Ghost in the Pact (34 page)

But if Tanzir’s men closed, the Alchemists could not use Hellfire for fear of hitting their own men. If the armies’ neat formations collapsed into the chaos of general melee, the Alchemists could not use their Hellfire. For that matter, the Hellfire catapults could not defend themselves, and Kylon doubted that more than a handful of the Alchemists possessed the kind of skills that made them dangerous in hand-to-hand combat. If Tanzir could get men behind the enemy lines, they could disable the catapults. Kylon turned his attention from the advancing army to the discussion among the commanders. 

“Perhaps it would be best to charge at once,” said Tanzir. 

“The men would be exposed to the Hellfire for too long,” said Strabane. “You’ve seen what that devil’s brew can do. Even the bravest man might panic when asked to face Hellfire.” 

“Then maybe we should withdraw to more advantageous ground,” said Kazravid, his Anshani robes stirring in the breeze. “Choose another location to fight.”

Tanzir shook his head. “If we withdraw now, we are finished. For all that Erghulan’s standing has been weakened, he is still the Grand Wazir. If we buckle, many emirs of dubious loyalty will flock back to Erghulan’s banner.” He took a deep breath, his expression going grim. “It seems we have no choice but to charge.”

“There may be,” said Nasser, “another way.” 

They all looked at him. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kylon had to suppress a smile. He had seen that look on Nasser’s face before. Nasser Glasshand, master thief, was about to suggest something clever. 

No wonder he and Caina had always gotten along so well. 

“I am open to counsel,” said Tanzir. 

“Hellfire is a sword with two edges,” said Nasser. “Once it is unleashed, it cannot be controlled. We must therefore unleash the Hellfire at a time most advantageous to us and disadvantageous to the Grand Wazir.”

Shopur snorted, scowling beneath his steel helm. “Obviously. Just how are we to do that?”

“We send a party to sneak around the enemy’s lines,” said Nasser, “and set fire to the carts carrying the Hellfire amphorae. We would need only smash one or two amphorae in each cart. Once Hellfire is exposed to the air, it ignites, and the resultant explosion would set the rest of the substance ablaze.” 

“Erghulan will be expecting that,” said Lord Martin. “It is the obvious approach to take.” 

“Indeed,” said Nasser, pointing with his right hand. “Note how he has dispatched men to defend the ravine. That ravine would provide easy cover for anyone attempting to sneak behind his army.”

“Surely you do not want to send men through the ravine,” said Martin. “Erghulan’s archers would make short work of them.”

“They would,” said Kylon, some understanding dawning in his mind. “Which means we want them to think we have sent men into the ravines.”

“Precisely,” said Nasser. “Lord Tanzir, Prince Sulaman, I propose that we send a small party of men to ignite some of our own supply of Hellfire in the ravine. The ravine contains much dried grass and numerous small bushes, and all of those will burn quickly and produce a considerable quantity of smoke. The Grand Wazir will assume that we are attempting to reach the Hellfire engines and react accordingly. Meanwhile, a small party of Istarish nomads should be able to circle behind the army and attack the Hellfire catapults.”

“Erghulan might see through the ruse,” said Strabane.

“True,” said Nasser. “He may not, however. I am confident enough that I am willing to ride with the nomads.”

“As am I,” said Kylon. This, he thought, was where he could make best use of his skills. Neither Rhataban nor the Huntress would need to bother killing Tanzir and Sulaman if Erghulan’s army won the battle. 

“I shall send Mazyan with you,” said Sulaman. “The skills of my Oath Shadow will be needed.”

“My place is with you, my prince,” said Mazyan at once, his perpetual scowl deepening.

“Your oath is to protect me, my loyal friend,” said Sulaman without rebuke, “and I fear you can accomplish that best by destroying the Hellfire engines. Nasser Glasshand’s plan is our best chance.” 

It was not a command, but Tanzir followed it anyway. 

“So be it,” said Tanzir. “Captain Shopur, Captain Dio. Your men have the most experience with this kind of raid. Pick suitable men, and the quartermaster will provide some of our Hellfire. Nasser, Kylon, Mazyan. Find Tibraim and tell him to pick his best raiders. Go at once. We do not have much time.” 

They hurried to their tasks. 

