Bazil Broketail (40 page)

“That is where we will build our barricade,” she said.

Kesepton could not keep his dismay from showing. The box canyon she pointed to was a perfect death trap.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured thickly. What was she doing? Did she intend for them all to be killed? So there would be no witnesses to her bungling at Ossur Galan? Kesepton was vaguely aware that even a Great Witch would have to account to someone for the loss of so many men and dragons.

“Of course you don’t. Why would we set ourselves in a trap like that? And it would be a trap, except that we must keep in mind the fact that the Baguti will be in a chaotic state after they have crossed the river. At that moment they will be vulnerable.”

His forehead creased in puzzlement.

“You’ve not dealt with the nomads before, have you, Captain?”

“No, my lady.”

“They’re a disorganized force, with little discipline. We can take advantage of that lack.”

“By the goddess, we’ll need something to even the odds.”

She smiled. “When they cross the river their formations will be bunched up on the banks at first. They will be anxious to ensure that their families and their own animals get across. Everyone will be milling around down there for an hour or so. That is when we strike.”

Kesepton stared at her. How were twenty-five men and a few worn-out dragons going to strike three hundred Baguti horsemen?

“First we send the troopers down the canyon on a slash and run raid.” She saw his eyes bulge.

“A dozen troopers?”

“We topple a few of them from their saddles in the surprise and cut out a few horses, make the women scream a little.”

“This will certainly focus their attention on us.”

“Indeed. The troopers will then ride to our barricade, dismount and join us inside.”

Kesepton tried to imagine Talionese troopers willingly abandoning their horses and consigning themselves to a death trap. It was not easy.

“Then the Baguti will follow, not all of them but enough. They will attack our barricade and we will repulse them and cause them some more casualties. They will stand off and fire arrows at us while a few ride down to the riverbank and tell the rest what’s going on. As I said, discipline will be at its most lax. Many, perhaps all of the riders will spur their mounts up here to take part in a fight against a small party of Argonath men. It’s an irresistible prize for a tribe of scalp and skull wearers.”

Kesepton found it too easy to visualize his own skull shrunken over the fire and added to a necklace for some Baguti first wife.

“So we will be facing three hundred of them here.”

“Right, and they will eventually dismount—most of them—and try to storm the barricade.”

He nodded. The nomads would be driven by pride and the fear of showing weakness to one another. In this they were like the Teetol.

“We will have to hold them then, but it will be a fight on our terms on our ground and we will hold them.”

He gulped. “For how long?”

“Not long, enough to get them worked into a frenzy. Then we will send up the signal to the dragons.”

“Oh, and where will they be?”

“Down in the river, upstream from the ford. They will float down once the Baguti are across, but they must not be seen too soon. When they get the signal, though, they will storm out of the river and fall on the baggage train and the horse herds.”

Kesepton’s eyes widened. “That will upset the Baguti alright.”

“At the same time I will unleash some fireworks. We must have it worked out with all our men that when I signal they must shield their faces and close their eyes tightly.”

He stared at her, still puzzled.

“Fireworks?” he began.

“Yes, I think that’s the best word to describe it.” Then she explained and Kesepton’s eyes grew wider yet. This was either going to make history, or their skulls would be decorating Baguti necks before much longer.

“With just a little luck, I think we’ll be able to reach the forest before they can catch up with us,” she concluded.

He knew it was futile to question the plan, and certainly he had no alternative to offer. Still there were things that troubled him.

“What about the horses, where are we going to place them?”

“Lagdalen and some of the dragonboys will ride herd on the horses and keep them within reach when we need them.”

At the thought of Lagdalen fending off lions out there on the Gan, Kesepton found himself bestirred with fresh anxiety.

“Lagdalen?” he said.

Lessis had a level smile. “I know, young Captain. Your heart is involved there, I know. But you must remember that the girl is resourceful and brave and she will not be alone. I would not risk her otherwise.”

“My heart?” he stumbled.

