A Sword for a Dragon (22 page)

It was a touching sight, yet Lagdalen was still awed. Even after all the things she had seen Lessis do, she could be astonished at the sight of the magical powers of the Great Witches.

Ribela scooped up the mice in her hands and placed them on top of the altar stone where they formed a ring, tail to mouth, around the pile of smoldering lapsulum. Now they began to circle at increasing speed until they were a blur of little bodies.

Ribela began a passionate declension from the Birrak. The cadences rose and fell as the spell wove together.

Lagdalen remained by the door, watching spellbound, but ready with the bread and oil for the mice, which circled the incense tirelessly.

The Lady Inula was ushered into the Princess Zettila’s apartments. It was breakfast time, and the princess was not amused at such an interruption in her morning routine. But for Lady Inula, she had made allowances. The woman was a barbarian, but one who sincerely wished to please, to ingratiate, to even be accepted into the Circle of the Daughters of Gingo-La.

This would have been laughable but for the fact that the Lady Inula was a conduit for invaluable information about the Argonath and the Witch Isles. Zettila had no independent sources of information there. Inula could be very valuable to her.

And there was also another matter. They had need of a young barbarian maiden. The princess had given indications that if Inula brought them such a young woman, she would be rewarded, perhaps even welcomed into the Secret Cult, the cult of the goddess of Gingo-La in her secret manifestation as Death-in-Life, the Mother with wire hair and steel hands, the death bringer and goddess of the tornado.

Inula’s breathless presence here so early in the morning might well have something to do with this latter concern. That was good, for the ceremony would have to be performed soon. Things were collapsing very quickly. The city of Kwa had fallen. The Sephisti had taken the great bridge and were massing for a gigantic thrust south to the city of Ourdh.

And so Princess Zettila awaited her in the room of bluebirds in the river wing of the Imperial Palace. Zettila was swathed in a voluminous green robe with a full train that was arrayed out to her left like a fan. She sat on enormous cushions and sipped hot kalut.

Lady Inula bowed, curtsied, and took a seat, too close to the princess, but Zettila allowed it. The Argonathi were crude, what could you expect from a people with hardly any history. “Are we truly alone, Princess?” breathed the woman.

Zettila sniffed.

“My servants are mutes. Cut out the tongue and take off the testicles, and a man becomes a useful thing for once.”

“Yes”—Inula thought momentarily of Irhan, and his many infidelities—“of course.”

“So you can be assured that nothing will leave this chamber. Have some kalut.”

Inula covered her embarrassment by blurting out her prepared speech.

“Thank you, Princess. I have come to see you at this inopportune hour because I believe I have the perfect candidate for you; a young woman for the ceremony.”

“Is she a mother of children?”

Inula felt a surge of elation. The princess was obviously very interested.

“Yes. As she must be.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Yes, Princess, the goddess will not be displeased with our offering.”

“Good.”

“She’s a young woman, not of this land.”

“A barbarian’s blood will not be missed.”

Inula nodded.

“That is excellent. And I, too, have the perfect candidate, for the Adonis. We must have a boy to complement the girl, and I happen to know of one who will be here very shortly.”

“The need is urgent.”

“It is. The Imperial Army has broken like a wet reed full of worms. It is we who must halt this threat of the empire.”

“And we must hurry.”

“When can we obtain the girl?”

“That is why I came, Princess. We can take her right now while her mistress is occupied.”

“Who is this mistress?”

“Ribela of Defwode.”

“Ah, the witch. She was here already, demanding to see the emperor. We lead her a merry dance.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“We will teach the Cunfshon witch about great magic. We will show her who wields real power in the world. It is time the witches of the Isle understood that the daughters of the goddess are their equal.”

The princess rose and clapped her hands. Slaves ran to her and knocked their foreheads on the floor with alarming force. Brusquely she signaled for them to take up her train.

“The Adonis comes to the city very soon. He will be taken. Even better, we will take one of the giant worms, a sacrifice of immense proportions. We will bathe the goddess’s stones in its blood. We will have two pretty barbarians to set before the goddess. She will smile upon our endeavor, and we shall save the empire.”