###

A short time later Kylon swung into the saddle of one of the tough little horses favored by the nomads. The beast was truculent and annoyed, yet it proved obedient enough once Kylon got his feet into the stirrups and the reins in his hands. Around him a hundred of Tibraim’s nomads mounted, checking their bowstrings and adjusting the quivers of arrows that hung from their saddles. One of the nomads offered Kylon a short bow and a quiver of arrows, and he declined politely. He knew how to use a bow, but he was not a good shot, and he had never used the weapon from horseback. He might well wind up shooting one of their own men. 

Nearby Nasser, Laertes, and Mazyan climbed into their saddles. Nasser and Laertes handled their horses well enough. Mazyan looked annoyed, but his horse obeyed him, perhaps out of fear. Tibraim himself led the raid, and the wiry little nomad sat atop his horse like a king on his throne, watching the advancing army. 

“Now?” he said. His emotional sense was tense with anticipation and a desire for glory. Many men feared the coming battle. Tibraim of the Trabazon steppes looked forward to it. 

“Soon, headman,” said Nasser. “We must strike when the moment is right and not before. Else our arrow shall go amiss, and the gazelle shall escape us.”

Tibraim snorted. “Bah! Do not quote the proverbs of the steppes to me, Nasser Glasshand.” 

Yet he waited. The band of nomads sat at the right flank of Tanzir’s army, hidden behind some of the heavy mercenary horsemen. Once the fire in the ravine began, they would charge, circling around Erghulan’s army as fast as they could manage. 

“I see smoke!” snarled one of the nomads, pointing with his bow. Kylon looked west towards the ravine, and did indeed see wisps of black smoke rising from its edge. Commotion started at the edge of the ravine as Erghulan’s men went to see what was happening…

And with a brilliant crimson flash, the Hellfire exploded. 

The mercenaries could not have carried that many amphorae of Hellfire with them, yet it made for an impressive explosion nonetheless. A pillar of crimson fire roared up, and flames spread throughout the ravine as the fire leaped to the grass and the bushes. Kylon hoped the mercenaries had gotten away before the Hellfire had ignited. 

A ripple of shock went through the enemy soldiers nearest the ravine, and Kylon felt the sudden uncertainty in their emotional sense. 

“I believe, headman,” said Nasser, “that the moment is right.” 

A boom of drums and a blast of trumpets rose from Tanzir’s lines. Tanzir did not plan to charge, not until the Hellfire catapults had been neutralized, but the noise nonetheless held the attention of the Grand Wazir’s army. The rest of the Istarish nomads began riding back and forth before the lines of the enemy, loosing arrows at random into the tight-packed soldiers. Kylon wondered how long the Immortals would stand under that kind of harassment before they broke and charged. 

“Now!” said Tibraim, and he tapped his heels to the sides of his horse. The ugly beast whinnied and surged forward, and Kylon followed suit. Around him the others charged, and the horses raced around the edge of the enemy army as smoke rose from the ravine and Tanzir’s drums boomed out. The Istarish nomads galloped past the horsemen on Erghulan’s left wing, loosing a storm of arrows as they passed. The armored horsemen reacted as Kylon expected, raising their shields to protect themselves from the spray of arrows. Between their heavy armor and shields, the arrows did little damage, save to annoy a horse or two. Because of the rest of the Istarish skirmishers wheeling back and forth before the Immortals, the heavy horsemen expected Tibraim’s band to break off and ride back towards Tanzir’s lines before beginning another pass. 

So they were caught off guard when Tibraim’s band kept riding. They started to react, but by then it was too late, and the nomads were past them, racing behind the Grand Wazir’s army. 

“The first catapult!” shouted Nasser, his voice thundering over the stamp of hooves around Kylon. “Go!”

The catapults waited about a hundred yards behind the main bulk of the army. Each catapult was a heavy machine of wood and iron, a framework of thick wooden beams supporting a mechanism of massive gears. A team of a dozen soldiers pulled the catapult, and a half-dozen gray-robed acolytes of the College of Alchemists tended to the engine, supervised by a full Alchemist in flowing white robes. 

Next to the catapult stood a cart loaded with fifty amphorae of Hellfire. 

“At them!” said Tibraim, and the Istarish nomads loosed their wailing war cries and charged, sending arrows flying at the soldiers. Three acolytes and two soldiers went down in the first volley. The remaining soldiers whirled, drawing their scimitars, and the Alchemist shouted orders to his acolytes, casting a spell as he did so.