“Yes,” she said. “But it is not my doing, you can trust your feelings. It is no witchcraft except that of the Great Mother herself.”

With an effort he composed himself. Well, that at least answered some questions while it raised others. Was he as easily read as that?

It seemed he was.

“If the Baguti pursue us back across the Gan, we will lose the dragons—they’ll never be able to keep up,” he said.

Her face had become very grave and her jaw had tightened.

“Then we will lose three brave dragons, but we will have to if we are to reclaim the princess.”

Kesepton left her then and rode back to confer with Weald and Duxe. As he rode up to his men, he passed a group of boulders against which the dragons were reclining, resting very sore feet.

Dragonboys were down at a small stream filling waterskins, and while they were gone the dragons conversed among themselves in a quiet mutter of dragon speech.

“By the Egg, I am tired of walking. No dragon was meant to come so far so fast,” said Nesessitas.

“My feet are too swollen to walk anymore.” Chektor was holding up his hind legs to inspect his troubled feet.

“Don’t talk about feet. I am trying to forget that feet exist,” growled Bazil.

“What about stomach, then? You forget that too? That not like you at all.”

“By the Ancient Drakes, you are a pain in the tail— you know that?”

“Yes, tail hurt too. Too much fighting with tail.” Chektor could be implacable.

“Maybe we’ll eat soon,” said Nesessitas. “Looks like we’ve reached wherever it is we’re going.”

“Hope so. Can’t keep dragon marching all day without feeding him.”

“Or her.”

Baz looked up at Nesessitas. “Right.” He shifted his back and scratched at an itch under a scale. “You know, Nessi, I need to say something. While boys are not here.”

“Say?”

“I owe you a great debt, Nesessitas. You save skin of worthless boy. I heard about what you did. Boy means a lot to this dragon.”

“Worthless boys, no good. Boy fight because trooper insult the young witch.”

Bazil looked up. “Trooper insult Lagdalen, dragon friend?”

Nesessitas shrugged. “Human sense of honor, you know that.” But the Broketail had puffed up his chest and his odd-looking tail was standing up straight.

“Worthless boy did right to fight. Trooper is lucky that it was you who was there and not me.”

Nesessitas bared saber-like teeth in a dragon smile. “My thoughts exactly, Broketail.”

For Thrembode the magician it had been a difficult couple of days. Being on horseback all day long was bad enough, but the company was stretching his nerves to the limit.

The Baguti men were simply insane on the question of women, particularly attractive women from beyond the steppes. There had been a stream of pests, all trying to speak to Besita, sidling their horses up beside her or cutting in quickly to separate her from Thrembode and the other Tummuz Orgmeen men.

Thrembode had used spells; when they failed he and the others had used cudgels, and then finally they had drawn steel and threatened to cut Baguti heads.

Old Pashtook gave orders that the princess was to be left alone, but such orders were eventually ignored by the young hotheads. Pashtook had little influence now with the young men, who all followed Dodbol the spear chieftain.

Dodbol had let it be known that he was in favor of killing the magician and taking the woman and sharing her with the men for a while until she died, too. Thus Pashtook was put in the position of thwarting the wishes of the young men of the tribe.

Dodbol had added that when the magician was dead they would send a message to the Doom in its dread city and claim that Thrembode was killed by elves at the edge of the forest. Thus emboldened, the young men had become relentless.

For Thrembode and Besita the worst moments had come during the long night they’d spent on the Gan in their tent. Thrembode had barely slept a wink while his men stood guard in turns to keep watch for the young Baguti bucks.

Three times young men hit the tripwire and had to be driven away with blows. On the third occasion there were six of them, and a fight developed that actually crashed into Thrembode’s tent. Thrembode had been forced to dispatch one young fellow who was about to drag Besita into the night.

He sent back the young man’s head and a loud complaint to Pashtook. It brought an ominous silence.

Dodbol and a group of warriors rode by in the morning and glared at Thrembode and his six remaining horsemen. Pashtook was nowhere to be seen. Since then Thrembode had found his nerves stretched taut as wires, expecting a treacherous attack at any moment.

