Knight's Dawn (11 page)

I might be going out now to steal cobra eggs, or cut the unborn foetus from a she-wolfs womb. You dont know the half of it, replied a warrior. Theres a Shark Pavilion too . . . They held the hem of the pavilion up for him and he slipped underneath. Soon he was belly-crawling across rocky ground in the darkness. It was a slow painful business. This was going to take all night. There would be no sleep for Soldier. Should he even make a success of his mission, tomorrow was going to be hell, marching double-pace over the landscape with no sleep. There were sentries everywhere. He managed to dig a tunnel with his fingers under the thorn hedge which circled the camp. Then he slipped down the trench and up and over the temporary dyke. The fires had since died down and revealed only a blush, so he had shadowy regions to keep to between their glowing embers. Once, in his gradual and painstaking journey outwards, a sentinel came so close to him as to tread on his hand. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. He almost allowed himself to be found, thinking that he would rather take his chances with the sentries than with the crags of Kkamaramm. His comrades could not censure him for being discovered by the sentries, could they? But then he thought, what about next time? Theyll make me do it again until I bring that damn eagles egg and shove it under their demanding noses. It took an hour to get far enough beyond the sentries to be able to stand up and stretch his limbs. Soldier was already fatigued and the main part of the task still lay ahead of him. Fortunately the stars were out in force and their light was sufficient for him to see vague outlines of the rock face. He had no idea where to start looking for eagle nests, but guessed they would be high up. He found what looked to be a goat track and began climbing, stumbling occasionally on loose scree, and once feeling something with a brittle carapace scuttle away from under his palm when he steadied himself against a boulder. When he reached the end of the goat track he began climbing alpine style. It was arduous and terrifying. Once, after scaling a rock chimney, he looked down and saw the camp-fires far below. They looked dizzyingly distant. He realised there was nothing between him and ground at that point. If he fell it would be to plunge to his death. He managed to swing himself onto the top of a stack and cling there while he got his breath and courage back. This was his worst nightmare come true. To be standing on a windy pinnacle at a great height in the darkness of a lonely night. Often it was the battlements of a castle or some tall tower that dominated his dreams, but a needle stack on a mountain did the job well enough. If I get down from here alive, he told himself, miserably, Ill never take two feet off the ground at once again. His ordeal continued, as he climbed ever higher, searching caves and ledges for signs of eagles nests. At one point he began to think he had been duped. Perhaps those below knew there were no eagles nests up here in Kkamaramm? Maybe hed been sent on a wild eagle-egg chase? No doubt they were laughing into their blankets down there in the pavilion, telling each other what a stupid new recruit they had got and how it was unlikely he would ever return alive. It was all most disconcerting and unsatisfactory from his point of view. He was going to die for nothing, some stupid prank, and uselessly too. Ill haunt them, he said, thoughts of revenge keeping his anger sparked. Ill make them pay somehow. Then suddenly and miraculously - he did believe he was blessed by the gods he came across a nest. Actually it was not so much a nest as a few twigs and bits of grass scattered on a wide ledge. But even more incredibly, this excuse for a nest had two eggs nestling on its twigs. There was no sign of any occupant, even though when he felt the eggs, they proved to be warm. Magic, he murmured to himself. Someone is looking after me theres no other explanation. He took one of the raptors eggs, feeling guilty about stealing life from a mother, even if it was just a predatory bird. He put the egg inside his tunic, next to his heart, to keep it warm. Then he began retracing his climb, finding the best and easiest path down the mountain. It was even more difficult going down that it had been going up. And there was the added problem of keeping the egg whole. Part of the way down he realised something else. There was movement inside the egg. He could feel that the creature within the egg was ready to come out. Soldier just hoped it would wait until he got to the pavilion before breaking through the shell. He was not sure his comrades would accept pieces of eggshell and he certainly did not want to do the same quest again. He did reach level ground, finally. Then he had the same problem as before, only in reverse. He had to get past the sentries to get into the camp. This time the dawn was coming up in the east. Sharp fingers of light were clawing their way across the sky. Dawn is not a good time to be moving over the landscape. At dawn the light is so poor sentries have to be doubly alert. Shadows chase each other over a grey world and those on the last watch of the night are keen to inspect every movement between them and the horizon. Soldier dug deep into a time of training he did not remember on the surface of his mind, but which lay in abundance below his conscious thought. Navigating thorn trees, he crawled along ditches and furrows, some of them so badly situated that they seemed to be taking him out of the camp, though in fact they led to others travelling in a more central direction. Each few yards were taken slowly and with great care. It actually worried him that he was able to gradually work himself along towards the middle of the sentries, be they ever so