Authors: Christopher Rowley
More arrows struck home, along with spears now. The brute snapped at the parapet, but it was out of reach, and it still could not force its bulk through the gap between the stakes.
Suddenly it tired of the constant sting of arrows and retreated from the ditch. Still the arrows came, and it moved farther away. It was not intelligent, but it was not that stupid, either. At the edge of darkness, it paused to scream again in rage and frustration before withdrawing into the night.
The men on the parapet breathed a sigh of relief. A fresh stake was driven into the spot at once, and the watches were doubled again. What pikes they had were broken out of the stores, and the Czardhan knights brought their long lances to the palisade.
There was not long to wait before they were needed.
The next beast was slightly smaller, perhaps only twenty-five feet in length and a pale green-brown in color. It skulked along the opposite side of the camp, sniffing the scent of the oxen and the horses, then withdrew and let out a long, wailing cry. A few minutes passed, and then another similar cry announced the arrival of a second beast of the same type. They let out more wailing cries and jumped up at each other in threat displays that shook the ground. Their cries attracted a third and then a fourth beast, of the same type. They gathered and displayed to each other with tremendous bounds in the air, threw their heads back and emitted the long, wailing, sobbing cries that sent shivers down the spines of everyone in the camp.
Quite suddenly, all four together made a concerted attack on the ditch and the parapet. This fight was much longer and more fiercely pressed than the first. The beasts darted down into the ditch and attempted to jump over the stakes. Two struck the stakes and fell back with loud shrieks of complaint. One impaled its thigh and was left screaming in pain and rage stuck in the ditch. The fourth got through the stakes with a lucky carom. It mounted the earthen wall, kicked a hole through the flimsy parapet, and broke in.
By then it sported a dozen arrows in its hide. Eight men opposed it, shields and spears at the ready. More men were coming. Bowmen kept up a constant fire, trying to hit it in the eyes.
Still it attacked. The men stood their ground, thrust upward with their spears. The beast was stymied a moment, then it kicked with one of its hind legs and tossed two men onto their backs. In a moment it had bent over and ripped one man's head off his shoulders.
A brave soldier name Licius ran in and rammed his spear deep into the brute's side. It emitted a scream of pain, lashed out with its forearm, and ripped Licius open from neck to crotch.
More men came up led by old Corporal Praxus. Their spears sank home in the monster's belly, and it suddenly tumbled backward, crushing more of the palisade before falling into the ditch. There it thrashed and wailed, lashing the ground with its tail and limbs.
The archers now concentrated their fire on the beast that had impaled its thigh. A lucky shot struck home through the eye and slew the thing. It slumped over, still on the stake.
After some mournful screams, the remaining two beasts withdrew into the forest.
Within minutes a horde of smaller things had appeared out of the darkness to dispute possession of the remains of the two dead beasts.
The sound of the quarreling and feeding was nightmarish enough. But soon it drew much larger beasts, and these not only fought each other but also sought to invade the camp and had to be fought off. So it went for the rest of the night.
The smell of meat kept the monsters coming all day as well. The camp was permanently invested by great carnivores, only some of whom contented themselves with the carrion. More carrion resulted, and it was simply impossible to do much more than clear the beasts away from the wall long enough to drag the bodies a short distance. Then the men would beat a hasty retreat as things like hyenas, but four times as large, would mass and make a charge at the meat.
All that next night the process was repeated, except that the numbers of predators involved had increased. Everything from miles around was gathering, drawn by the increasing smell of meat.
Lessis returned to her tent from a long, exhausting attempt to rouse some of the dragons through magic. They were impervious as always. Lessis was hot, very tired, and somewhat afraid. Better than anyone alive, except Ribela of Defwode, she knew what was at stake. They absolutely had to have the dragons for that edge in the upcoming battles. The enemy would be sure to have a few trolls. The reports had spoken of trolls months before.
General Baxander was waiting in her quarters, a small tent erected behind the headquarters tent.
"You are tired, Lady."
"I am ready to sleep for a week. Yourself?"
"The same. I take it that we still cannot rouse a single dragon?"
