The Grand Crusade (35 page)

In the forecastle, Resolute could look down into the rowers’ galleys and watch them pulling hard on long oarlike levers that connected to the gears and belts that drove a paddle wheel at the ship’s aft. The ship, which rode far lower in the water than any human ship, still moved up the river with fair speed—even though they sailed against the current.

Predator’s numberingo f the crew was not off by much, but calling them a legion W#sasoremisaPplication of that word. At least a quarter of them he’d

&

mtifc

Hw

tit

Ppq

t>ressg^romthe wastrels. Vorquelves who had been bound to the island

found themselves inSucn intense pain as it was despoiled that they left the ‘tvorld.Other, younger Vorquelves so felt the pain of abandonment that they resorted’t° drink and other vices to distract themselves or propel themselves into oblivio**• Fresfla*ranci a distance from their vices of choice seemed to have benefited’some> kutasc°re of them would be useless when it came to making the

overlaidtrek“

Of the rest, about a dozen were pure civilians who either were healers, or disaffected members of Amends’ appeasement clique. Resolute fully expected they would v^hine. Or, worSeye^try to exert control over the expedition.

Theremaining crewhad potential, but not much of it. While the Grey Misterswerea f°rmiclable street gang, that didn’t make them warriors. All of them frada daggerOrtwo, but few had swords, and there wasn’t a bow among them. A fewna^ gotten enchanted with tattoos such as he had, but he saw nothing that would help them[ncombat. Even their uniform of leathers would be of little use-Hehad to hope that they ran into very little resistance—or that he and the otherscoU^d just Outdistance the Grey Misters if forced to run from trouble, -phe political refugeeSjrather predictably, sought audiences with Oracle. Resolute wasn’t sure ifs hesaw things concerning them, but every one of them approached him lateran d pledged fealty. He harbored no illusions about their obediencemmemture, but at least the problem was deferred for a bit.

The journey upriverwent swiftly enough, with the eight hours of light allowing themt0covertwo dozen miles a day. They found simple anchorage along the riverand camped away from settlements. Resolute would have liked to stop at Sanurva^> ^ut^eYreached it in the middle of the day, so they took the westernforkof the riveran( j bypassed it. He didn’t mind having spies report to Chytri°ethat an elven ship was moving up the river, but he didn’t want her to bealerte a as to who wason }t.

After five days they reached the headwaters of the Varasena: a small lake in the foothills of the r9ngethat separated Loquellyn and Saporicia. They made their lastcarrlPtnere^nd left the worst of the crew and a couple of the politicos behind to ship back downto Otedo. Resolute wrote out a message to be delivered to King Fidelius jnNarriz, but he assumed it would never get to him. It really didn’t matter, sincejtcontained all sorts of incorrect information about where his group was ^ncjwne re they were heading.

The following morningt he Grey Misters bid their compatriots a fond farewell, then shouldered the packsthey’d all been issued from the ship’s stores. People joked about what th^y should call their group. Half of them were in favor of Resolute’s Legion.

The other popular name was the Forlorn Legion Resolute preferred that name, but rejected itVtL

forth.

Predator’s numbering of the crew was not off by much, but calling them a legion was a sore misapplication of that word. At least a quarter of them he’d press-ganged from the wastrels. Vorquelves who had been bound to the island found themselves in such intense pain as it was despoiled that they left the world. Other, younger Vorquelves so felt the pain of abandonment that they resorted to drink and other vices to distract themselves or propel themselves into oblivion. Fresh air and a distance from their vices of choice seemed to have benefited some, but a score of them would be useless when it came to making the overland trek.

Of the rest, about a dozen were pure civilians who either were healers, or disaffected members of Amends’ appeasement clique. Resolute fully expected they would whine. Or, worse yet, try to exert control over the expedition.

The remaining crew had potential, but not much of it. While the Grey Misters were a formidable street gang, that didn’t make them warriors. All of them had a dagger or two, but few had swords, and there wasn’t a bow among them. A few had gotten enchanted with tattoos such as he had, but he saw nothing that would help them in combat. Even their uniform of leathers would be of little use. He had to hope that they ran into very little resistance—or that he and the others could just outdistance the Grey Misters if forced to run from trouble.

