Bazil Broketail (43 page)

“A beautiful day is coming on, another beautiful day.”

And indeed it did seem as if the good weather was to continue—there was not a cloud in the sky.

Kesepton waited, staring at her.

They all want their orders from me
, she thought. Well, she had taken charge of them, she did owe them that much.

“West,” she said at last. “He’s gone west. Are you familiar with the ash country, Captain?”

“No, my lady, I was in the southlands until this command. Indeed I have never crossed the Oon before. In the south the Oon is the border with the Teetol.”

“And therefore a border to be respected. Well, to the west lies a plain of volcanic ash, which stretches much of the distance to the Fist. This ash is much cut about with canyons, a maze of hiding places and false turns.”

“You mean you can no longer detect him?”

She sighed. She hated to admit this.

“Not at such distances, although I will send out birds to look, but by then I expect he’ll be safe from us.”

Kesepton was crestfallen.

“Then we have failed after all,” he said in a low voice.

She heaved a great sigh. There was still the chance they could snatch victory from the very jaws of defeat.

“So far we have failed. But we cannot give up. We will go north. We can still trap him when he enters the lava land closer to the Fist.”

“The lava land?”

“The black land, where water boils in the rocks and steam erupts from holes in the ground. It shudders still with the death throes of the mountain that made the Fist. Of course we must be careful—we will be close to the ramparts on the Fist, patrols will be out, that land is always watched.”

“Arid we will try and catch them there?”

“We will do more than try. This time we will have them.”

Kesepton felt a great weariness. Not only was his career destroyed, along with his command, but now he was going to his death, leading his men to the margins of Tummuz Orgmeen, the heart of the enemy’s power. But he let none of this show in his voice.

“I will pass the orders, then. We go on to the black land.”

Seven days later they were spread out on a crest of black lava, hidden among the fractures and hummocks of a black land where little vegetation grew.

Frowning down upon this desolation were the five peaks of the Fist. Each of these mounts was ringed with forts and riddled with tunnels, for behind them lay the city of Tummuz Orgmeen, the dark star that now reigned over the interior world of the High Gan.

Directly in front of their position was a flat expanse of bare rock covered in a dark grey sand. This expanse stretched for a mile or so before the younger lava began again. Only the occasional, stunted pine broke the barrenness of this harsh world of plane and shadow.

Relkin had thought the ash lands were bare enough, but in those canyons and hollows there were shrubs and trees, patches of grass even for their horses to graze. Here there was nothing but black rock, still warm in places from the horrific eruption that had destroyed the great mountain and left the fingers of the Fist in its place.

Through Lagdalen, Relkin had learned the names of the mountains. Feiger was the ash cone on the left, a smooth-sided triangle of dark grey. Directly ahead was Mor, a jagged crag, coated with lava around its base. To the left were Mor’s companions, Lo, Bazook and Mik.

Beyond these clawlike hills lay the great city. At night they had seen the lights, reflected up against the clouds.

The energies that were controlled by the Doom were very great—they provided free illumination for the entire city.

Relkin had been awed by the sight on the first night that they had become visible. He and Lagdalen had ridden away from camp, up to a high place. To talk and to get away from the older people.

Lagdalen told him that she was in love with the captain. Relkin regretted this but saw that it was inevitable. Relkin knew that he loved Lagdalen but also knew how impossible his love was. She was the older by several years and she came from a great family, whereas he didn’t even have a family other than the 109th Dragons.

It was the age gap that made the difference, though; he would have dared anything else. But being younger than she and still but a youth, while she was already a woman, made him hold back the words he’d dreamed of telling her. He knew she would think him foolish, even worse, childish for saying them.

He’d listened to her with half a mind from then on while looking at those fantastic lights, silhouetting the distant mountains and casting a glow as if a huge fire, or indeed an ancient volcano, blazed within. The lights had somehow helped to neutralize the pain of her words.