"We cannot. But we can also add that we have not lost one, either. They are prostrate, but they live. The broketail dragon, the first to show the fever, still has it, but we think it has ameliorated slightly."
"Praise to the Mother for that much. Yet our difficulty remains."
There was a sudden uproar from the southern end of the camp. Another pack of predators was climbing into the ditch in pursuit of carrion. Cornets blew, and men tumbled out of their tents and ran to their stations.
"Have there been any further casualties?"
"Not today. The Czardhan bitten last night will live, we think."
Lessis nodded vaguely and mumbled her thanks and shifted to the side of the tent and sat on a chest. The uproar continued on the rampart.
"Forgive me, General, I'm too tired to stand any further."
Baxander squatted down on his heels.
"From my understanding of the maps, it seems we have two weeks' march ahead of us to get clear of this accursed forest."
"That is probably a slight underestimate. The country ahead is not difficult, but the forest is uncut and completely wild."
"It is galling to have come so far and to be so near our target and yet to fail."
Lessis came awake. "We have not failed, General. Do not say that!"
"Well, Lady, we cannot move without getting the wyverns on their feet. They are essential to defense against the animals."
Lessis changed the subject abruptly.
"How go our supplies of wood?"
"Getting very low. We must cut wood for burning, but at the moment it is too dangerous. The last work party lost three men. I can get volunteers, but for how long will that last?"
"How difficult would it be to carry the dragons? Could our ox train manage that?"
Baxander shook his head sadly. "Our wagon train is pared down to the essentials of equipment and grain, plus some wood-carrying capacity. To put eighty sick dragons on wagons and pull them through untamed jungle would require far more wagons than we have at our disposal."
Lessis nodded glumly. "As I thought. Then we must redouble our efforts to bring the dragons around. There must be some way to break through this fever."
"I pray there is, Lady."
But neither of them was prepared for the next shock. The witch Endysia came to Lessis's tent with a face the color of ashes.
"What is it, Endysia?" said Lessis.
"The worst news possible, Lady. I have just come from the surgeons. They have been getting cases of legionaries coming down with the fever. A trickle of cases a couple of hours ago, but now they are coming fast. While I was there, I heard of ten men down in Czardhan camp, all within the half hour."
General Baxander stared at her for a moment. Then he swallowed hard and stood up.
"We have plans for this situation; it was not unanticipated.
I must go and set things in motion. We will defend the camp to the last, that much I can assure you."
When~he had gone, Lessis allowed her face to sag into the exhaustion she felt.
"I must sleep for an hour, Endysia. Then I will come to the surgeon's tent and see what I can do."
Endysia slipped back through the darkness. The shrieking battle at the rampart had died down again now that a large carcass had been torn free from the stakes in the pit and dragged back into the undergrowth by a pack of sickle-clawed monsters of yellow and scarlet hue. Among the men the news of the sickness had brought on a new set of anxieties. A gathering sense of doom was enveloping the camp.
Far away on the shores of the Nub al Wad was a scene of frantic activity. Great barges had been hauled up on the sands. Around the barges struggled an army of slaves. Over their heads cracked the whips of their drivers.
Kreegsbrok arrived in the hour before midnight.
"What kept you?" said Gulbuddin. "We've had a bloody time of it. Did you hear that we lost a barge?"
"What happened?"
"Damned metal tube went right through the timbers when a big wave struck. Must have broken loose from its restraints. Barge tipped over and went straight down."
"You lost the slaves, too?"
"We recovered some, perhaps half. A lot never got out of the barge."
"A pity to lose slaves. We will need all that we have to haul these things to the site."
"Each one of them weighs twelve tons."
"I know."
"And then there are the balls. Five hundred of them, each weighs half a ton."
"There are no worthwhile draft animals in this land. We have to rely on slaves and donkeys. There are only so many slaves available."
"Then the Kraheen must put their shoulders to the wheel."
Kreegsbrok laughed bitterly. "The Kraheen are too proud now to do such labor. They exist only to wield the sword like aristocratic lords of creation."
"Such pride will not sit well with the Master."
Kreegsbrok nodded. Gulbuddin made a fist and drove it into his palm.
"The drum is beating. There will be war soon. We must be prepared. The Kraheen must understand this."
