Terry W. Ervin (10 page)

“What about not crossing swords to the death in time of war?”

“That only applies to Keeseean military. Mercenaries operate under different rules. Fewer rules.”

I didn’t want to ask, afraid of the answer, but decided I’d better. “Short Two Blades just cut Worm-Gut down. He didn’t even know what was happening. He was just dead.” I gulped. “What if that happens to me?”

Road Toad rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow. “Mercenary life is tough. Most are fair and don’t mind another’s business. Worm-Gut was looking for trouble. He found it. You’re not the type that’ll do that.”

“What if I do by accident?

“You won’t.” He continued before I could ask another question. “Pops Weasel showed up in camp.”

“I heard,” I said. “He moved into Worm-Gut’s tent with Short Two Blades.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

After greeting, they’d been hushed in their discussion around the fire. “No.”

“Enemy’s coming.”

I rolled over, propped myself up on an elbow. “When?”

“Soon. Most of the freemen are packing up now. Some have moved out already.” He lay back down and covered up. “Get some sleep, Krish. Midnight’ll be here soon.”

“Right,” I said. “I’ll try.”

That night I didn’t dream about Guzzy dying. I dreamt of Virgil Worm-Gut, son of Evers, being buried in a narrow grave, crying out to Short Two Blades that he was sorry.

The enemy didn’t come that night or the next day. Serpent Cavalrymen left to scout the enemy as did knights on horseback.

The enchanters’ tent was one of the few merchant businesses that had remained and it struggled to keep up with business. I’d spent two hours in line outside the tent and an additional fifteen minutes inside for the spells.

Pops Weasel called as I left the tent to walk back to our circle camp. “Krish!”

I stopped and waited. He broke into a hurried walk, strongly swinging his arms in the effort. He grinned and slapped me on the back, happy to see me.

“Just come from the enchanters I see.” He looked over his shoulder as we made our way to camp. “Enchanters’ll have a line into the night. Or until they fatigue themselves.”

“Had my sword and spear warded against salt damage,” I said. “A weak enchantment, but all I could afford.”

“Always do your best to keep your weapons sharp and ready.”

“Pops Weasel,” I asked. “There were eight enchanters in the tent. Each wore hoods and masks, and spoke in whispers. Does the magic disfigure them?”

“Naww, not to my knowledge. What I’ve heard is they disguise themselves from others because their working with magic makes’em vulnerable to magics. Especially a sorcerer’s.” He slowed and pointed, not at me but in a tight gesture as if to remind himself. “I was lookin’ to tell you something.”

I slowed and waited.

“Was going to tell you last night, but—” He held a hand up, signaling to himself to stop. “Well, you know. Anyway, I ran into some refugees from Pine Ridge. One in particular.”

Who?” I asked, grabbing him by the shoulder. I checked myself and stepped back. Pops Weasel didn’t seem offended. “My family?”

“Not quite,” Pops explained. “It was your cousin Guzzy’s father. Somehow, among the refugees, he’d heard I was at the battle in the Gray Haunt Forest, north of Pine Ridge.”

We started walking again, and I struggled not to interrupt with questions. I held my breath in anticipation and almost stumbled at Pops Weasel’s next words.

“They’re all okay, but I lied to him,” Pops said, quickly adding, “but not fully.” Pops rubbed his graying beard stubble. “Told him Guzzy died just after cutting down an ogre with his axe. Told him his son got shot in the back, pierced through the heart by a goblin arrow. He was grief-stricken. I told him you’d run the goblin through with your boar spear. And that we’d salted Guzzy’s death wound so he’d never become a zombie.”

We neared the camp as he explained, “So, Krish, I told him pretty much the truth. Better if he remembers his lost son for a heroic death, avenged by a family member.” The conviction in the old mercenary’s eyes said he believed it to be true.

“He didn’t know where your folks was,” Pops said, “but I told him that you were still alive, last time I’d seen you. Your uncle promised he’d tell your folks when he saw them.”