The political refugees, rather predictably, sought audiences with Oracle. Resolute wasn’t sure if she saw things concerning them, but every one of them approached him later and pledged fealty. He harbored no illusions about their obedience in the future, but at least the problem was deferred for a bit.

The journey upriver went swiftly enough, with the eight hours of light allowing them to cover two dozen miles a day. They found simple anchorage along the river and camped away from settlements. Resolute would have liked to stop at Sanurval, but they reached it in the middle of the day, so they took the western fork of the river and bypassed it. He didn’t mind having spies report to Chytrine that an elven ship was moving up the river, but he didn’t want her to be alerted as to who was on it.

After five days they reached the headwaters of the Varasena: a small lake in the foothills of the range that separated Loquellyn and Saporicia. They made their last camp there and left the worst of the crew and a couple of the politicos behind to ship back down to Otedo. Resolute wrote out a message to be delivered to King Fidelius in Narriz, but he assumed it would never get to him. It really didn’t matter, since it contained all sorts of incorrect information about where his group was and where they were heading.

The following morning the Grey Misters bid their compatriots a fond farewell, then shouldered the packs they’d all been issued from the ship’s stores. People joked about what they should call their group. Half of them were in favor of Resolute’s Legion.

The other popular name was the Forlorn Legion.

Resolute preferred that name, but rejected it. He looked at the haphazardly organized gang of brigands, cutthroats, politicos, and innocents and shook his head. “What we are is theFirstLegion. The first to fight Chytrine, the first to return home. Let us go forth and do all we can, so we will also not be theLastLegion.”

[T| he westernmost town in Noriva went by the name of Nowhere. As Duranlaun

reported, it had a palisade and a number of buildings, but not much else. 1 Muddy streets were flanked with longhouses to shelter the foresters, while smaller buildings functioned as taverns, dining halls, and whorehouses. A flag flew from the highest rooftop, but Marcus Adrogans could not recognize the blue-and-white banner as belonging to any nation or unit.

If the entire population of the place amounted to more than a thousand, Adrogans would have been surprised. For his army to sweep over the town and destroy it would have been simple. One volley from the dragonels would have shattered the wooden walls and left the place defenseless. What passed for a militia there was a half legion of men who seemed more intent on stealing money from drunks than providing any sort of security. But they wore livery matching the flag, which hinted that they belonged to a greater authority. And the fact that they were men and not gibberers did give him heart.

Adrogans watched the village from within the trees on a nearby hilltop. His army had approached and camped close by, but managed to remain undiscovered—mainly because Nowhere’s guards did not venture beyond the palisade.

Adrogans had seriously considered using the dragonels to obliterate Nowhere, as such an attack would give his fireteams practice with sighting and reloading quickly. It would also let his other troops get an idea of just how powerful the dragonels were. While all of them knew Fortress Draconis had been laid low by the weapons, even those who had once visited the northern stronghold had trouble conceiving of how much power it would take to accomplish that end.

But while that plan of attack would have doubtless been successful, it posed

several problems. First and foremost, he didn’t want to squander his supply of firedirt. Second, if anyone did escape, then Chytrine’s forces would have warning that he was coming—with the dragonels. He also could not imagine the Aurolani Empress’ having failed to dream up defenses against her weapon, and he didn’t want his people running into such defenses, since the slaughter would no doubt be hideous.

Third, and most important, destroying the town would eliminate it as a source of intelligence and would further alarm people. Adrogans sought for a way to win the people over and have them work for him. Of course, he also didn’t want Chytrine to know they were working for him, so in consultation with General Caro and others, he came up with a working plan.

He looked down toward where Caro sat at the head of a ragtag mounted column and nodded. Caro raised a hand, then let it fall, and his Alcidese Horse Guards began their descent from the hills. Behind the three hundred of them came four hundred men and women on foot, all armed, comprising the Svoin and Okrans volunteers.

