The Warrior King (Book 4) (6 page)

One of the other men looked over his shoulder and stared hard at Roderick before saying to the captain, “So you were right. He has kept his mind. I’d have thought he would become one of the mindless ones.”

“He is a prince, the brother of kings,” Pradmort said, unperturbed that this other man had spoken first, unlike the injunction against Roderick. “His mind is strong.”

Roderick kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, wondering, but not asking what they were talking about.

The captain must have felt his question and deemed it worthy of answer. “Many men cannot stand the magic that binds together body and soul. The first test—in your case, the dogs—drives them mad. They become the mindless ones.”

He nodded over his shoulder, and Roderick looked back to see the bulk of the company, most of whom rode behind, their eyes glazed and staring straight ahead as if not seeing. It reminded him of that horrifying battle where he’d been killed, when the enemy knights had come at him relentlessly, wordlessly, as if ordered by some unseen force, but carrying no more will than the swords or axes wielded in their hands. Some of the ravagers he’d seen in the mountains seemed to have split off from the band, and he couldn’t see the mastiffs that had hunted him down, but at least forty of Pradmort’s men were riding hard across the Desolation.

In contrast to the silently riding dead, a half-dozen of the men up front, including Pradmort and the man who had been speaking to him—a Balsalomian warrior, from the looks of his olive skin and almond-colored eyes—seemed very much alive. Yet if Roderick had retained his mind, he seemed to have little control of his own body.

“They don’t attack us,” Pradmort said, addressing Roderick’s other question, “because they only pursue the living. It is the warmth of life that draws them. It reminds them that they’re dead.” He gave a toothy, chilling grin. “But we’re dead too.”

“What about our mounts? Wouldn’t they . . .?”

“We killed them before we entered the Desolation.”

“You killed the horses?”

“They must be dead to cross this land. Does this shock you?”

For some reason, yes, it did. That an enemy might give no thought to spilling human blood, he could understand. He could even understand, albeit deplore, how a vicious army might sweep through hostile territory, burning crops and slaughtering livestock. But no soldier, no warrior would kill a good warhorse any more than he would put his own men to the sword. A horse, raised in the art of war, strong enough to carry an armored rider and steady enough to charge a line of bristling pikes, was one of the most valuable commodities of war. Entire campaigns had faltered for lack of sufficient mounts.

Roderick reached down a hand, and the horse’s flesh felt hot beneath his skin, like it was burning with fever. Yet it was not lathered, though they were riding at a brisk canter, and must have been doing so for some time given how deeply they had penetrated into the Desolation.

“This land is safe for us, a refuge,” Pradmort said. “We fear nothing, not even the One Who Gathers.”

The One Who Gathers? The Harvester?

They rode most of the day, stopping only when Captain Pradmort needed to take stock of their surroundings. The ravagers didn’t eat, and Roderick felt no hunger or thirst. Neither did the horses appear to need rest or fodder. They traveled well into the night before the horses began to slow. By now, a debilitating exhaustion had burrowed into Roderick’s bones. All around, the men hung their heads, as if their last energy had been spent.

Now is your chance. They are tired. Fall back, escape.

The captain lifted his head and stared, as if he’d been reading Roderick’s thoughts. Roderick forced his mind to go blank. Once he’d done so, he felt sluggish, unable to remember what had been troubling him.

“I can feel your soul struggling to break free,” Pradmort said.

“There is no struggle.”

“We complete your training tomorrow. Then you’ll be one of us, forever and irrevocably.”

“Training,” Roderick said in a flat voice. He still didn’t know what the man meant by training, but he remembered the dogs. He remembered the fear, the rage that had wrapped about his neck so tightly he thought he would strangle. But it was not his right to question the captain. Why had he done so?

A flicker passed through the captain’s eyes, and for a moment, it was as though Roderick could see right through the man’s breastplate and into his chest again. There were worms in there, eyes, wriggling white things, feeding on something. And then the impression was gone.

“Yes, training. Come, we fall behind. There are miles more to travel before we stop. We grow stronger as we draw nearer to our master, but still we cannot ride forever without rest.”

#

The next day they emerged from the Desolation and into the khalifates. Pradmort grew suddenly cautious. They could only travel during the day, since at night they needed to take refuge in some fortress or atop a sheltered hill and remain very still while the sounds of the Harvester’s horn and the distant baying of his hounds traveled through the air. During the day, they continued east toward Veyre.

There had been fighting here, and they came across a small walled village at the crossroads of two roads that had seen violence. Its walls had been breached and its towers torn down, yet curiously, the rest of the village seemed undamaged, not sacked as one would expect from an opposing army. Pradmort ordered three of his men into the village to look for survivors and question them while he rode ahead. An hour later the small scouting party returned with news and bloody swords.

The village was a tribute of the larger town of Yoth, which was itself attached to the Khalifate of Chalfea, an ally and subject of the dark wizard and Veyre. Two weeks earlier a small army had holed up in the village when Roderick’s brother Whelan had led a force of Eriscobans to subdue it. After a day or two of fighting, Whelan had convinced the Yothians to withdraw from the village and let the army from the Free Kingdoms tear down its defenses in return for a promise not to attack Yoth or any of its lands.

“So they collaborated with the enemy,” Pradmort said.

“Traitors,” Roderick said. He felt a sudden fury at Yoth’s treachery.

“Yes,” Pradmort said. He gave Roderick a curious look, and seemed to be turning over something in his mind.

Later that afternoon they came upon a force of some two hundred Chalfeans on foot with their attendant baggage caravan. They flew the banner of King Toth and were marching in the direction of Veyre and the war. There was a walled town on a hillock to the north of the road, surrounded by fields of golden grain, with goat herders tending their flocks in the surrounding grasslands, but the army didn’t turn toward it even though it was late afternoon and they would need billeting for the night. The men eyed the ravagers warily as they passed.

