast. Once on the south bank, Thaniel and I will position ourselves at the center of the assault line – the rest of you will line up to the left and right of us, four will go right and then the next four will go left until we are all on line. Findaen, Jonwood, Edwar, and Matibar will line up with the troops to my left. Boman, Wamlak, Nikolus, and Mallet will go with the troops to my right. At dawn, we attack.” Seeing a frown cross Boman’s face, he paused. “Yes, Governor?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord; but why wait for dawn to attack the enemy? Wouldn’t darkness aid in the surprise, and consequently to the value of the shock to him?”
“It would,” Aram agreed, “but there is, perhaps, one thing better. I want the sun to be up when we are on line, just before we attack,” Aram explained. “Every man will hold his lance at the vertical, so that the rising sun will glint on the tip. I want them to see us just before the assault begins. There are some things that are superior to surprise. I speak of fear.”
He looked around. “Understand – we will catch them by surprise upon their northern flank. I want them to see us and have time to become afraid, but not enough to prepare.”
At this explanation, Boman thought for a moment and then nodded, as did several of the others around him.
“We will lower our lances then,” Aram continued, “and go in hard and fast. As of this afternoon, they had not prepared any defensive works that I could see. They are confident in their superior numbers. Of course, they don’t know about us. And we will undoubtedly catch many of them in their beds. We should drive them from the field without much trouble.” He held up a cautionary hand. “I want no casualties on our side but neither do I want this to be a slaughter. If they run, let them run. If any find the courage to stand and fight – which I doubt – then employ your weapons without hesitation. I prefer that it not become a slaughter, but I want no casualties to our side, if at all possible,” he repeated.
“Is this the lot that we confronted in the spring?” Jonwood asked.
Aram nodded. “It is.”
“Then – and if they all run?” The stocky captain continued, a bit savagely. “We are to just let them go, without making a proper impression?”
As Aram frowned at the tenor of the question, Thaniel swung his head around. “What he means, my lord, is that we need to slay some of these people if we are to make them understand that their violent encroachment upon the lands of Prince Marcus’ friends is not acceptable.”
Aram looked down and thought for a long moment, before slowly nodding his head and meeting Jonwood’s fierce gaze. “I see what you mean, captain – and you are right. Some of them, in any event, deserve killing for the atrocities they have committed against the people of Basura. But I meant what I said about it not becoming a slaughter. Do not hesitate to kill, and once they run, we’ll give chase. But after a reasonable distance, we will let them go that they may run home and tell their tale to their prince. If any surrender, we will take them prisoner and turn them over to Basura for judgment. I want none killed simply for the sake of killing.”
When no one questioned this, he looked at Leorg, Shingka, and Padrik. “The cavalry will go first,” he said. “Durlrang will stay with me. As the horses attack, your people will follow, in a line deployed to our right and a little way behind. When the enemy runs, he will run toward his rear – to our right, and that is where you and your people will encounter them.” He held his hand up once more. “Kill any that resist, and take no casualties, if possible; but remember my words about slaughter.”
He lowered his hand and met the eyes of his captains. “I want the bulk of that army to survive. I may have need of it one day.”
Eyebrows were raised at this statement, and Edwar glanced at Findaen before asking, “My lord – you intend to fold Elam into your kingdom?”
Aram shook his head. “I intend that a friend sit upon the throne of that land,” he said simply.
He looked around slowly. “Are there any other questions?”
When there were none, he nodded and stepped down off the log. “Then eat and rest – sleep if you can. The wolves will wake us.”
Though it was the very depths of the hottest days of summer, it was nonetheless cool and damp in the darkened clearing when Durlrang pushed his nose against Aram’s arm. “It is time, master; we have passed the middle of the night.”
“Wake the others,” Aram instructed him as he rolled out and got to his feet. “Have the men and horses armor up.”
