D & D - Red Sands (22 page)

He cocked an eyebrow but did not remove his face from the flower. "Hmm?"

"Beast-men. I can smell them."

He was all attention now. "Near or far?"

"I am not sure. The smell is strong . . . but I hear no movement. Many beast-men, faraway." Uramettu turned her head slowly. "That way," she said, pointing north.

"I would have a look at them," said Tamakh.

"What! Why?"

"I have a personal enmity for gnoles—Agma forgive my hard heart! It was a band of mercenary gnoles that sacked the temple sanctuary of Murhai when I was an acolyte. My spiritual master, the pious and wise Agopa Gulh, was slain."

"And you want revenge?" Uramettu asked.

"No, not revenge. Agma teaches tolerance, even to grievous hurts. But I would see if this is the same band that destroyed Murhai some twenty years ago."

"How could it be? Surely there is more than one mercenary company in the border regions of the Faziri Empire?"

Tamakh didn't answer her query. He was already padding through the cinders in the indicated direction. Black, glassy grit clung to his sandals and begrimed the

hem of his toga. Uramettu sighed and shouldered her

spear.

It began to rain. The drops did not so much fall as d rift through the air, clinging to every dry object they touched. Tamakh's clothes quickly became sodden. He loosened the toga and slipped his arm out of it, letting it drape over his back like a mantle. Uramettu stared at him as he stood in his light linen smock.

"Something?" he said.

"All this time we've traveled, I've never seen your arms or legs," she said. Tamakh's limbs were pale compared to his sunburned hands and face.

"Well, here they are," he said, smiling. Water collected in the creases on his forehead and trickled down his lace. Uramettu blotted a drop from the end of his nose with her thumb, and they both laughed.

Good humor was forgotten as they proceeded, however, for the misty rain slowly turned the volcanic soil into black glue. Every few steps Tamakh had to stop and use his hand to pull his sandals from the sucking grip of the cinders. Finally, he gave up and went barefoot, like his companion.

Uramettu caught his arm. "You hear?" she said in the faintest voice. Tamakh put a hand to his ear. Ahead in the drizzle were definite clinks and rattles, the sound of tools and weapons. Uramettu signed for him to keep quiet and crept forward.

An extremely broad volcanic flue blocked their path. Narrower ones on each side effectively made their course a cul-de-sac. Tamakh started to double back, but Uramettu signed for him to stand still. She slipped into the narrow gap and pressed herself against the larger tower.

Beyond was the most open space they had seen since coming to the crater. From wall to wall, the clearing was one hundred paces wide. The sides sloped up in perfect symmetry, creating a sort of natural amphitheater. Near the far north end of the bowl stood two of the tallest flues Uramettu had yet seen. No doorholes were bored in them; instead, plumes of smoke rose from their tops, mixing with the mist and dispersing. The clearing was alive with gnoles.

Uramettu quickly retreated. She guided Tamakh to the other slot and bade him see for himself.

The gnole camp followed the curve of the walls, and Tamakh counted ninety-two tents. Each tent could hold as many as ten gnoles, so nearly a thousand beast-men were camped around them. He could see cook- and forge-fires and hear the strike of hammers on steel. The gnoles were not languishing in the crater. They were arming for new depredations.

He saw no horses. That was not surprising, as gnoles and horses didn't mix well. A crude rock-walled pen on the west side held a number of cattle (stolen, no doubt), and a sizable herd of sheep milled inside a stick-and-board enclosure. Huge gray wolves strained on leather leashes in the sentries' hands.

A familiar shape hobbled into view. It was a 'strelli, and its broad wings had been cruelly pinioned to prevent it flying away The crippled creature towed a small cart loaded with hay, and it stopped at the cattle pen to distribute the fodder. A gnole strolled by and poked the 'strelli with the butt of its javelin. The 'strelli lost its footing and fell backward in the mud. The gnole laughed and went on.

Tamakh and Uramettu met at the back of the broad flue. "What do you think?" said the priest.

"An army is needed. Those are hard, violent soldiers."

