The Dragons of Argonath (43 page)

Cuzo warned them to check joboquins. It had been a busy day, with much marching up and down the line. Leather thongs would have felt the strain. Then he dismissed them. They drifted back to the line.

"It'd be bad if we hadn't had that boil-up," said Rakama as they were walking back together.

"Dragons were right edgy," agreed Swane. "Way too long without a good feed."

"And all that marching," grumbled Little Jak.

"Urmin's trying to make them think he's got more dragons than he has. Making ten do for thirty," said Swane.

Relkin was too tired to talk much. It had been a long, exhausting day. He was looking forward to finding a corner under the ground sheet and putting it all behind him.

They split up at the lines. In the first row were Alsebra, Vlok, and Bazil, each reposing under a pair of ground sheets strung up as a tent. Relkin found that Bazil was sound asleep and that the ground sheets had kept the wyvern out of the rain. There was just all the wet that had existed before underneath, so everything was damp. Nevertheless, to Relkin it was warm and almost dry. He curled up next to the dragon's side and was fast asleep in moments.

He dreamed of Eilsa, but not the usual pleasant images. It was a strange, troubling dream in which he saw Eilsa at the rail of a passing ship. She was going east, and he was going west. She waved sadly to him across the growing gulf between their ships. Even if he dove after her, he would never catch her ship, which was plowing on before the wind. Nor could he, a mere dragonboy, stop the ship he was on and send it in pursuit of the other.

The sails on Eilsa's ship had turned black. The sun was setting, and as it set it was turning into a face: the face of the dead Elf Lord Mot Pulk. Relkin moaned in his sleep.

In the dim light just before walking, Relkin saw Eilsa's face frozen in his thoughts. She was caught in a trap of some kind, but more than that he could not clearly remember. He shook his head to try and clear it. Then he realized somebody was actually shaking him by the shoulder. He focused, and finally woke up completely.

"Manuel, what is it?"

"The Purple Green says he smells something bad in the woods. It's coming up from the south side."

"Something bad?"

"Like the new trolls we fought at Quosh."

Relkin scrambled to his feet.

"He's sure of this?"

"He says so."

"Tell Cuzo. There must be an attack coming. Sound the alarm."

Manuel ran off to the dragon leader's position, and Relkin ran up and down the lines shouting for everyone to wake up. Bleary voices shouted back at him, but bleary or not, their owners were awake.

The Purple Green was already on his feet and stamping his huge legs, driving his ground sheets into the mud, hissing angrily like some enormously overgrown snake.

Cuzo ran up, still struggling to clear sleep from his mind.

"What do you smell?" he shouted to the Purple Green.

The great wild dragon flared his huge eyes wide. "Same things we fight in Quosh."

All around them the woods were alive now with great dragons fumbling for equipment and swords. Dragonboys bustled to help while they also took up their bows and made sure they had dry strings ready.

"From the south, sir!" said Manuel.

"Move out on the double," said Cuzo. If it was a false alarm, then it was a false alarm; but if it wasn't, then they dared not waste a second.

"Curf, take a message to Commander Urmin. Tell him we're concentrating at the south end of our position and that the Purple Green has caught the smell of the enemy trying for a surprise attack on our flank."

Curf saluted and sprang away.

Dragons hefted their shields. Dragonboys tried to attach armor. Helmets went on. Ready or not they were in motion, heading south. There wasn't much light, and they needed to move carefully because the ground was cut up with gullies and holes.

Bazil fell in beside the great wild dragon, who just smashed his way through the trees.

"You are sure of this smell? Since this dragon doesn't smell anything, but wet wood and mud."

"Bah, wyvern dragons have weak noses. I smell those things again."

He hated to admit it, but Bazil knew that the Purple Green had the strongest sense of smell of any of them, nor was the wild dragon inclined to easy panic. If he smelled the enemy, then he damned well smelled them. Bazil said no more and concentrated on not putting a foot down a rabbit hole in the dark.

After a hundred yards they halted along the edge of a deeper gully, where a small stream had cut its way. This was the southern or left flank of Urmin's position in front of the town of Posila. Across the gully in the uncertain darkness, lay more trees, scrub oaks, white ash, gnarled little pines for the most part. The darkness there was thick, almost palpable.