“May the emperor be forever grateful to the goddess.”

Zettila sighed. “We can hope for such a fortunate result. Now, return to your house. I will send three men to fetch the young woman. Give them whatever assistance they require.”

Inula bobbed her head, awed by her involvement in great matters. For thirty years she had sought this importance, and now it was come. She might even achieve her most secret desire, adoption into Ourdhi society.

Zettila timed it perfectly. At the last moment, she reached out and squeezed Lady Inula’s forearm.

“The Circle will be informed of your excellent service. Our thanks to you, lady.”

Inula curtsied, and Zettila swept away.

The Lady Inula rode home in her carriage accompanied by a brutal-looking man in a suit of blue linen. He was a mute, of course, so she was spared from having to speak with him. Two more fellows like the first rode on top of the coach, behind her driver Pegsley. She traveled on a cloud of euphoria, although there was a small trouble, a persistent black dot of unease concerning what Ribela of Defwode might do once she discovered the disappearance of Lagdalen. Lady Inula shrugged it aside. The girl was perfect, the timing was absolutely right, her dreams were surely going to come true.

Not long after the Lady Inula had returned to her house, Relkin Orphanboy of Quosh glimpsed the top of the great ziggurat of the city of Ourdh for the first time. One moment there was nothing visible, and the next time he looked up there it was, a distant glittering peak.

A stir went through the ranks. Already they’d been marching through suburbs for a while, a scene that was very similar to that of the city of Kwa. But within minutes, they could tell that the central ziggurat here was much larger than any they had seen before.

The sun shone, it grew steadily wanner through the day while they drew closer to the great pyramids in the heart of the city. At mid-afternoon, they stood down and began building camp on a piece of open land that seemed to be a park of some kind. The surrounding suburb was a dense region of two-story mud-brick houses packed along narrow lanes.

Paxion took some kalut and called Captain Kesepton, who he sent away with a scroll for the emperor.

In moments, Kesepton’s glossy brown steed was trotting city wards, for Paxion had also made a point to give the young captain permission to go to the house of the Merchant Irhan, and see his wife, Lagdalen of the Tarcho.

Paxion had been a commander long enough to know that the captain would go there anyway, even if he forbade it, so he made a virtue of the trip. Kesepton had worked hard for him all the way here from Salpalangum. It had been a long, arduous march, especially since the disaster in Kwa, but Paxion had been able to rely on Captain Kesepton’s reports implicitly. And besides, Paxion could only too well imagine the agonies that the younger man was going through. The news of his wife’s presence here in Ourdh had come only recently, and there were many unknowns. Paxion himself had a hard time sleeping for thinking of his wife and daughters, and they were in the relative safety of Fort Dalhousie.

Paxion prayed he’d get some kind of prompt response from the emperor. It had been days since they’d had a single message from the emperor or from the Imperial Army. As far as they could tell, the Imperial Army had disintegrated. The legions had finished the temporary rampart, set out stakes, and pitched tents before there finally appeared a group of Ourdhi officers, with some horse troopers in escort. One of them was dispatched to speak with Paxion.

“Welcome to you, barbarian Commander,” said the little Ourdhi officer with quite obvious disdain. “I bring orders from the emperor’s general.”

Orders? Paxion shrugged and sipped kalut. He didn’t know about orders from an emperor who ran from the battlefield and abandoned his army. He said nothing.

Emboldened, the Ourdhi officer went on.

“You are to break up the barbarian army into ten units, which shall be dispersed according to emperor’s plan. You personally are to attend at the emperor’s pleasure at the Imperial Palace. We are here to escort you there at once.”

Paxion took a deep breath.

“Now just you hold on a minute. I’m not breaking up my command, that is certain. I have sent a message to the emperor, and I will wait here until I receive a reply.”

The Ourdhi cavalry officer’s face turned to stone. Incredibly, his hand went to the hilt of his sword. Paxion signaled to Full Captain Tremper and a squad of Argonathi soldiers took up their shields.

