The Dragons of Argonath (44 page)

The cornets were blowing, but it was a little too late. The 109th had been overwhelmed and driven from its position. Two dragons were down, and cohesion was gone.

In a moment Bazil and Relkin found themselves virtually alone. They heard the fight, still raging in the woods to one side, but they had lost sight of it. The green light glared over their heads, coming from the south, though Relkin had lost all sense of where he was. The small trees, difficult scrub, all dark and wet and filled with enemies, had left him confused, even lost.

"Let's move up this streambed, stay in the shadow, come in on the fight from their rear."

In response, the dragon hefted his shield and crouched down low. They moved forward with maximum stealth. For a moment Relkin was transported back to those dangerous days when they'd traveled in the forest of the ancient monsters, in the heart of the dark continent.

They clambered over the wet rocks and fallen trees and edged up into a district of taller pines. There were clearings visible not much farther on. A moment later the green light became much brighter, and in a few more they glimpsed its source.

Out of the woods on the south side came four bewkmen, armed with swords and crude shields. Behind them strode another quality of life altogether. A heroic figure, manlike, but more than seven feet tall, wearing gleaming steel-plate armor. It strode forward with a silvery staff in both hands. At the top of the staff blazed a coruscating star of green fire.

Suddenly they were aware of a faint glow emanating from Ecator's steely surface.

Bazil and Relkin exchanged a look.

"Sword is hungry."

Relkin whispered. "The Lady mentioned a bright light when the emperor was ambushed in Blue Stone."

"Who is this, then?"

"I don't know, exactly, but he's a sorcerer, that's plain enough."

"Doesn't see us."

Relkin made sure of the string on his bow and reloaded. He had only the four shafts left. He would have to use them carefully.

There were more cornet calls in the woods. Urmin had gotten a stronger force into action. The sound of the fighting had intensified considerably.

The bearer of the green fire was barely fifty feet away now. He would pass within thirty or so when he had to go around a huge pine with three separate trunks.

The bewkmen bunched at the same place. Relkin sighted on one of them. Behind them came the figure, walking with a purposeful stride. He wore a flat-topped helmet, bearing no device. His mantle was white with a gold blaze on the chest. A long sword, a two-handed blade, was borne over his shoulders.

The light flooded their hiding place in the hollow.

"Now!" said Relkin, and they burst out of the thicket and charged.

Bazil swept forward with Ecator in hand, and his big claws digging hard into the soft ground. Something hummed past his ear, and one of the bewkmen fell back with an arrow in the eye. The others were still bunched too close to be effective. Ecator swept a sword aside and hammered them. Only one survived to scramble back.

The imperious figure bearing the staff and the light had thrust the staff into the ground and drawn its own sword, which glittered with a deadly shine that screamed at the edge of blue vision.

Relkin glimpsed the face beneath the square-topped helmet. He shivered, for there he saw the same visage as that of the dreaded Elf Lords of Mirchaz. That same pitiless beauty, the perfect mouth, chiseled nose, pale blue eyes with gold in their centers; all that was missing was the silver curls, which were hidden beneath the helmet.

Relkin also sensed the enormous presence in the tall figure. It was like one of the Lords of Mirchaz, and yet it was greater, denser, more powerful.

On every score it raised his hackles.

He aimed carefully and sent his quarrel straight for the elf lord face. Incredibly the helmet dipped, and the arrow bounced away harmlessly. The helmet was a magical device of some kind, for at this range he should not have missed.

Bazil closed, towering over the tall sorcerer. Ecator gave off an intense sparkle. Ecator knew this enemy from long, long ago. None could be more satisfying to kill for the fierce little spirit that inhabited the great sword. Bazil swung, and the sorcerer brought up his own fell blade to parry, and there was a tremendous flash and Ecator was parried. A tiny wail of rage rose above the noise.

Bazil was just as surprised at the strength in the other. The sorcerer was taller than a man but nowhere near as massive as a troll, or even one of these new pig-faced trolls. Still, the stroke was strong, and swift. There was no time to contemplate. Bazil took the return stroke on the shield and felt again the strength of the tall elf-faced figure.