keen, because if he could do it, so could an assassin with a knife between his or her teeth. Soldier would not sleep so easily in camp again, never mind the sentinels were of the highest quality and state of readiness. By the time he was inside the ring of guards, the sun was well up. His pavilion had arisen and were washing in their portable leather bowls. He could see Velion, looking for him, as he made his way towards his fellows. Captain Montecute noticed him and looked the other way. Of course the officers were aware of the initiation. They simply ignored it. Velion looked up from washing and gave him a broad smile. I knew you could do it, she said, as the others clustered round too. You did get it, didnt you? I got it, replied Soldier, but wed better be quick. I think its ready to hatch. Maybe we can put the infant somewhere where the mother can see it and return it to the nest? Down by the stream perhaps? Eagles have to drink too, dont they? Never mind that, grumbled a man, lets see the egg. Soldier reached inside his tunic and then brought out his hand with the egg resting on his palm. The other warriors stared at it, then looked at Soldier. Velion raised her eyebrows. Whats the matter? asked Soldier. Is there something wrong? There was obviously something wrong. Velion said, Thats no eagles egg. Soldier began to panic. How would you know? he said, quickly. One of the other warriors said, Of course we know, Soldier. This is the Eagle Pavilion. Soldiers heart sank. Not an eagles egg? What was it then? However, they would soon find out because the shell was cracking in his hand, opening to reveal its live contents. He brought his other hand round, keeping the egg confined within his two palms. It had to be some sort of bird, or giant insect or perhaps it was a snake? Suddenly he decided to put the egg on the ground. He had remembered that the young of poisonous snakes came out of the egg with venom just as virulent as that of their parents, even though they were not mature in any other respect. A hole appeared and a little green snout poked through. Gradually the bits of shell fell away, from the top, from the sides, then out wriggled a short green reptile. A crocodile? said Soldier, amazed. How in the name of the gods did it get up there on the mountain? Was it carried by an eagle or something? There were two of them. Surely a raptor wouldnt go collecting the eggs of a crocodile? Quiet! said Velion. Look! Under their gaze the creature began licking away the slime from its body. It was a tiny green wonder of nature, with a red underside and red frills around its nostrils. Bright red. The red of good wine or a certain kind of rose. It had a lizardy, long, flicking tail, two tiny legs with sharp claws and an elongated head. The long tongue reached its back, where it spent a relatively long time in licking and preening itself. Then something magical began to happen. Its back began to open like a flower. They watched in wonder as two tissue-thin wings began to unfold and stretch themselves to dry in the morning sun. At this stage these wings were so translucent the sun shone through them, creating rainbow patterns on the infants back. Then the tiny creature let out a screech, as it looked up to see it was being observed. The volume of the sound was quite out of proportion to its size: it could no doubt be heard miles away. The group around Soldier had begun to back away, and had gone pale as fire-ash and deathly quiet. What? asked Soldier. Dragon, came the reply from one of the warriors. From a minor species admittedly. This is a two-legged red-bellied green dragon. Theyre very good at hovering, like dragon-flies. They grow to be about the size of a bear, no more. Oh, just the size of a bear? said Soldier. Velion grasped his arm. Its calling for its mother . . . But the rest of her sentence was drowned by the infants terrible screech, as its eyes fixed on Soldier. Actually, said Velion, following its adoring gaze, full of love and appetite, right at this minute it thinks youre its mother and it probably wants milk. Another horrible screech. Keep it here a minute, said Soldier, and he ran back to where the field kitchen stood. He was back within half a minute carrying a big slab of pigs liver, dripping with blood. He fed it to the baby dragon, a sliver at a time. It crooned, and regarded him with wide anxious eyes as he put pieces of soft meat in its mouth. Time to move! yelled a sergeant, from the tents. Lets strike the pavilion nowl Soldier reluctantly left his charge, having first cut the liver into small chunks. The Eagle Pavilion quickly struck their tent and had their mules packed and ready to go within a few minutes. They had shooed the baby dragon into a rat hole in the ground, where it would have shade. Its cries were muffled by the rock they had placed over the hole. The Pavilions officers were surprised but pleased by how quickly their warriors had got ready for the march that morning and took a new place in the front of the army. Anxious warriors scoured the sky with their eyes, expecting that at any moment a huge and terrifying beast would descend from the heavens and rip them asunder. They were never so anxious to to be on the march. Soldier removed the rock from the hole before they left. He believed the mother would go for its young rather than chase this gang of humans across the landscape. The infant dragon had crawled out of the hole with a look of indignation and hurt on its green features, but on seeing Soldier it had mewled. Kerroww, it had said. Kerroww, kerroww. Soldier left a wineskin full of goats milk for the tiny mouth with its rows of needle teeth to pierce and suckle on once he had gone. Listen infant, said Soldier, wagging his finger. You look after yourself, you little rascal. He then scumed off to join his pavilion on the march.