He looked her in the eye. "I want to help the 'strelli."

Uramettu looked straight back. "So do I."

"A thousand!"

Nabul almost choked on his fifth fig. Marix rubbed his jaw, and Jadira gripped her knees until her brown knuckles went white.

"How can we deal with a thousand warriors? We're not demigods!" Nabul continued. Elperex sat quietly on his narrow haunches, listening to the humans debate.

"1 don't propose to charge down on the camp and put them to the sword," said Tamakh. "If we could somehow frighten them away—"

"And restore the Sacred Chimney fire," said Elperex. His Faziri was rapidly improving; the 'strelli were very imitative speakers. Elperath was beginning to use Faziri as well.

"On the day the rapa came, a great wind bore down the crater and snuffed the flame. Truly, the Ones on High have cursed us," Elperex added mournfully.

Tamakh patted the 'strelli's leathery shoulder. "Never fear, my friend. What has been done can be undone."

"This is madness!" Nabul said. "Why must we always put our heads on the block? We've escaped from Omera-bad, crossed the Red Sands, saved an efreet, fought mummies, a scorpion, and a love-sick spirit. What more do you want?"

"What would you have us do, Nabul? Turn our backs on the "strelli and go our merry way?" said Jadira.

"Yes."

A heavy silence surrounded them. Nabul broke it by saying, "Is anyone with me?"

Marix stirred. "Time is fleeting. The High Day is coming. ..."

"Are you siding with him?" asked Jadira indignantly.

"No, but I—we—can't afford to tarry here too long."

"I'm not going to tarry at all," said Nabul. "My belly and pack are full, and I'm going on now. Will anyone go with me?"

Marix felt every eye on him. "Not I," he said.

""Vbu're all mad," the thief said. He stood and hitched his bundle higher on his shoulder. "If you stay and fight these gnoles, you'll all find nameless graves." He walked away.

Tamakh started to call out to him, but Jadira stopped him. "Let him go," she said. "He's earned his independence. If he wants to leave, it's better to let him go; if he stayed, he'd hate us for keeping him."

Elperex said, "The rest, you will help?"

"We will help," said Jadira. She folded her arms. "What's our first step?"

"Reconnoiter the enemy position," said Marix.

"We did that," said Uramettu. They had heard her and Tamakh's description of the gnoles' camp.

"That's not enough," Marix said. "We have to know where their commander is, where their weapons are stored, how many there are—we need a complete plan of the camp."

"The 'strelli could fly over and spot for us," said Jadira.

"This we dare not," Elperex said. "The rapa have stick-throwers—pardon, I mean crossbowmen—on the heights above the camp. We cannot fly high enough to avoid their nets and crossbows. They kill many, many pip'strelli."

"Then we'll go to the heights ourselves," said Uramettu. "Tonight."

The four humans and the 'strelli huddled together and made their plans. So absorbed were they, they had no time to think of the departed Nabul.

Hard Duty

The jingle of spurs echoed in the valley. A long double line of horsemen rode slowly along the rutted trail. Horses' and men's heads hung low, for they were near exhaustion. How different now were the proud Phoenix and Vulture troops than when they first departed Omerabad!

From fifty, their number had shrunk to thirty-seven. Six of those walked on foot, as their mounts had perished in the high desert. All were wrung-out and saddle-sore, but not one Invincible thought of turning back. The sultan's methods of dealing with failure were known to all, most especially to Captain Fu'ad.

His gleaming helmet bounced loosely from a saddle ring. The chin strap it hung by was stained and rotting. Fu'ad had cut a crude hood from his cloak and wore that: on his head. Dust and sweat had dulled his mail from silver to gray. Only his lance tip still shone, so diligently did he polish it.

He signaled to Marad, who rode up to him. "What is

it, my brother?" asked Marad.

"How are the men holding up?" Fu'ad said.

"As Invincibies should," said Marad. "Though more than one has wondered if we can ever find the criminals' trail again."