“Is that Yoth?” Pradmort asked a passing soldier. When the man confirmed that it was, he said, “It will soon be night. Why don’t you seek refuge in the town?” 

“The pasha ordered us to keep marching,” the soldier grumbled. “Bloody Yothians refused their tribute and won’t fight. I say we put the question to the sword, but Veyre is under siege and we haven’t the time. I suppose we’ll be sleeping on the hard ground again tonight. Bloody Yothians,” he repeated. “Look, we have a giant. Why don’t we put him to work?”

He pointed to the front of the column of marching soldiers. A figure trudged ahead, twice the height of a man and with arms as thick as a man’s waist. He carried a huge mace that looked like it could level a mud-brick house with a single blow. The others gave him a wide berth.

The captain’s eyes flickered. “Who is your pasha?”

“Ismail of Veyre.”

Roderick had heard of Ismail. He was one of the enemy’s generals who had led King Toth’s assault across the river at Sleptstock. It was said that he’d slaughtered his prisoners to feed the dark wizard’s magical power. He had apparently escaped into the khalifates to rebuild his army.

“Pasha Ismail commands ten thousand men,” Pradmort said. “Where is the rest of the army?”

“Three other columns are marching west, skirmishing with barbarians near the Tothian Way. Ismail himself is following the river to the south. He has war mammoths and must keep them near the water so they don’t succumb to the heat.”

“What is your name, soldier?”

“Calum, my lord.”

“Calum, go ahead, find your captain. Send word to the pasha and tell him the ravagers of Toth have ordered a halt. We have business in Yoth.”

The soldier looked eager and delighted. “Yes, my lord.” He rushed off at a trot, his greaves clanking with every step.

Pradmort eyed the town walls with a thin and cunning smile at his lips. “Roderick, it is time. Come with me.” He turned on the road and headed toward Yoth.

Eight other ravagers accompanied their captain from the main body. Roderick followed them with trepidation. His body was trembling, and a wild, dangerous lust for battle rose in his breast. Once again, his emotions were swinging between extremes.

It means that you are losing control of your mind.

Roderick had begun to hate that nagging voice. Why wouldn’t it leave him alone?

The riders made their way toward the town on the hill. The road was empty save for a single dog that barked furiously as they approached, then fled with its tail between its legs when they got too close. Stray goats bleated at the riders, but their shepherds had disappeared. Closer to the town walls, the fields were also empty, though here and there were sheaves of wheat, abandoned scythes and other tools tossed down. On the road ahead, a handful of people were hurrying into the town as the iron gates swung shut. They slammed closed with a boom and the clank of a reinforcing bar falling into place just before the ravagers arrived.

Two men appeared on the walls about fifteen feet above them. One held a bow with a notched arrow; the other wore a fine robe with a jeweled turban on his head. This second man called down, “Who are you, and what business have you in Yoth?”

Pradmort answered back. “We are warriors of the dark wizard, as any fool could see. As to our business, that is up to you, my lord. Do you obey my commands, or do you fight against us?”

“I am the emir of Yoth, and I answer only to the high khalif.”

“What of your Chalfean lord? Doesn’t he command your allegiance?”

“The Chalfeans make unreasonable demands. They forced us to bear the weight of the enemy attack and offered no reinforcements.” The emir shook his head. “I refuse to obey a command which will see my people destroyed, my slaves slaughtered, my women carried away to serve as whores for the barbarian lords.”

“Your khalif gives full suzerainty to his master in the Dark Citadel. So when you disobey the khalif, you disobey King Toth himself.”

“Perhaps. But until Toth comes, I will have nothing to do with you or the Chalfeans.”

The captain smiled. “In person? You wish to see the dark wizard in person? You are a brave man, Emir. How many men-at-arms do you have? A hundred? Two?”

“More than enough for you,” the emir sneered. “Our walls are strong, and I doubt you have brought Cragyn’s Hammer to batter them down. Perhaps you have wizards. No? I thought not.” The emir smiled. “It is harvest time, and the keep is well stocked. We can hold out until spring, if necessary, while you do not have that luxury. Indeed, I wonder if Veyre will even stand come spring. Some say that Toth is already dead.”

“So that is why you revolted against your khalif. You are counting on the armies of the Free Kingdoms to rescue you.” The captain removed his helm and let his blond hair show. “Are you certain that the Knights Temperate stand
against
King Toth?” 

The emir frowned. “I have no idea who you are, pale knight, but you don’t frighten me. Now continue on your way, and we will not harry your troops. If Toth wishes tribute, let him come for it. I will pay.”

The ravagers turned away. One of the men asked, “What now? Do we leave the emir unpunished for his treachery, or do we lay siege?”

“Neither,” Roderick guessed. He glanced to Pradmort, afraid of another stinging rebuttal, but none came. The captain watched him with a half-smile. Roderick continued, “We don’t need wizards or infernal devices to break down the gates of Yoth. We have a giant.”

“A good plan,” Pradmort said. “I had come to the same conclusion. Come, it’s almost night and our enemy and his hounds will be abroad to hunt for our souls. We will attack Yoth by morning.”

Yes, a very good plan, Roderick,
the small voice said, but Roderick heard—what?—worry?
So your goal now is to crush all enemies of Toth? What honor, what commitment to your vows.
 

Roderick returned his own question to the voice.
What choice do I have? They changed me. I am somebody else now.
Even this admission took effort. Sweat popped out on his forehead. 

No choice?
the voice answered.
Is that what you learned in Sanctuary Tower? That you have no choice? What would your brothers say?
 

“My brothers be damned,” Roderick said under his breath.