Chapter Ten

The Carthagan mercenaries circumnavigated Mount Kkamaramm and fetched up on the edge of a desert. During the march and the encampments Soldier got to know his fellow warriors. They were for the most part a simple bunch. Not in any sense ignorant, but with fairly simple needs and a simple life-style. They wanted for little except the respect of their peers. If they did not make him entirely welcome it was not through malice, but because they were unused to strangers. They were reserved with Soldier because they did not know him. It seemed that they had all been children together, had grown up in each others company, and knew each other inside and out. Soldier did not help his situation by showing an equal amount of reserve and by expecting everyone in the pavilion to respect his desire for privacy. Velion told him, You cant expect them to simply accept you for a good fellow when youve done nothing to earn their esteem. I dont want their esteem. I want their comradeship. But, she rightly pointed out, youre not very friendly yourself. This was true. He allowed Velion behind his protective outer shell occasionally, but no one else. What did he expect then? That they should return his coldness with great warmth? Soldier realised that would be unreasonable. He had no right to expect anything except their support during a battle. They did not have to give him their friendship, only their professional backing. They were mercenary warriors. The truth was he was afraid that if he did open his soul and mind to them they and he might discover something unsavoury. Already he was having flashbacks, of being in some place he knew not where in which there was a fiery conflict between him and another man. It was as if there were a door in Soldiers mind which had opened a little and provided a chink for him to peer through. The other man had the appearance of a fellow warrior. Soldier sensed that he had done this man a great wrong. Perhaps he had even killed someone in anger. Gould he have done such a thing? Murder a man? There were blurred images burned into Soldiers brain, of him burying his sword in another mans heart. Was that why his scabbard had been empty? Was the weapon that fitted that sheath piercing the heart of a blameless man? If these nightmare scenes thrown up by his subconscious were true he did not want to know more about them. A soldiers spirit had to be bright and shining, without the stain of cowardice or military malfeasance. If he had murdered someone, not on the battlefield, perhaps even in the dead of the night, then he was damned indeed. It were better not to remember more. One night, when he had stripped to wash himself, Captain Montecute had walked by. The captain had stopped and studied Soldier, before saying to him, You have the scars of the lash upon your back. Theyre faint, but in a certain light you can see the white streaks where the whip has left its mark. I have? said Soldier, wiping his dripping chest with towelling. I didnt know. You dont remember being whipped? asked the officer, surprised and disbelieving. A flogging is not something a man forgets very easily. The dark door in Soldiers brain suddenly slammed shut again. He felt grim and forbidding. He resented this questioning of his former character. No, I dont recall that happening. I have punished enough warriors myself to know the marks of flogging when I see them. Still, if you behave yourself in my pavilion I will have no reason to hold anything against you. But Ill be watching you a little more closely in future. I want no trouble amongst my warriors. They are good fighters. I am a good fighter, captain. We dont know that yet well see, wont we? Soldier began to wonder if he had been wholly wicked, in his life before finding himself on that hill where he had first met the blue hunter. He would not have been whipped for murder, he would have been executed. The flogging must have been for something else. Thieving? Looting? Disobeying an order? Or possibly for simply striking an officer? His body bore the signs of him being a bad soldier. His mind was trying to send him images bearing the same message. Might it be better not to try to discover his original self, but to settle for who he was now? If he was true to the present he might save himself. But a man does not let go of his past so easily, and in unguarded moments Soldier still found himself probing deeply in search of his true identity and his previous life. Velion had befriended Soldier for a number of reasons. At first the main one was of course that her lieutenant had asked her to keep an eye on the new recruit. Not spy on him, exactly, but watch him closely. Carthagans were a naturally untrust-ing race who were careful about their relationships with other peoples. They did not easily allow others, be they friends or enemies, to see below the surface of their culture. However, once she had come to know him the first reason faded a little into the background. She