Bazil had come to hate faces like that. They were impervious souls, immune to the sufferings of others, suffering that they inflicted.

They clashed again. The enemy sword blazed with dark fire, while Ecator was virtually alive with hate and fury, trembling in his hand. Not even when they'd fought the great Heruta had the sword been this affected.

"Aha!" roared the giant. "I sense an old enemy here!" He spoke in the ancient tongue Intharion, and both dragon and boy heard his words as if in their own languages.

"Oh, yes, I feel you, ancient one, and I feel your hate!"

The tall figure in gleaming steel launched an assault on the dragon, his strokes coming fast and furious. They possessed such strength that not even a wyvern dragon could discount them. He was forced to parry and deflect, unable to regain the initiative. Bazil was forced back a step, then another. The shield was taking a beating, a stud flew, bindings cracked.

Somewhere in the distance cornets were shrieking over the rumble of battle, but Bazil never heard them, so intent was he on surviving.

Roused by the anger that those elfin faces resurrected, the wyvern dug deep and raised his response rate. He parried, turned his opponent, riposted, and had his thrust almost go home. With inhuman rapidity the armored figure dodged, and Ecator slid by harmlessly.

The sorcerer came back onto the offensive at once, and Bazil had to parry and step back, while the shield received even more punishment. Never had he fought an opponent with such a mixture of strength and speed. It was as if he fought a green wyvern, with the strength of a brasshide, but all compressed into a relatively tiny form.

Relkin had two shafts left, and was keeping a wary eye on the surviving bewkman, which had stopped running, turned about, and stood there gazing in awe at the sight of the two giants fighting under the harsh green light. Relkin looked for an opening, but dared not waste a shaft. He might need both to slow the sorcerer.

A clang followed, the shield took another blow, and a fragment flew off and bounced away. Time was running out. Relkin bobbed to one side, crouched, and aimed.

His arrow bounced away, even at a range of fifteen feet. He had to duck as Ecator swung by at a lethal height.

When he regained his feet, he saw the bewkman coming. He left his bow, drew his sword, and put himself in the way.

The bewkman was barely able to focus on him, so eager was the beast to get at the dragon's back. Relkin dodged the clumsy swipe from the creature, stepped inside, and drove his own blade home. The bewkman gave a hideous shriek and pulled back, freeing Relkin's sword and letting a stream of dark red blood fountain out.

The bewkman was not discouraged in the slightest. It launched itself at him, and Relkin would have been crushed beneath its weight if he hadn't anticipated the move and shifted out of the way. It landed with a massive thud, and he drove his sword down into the hollow at the back of its skull, above the spine.

The thrust was clean, and went right through. The brute ceased to move. Relkin leaped for his bow.

Unfortunately he'd lost track of the dragon's tail, and it caught him in midair with a solid thwack, on a par with getting kicked in the belly. He bounced, rolled, doubled over. The bow was out of range. He sucked for breath.

The armored elven sorcerer swung over. Relkin knew death was coming and somehow pushed himself up and tottered away. Ecator hummed overhead just a few inches from his spine. Another great clang rang out just behind him as he fell and slid to where he could reach the bow.

He was still trying to get a breath; it was hard to move.

Bazil was being outfought. The silvery figure was too quick for the dragon, and he was still as strong as at the beginning of the fight. His arm never tired.

Relkin sat up, brought up the bow, and aimed. The dragon slipped while stepping back, and Ecator was turned. The sorcerer stepped up to take the dragon's life, but Relkin released, and his arrow struck home beneath the silver gorget and above the breast plate.

The enemy staggered, then vented a shriek of hate as his thrust was ruined and his sword caromed off Bazil's breastplate.

The dragon punched him in the face with the shield and knocked him away, spinning him around. He tore the arrow free with a scream of pain and rage that made Relkin's heart shiver from the terrible hate that suffused it.

Blood gushed down, staining the white mantle, dripping on the silvery armor.

The sorcerer pointed a long finger at Relkin.

"Thou shalt pay for this agony that you have caused me," it hissed. But before it could do more than threaten, Bazil moved in to resume the contest.