Indeed two of his men, Siurd and Joab, had managed to detach themselves from the column and vanish into the Gan during the morning. They saw how things were going and had no wish to add their skulls, suitably shrunken, to the necklaces worn by Baguti women.

At long last the scouts came back and the Baguti became excited. The river was ahead; they would cross this evening and make camp on the High Gan.

Within an hour or so a line of low cliffs became visible, breaking the smooth flatness of the Gan. Gradually they drew closer and soon they could see the river, a slate grey curve of hurrying water.

Thrembode had not concerned himself much with the crossing, assuming that the Baguti chieftains knew what they were doing. After all they did this twice a year, every year of their lives.

But to Thrembode’s dismay the crossing quickly became a disorganized rout. The Baguti were quite undisciplined about the process and groups of animals were started over with no clear control. Then a string of pack animals was knocked off its feet and almost washed downstream, and fights broke out among the women over who was to blame for this.

Then a wagon, which carried the worldly wealth of Pashtook’s own clan, broke a wheel in the middle of the ford. Everything was held up while men struggled to repair the wheel and drag the wagon out of the flood.

When the Baguti were finally across, Thrembode and Besita crossed on horseback, despite warnings concerning the strength of the river flow. Their horses swam strongly and well; Besita almost lost her position at one point, but the horse recovered itself in time and then they were over, soaking wet and already shivering but safe on the opposite shore.

Complete chaos ruled on that bank as the tribe sorted itself out. There were lots of loose horses mixed up with the pack animals and the wagon train. Baguti women were everywhere, untangling lines and pulling animals free. The noise was deafening.

Thrembode turned back to the water. His men were crossing, except that instead of four horsemen he saw only three.

When they caught up he rounded fiercely on Rakantz.

“Where is Streik?”

“Gone south I think,” said Rakantz.

“Damned traitor—the Doom will have his head from him.”

“Only if we live to tell the tale. From my experience in playing cards with him I’d say that Streik is usually one to bet wisely.”

“Mmm.” Thrembode was not amused. There were a hundred miles to go or more, at least four days without a change of horses. He needed the men if he was going to survive the Baguti with the girl intact.

What his fate would be if he arrived without the girl or with her damaged by the Baguti he did not want to think about. The Doom could be very cruel indeed to those who incurred its wrath.

With an effort Thrembode banished these thoughts, turned to Besita, but found she was already breaking open the watertight pack on the packhorse for some dry clothes. He sighed to himself; at least he could take off these wet things and get warm again.

He and his men grouped as far upstream as they could in the confines of the canyon’s mouth. Here they dismounted while the men tried to dry themselves as best they could. Thrembode and Besita put on their dry clothes, sheltering behind some rocks at the water’s edge.

Finally Thrembode emerged, feeling a little more comfortable and looking forward to a meal of some sort. He had decided they would camp right where they were and build their own fire. The Baguti would be sorting themselves out for a long time yet, and with the way things had been going with Pashtook, Thrembode didn’t want to have to ask the tribesmen for food again.

Furthermore, with the canyon wall at their backs and the river on one side they were protected from the Baguti youths on two sides, which would help if the coming night was to be as active as the preceding one.

Maybe he should go and see Pashtook. Possibly Pashtook did not realize that the Doom knew he was with them, and would know whom to punish if he and his prisoner were not delivered alive and well.

Suddenly these thoughts were interrupted by an even louder outburst of noise, up the canyon on the other side of the mass of horses, wagons and people.

The noise grew louder, there was the sound of hooves thundering, and for a few moments Thrembode could see a handful of horsemen in Talion grey go coursing through the Baguti baggage train slashing at everything within reach with their sabers.

Thrembode felt his heart freeze for a moment. Had the witch been reinforced and managed to get ahead of him? How? It seemed impossible. After the fight in the forest her forces had been smashed beyond repair. Then Baguti riders went past, the shrill yelling of dozens more cutting the air.