Dragons of War (55 page)

The Argonathi were now standing in a fortified position that would cost an opponent fifty thousand lives to take if it could be taken at all, precisely the sort of position against which a vast Host might dash itself to pieces. General Felix would surely be loathe to leave it. Furthermore, he would be sure to imagine that the object of the invasion was Kadein, the greatest city of the Ennead of Argonath, the fat plum just seventy miles away.

To get to Kadein, an enemy would have to go through Fitou, or else detour painfully around through farm lanes and dense woods. A Host like this vast agglomeration from Axoxo could easily become unmanageable if it spread out over miles of country lanes. The main roads were essential to the success of the Masters' plans. The Argonathi knew all this perfectly well, and so they waited at Fitou.

In the meantime the greater half of the Host, more than sixty thousand imps, six hundred trolls, and thousands of men, was marching on the woodland road through Rundel, heading for the river crossings at Waldrach and Rusma. Beyond Rusma was the Bel Awl gap and the road into Setter and Seant. Beyond Seant lay Aubinas, Marneri, Bea, and Pennar, the four rich provinces of the central Ennead.

Once they were over the bridges at Rusma, they would be unstoppable. The Argonathi had emptied their land of men and concentrated them at Fitou to await the onrush to Kadein. Beyond Rusma there was nothing, no defensive forces at all, except scattered militias of old men and boys.

They would break through to Aubinas and Marneri, and there they would deploy the secret weapon to break the city gates.

Thrembode understood now. He had seen the ogres. Not even the magics of the witches would hold the gate from them.

If there was anything in this ambitious plan to still give Thrembode immense confidence, it was these secret monsters. He had seen them several times now. They were still awesome. Kept hidden in the very heart of the marching horde, kept away from imps, for they had a habit of snatching them up and eating them directly. Kept away from trolls and men, too. Kept secret until now; they offered a sure way to break gates and shatter dragon lines.

All they had to do was to cross the counties of Rundel and Lennink, bridging the river Walda at Waldrach and the Finger River at Rusma, and then push through the gap of Bel Awl, and they were home. There would be nothing to stop them from storming through fat province after fat province until they reached Marneri. And when they sacked the white city, they would pile the skulls of their people to the sky.

Such a blow to the Argonath would be mortal. The Masters well knew that it was Marneri, not the great Kadein, that was the heart and soul of the Ennead and the Empire of the Rose. If Marneri was taken and burned, and along with it perhaps Bea and Pennar, then the remainder could be isolated and reduced one by one until even mighty Kadein surrendered itself to the power of Padmasa.

But they had still to march across the hostile countryside of the counties of Rundel and Andelain, and then of Kilrush and Dondee. And if by some miracle the enemy did catch up to them, then the fight would be between a mere sixty thousand imps and forty thousand legionaries, and even the secret weapons might not save them in such a case.

Lukash emerged from the brush behind Thrembode. He rode his horse up beside the magician's. His eyes had a peculiar luster.

"You have come to report, General?"

Thrembode toyed with the little silver whistle.

"I have come to report." Lukash spoke humbly. Since his deflation by Vapul, he was a changed man. Thrembode understood. Lukash was one of those who either lorded it over you or else licked your boots.

"Go ahead, General."

"I have heard from outriders on the north road. There is a small opposition force gathering in Waldrach. It consists of local men, reservists, some youngsters. Hardly more than a thousand or so, nothing for us to be concerned about. The way is clear for us to march all the way to Marneri."

"We will burn the white city, General. Your name will go down in the histories as the man who torched the city of white stone by the Bright Sea strand."

Thrembode was amused by this rather slight poetic image, he chuckled indulgently. Lukash smiled. His madness was growing steadily. Someday, he promised himself, he would avenge this moment and all the other petty humiliations put upon him by this popinjay magician. For now, he must submit. But someday, ah, he would kill this one slowly.

"And now, what are the reports from Fitou?"

Lukash roused himself from his dream of revenge.