The sorcerer lurched back out of range, then reached up to the silver staff. The green light went out, and they were plunged into utter darkness once again.

For a few seconds they could see nothing. Then, as their eyes adjusted, they peered about themselves, but saw no sign of their opponent. There were only the corpses of the bewkmen.

"He's gone," said Relkin. "Whatever he was."

"Strong, too quick for this dragon. Boy save worthless dragon's life."

"After all the times you've saved my skin, it was the least I could do."

Cornets shrieked nearby in the woods. They headed for the fighting.

When they reached it, they found the 109th had regrouped and fought off the bewks, killing three. Urmin's men had barely held off the bewkmen, and the fight had been savage and terrifying in the dark woods, but in the end, with the aid of the dragons, Urmin was able to break the enemy up and send them back in disorder. Then the green light that had flooded the position had gone out quite suddenly, and the contact with the enemy was lost. Urmin was sending out scouts.

A sense of muted elation permeated the small army. A deadly surprise attack had been met and repulsed, but it had cost them. One dragon dead, and one with a bad spear wound. Then there were twelve men dead, and little Howt who'd died with his dragon. Beyond that there were dozens of wounded.

Still, Urmin was able to get most of his men back into his lines in front of Posila before the morning was too far advanced. Fires were lit for a boil.

About the same time Hollein Kesepton and his men brought in the surviving thirty-nine wagons of the second train. They'd lost one wagon to a broken wheel, but most of its cargo had been redistributed. They had all the oxen.

The cooks boiled noodles by the hundredweight. By then the clouds were breaking up. The sun came out in mid-morning, and the land began to dry.

Around noon a scout came in with word that General Tregor would reach their position by nightfall. With twelve hundred more men, two hundred of them horse, the position would be much more secure and their chances of holding out until the arrival of the Red Rose Legion vastly improved.

Hollein saw that his horse was watered and fed, and then he took himself to the cooking fire and sought out some food for himself. Noodles with dried cod broth was on offer, and he took a healthy helping and ate it by the fire.

He'd finished and was walking toward Commander Urmin's command post when a figure glided up from the night. He whirled and almost drew his knife.

It was a witch, a woman wearing the plain robes of her order.

"Captain Kesepton, I believe."

"Yes, Lady."

"I have a message for you." She adopted a conspiratorial smile. "It was brought to me by an owl. I think you understand."

Hollein shivered a little. The breath of sorcery again. How he wished that were behind them now that Heruta was dead. Alas, the war went on.

"Yes," he whispered. "I understand." When the Queen of Birds reached out, it was never good news.

"Does she expect an answer?"

"Perhaps. The bird is still where it was."

He opened the scroll, read its contents, and gave a groan of despair. His heart turned to ashes. Lagdalen had been snatched right off the streets of the city. Along with her had gone Eilsa Ranardaughter, the striking girl from the Wattel country.

He put a hand to his forehead for a moment. Lagdalen abducted, Eilsa Ranardaughter too, and taken into the west. Right past Urmin's little army. Right past Hollein. And he was unwitting and unable to do a thing.

The next day was an improvement. The sky cleared, and the waterlogged land began to drain. Lagdalen and Eilsa were riding on fresh ponies, with another meal of oats and butter in their stomachs. Despite their uncertain futures and status as captives, they could not help have their spirits lift a little. The scenery was beautiful. The hills around the lake were lovely, and in the afternoon they rode down the long avenues that traversed the beautiful Forest of Nellin.

Eventually they entered a picturesque valley, where seven round hills framed the view. The river wound smoothly through the scene. Ahead in the distance loomed a larger mountain with a sharply defined upper crest, jutting up like a chisel's blade. Lagdalen had never seen it before, but she knew at once that this was the famous Sunberg.

"The valley of the Running Deer River," she said quietly. Eilsa nodded. This was an area that was famous for its natural beauty—and its rebellious inhabitants.

Nellin Forest ended with a long meadow that led up to a sweeping lawn and a massively built house with a green-tiled roof. As they got closer, they could see the towers at each corner of the great house and their false machicolations.