While the numbers were impressive, their appearance wasn’t. Their uniforms had been removed and replaced with the motliest collection of garments that could be found. They looked every bit a group of refugees or, worse, soldiers turned to banditry. Caro would ride down with his troops, demand the town throw open its gates and proclaim him their leader. “After all,” he would note, “if that bastard Adrogans can have an empire, I might as well, too.”

By the time Caro’s cavalry reached the town, the gates had been closed and the closest thing the town had to a mayor mounted the wall and spoke with him. While Adrogans could hear nothing of what was being said, he recognized gestures. After one particular one, a Warhawk swooped and exploded a firecock over a small portion of the wall. That caused the mayor to see his situation in a new light.

The gates were thrown open, Caro was welcomed, the flag came down, and a new one went up. The town of Nowhere now owed fealty to King Caro the First. The celebration of his coronation went on well into the night.

During that night the bulk of Adrogans’ army moved around Nowhere behind a line of hills to the south. They pushed on for several hours and set up camp in a huge meadow the Rangers had located before. A stream of scouts kept Adrogans updated about the events in Nowhere on an hourly basis, but it wasn’t until midmorning that Turpus Caro reached the camp and was able to explain everything to him.

Caro’s normally red cheeks had yet more color—half from drink and the rest from cold, Adrogans suspected—and he was smiling broadly. “The initial resistance was halfhearted. Dalanous, the governor of the Nowhere District, was a

minor courtier who was given the assignment when Noriva’s crown princess began to take a proprietary interest in where he slept and with whom.“

Adrogans raised an eyebrow as he broke a small loaf of bread in two, then tore off a smaller piece and dipped it in broth to soften it. “Noriva has a government, then, and royalty?”

“A queen, not a king. As near as I can make out, Chytrine doesn’t really care who is doing what in Noriva as long as grain is harvested, ore is dug, cattle tended, and anything else she needs is taken care of. There are various small political subsets in the countryside, but the queen is at Logbal. The women have reorganized the society around sisterhoods, since Chytrine seems content to harvest only males when a slaving run is made. Half the men sent to Nowhere ended up there to prevent their being taken.”

“And the rest?”

Caro shrugged. “They’re out harvesting trees. No one knows for certain what all the wood is for, since it travels east of Logbal into an area that the Aurolani patrol themselves, but everyone assumes it’s for a fleet. All the shipwrights and sailors have been scooped up, so the conclusion seems inescapable.”

Adrogans nodded. “Wood harvested now would have to be seasoned before it could be used. If she is taking it now, the fleet couldn’t be ready for a year.”

The Alcidese general shook his head. “If she wants the fleet now, she has magickers to season the wood. It might not be as good as if it were given time and unenchanting the wood would ruin the fleet, but if she is looking for a quick strike somewhere, a hastily assembled fleet would suffice.”

“I’d not thought about magick being used on that scale, but that does make me mindful of something else. I’ll want a slice or core from each log. Then we can have our magickers use those to keep track of where the wood ends up. They might even be able to tell how it is used.”

“Good idea.” Caro raised the bowl of soup before him and drank, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Dalanous was willing to accept me as his master primarily because I said I’d be paying a visit to Logbal. He’s happy to have me gone, and if I can take over, he’ll be my best backer. If not, he just puts the old flag back up.”

“How far away is Logbal?”

“We can make the capital in a week and a half.” Caro tucked a small crust of bread into his left cheek to soften. “There are other settlements along the way. This little ruse would likely function on most of them. Dalanous says virtually none of them have defenses, since the Aurolani don’t like it, and there are no other threats.”

“We will bypass a few. We have to assume word will get out about you, and we don’t want people to know exactly where you will be.” Adrogans posted his elbows on the table. “We have two possibilities to deal with. The first is that the queen

”

“Winalia is her name.”

Adrogans thought for a moment. “So Queen Winalia decides to send some

troops out to oppose you. Given that the Norivese apparently have no defenses, I assume what would pass for a militia would be easy to overcome.“