genuinely came to like the mysterious stranger. She didnt understand him, exactly, but he seemed sincere and basically honest, and there was a warmth that developed between them which is hard to explain to anyone who has not felt real friendship for another person. What was more, Soldier seemed to become fond of her, and this is always hard to resist, even if one begins by disliking a person. She did sense that Soldier had a dark side, but this only made him more attractive to a warrior who had joined the army because she enjoyed the heat of a battle. Velion had been the right person to ask to take on the semiofficial role as Soldier-watcher, because she was also an inquisitive woman, interested in all things that made up the known world. She had grown up in a society where feats of strength and endurance were considered the prime virtues of a good citizen. The Carthagans were a martial race. They had fought their own wars, of course, but now there was not a country in the world which would attack them and try to subdue them. Thus they hired out their skills at warfare to those who would pay for them. The only stipulation they made was that they would not fight against their own kind. If two countries both hired Carthagan mercenaries, then those mercenaries would only pit themselves against the foreigners on the field. Velions upbringing was strict and harsh. Garthaga was not a rich country. It lay across the Cerulean Sea on a vast southern continent known as Gwandoland. Its immediate neighbour was Uan Muhuggiag, where certain desert tribes dwelt. Carthagans lived in adobe huts made from local clay and practised war sports with as much earnestness as they did their academic studies. It was said that Carthagan youths and maidens would run fifty miles with a mouthful of water and not swallow a drop. They hunted the winged lions of Gwandoland in groups of not more than three, armed only with spears. They were not allowed the full rights of citizenship to vote, to marry, to follow an independent career until they reached the age of thirty years. Before that time, even if they were not in the army, they lived in communes and ate, worked and slept with other youths or maidens. Those who were too sensitive for war or physical exploits went into administration, helping to run the country, teaching the young, and writing those books which needed to be written, including the manuals of war. Soldier was a different type of man to Velions Carthagan peers. His looks were more delicate, but there was strength and hardness in him. His eyes were a vivid blue she was used to the more earthy colours of an umber land - and at first glance looked as if their owner was capable of great kindness. However, the more she looked into those eyes the more she discovered a depth of violence there which astonished her. It was as if the owner of those eyes were restraining himself much of the time. His ideas were sharper and less muddled than those she was used to, his approach to things fresher. And he did not sit on his pride. If he was wrong, he said so, and was not afraid to admit to being ignorant of facts. These things she liked in him. She did not like his reserve in strange company, and his habit of eating with a forked twig. These things were unbecoming in a tough warrior. One held oneself back in the presence of people one did not know, and one ate with ones fingers to show a proper lack of regard for food. You said youve fought in many battles? Where was that? They were having a conversation, sitting around the central fire in the pavilion of a calm evening. Soldier said, truthfully, I dont know. That is, I have a hazy recollection of a place of green hills and valleys, with broad rivers running through them, but nothing definite. You have several battle scars, its true. Soldier nodded. Yes and I have the skills of a warrior. They are all I have. Show me one of these skills. Soldier suddenly whipped out the warhammer from his belt and swiftly threw it at a nearby tent pole illuminated by the firelight. The warhammer thudded into the wood, spike first, at about the height of an enemys heart. Several heads turned to study the warrior who had thrown the weapon, surprised at the force and accuracy of the throw. There were one or two murmurs and noddings of heads before the warriors went back to their own tasks or conversations. Very good, said Velion, impressed. And you just have these abilities in you? I didnt even know I had that one until I did it, just now, admitted Soldier. She regarded him thoughtfully. Youre a great mystery to me, she said at last. You have these skills, as you say, yet you seem to disapprove of them. A Carthagan would glory in the fact that he or she had such talent. They wouldnt necessarily brag, but they wouldnt apologise either. You dont apologise in so many words, but its implied by your manner. Should one be proud of killing skills? Why not? A baker is proud of his ability to make bread, a wheelwright