Kylon kicked his horse to a gallop and stood up in the saddle, drawing upon the power of air and water. His horse raced towards the catapult, and Kylon leaped from the saddle as the Alchemist gestured, golden fire blazing around his hands. The valikon flashed out, the full power of Kylon’s strength and momentum behind it, and the blade sank halfway into the Alchemist’s chest, piercing his spell-armored robes. The Alchemist went limp, and Kylon ripped the valikon free and turned, seeking to join the fray. 

But the fight was already over. Both the acolytes and the surviving soldiers fled towards the lines of the infantry. Mazyan straightened up, three dead soldiers at his feet, and jumped back into his saddle with a single fluid motion. 

“Get ready to run!” said Kylon. He dashed towards the cart holding the amphorae of Hellfire, and brought the valikon’s pommel hammering down. After three blows, he cracked the nearest amphora, and the Hellfire started oozing out, thick and red and viscous. 

“To the next catapult!” said Nasser. “Quickly!”

Kylon stepped back, looking for his horse, and then realized that it had fled. He drew upon the power of air sorcery and sprinted, following the nomads. A few of them gave him startled looks as Kylon kept pace with their horses, but he didn’t care. Right now the important thing was to get away from the cart before…

There was a flare of red light and a crackling noise as the Hellfire within the broken amphora ignited, following an instant later by the sound of shattering ceramic as the surrounding amphorae cracked, their Hellfire dribbling into the fire…

The explosion came a heartbeat after that.

A deafening thunderclap rang out, and for a moment it was as if a second sun of blood-colored fire had risen from the ground. A hot wind slammed into Kylon, and he stumbled several steps, barely keeping his balance. He risked a glance back and saw that the cart had been annihilated, the massive catapult thrown upon its side by the explosion. In the place of the cart was a yawning crater, a roiling crimson fireball rising from its interior. Pebbles and shards of broken amphora rained Kylon, and he kept running.

One catapult down, five to go.

He kept pace with the horsemen as they charged the second catapult, whooping and loosing arrows as they did. Like the first catapult, this one had a guard of acolytes, soldiers, and a single Alchemist, who was already sprinting for the safety of the Immortals. Unlike the first catapult, the second had a guard of a half-dozen Immortals. 

Kylon changed direction, drawing upon as much of the sorcery of water as he could hold. White mist swirled around his left fist, hardening into a gauntlet of blue-green ice. One of the Immortals turned towards him, and Kylon attacked, drawing back his fist and using the sorcery of water for enhanced strength. His fist slammed into the Immortal’s helmet, crushing the skull-mask, and Kylon heard the snap of bone. 

The Immortal fell limp to the ground.

Kylon whirled as another Immortal charged him, and he jumped back, yanking a dagger from his belt. White mist swirled around the weapon’s edge, and Kylon struck, landing a blow on the Immortal’s sword arm. The dagger shattered in the extreme cold, but the mist hardened into a coat of thick frost. The Immortal’s sword arm stuck for a moment, and Kylon drove the valikon into a gap in the black armor. Blood glistened on the silver blade, and the Immortal fell. Mazyan sprang from his saddle and landed, and the sword of smokeless flame flashed into existence as he carved into the Immortals. 

Kylon spun, seeking new foes, and saw Laertes rise in his saddle, drawing a javelin from over his shoulder. In one smooth motion, the former centurion flung the weapon, and it soared through the air and smashed into the cart holding the amphorae of Hellfire. The javelin’s heavy iron head had been designed to punch through enemy shields, but it proved just as effective against the ceramic of the amphorae. The javelin sank into the side of an amphora, a rivulet of crimson Hellfire running down the side. 

“Withdraw!” said Nasser. “Withdraw! To the next catapult! The Hellfire will explode! Go!” 

Another Immortal came at Kylon. He blocked the first swing of the scimitar, twisted around the second, and then sprinted away, following the Istarish nomads as they galloped past the catapult. The Immortal tried to pursue, but Kylon had the sorcery of air and was not burdened with black plate armor. He joined the nomads as they galloped away, heading for the third catapult.

This time the explosion caught Kylon off-guard. The jolt beneath his boots knocked him from his feet, and he tucked his shoulder and rolled, the harsh light of the Hellfire fireball illuminating the ground. He saw two Immortals tumbling through their air like toys, their limbs flailing, only for them to go motionless when they struck the ground with crushing force. Kylon staggered back to his feet, turned, and resumed his run after the horsemen.