"The enemy continues to stay on the defensive. Main forces remain within the perimeter down there in Fitou. He has aggressive cavalry patrols working through the woods of south Andelain. There have been clashes all the way along that stretch of the road between Conjona and Andelain town. I have sent the Baguti to push them back."

"And what do you think is passing through General Felix's mind right now, Lukash?"

"He is watching carefully to see what we do. He fears we may try to come down on the north bank of the river. There is a good road between Conjona and Andelain. He has already thrown up breastworks and forts on the north shore in Andelain so we can be certain that this is something he fears. He hopes we will come straight down the main road on the south side of the river and hurl ourselves at his main lines outside Fitou. Then he would fight a defensive battle within his fortifications and let us wear ourselves down."

"I believe I have the gist of it, General. I will report to the Mesomaster this evening. I will say that you have responded very well to his attentions and that you are doing a splendid job."

Lukash smiled again, a weird thing to see since ft masked such complex emotions.

"Thank you, Magician."

"You're welcome, General Lukash." Thrembode fought down the urge to make Lukash get off his horse and kiss his boots. For some reason he had a strong urge to humiliate the general, in revenge for Lukash's unbridled arrogance. For a moment he toyed again with the little whistle and then let it go.

"You are dismissed, General."

Without a word, his face an impassive mask, Lukash rode back into the screen of leaves.

Under the mountain, floating on the chill flood of Eferni, Relkin slept uneasily. He was bone tired. The march, the recent battle, the weird excitement of walking down that enormous stair, under the magical paintings, all had taken a toll on his strength. He slept, and beside him the dragon slept, enormous rib cage rising and falling steadily as the magic ship bore them along the river. Asleep in the same boat were the Purple Green and Alsebra, with Manuel and Jak, and wedged in among them were a dozen or so soldiers and a party of clansmen. Every boat was jammed tight with men and dragons, and their equipment piled up around them.

Men with torches stood in the stern of each vessel. The fleet could be seen as a line of torchlights, dimming in the distance until lost by a curve in the course of the river, winding through the caverns of the enormous cave system here below Mt. Livol.

Twice they floated through great caverns, each with forests of stalagmites and stalactites. Frills and fans of lime had formed in places with a strong drip, and by the light of the torches they could see this forest of strange limestone excrescences stretching away all around them. And yet the magical craft of ancient Veronath glided smoothly through with nary a hitch.

But Relkin saw none of this beauty. Deep sleep had claimed him early in the voyage. Bazil had gone to sleep even earlier. The whole boat was asleep by the time they floated through the first of the caverns.

Relkin dreamed that he was in his first room, back in Quosh. A narrow cubicle, six feet wide and ten feet long. Just enough room for a bunk, a table, and a stool. There was a slit window that never let in light and a door with a lock. And it was his. His own place, the first he'd ever had.

Someone was calling to him, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. He turned and found himself in front of a doorway that opened into the gymnasium where the village women were doing their exercises. He passed through the women, who seemed not to see him at all. A powerfully built man was standing to one side, lifting a heavy barbell to his chest and then pressing it above his head.

Someone was still calling, probably the dragon. How he loved that young leatherback dragon. He was a beauty, and so fast for a dragon. Relkin thought that Baz could outduel even a good swordsman; not with his strength but his speed. So he would run outside. He and the dragon were the best friends in the whole world. In all Relkin's short life, there had been nothing so good as being partnered with the dragon.

The village women wore grey tunics and black woolen tights, and they stretched and jumped and went through the steps of the Lausann, a dance from the ancient days. They took no notice of him as he went out the door.

He woke up. He was adrift in the dark, hearing only water slap at ship's side and dragons snoring loudly on all sides. He recalled where he was. It had been a strange dream but at least it had not involved either dwarves or demon serpents. He'd had all he wanted of either of those in his dreams of late.

There was a sudden voice in his head.

"Relkin of Quosh," it said. "Greetings."

He looked around wildly.

"What is this? Is this just another dream?"

"This is not a dream," said the little voice which was somehow familiar.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw something small dart along the side of the vessel. It came to a stop nearby, perched on Bazil's helmet. His eyes focused intently on the bird.

