Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (58 page)

“Do
not be concerned, wolf-brother.”
Balthazar commented.
“This pack has traveled widely and confronted two-leg weapons on a number of
occasions.”

The
Astholf encampment was far enough south that Jeff had sufficient time to think
about what was coming. Memories of the last winter surfaced and he knew that it
could happen, that he could die. But this feels different, he thought. Why am I
not afraid?

Jeff
relaxed to the soothing creak of saddle leather and fell into synchrony with
Cynic’s rocking chair canter. Some time later, he murmured, “I guess that’s what
it is. Just been scared shitless too many times. Either you live or you die.”

With
the wolves scouting ahead, finding the army was simple. They crouched to the
top of a knoll some two hundred yards shy of their target and stretched out to
wait. Below their position a vast sea of campfires glowed red. In the middle
distance off to the west, the Khorgan encampment was visible as a large reddish
orb that spread toward the horizon. Anticipation prompted younger wolves to
belly forward, only to be chastised by a watchful Balthazar and Heideth.

A
faint glow on the horizon gradually brightened. A moon was about to rise. Still
no sign of wagons burning, not a sound to indicate battle.

“C’mon,
Rengeld, let’s get it on. Times wasting!”

Jeff
was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong when he heard a faint but
distinct commotion. Jumping to his feet, he stared off to the west. Within
minutes a bright flare of light rose well above the campfires, quickly followed
by more in an expanding ripple.

“Brothers
and sisters, let us attack!”

To
Jeff’s mind and perception, the wolves simply disappeared. Balko was so
impatient he fairly danced down the hill waiting for Jeff and Cynic.

Murmuring,
“God help those men and women down there,” Jeff mounted up. Cynic thought Balko
was cheating by getting a head start and tore down the hill in pursuit.

They
were picking up speed when a shriek cut through the night. Within seconds, wild
cries of fear and screams of agony sounded from multiple locations. Then horses
added their terror to the din amid shouted questions, commands and bugle calls.
When they hit the flats Jeff leaned forward and Cynic really poured on the
coal, the cool night air ripping by.

When
he was close enough to see panicked soldiers milling around in the moonlight,
Jeff turned Cynic toward the rear of the camp and the supply train. Ten yards
ahead, Balko was visible only as a dark blur. Tents passed in rapid succession,
agitated figures crawling from many of them but visible for only a second as
they flashed by.

One
second Cynic was running free, the next he was plowing through a group of
conscripts. Bodies sailed into the air on either side, and Jeff reflexively
ducked a leg that was gone before he knew what it was.

Balko
savaged anyone within reach as he forced a zigzag path through the men and
women. Those who were able crawled or scuttled away in terror-stricken
desperation. They had bargained on laying siege to Rugen and picking up some
loot, but not this.

Once
through the conscripts, Jeff guided Cynic toward the line of wains. Leaping
from the saddle into the bed of a wain, he kicked a teamster over the
sideboards. Uncorking a bottle of turpentine, he splashed some around and
dumped live coals on top. The coals weren’t hot enough.

“Shit!”

He
kneeled down to blow with all his might. There was so much noise that he could
hardly think, and expected to be run through or brained any second. Something
crashed into the wagon.

Jeff
jerked his head up to see Cynic complete his kick and dived to the side as a
body flipped into the bed. The turpentine caught with a rush and Jeff had to
jump for it. Cynic had the idea and took off for the nearest wain with Jeff
half in and half out of the saddle. Balko was standing in the wain’s bed when
they got there.

As
several more wains caught fire, torrents of air rushed in to form a tornado of
flame that shot high into the night sky. Jeff urged Cynic into the remuda of
pack animals and slashed picket lines as fast as they appeared. Time was
running out.

“Wolf-brother!
Drive the horses out onto the prairie!”

Balko
needed no encouragement and set himself at the horses’ heels as fast as they
were freed. Jeff was well down the line when the guards got organized and came
on with a rush.