"We know their destination is Tantuffa," said Fu'ad. "They should have reached the mountains four days ahead of us. If we keep moving and traverse the central valley from Mount Qaatab north, we're bound to pick up their trail."

Marad surveyed the peaks on either side. "So many passes. They could have gone through any one of a hundred."

"It matters little where they crossed. On foot, they cannot open the distance between us unless we falter." Fu'ad remounted. "Column! Forward!" he shouted. The Invincibies kicked their tired horses and moved on.

Marad paced his commander. "There should be villages in the valley we can provision from," said Fu'ad. "Do you have the map?" Marad tugged a vellum scroll from under his surcoat and gave it to the captain. Fu'ad looped the reins around his forearm and unrolled the scroll.

A staggered row of green dots followed the contour of the valley map. Fiach dot bore numbers and a name in Faziri characters. The numbers referred to a column of writing along the right margin, which told the reader what resources could be found in each village.

"The best place in this region is here"—Fu'ad stabbed the map with his little finger—"the village of Chatal. According to the survey of Sultan Wa'drillah, they have three wells, orchards, cattle, and goats."

"The survey is old. Do you suppose the information is

still accurate?" said Marad.

"Life changes very little in these isolated hamlets. When you and I are dust, my brother, I expect the folk of Chatal will still be tending their orchards, cattle, and goats."

Fu'ad studied the landmarks. "Eight leagues; perhaps nine. Pass the word to the men: I want to make Chatal by sundown. Tell them, fresh food for dinner."

Marad saluted with a smile. "By your order, sir!" As Fu'ad's command filtered down the line of horsemen, the tempo of pursuit increased notably.

The day faded, and the valley constricted to a winding chasm. Fu'ad's soldier-sense played on his nerves. He didn't like being at the bottom of a close ravine. No telling who or what might be at the top, ready to strike down at his confined troopers. . . .

A rider he'd sent ahead came galloping back. "Sir! Sir!" the Faziri called. "Smoke, sir! From the village!"

"Smoke? Why shouldn't there be smoke from a village, you fool?" Fu'ad snapped.

"No, sir, not hearth-smoke. It looks as if houses have been burned."

"Marad! Marad!" His lieutenant cantered up from the rear of the column. "Marad, there may be something amiss in Chatal. I want you to keep half the men here. I will take the rest into the village. If I need you, I'll have the trumpeter sound."

Marad saluted. "By your order, sir."

Fifteen Faziris from the Vulture Troop formed a block three men wide and five deep behind Fu'ad. "Boot your lances!" he cried. Fifteen ashwood and steel lances clanked into stirrup cups.

"Troop, forward; at the trot!"

The Invincibles clattered down the trail. After negotiating a tight turn, Fu'ad saw a heavy smudge of smoke rising from the hillside. In the fast-declining light, small fires flickered in the ruins of the village of Chatal.

"Deploy by threes, column right!" The lancers spread out in the more open ground below the village. "Present—lances!" Sixteen deadly points swung down in unison. Fu'ad waited. Nothing stirred in Chatal. "Forward, walk!"

A mongrel dog appeared, yelping at the horses. Its ribs showed plainly through its patchy brown hair. So maddened was it by hunger and fear, it tried to bite a trooper's horse. The Faziri put the poor beast out of its misery.

"Troop, halt." Fu'ad looked around. Chatal had been sacked, and not a living thing was in sight. "Form a circle, and keep your eyes open," he said. He handed his lance to a trooper and dismounted. Fu'ad went to the smoldering ruins of a hut. He kicked over a charred post and pulled a brand from the fire. Holding this light, he proceeded up the street.

"Hello! Hello!" he called. The only response was the crackling of flames. He came to a low stone wall stained with blood. Fu'ad was about to return to his men when he heard a groan. He circled the wall and found a man on the other side, propped in a sitting position. A grievous wound showed through his torn tunic.

"What happened here?" said Fu'ad. The man spoke a few broken words in his native Kaipurian. Fu'ad did not understand him. He recognized the man's wound, though. He'd been thrust through by a broadsword.