The Purple Green sniffed.

"They are there, coming closer."

The other dragons were starting to smell it too.

"Same thing we smell at Quosh," said Vlok.

Then Bazil's nostrils twitched, and he caught it too, a stench like pig excrement, foul and thick. He tensed, eyes scanning the woods ahead.

"By the fire, what is that?" snapped Alsebra's voice off to his left.

A strange deepening of the shadow seemed to fill in the trees opposite, across the gully. The trees had hardly been visible before. Now they were gone, and the world was caught up in a dark sack. All light had been sucked from the scene. And yet something stole upon them, something sly and merciless. They could feel it coming.

Relkin felt an odd tug in his mind. A sense of the eldritch made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his head stand up.

He looked up and met Bazil's eyes. Even in the pitch-darkness, Relkin could sense the wyvern's unease.

"Strange feeling, something is wrong. Must be magic."

"Magic it is, Bazil, but there's that smell too. We can all smell it now."

"Stink like pigs," muttered the wyvern who drew Ecator.

There were loud creaks and cracks in the trees across the gully, but still nothing could be seen.

Relkin shuddered at the sudden feeling of having dozens of busy flies running over the skin, tiny feet skittering at the edge of sensation.

Swords were unsheathed quietly among the trees. Huge bodies tensed themselves even though they could see nothing.

The dense shadow paused at the edge of the gully. The dragons remained crouched in the undergrowth, swords held low to the ground. For a long moment the wall of shadow hung there on the opposite bank; then it moved down into the gully and up the other side. They watched with distinct unease as the front of the shadow approached, sliding up the gravel to the top of their side and forward into the trees. Then it was right on top of them. They readied themselves, for they knew not what, but as the dark terminating line passed over them, they were abruptly stunned by a harsh green light that blazed from a point source on the far side of the gully. Outlined in front of them was an army, fronted by dozens of great, hog-faced bewks with swords and shields.

Behind them were men and things that were taller than men and had the same hunched shoulders as the bewks. Spears and axes were borne in their hands.

Relkin heard a movement at his side. Cuzo had pushed up close to see this. He winced at the glare.

"By the Hand," Cuzo drew his sword.

"Duck!" Relkin shoved the dragon leader aside. Bazil had risen, his tail had shot out and would have caught Cuzo across the back of the head.

"Got to watch those tails, sir!" Relkin had sprung up behind Bazil. The tail came back hard as Bazil set himself to wield the sword; Relkin ducked without even seeming to see the tail.

Ecator met a bewk blade a moment later with the first great ringing blow. Moments later the clangor up and down the position grew fierce, along with the roaring of the dragons and the shrieks and moans of bewks, men, and the new beasts.

Through that greenish light a man in black uniform tumbled toward him. Relkin had always associated that uniform with Padmasa. Without any regret he put his arrow in the man's chest. Behind the first came a second. But it was no man, the weird piglike face told him that in an instant. It was massively built, more bewk than man and carried a woodsman's ax. Relkin was briefly puzzled over that. It wasn't even a battle ax.

Then he ducked as Ecator flew low overhead and clipped the piglike brute's head from its shoulders. The dragon backed toward him, crushing a tree, and Relkin had to move. A second pig-faced brute was lunging at Bazil's right leg with a spear, but then Relkin's arrow stood out from its mouth and it twisted away and went down on its knees.

Whatever they were, they were killable. Relkin dodged and ducked and aimed his Cunfshon bow. Another man, another shaft, and the man was down.

A towering bewkman was cleft by Vlok's sword and the upper half fell back into the gully, blood spraying over the host of men massed there.

A bewk thrust at Bazil and was parried. Bazil noted again how unpleasantly quick these new trolls were. The bewk grew more confident, fatally so. It swung overhand, a clumsy effort, and Bazil took the blow on the shield and turned the weapon while he ran the bewk through with Ecator.

Bazil vented a roar as he thrust up his foot and shoved the bewk's corpse back onto the mass of smaller enemies coming up behind. Men with round shields, levies from the Aubinan peasantry. They screamed as they took the brunt of the fall of the great bewk.