“We’re
outta here! Let us run swiftly to join our brothers and sisters!”

They
charged back up the line and plunged into the thick of things near the head of
the column. Jeff was appalled at the carnage roiling about him. Moonlight and
the burning wagons gave enemy troopers a good look at what was killing them. So
rapid were their attacks that the pack’s eighteen wolves seemed like fifty to
men who had never even seen one before.

Panic-stricken
soldiers raced around in wild disorder, others screamed briefly as they were
pulled down. Trying to escape, many ran blindly out of camp while Jeff saw
others burrowing into bedding and tents. He was horrified by the scale of
destruction and death that seethed around him, and by the realization that it
was his doing. At that moment he understood the difference between planning a
battle and experiencing it.

A
bugle repeatedly brayed its call to action, shaking Jeff out of his state of
shock.
“We must leave, wolf-brothers and sisters. Do not tarry!”

Wolves
leaped away into the night in twos and threes. Jeff slanted Cynic off to the
west and stopped a hundred yards out positioned between the two armies. As
feared, a troop of cavalry emerged from the encampment heading west at the
canter. All Jeff wanted to do was get away and forget what he had seen, but his
core mission was to block any attempt by the Salchek to support the Khorgan
Army. He drew the Colt.

The
cavalry troop didn’t see him until the last minute. Steadying the pistol on his
left arm, Jeff blotted out his feelings and emptied the weapon into the troop
in evenly measured shots.

Six
tongues of yellow-orange fire speared the night one after the other,
accompanied by the rolling thunder of muzzle blasts. Three of the leading
horses went down in a shrill, screaming pile and those behind cartwheeled on top.
Others avoided the pileup and came on at the gallop but Jeff was long gone.
Cynic had never experienced gunfire and was bucking across the prairie like a
rodeo horse.

Unable
to locate Jeff, Balko raced back with the pack racing to catch up. The jumble of
thrashing horseflesh and men proved irresistible to some of the wolves, while
others saw a more challenging opportunity.

Black
forms sailed out of the night to strip horses of riders only to bounce from the
ground and do it again. The terrified shrilling of the horses was more
soul-wrenching then that of the humans. Jeff directed a frantic call at the
wolves when he had Cynic under control.

“Return
to the forest!”

Before
leaving, Jeff had the presence of mind to realize he had a final task to
complete. Dismounting he scooped up several Salchek swords. He remounted in a
daze and urged Cynic after the wolves. Not far off, a massive bonfire
illuminated the western horizon.

There
was no evidence of Rengeld’s troop when they arrived at the forest. That was
not unexpected. They were farther afield by some miles. Jeff removed the
hackamore and sent Cynic off to cool down and graze.

The
wolves sat around exchanging war stories, and after a time wondered to Jeff
when they might be invited to such a fun thing again. While Jeff felt immense
relief that quick feet and total surprise had combined to avoid serious wounds,
vivid images of the battle refused to fade.

Balthazar
heard Rengeld’s troop coming and abruptly stood up. They made their farewells
as Balthazar loped off, Heideth at his side.

“We
have wrought well this night, wolf-brother. We will hunt nearby. Call when we
may be of service.”

Adding
fuel to one of the campfires to heat water, Jeff thought, Yes, we have wrought
havoc and death.

When
Rengeld’s force filed into camp, Jeff counted troopers. The tally stopped at
185. Fifteen horses carried wounded soldiers. The water was the right
temperature and he called for volunteers to help clean and bind wounds.
Although many of the wounds were superficial, four of the men were not likely
to survive the return trip.

Snugging
a knot in the last bandage, Jeff directed anxious comrades to assist the
wounded onto horseback. Just a few days to rest, he thought. That’s all most of
them need. At the same time he knew it was impossible. Their camp was only an
hour’s ride from either of the armies. Two hundred horses left a trail that
even an idiot could follow.