Even worse perhaps than Lagdalen’s confessed love for the captain was the sight of Kesepton back in camp. For Relkin had nothing but admiration for the captain who had demonstrated his prowess on the battlefield again and again. Relkin could never hate him, just as he could not stop loving Lagdalen.

But all these thoughts had to be pushed out of his mind now. They were trespassers in this realm of lava, and out there were many spying eyes searching for the slightest sign of movement.

Relkin returned his keen-eyed gaze to the further lava field; Lessis wanted it watched carefully. Their quarry could try to slip by at any moment.

While Relkin hunched there he heard the captain moving along the line behind him. Down below on the far side‘ he heard the two remaining dragons grumbling to each other. Chektor had been left behind on the banks of the Oon. His feet were too swollen for him to continue, and he certainly never would have made it this far through the rough lava lands.

Further away he saw a small hawk circling. Relkin knew the bird was descending to report to Lessis, who was in the hollow there with Lagdalen.

The lady was certain that Thrembode was coming up the canyon nearest to them and would emerge onto the plain at any moment. Once he was in sight the plan was that they would move quickly to cut him off and surround him and take him. Then would come the desperate part, for the plain was watched from the mountains, and troopers and imps would be sent forth at once to hunt them down.

To prevent this Lessis planned to split their force in two. She would take Thrembode and the princess south at once, with an escort of two men and Lagdalen. The rest would move along the lava ridgeline and draw off the pursuit. With the two dragons in their midst they would be strong enough to beat off anything except a large force aided by trolls. They would have to move quickly and try to lose the pursuit in the canyon lands.

When Relkin had heard this plan the first time he felt a hollow feeling. He realized it was almost certainly a death sentence for all of them.

But that was why they were here, wasn’t it? They were heroes, so Lessis had said, and they would have to die as heroes so they could be immortalized by the bards and sung of for ages to come.

Captain Kesepton had seemed so calm, so fatalistic when he told them; Relkin had seen that the captain accepted death. It was preferable to the probable court martial and disgrace that awaited him if he ever returned to the Argonath.

The dragons were silent for a long time and quite morose. Now they grumbled about silly things, like the heat of the sun on this clear spring day. Neither Baz or Nesessitas had mentioned the plan again.

Everyone knew they were going to die here, except for the lucky ones, Troopers Jorse and Hooks, who had been selected to ride with Lessis and the captives.

At least Lagdalen would probably survive, thus Relkin consoled himself. He visualized her grown to matron-hood, wed to some noble in Marneri. Would she remember them? The handsome young captain? The Broketail dragon? And the boy?

The hawk had finished its business in the hollow and now rose and circled lazily before flying away to the east. Lessis and Lagdalen appeared soon afterwards and joined them on the ridgeline, watching the mountains and the plain.

They waited. Thrembode was late in his appointment with destiny. Lessis fidgeted. She had only bird reports: two horses with man and woman, heading down the canyon. No human eye had seen them.

She trusted the birds but knew that they could not tell her if the people they had seen were really the ones she sought. What if Thrembode had doubled back?

The man was tricky and he’d foiled her a dozen times already—why shouldn’t he try again to make a nice odd number? Bitter thoughts like these kept recurring. These men, these heroic men and dragons, they were all going to be sacrificed to capture the damn magician and recover the princess. They had to be, it was essential for the cause of Argonath, but knowing that didn’t help Lessis feel any better about it.

And then came the catastrophe!

Out of nowhere came the sound of a horn, a long low note, echoing across the plain from the dark mouth of a canyon on the far side beneath the cliffs of Mt. Mor. A few moments later a squadron of horsemen appeared there, at least eighty strong. They rode directly across the plain, red pennons snapping from their lance tips.

When they were halfway across a pair of riders emerged from the canyon below them. A man and a woman, wearing cloaks, riding slowly on tired horses.

Thrembode and Besita, no doubt of it. And safe from Lessis and her plans; there was no feasible way of capturing them here and holding them against eighty troopers on fresh mounts.

Complete and utter disaster!