"Praise to the Great Master. He will make them understand, and our enemies will be destroyed."
"Verniktun comes." Gulbuddin pointed down to the beach and the struggling masses. "He is not alone."
Kreegsbrok nodded, stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, and watched two men approach.
"That will be the man from the weapon shop. I was told he would come with the tubes."
Kreegsbrok took a breath and tried to dispel the fatigue he felt. It had been a frenetic few days. He'd known that some crisis approached, but he had not known when it would arrive. All at once the alarm had been sounded on the Bone. All leaders, all men, were to double and redouble their efforts. Kreegsbrok had been doing without sleep ever since, getting by on nips from a flask of the black drink.
Keeping the Prophet under some semblance of control had been getting harder and harder, too. Whereas once an hour of killing had been enough to sate it, now it could go on for hour after hour, killing any man, woman, or child placed under its knife. The word had leaked out. It had to. There had been too many bodies, too many trips to the volcano to incinerate them, and too many incidents when the Prophet went mad and began to kill his own followers.
Then had come the orders to prepare for the transportation of a dozen enormous objects of metal. Each was a huge tube, sixteen feet long and five feet across weighing twelve tons. They were to be taken inland some twenty miles, to a ridge overlying the field of Broken Stone, Tog Utbek.
As if these tubes were not enough of a burden, there were also several hundred enormous stone balls, marvelously smooth and perfectly round, chipped that way by slave labor in the dungeons of the fortress on the Bone.
Finally, there was to be a special cargo, which would be brought across only when the tubes were in position. Special precautions were to be taken during the shipment of this cargo.
Kreegsbrok had learned long ago not to question orders. He existed only to obey and expedite. And he had expected some kind of frantic activity. The Great One had as much as warned him, months ago. The hags would attack; the Master made magic here that would end their rule forever. They would come, they would have to come.
The problem was the slight lack of slaves, caused in part by the blood-crazed Prophet and his killing orgies.
The weapons officer and Verniktun came up. Verniktun was sweating, his voice hoarse from bellowing orders all across the waters from the Bone.
"Hail to the Master!" said Kreegsbrok, extending his fist in salute.
"Hail! I am Durmer. I am close to the heart of the Great One, and he has lifted me up."
"Hail, Durmer!" said Kreegsbrok. They clasped hands.
"How quickly can my tubes be landed?" Durmer went right to the heart of the business.
Kreegsbrok turned to Verniktun.
"They won't be ashore before daybreak," said Verniktun. "Not with the slave squads we've been given."
Durmer's face clouded.
"That long? Are you absolutely certain?"
"With just these paltry slave squads, yes. Give me twice as many slaves, and I'll have them ashore in a couple of hours."
Kreegsbrok fumed. He envisioned all the slaves that had been wasted by the Prophet.
Durmer shook his head angrily. "You must do better. Remember that the batrukh flies tonight.
Even under the wan light of the moon, Kreegsbrok could see Verniktun pale at these words.
"We will get them ashore as quickly as we can. Let us not talk of such things as the batrukh."
The plague progressed with a steady, remorseless stride, first decimating the legions, then the Czardhans and Kassimi and finally the men from the Bakan states. It worked with a horrible swiftness. By lunch a full third of the legionaries were too sick to stand, and a quarter of the Czardhans were affected. By the middle afternoon almost all the Argonathis and Cunfshoni were down and more than half of the Czardhans, too. Only among the Bakan soldiers was there more resistance, and though many fell ill, a good third of them did not.
This informed Lessis that the plague was native to Eigo and that the Bakani were partly immune. Whether it Was the same plague that had struck the dragons was another matter. The surgeons said it was unheard of for wyverns and men to suffer from the same disease. Chesler Renkandimo's tome on the
Care of the Wyvern Dragon
said much the same. Lessis's spellsay did not address the problem, and she had no resources of ancient spellsay in written form on hand to consult. In the end it didn't seem to matter. Lessis fell ill in the hour before sunset, and there was nothing she or Lagdalen could do. Lagdalen brought cold compresses, but like everyone else the Lady soon slipped into unconsciousness.