A military supply wagon had rolled next to our camp when we arrived. Two freemen, supervised by a corporal, were handing out additional supplies of salt along with beef and goat jerky.

It was a quiet camp that night. We tore down our tents before the collection wagon rolled by to pick them up. After checking our equipment, we spread our blankets under the stars. Everyone in our circle camp slept but me.

2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The missile sub rocked as expanding gasses expelled the first intermediate range ballistic missile from its tube. Upon clearing the water the first stage motor ignited, propelling the missile skyward.

Two Keeseean soldiers stood guard with Road Toad and me around the bevy. Fifteen minutes into our midnight watch two riders on blacks returned. The serpent cavalrymen unstrapped, leapt from their mounts, and sprinted toward Prince Reveron’s pavilion in the center of camp.

Within five minutes bugle calls roused whatever soldier might’ve been sleeping. I watched as the handlers watered the two freshly returned black dragons and saddled the fourteen red dragons and six remaining blacks. I didn’t have to ask Road Toad why. Organized companies of mercenary, regular soldier, and even a few Keeseean militia marched past us to defensive positions along the edge of camp.

Road Toad pulled out his tin of grease and drew his sword. “Good thing you paid to have your weapons warded.” As he greased his sword and spread salt, Road Toad walked over to where he’d set his tied bundle of five javelins. “Had these blessed by an Algaan priest just after the last sunrise.” From the bundle he pulled three crossbow quarrels. “These too.”

I carefully placed them in my quiver. “I didn’t even think of that. We’ve been on duty through every sunrise. Thanks.”

“Use’em well and I won’t even ask you for the three copper it cost.” He checked his equipment while reminding me with a laugh, “I’d remind a green recruit to use’em before next sunrise. They’ll lose some of their potency.”

I was nervous, not quite shaking but tense. Road Toad’s joking confidence and smile helped. I asked him, “How many zombies you think the Necromancer King will send against us?”

He shrugged. “There’s more wizards here than I’ve ever seen in one place. Pops said he’d seen over a dozen translucent-bearded air wizards ride in just after sunset.”

One of the Keeseean guards nodded. “Heard that too. We think the prince is setting a trap for the Necromancer King’s forces. Just heard today the prince’s seer uncovered a spy two days ago.” The guard nodded toward the Crusader encampment. “You know what those masks they carry on their belts are for?” He gestured, drawing his hand down from his face. “With the long dangling nose tube?”

Road Toad shook his head. “No, but I saw a Crusader sergeant showing his goggled mask to a couple of the air wizards.”

“Hmmm,” said the guard. “Them conspiring together? Kind of like mixing water and oil.”

I wondered why I never saw or heard such things. Probably because I didn’t know what to look for or who to listen to.

The approach of the serpent cavalrymen silenced our exchange of camp gossip. I wondered what we would guard if all of the dragons took flight. Would we go to the front, or serve as reserves? The prince had mentioned to Road Toad about serving as more than guards. I realized Prince Reveron was among the cavalrymen after Road Toad nudged me while bowing himself.

The prince ignored us and one by one the mounted dragons took off into the night. I’d become used to watching the dragons stalk to open ground before spreading their wings and leaping into the air. The first time I didn’t close my eyes, or look away when the beast’s wings buffeted the ground. It was the first and last time swirling bits of ground debris got into my eyes.

Even flapping to gain altitude, the dragons appeared graceful. I watched as they spiraled upward into the near cloudless sky. Some dragons remained above the camp. Others flew north. The moon was nearing three quarters full. The stars twinkled. It wasn’t cold. Still, a chill ran down my spine.

Both Road Toad and I stood atop ladders braced against the bevy’s equipment racks. Normally the ladders were used for working with the dragons. There were better viewing platforms, wooden poles set in the ground behind the front lines. Corporals and low ranking officers had climbed those, strategically keeping the bulk of the wood between them and the enemy whose movements they spied upon. Until the arrival of panzers, wooden towers warded against spells served that purpose. The growl of panzer engines during the night in the tree line four hundred yards away announced their presence. At that distance the panzers could easily target any tower, so they were abandoned.