"I should be getting used to this I suppose. You are there, in the wren?"

"Yes. This is an animant, a form in which I am projected. Right now my body is sitting in a room in the Tower of Guard in Marneri. Ribela is sitting there, too. So is Lagdalen."

"Lagdalen is an eagle now."

"She is not an eagle; she cohabits in an eagle's mind. The eagle is still there."

"This is so strange."

"Correct. The amount of effort required to do this astonishes me. Fortunately, I have a gift for it."

"I wrote you a letter, Lady."

"I received it, Relkin. You are concerned with destiny and the influence of the Sinni."

"Yes, Lady."

"The Sinni are a complex concept. They are not of our time and space, they are of another level of existence entirely. Can you understand this?"

"I think so. They are like gods; they live elsewhere."

"Yes, they live elsewhere. One of their greatest arts is in the foretelling of the future. Sometimes they glimpse the set of the gathering threads of destiny; they see through the chaos of the ever and constant 'now' to places where the flowing threads run tightly together. These are places where great events in our world are often indicated."

"Sort of a tightness in the cloth, then? The cloth of the world."

"Yes, Relkin, you understand it well. And in such a wrinkle, the Sinni have seen you, and they have intervened in our world to ensure that you reach Arneis."

"Why do the Sinni do this?"

"They work to help all of us in the less energetic worlds, like Ryetelth. The struggle continues across the sphere board of destiny. Even in the higher realms, there are conflicts. Natural alliances spring up."

"The sphere board again. Ribela told me of that."

"The Great Mother must have had some plan in mind when she brought you into the world, Relkin. You have been the instrument for great changes. I have seen it in Tummuz Orgmeen. Ribela saw it in the serpent's pit. We are convinced She has some plan for you. So you must get to Arneis."

"You are going to Arneis, too?"

"We are. We ride the cavern craft to the Danding Pool. The eagle is resting. He was wounded slightly during the pursuit by the batrukh. It was a close-run thing at the end. Your arrow was true and straight, young Relkin. It was perhaps another example of the peculiar destiny you are living out."

"Thank you, Lady."

"When we reach the Danding Pool, then we will take to the skies again. We must find the Argonathi army, and find a way to communicate with its commander."

"And what will we be doing?"

"That is Captain Eads's responsibility, child. But I expect he'll be seeking to join with the force already in place, which I would expect to be of at least six legions, perhaps seven. I would also expect those legions to be in one of the Alno River towns, perhaps in Pengarden, perhaps as far up as Fitou. I hope it is Fitou."

"How far is that?"

"About fifty miles south and east of Dandelin, which we will see shortly after we leave the grotto of the Eferni and enter the Danding Pool."

"Lady, how is it I can hear you speak in my mind, although you make no sound?"

She was amused. "If you really wanted to know that, my child, you should have spent your formative years in the magic school. You would have memorized the Birrak by now and about forty tomes of spellsay. Let us just say that it takes an enormous effort of concentration combined with great powers of memory. You will notice the aftereffect in a moment. Good-bye, Relkin. I pray that we will meet again."

The wren flew away. Relkin stared off after it. He realized that his pulse was racing, and his breath was coming in fast and deep. It was as if he had been sprinting hard for a long distance. He was suddenly very tired once again.

He knew only that the destiny laid out for him lay close ahead. And he wondered where Eilsa was. He knew she was on the voyage, aboard a boat with her father and his closest followers. Was she a part of his destiny, too?

He was asleep again in moments and did not awake until they were not only in the Danding Pool but emerging into sight of Dandelin, outlined on the farther shore by a few dim lights. Ahead stretched a row of vessels, each with a torch sputtering at its stern, heading for the ancient landing steps at Dandelin.

The steps were much diminished now, for the glories of Dandelin in the Veronath Era had long been replaced by a different kind of life, that of a farming center and a market town. Thus, among tumbled remains of the huge structures of yore, stood the solid houses of yeomen farmers.