“You barbarians are now in the sun-blessed land. You must obey the emperor in all things.”

Paxion smiled wearily. “Things are not that simple, my friend. Were you at the Battle of Salpalangum?”

The cavalry officer flushed, his cheeks turning dark.

“I was,” said Paxion. “And these barbarians are the ones who stood their ground and smashed the Sephisti army. I have two dozen prisoners of the highest quality, all high-ranking officers of their army. I’m sure the emperor will want to tell me what he would like me to do with them. I’m sure they must be questioned.”

The cavalry officer blinked. In truth, he was very confused. The barbarian commander would not obey the orders. The officer did not relish the thought of returning to his own commander without fulfilling his mission.

“So I’ll wait here until my messenger returns from the city. He won’t be long. Would you care to take some kalut?”

Baffled, the cavalry officer declined. Then he and his party cantered away into the late afternoon haze.

Paxion went back to the maps. His scouts had reported seeing parties of black-clad cavalry since about midday, he knew that Kwa had fallen, and he was sure that the Sephisti army must be marching south as fast as it could drive itself.

This was a fresh army, that was the most unsettling thing about it. A second enormous army had been recruited, armed and equipped and sent to Kwa even while the first one had broken up after Salpalangum.

If they had continued on as Hektor had intended, they would have run into this second, vast Sephisti army within a day. They would have had ten thousand against five times that number at the least. Paxion still thought of Salpalangum as a miracle, and doubted the legions could survive a second such onslaught.

Paxion expected that he and the legions would take refuge in the city, help to defend it, and hold it until resupply and reinforcements could be brought from the Argonath. Paxion sighed wearily; the responsibility was a huge burden and his worries gnawed at him day and night. If he could just get his men safely into some ships and sail them home, he would feel he had accomplished all that he could have. He prayed that he would live to see his homeland once again, and have his wife and children beside him.

In the night, when the red star Razulgab was high in the‘ northern sky, the nightmarish work began again.

Under a heavy rain, the people were driven out of the pens in the heart of the dead city of Dzu. Driven by the whips cracking over their heads and the spears thrust at them by the soldiers of the god Sephis, they stumbled forward. They had been pulled willy-nilly from the pens, they were of both sexes, all age-groups, all starving. It had been days since they’d eaten anything.

Anxiously they huddled together. It was only a week or so since they had been rudely driven from their homes and villages, and herded into the great city. The land had been left empty of people. But the soldiers were adamant, the god Sephis required the people’s service and so they must go to Dzu. That or die where they stood.

In the dead city, which had been barely inhabited in recent years, they were met by a teeming army of black-clad recruits. All were intoxicated with passionate belief in the way of Sephis. They sang constantly of their will to slay all those who stood in the way of the attainment of the return of the serpent god to his ancient rule. The village people were thrust into the pens except for the strongest, fittest young men, who were immediately weeded out and taken away.

Then they had waited, gradually getting weaker from hunger. Great masses of poor wretches were constantly in motion, arriving at the pens or being taken from them.

Now they had been selected, pulled out, and herded beneath an arch into the great Temple courtyard. Then they went up the steps to the Temple itself. They passed the feet of Auros. The statue had been broken off at the ankles. Driven down a broad stair into the interior, they emerged in a vast room. At one end stood a scaffold of immense proportions, raised perhaps fifteen feet above the stone floor.

Underneath this scaffolding was a group of men working knee-deep in mud that they constantly stirred with shovels. They worked the mud until it had the consistency of the clay on a potter’s wheel.

And now the people were driven forward and herded up the steps to the platform with spear points in the back. And on the platform, they saw the service demanded of them by the new god.

The killers seized them, bound their ankles, and slipped the hooks into the ropes. With speed and precision, they cut their throats and then swung them out onto the long gibbets to drain onto the men and the mud below.

The people screamed, wept, and tried to turn back, but the spear points were too many and too sharp. The whips lashed their skin. Helplessly they went on into the arms of death.