A little more than an hour later, in the tenuous light of the stars, the column splashed through the crossing on the rolling farmland to the north of Sevas and headed in a sweeping arc around toward the crossing just west of Tobol. When they arrived at the second crossing, the sky above the dark eastern hills was beginning to turn pink with the approach of dawn. The wolves swam silently across the broad expanse of the Shosk and slipped ashore.
Aram cocked his head to listen for the low snarls and growls that would indicate the incident of death being visited upon a watchful enemy, but the morning twilight remained silent. It was as he’d thought – the enemy had given no thought to the river on its northern flank, believing that the only enemy it had to face was that which was trapped within the walls of the city to its front.
Aram watched the eastern sky grow lighter and lighter until he was certain that dawn was imminent. He turned his head to gaze at the far shore and spoke to Thaniel. “Let’s go.”
The great horse stepped off the grassy bank into the shallows and surged toward the middle of the stream. Near the center, the water deepened almost to the horse’s chest and the current grew stronger, but Thaniel seemed not to notice and they crossed with ease. Making the far bank, Aram halted Thaniel at the edge of the trees that lined the stream and peered forward in the growing light as a bugle sounded somewhere to his front.
As he watched and as the men and horses spilled out to either side to form one long line in the shelter of the trees, the enemy slowly roused themselves as other bugles blared among their ranks, some so far off to the south that they sounded like mere echoes of those nearer. By the time Aram’s troops were ready to move forward, some of the Elamites had started fires and were preparing breakfast.
Aram glanced both ways along his line. Returning the nods of readiness from his captains, he looked down at Leorg and Shingka. “Go to our right,” he told them in mind-speak. “The horses will go first and rout the enemy. They will no doubt run to our right. Come behind us and cause as much havoc as you can among them. Give them no time to rally.”
“I understand, master,” Leorg answered, and he and his fierce mate, followed by their kin, loped off toward the west behind the long line of horses.
Aram turned his head and watched the east as the sky continued to brighten, holding his lance in his right hand. Findaen, to his left, looked at him curiously.
“Will you not employ the sword, my lord?”
Aram shook his head as he kept his eyes on the skyline. “Only at need,” he said.
Then, as b
right rays of golden light flared above the eastern hills and the body of the sun eased above the horizon, Aram lowered the eye-guard of his helmet and urged Thaniel forward. Thaniel moved ahead out of the cover of the trees, and Aram raised his lance high, catching the flaring light on the shining tip. To his left and right, eight hundred men and horses followed suit.
The bright morning sun flashed and glinted off eight hundred polished lance-tips. Among the tents and fires no more than a hundred yards away, men stopped what they were doing, stood up, and stared wide-eyed toward the north. Some of those nearer, perceiving that the dreadful line of men and beasts that had appeared so suddenly upon their flank intended to do them harm, turned at once and ran toward the south, among the tents. But then the more intelligent of the Elamite soldiers, upon realizing that an assault was imminent, came to the understanding that to stay with the line was to die. These bolted toward the rear, toward the west, and the rest followed, abandoning the front.
Aram lowered his lance and shouted aloud, sending the command hot and sharp into the mind of each horse as he did so. “Now!”
The horses surged forward as one.
The enemy was camped in what had once been well-tended fields. Having been in place for some time, they had removed the fences in order to use the posts and rails for firewood. Except for an occasional drainage ditch and the zigzag jumble of tents there was no impediment to the horses’ charge.
They swept forward like the dark line of a storm-driven wave with the glittering lances shining like hungry teeth of vicious predators. Their hooves thundered across the earth that trembled and shook beneath them.
Terror swept over the soldiers of Elam like a flood at the sight of massive, armored beasts, mounted by men brandishing sharp steel, driving down upon them. None of them remembered that thousands of their compatriots stretched away to the south behind them – all any of them clearly grasped was that in any spot along the front, they and a few comrades faced hundreds of mounted, armored enemies that rapidly approached in a terrifying line of certain, irresistible death.
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 47