“It’s almost dawn,” said one of the handlers from below. “Don’t zombies come at night?”

Road Toad glanced at me and I answered based upon what we’d discussed earlier. “Usually they do, because at night they hold the advantage. Goblins too. Ogres, it doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe they’re trying to wear out our dragons,” replied another handler. “Maybe the soldiers. We get tired, zombies don’t.”

“Must be more than that,” said Road Toad. “They’d have at least harassed the front lines. They have something else planned.”

The first handler shook his head and smiled. “Nope. Them reds would’ve cindered them. And the prince has rotated his dragons.” He pointed back toward the area of camp where the market had been. “Half the bevy’s at rest, switching every two hours.”

“Waiting’s over,” warned Road Toad.

Looking to where he pointed, I spotted small bunches of zombies, no more than seven in each group. Spaced at least five yards apart and seemingly in haphazard order, dozens of these mini-hordes emerged from the woods. Heedless of the diving dragons, they shambled toward the trench line and earthen mound defenses.

“They’ve got timber to span the trench,” I said. Two zombies in each group carried paired eight inch diameter logs lashed together. More and more scattered groups of zombies followed on the heels of the first wave. “They’re serious.”

When the zombies had covered two hundred yards, one of the red dragons swept down upon them. The serpent cavalryman hunched low against his mount. The rear-facing rider leaned hard against his heavy crossbow mounted on a squat tripod held in place by broad leather tracings.

The dragon smashed and scattered one zombie bunch with its tail while breathing a jet of flames. The breath weapon fanned outward as it raced from the red’s mouth to the ground. Four unflinching bunches of zombies burned, smoldered, and fell. Other zombie groups charged through remnants of the dragon’s flame that had ignited tufts of spring grass. The shambling undead took damage but kept coming.

Just as the red angled away and flapped skyward, the chatter of machine gun fire, given visible substance by streaking white tracers, sounded. One of the lines crossed the dragon’s flank and tail. At first in surprise, then in pain its snarl transformed into a roar.

“The aft-guard’s hit,” said Road Toad, watching the arms and head of the crossbowman bounce and flop lifelessly. Only the straps held him in the saddle.

The defenders sent a rain of crossbow bolts, arrows and javelins into the zombies nearing the trench. Machine gun fire from the woods sounded with bursts raking the top of the earthen mound. Helmets and breastplates failed to stop most of the speeding lead. The struck defenders toppled down the back of the mound. The wounded’s cries of pain mingled with orders of captains, relayed by shouting sergeants and corporals.

Dragons dove on the panzers in the woods, breathing acid and flame. A red and a black staggered in flight as machine gun fire found its mark, raking them. They fell, crashing into the trees.

Men weathered the machine gun fire to throw javelins and shoot arrows before the zombies reached the mound. Fresh zombie picket teams with spears and swords rushed forward to reinforce the lines. I knew what the pickets were up against: brute zombie strength and mindless determination. They surged up against the defenders, punching and tearing in an effort to break through.

It was like the battle in the Gray Haunt Forest all over again but on a much larger scale. I watched Prince Reveron’s men struggle to throw back the first wave and brace for the oncoming second. Some wounded were carried back from the front while others crawled over fallen flesh-rotted zombies and dead comrades to escape. At the bridge it had been a skirmish that ended in slaughter. This was raw carnage.

I didn’t have time to ponder it. “Road Toad, Krish,” called Major Parks. He stood next to a pale-skinned woman dressed in sky blue. “This is Grand Wizard Seelain. Escort her to the front and defend her.”

Standing next to the grand wizard, I felt her power, like cold shivers on my skin. Swirls of breezy air emanated from her and twirled around her bone-white staff. I knew there to be nine levels of wizards. I thought the powerful wizard at the bridge who’d summoned the earth elemental was a greater wizard. Grand indicated she had attained the seventh tier, surpassing him by two.