pleased when he makes a good wagon wheel, why not a warrior proud of his talent for battle? Because the two skills you mention are creative skills ours is destructive. A bad wizard has creative skills, yet I would not be proud of achievements that further only evil. A tree surgeon has destructive skills, yet I would be proud to own his talents. War is inevitable. Its the autumn for humans, the pruning of the races, the culling of the herds. The old flower has to die for the new flower to bloom in its place. Soldier smiled and shook his head. No, no I dont believe in the inevitability of war. There are plenty of other ways to replace decayed wood with live saplings. Natural disasters do that job very well, without any help from us. Floods, earthquakes, eruptions, avalanches. We dont need any help from professional killers. Then why join the army, if you disapprove of its aims? Its the only thing I know how to do well. Velion left it at that. She did not want to probe deeply too early. One could lose a friend like that. Better to wait and draw him out little by little. Perhaps she could help him discover things about himself? He seemed genuinely not to know where he came from or who he was. She would be quite happy to assist him unravelling these mysteries. One morning they were camped by an oasis. They had arrived the previous evening, just as the dusk was settling. Velion woke Soldier and motioned for him to come with her. He blinked and shook himself completely awake, before following her out of the huge three-poled tent and into the dawn. There were sentries posted outside the camp, which sprawled around the small lake where a forceful stream bubbled up from the bedrock, and came out of the ground as a white fount, falling in cascades to fill a natural stone basin with crystal water. Velion led him within the encampment to a place where the officers had their tent at the far end of the lake. Here there was a water-meadow where wildflowers grew in abundance. What is it? asked Soldier, able to speak at last now that they were out of earshot of sleeping warriors. I want to show you something, said Velion. Something very beautiful. This is a magical oasis, placed here by a wixard many centuries ago. Its not natural? The rock bowl was shaped by the wind and sand, but the stream did not arrive due to the course of nature. Whats a wixard? You dont mean wizard? Velion shook her head. No, I dont mean wizard, I mean wixard. Watch those large irises when the sun hits them and warms them. Theyre just about to bloom. Soldier did as he was told. He kept his eyes on the patch of flags growing in the corner of the lake. As the minutes went by the sun grew warmer and warmer. Finally he saw the blossoms begin to shiver. Gradually they began to unfold, their petals opening. They were a strong yellow in colour and seemed to have four main petals which gradually uncurled and lay in stretched pairs on either side of the stem. Then, as Soldier watched, the shape of a sharp-pointed head began to appear from within the cup of the flower. There was a crest of stamens sprouting from the back of this strange protrusion. The bird-head shook itself, opened two eyes and stared about it. Then the creature, for that is what it had become, stretched its petal-wings, detached its legs from the stern of the plant, and flew up into the air. Its changed into a bird, gasped Soldier. Or was it a bird all the time? Just roosting on top of the plant? No, your first guess was right. As the flower bloomed it became a flying creature. Now watch the others. More warriors had come from the camp, creeping up next to Velion and Soldier, to watch this phenomenon. It was one of the entertainments of the march, to stop at such a place and witness its magic. Some had seen it all before, but they came anyway, to see it a second or subsequent time. All around the water-meadows large wildflowers of various sorts were blooming now, and at the last moment of their unravelling they loosed exotic birds which took to the skies. Purple, red, yellow, white, green every bright or softened hue. These creatures rose in singles or in flocks, depending upon the plant which grew them, filling the morning sky with colour. No sound came from their beaks, which made it all the more an eerie sight. Like mute parrots they drifted away on the air. From the smaller plants came bright insects wasps, hornets, shiny beetles, bees, long-tailed flies, green crickets, butterflies, moths, damselflies a glimmering swarm of multi-toned flying creatures. They showered upwards, the only sound that of hard-carapaced beetles clacking their shells together in their efforts to find space. It was a fizzing, effervescent dawn above the water-meadows. A pyrotechnical show of new life. Soldier was entranced by the show which went on for almost an hour. Then gradually the last bird, the last insect, found its way up to a wind or thermal, and went floating away over the pink sands of the desert.