Rengeld
spoke with the wounded men. Always reserved, even stern, on this occasion Jeff
observed compassion. Yet there were no options. Rengeld ordered the troop to
move out. Taget and Harko were left behind to assess damage and report back
when it was clear what the armies would do. Come dawn, they stopped well back
in the forest to rest the wounded.

The
rear guard joined up and reported no sign of pursuit. To make sure this was the
case, Jeff asked Balko to make a sweep back to the campsite. It was a mission
that perfectly fit Balko’s idea of how to spend a morning. Later, he was
disappointed to report that he had encountered no sign of the enemy.

When
Jeff related this news to Rengeld, he was pleased but not surprised. “I believe
the Salchek will be forced to treat our assault as a prelude to an attack in
corps strength. To do otherwise would be both foolish and incompetent. They are
neither.”

“Thus
they cannot afford to detach cavalry in pursuit of us.”

“Exactly.
Furthermore, we left the supply train in flames and the army in chaos. Surprise
was complete, Jeffrey. They did not suspect our presence until we were among them.
Our plan worked to perfection! I have learned much this night, and thank you.
Lacking the ‘camouflage’ you so artfully devised, I am certain our casualties
would have been much higher.”

Jeff
handed the Salchek swords to Rengeld. “These lessons were hard-learned in
deadly battles on my world. Battles where the enemy was rarely seen. I am
pleased they have served well this night on another. You must present these
swords to Imogo in full panoply and view of Rugen’s people. They must know that
the Salchek are not invincible. We must also allow the city ample warning
before entering so that a proper reception may be assembled. We will then enter
in camouflage. What think you?”

“Jeffrey,
my friend,” Rengeld said with an admiring shake of his head, “I had not suspected
such a complicated, even devious turn to your mind. Yes. A marvelous
suggestion.”

One
day out of Rugen their presence was noted by a patrol. Rengeld took the
opportunity to send word ahead to Imogo. A few hours before arriving they
applied camouflage and tidied well-used uniforms. Jeff unfolded a simple
triangle of black cloth that he had been working on in secret. Securing the
pennon to a standard, he solemnly presented it to Rengeld.

“Rengeld’s
Raiders have returned.”

Mounting,
they proceeded in three precisely ordered columns. Jeff and Balko were in the
vanguard with Rengeld. Immediately behind, a trooper selected for bravery in
the raid proudly displayed the new unit pennon. Still a mile from the gate, the
crowd had spilled onto the road leaving the narrowest of lanes. Nearer city
walls, the road was packed twenty deep. Rengeld held the captured swords up and
they went wild.

I
really underestimated this, Jeff thought. A lot of these folks are damn near
hysterical. This has to be related in some way to the last occupation. Maybe
they really did believe the Salchek couldn’t be beaten.

A
roar of approval followed their progress toward the south gate. Somewhere,
drums and cymbals pounded and clashed with stirring abandon. By the time they
passed under the portcullis, speech was impossible.

An
honor guard escorted the returning troop to the palace. Streets were crowded
with people, and overhead balconies filled to the point of collapse. Some
balconies were low enough that a few troopers lost their hats. Other troopers
leaned down to grasp hands or accept a kiss. Imogo was standing on the palace
steps accompanied by Ethbar when the troop arrived at the main plaza. Jeff
stood up in the stirrups and stared.

“By
the gods! It’s Belstan!

While
Rengeld solemnly presented the captured swords to Imogo, Jeff tried to spot
Zimma in the crowd. When he could not find her, he nearly deserted the column.
Many explanations raced through his mind, but there was no shaking the worst
one. Jeff was forced to pay attention when Imogo gestured for him to approach.
He was so distracted that he never did remember their conversation.

The
ceremony was no more than concluded when citizens mobbed the troop. Jeff fought
his way through the press toward Belstan. When he was close enough to read
Belstan’s expression, Jeff was taken with panic. Please, not Zimma! The thought
had no more than entered his mind when someone cannoned into him, and his face
was smothered with kisses.