A man halted at the crest with a dragonboy's arrow projecting suddenly from his face. He toppled back, arms milling, and sank through the spears of the oncoming.

Another bewk hove up through the ruck, its sword in motion. Bazil, forced to backhand away several more men edging in with spears, was wrong-footed. He could only evade with a clumsy sideways stumble. A bewkman was there, his spear lunged and scraped along the greave, barely missing flesh. Before he could pull back for another effort, he was knocked down by the dragon's foot. Relkin leaned across and applied the sword to the exposed throat.

"Sometimes boy like an extra hand…" purred the leatherback wyvern.

Bazil regained his balance, and Ecator swung once more.

But there were too many, and the bewk was still hewing at Bazil, who defended consistently, but was forced to worry too much about the men with the spears. Arrows and javelins already decorated his shield, and Bazil had several minor wounds. Worse, there were men and these other things getting past them. The woods were filled with enemies. The damned bewks were too effective to leave the dragons sufficient time to keep their front clear of smaller fry.

He had to retreat. The other dragons were doing the same. It was difficult to clear away the smaller foes among the trees and undergrowth; dragonboys were overwhelmed by the numbers.

The dragons retreated slowly, too slowly in some cases. Big Churn was the first to fall. Speared again and again, he lost the use of his legs and was slowly pulled down on the mountain of dead that he created in front of himself. A bewk finally took his head. Young Howt died with his dragon.

Gunter was next to be speared by a bewkman who got in too close. Gryf killed the bewkman, but more were coming and big Gunter was in trouble.

Rakama's shouts for help were heard, however. A few moments later Alsebra cut her way through to Gryf's side, and her active blade soon cut down the bewkmen and drove the survivors back.

Gunter was staggering. Alsebra turned and roared for the Purple Green. He came within moments, exploding through the vegetation to reach them.

"Help Gryf carry Gunter," said Alsebra.

The Purple Green exchanged a momentary glare with Gryf, and then heaved the wounded Gunter off the ground by himself and carried him at a staggering kind of lope back through the tunnel of broken trees.

It was an astonishing effort. Even Alsebra had to admit she was impressed by the brute strength of the Purple Green as she backed through in the wild dragon's wake, where trees were knocked over wholesale. The bewkmen were slow to follow up against her and Gryf. Jak and Rakama covered the retreat from the side, arrows flicking out to take down imps and men who ventured too close.

Elsewhere the fighting continued to rage in the wet thickets.

Bazil danced out of the way of a spear point and smashed the man behind it with his elbow. The bewk on the other side hewed at him, and he caught the sword on his shield. This bewk was too quick to catch with the shield trick, however, and Bazil had to ward off a second blow from the bewk. Again the brute was too quick for him and left no opening for a riposte. The bewk circled, another was closing in. A spear stuck momentarily in his tail, but before it could do much damage, it caught in a thicket of alders and broke free.

Men ran in at him. Relkin engaged one, Bazil got another, but the third vaulted onto his chest and stabbed home with sword above the chest plate. All that saved Bazil was the joboquin, the sword glancing off a stud and sliding away along the wyvern's ribs.

With a convulsive heave, Bazil dislodged the man and sent him tumbling. Before he could rise again, Bazil kicked him into the thickets. Relkin had slain another, but there were more, and in these trees it was hard to stop them all. Hard to even see them until they were too close.

Ecator swept aside another thrust from the bewk, and this time Bazil was able to whip the tail mace into the bewk's face. It staggered back into the trees, then bounced forward and Bazil hammered it with the shield and knocked it cold.

The other bewk was caught up in a thorn tree. While it struggled to extricate itself, Bazil spun away and slipped down a bank. A man scrambled out of his way, then tried to cut him from behind. Relkin hurled a rock that spoiled the man's stroke. The man recovered his balance, turned to face Relkin, and the tail swept up and brained him from behind.

Relkin lunged past the body, skidding down into the deep darkness that pooled at the bottom of a shallow gully. They saw Alsebra lit up brightly atop the slope, moving back in retreat, a pack of men at her heels. Gryf broke out of the shadows and scattered the men, then both green dragons disappeared into cover.