Kesepton slipped into place beside Lessis. His face was filled with concern.

“What now, lady? Give the word and. we’ll take them.”

“And we’ll all die uselessly. No. We will have to think of something else.”

Kesepton gave a worried look to the sharp peaks of the Shtag, or Fist.

“We’ll have to get inside there.”

She set her jaw. There could be no turning back now.

“I think so. I wish there was another way.” She looked up, her eyes opaque, staring.

“We have no choice, captain. We cannot fail in this— we must succeed, too much depends on it.”

Kesepton stared at the five ominous peaks. Each one crawled with thousands of enemy troops, safe within high battlements and massively built fortresses. He did not see how it could be done.

“Of course,” was all he said.

And so it came to pass that they stood in the shadows with a ruck of lava beneath the flank of Mt. Mor. Fifty feet above their heads stood the gates of the Lower Fortress on the mountain. Great ramparts surmounted the rocks above the gate. Turrets bristled over the ramparts. Lights shone from dozens of slits and narrow windows. Within the mountain, tunneled into the rock, lay most of the actual structure. All of it built by slaves, driven by the lash to build a fortress for the Doom that now sat in Tummuz Orgmeen.

Day and night parties of mounted men and marching imps went in and out of this gate, the tramp of their iron-shod feet ringing off the rocks. Lessis could see that the Doom was drawing to itself a great army, preparing the blow it planned to launch against the Argonath.

As dusk drew on she conjured up a mist, and under its protection they crossed the last stretches of the plain to this pool of dark shadow, hidden at the foot of the mountain. By riding on the rutted path leading to the fortress they had disarmed the attention of the spies.

Now everything rested on their skill at creating an illusion. They were but twenty men, a handful of boys, two dragons, a girl and an old woman. In the fortress of Mor, Lessis estimated there were at least two thousand troops and perhaps that many imps as well.

Accordingly, Lessis had asked only for volunteers from the men. Somewhat to her surprise they had all stepped forward, even the surviving Talion troopers.

Despite the fact that she had failed them again and again, they were ready to throw their lives behind this last desperate gamble. There was no need even for an uplifting speech or a spell; they were under their own spell now, and they were prepared to go to the ends of the world if that was what it took.

Thrembode and Besita had passed within the gates hours before them, but Lessis was sure they would be kept in the fortress here overnight and taken to the Doom the following morning. Important as the capture of the princess was, she knew that the Blunt Doom was constantly busy with thousands of such operations and schemes.

Now Lessis went forward to the edge of the gulley in the lava and detached the three small bats she had been wearing in her hair. With urgent little noises she sent them whispering into the night.

The fortress was huge; she hoped the bats’ tiny minds would be able to cope with all the information she sought. It might take too long for them to find Thrembode if she was wrong in her notions concerning the general layout of the place.

While she waited she sought to dispel her anxiety by going over the plan in her mind.

Everything was balanced on a single certainty. Thrembode would most likely feel perfectly safe now. Inside a fortress guarded by thousands of troops he would think that only a great army could reach him and he would know that no such armies existed on this side of the Oon.

Naturally he would be very glad of the opportunity to wash and shave and dress in clean clothes.

Lessis knew his habits—the magician was a man of the great cities, a dandy fond of elegant appearances. He would be as anxious as the princess to abandon the sweat-stained garments he had worn across the steppes. His first act would be to take a long, hot bath.

Then he would dine with the High Warden of the Gate. It would be expected of him, and Thrembode would no doubt be starving and ready for some wine. And he would have much boasting to do, to an avid audience since the officers of the Guard and their wives would be all agog to hear of his adventures in the glamorous cities of the south. Life in Tummuz Orgmeen was not exactly joyful for these women and their families. And then on the morrow he would go for an audience with the Doom.

She smiled grimly.

The first bat returned and hung squeaking in her hair for a few moments before flying off to hunt for moths to renew its energy. It had little worthwhile information; the fortress was a confusing place and the bat had become quite lost inside it.