Haydn of Mars (27 page)

The first part of the climb was the hardest, with choking dust still swirling.
 
But with everyone properly masking their faces with the primitive but effective wet cloth that the Mighty had taught me, we came through intact.
 
The mountain passes behind the fortress were numerous, and easy to follow.
 
Before long we had climbed out of reach of the dust storm.
 
The glorious light of faint Phobos overhead filtered the night like a friendly lantern.
 
I looked down and saw a blanket of haze looking like a pink cloud covering most of the mountain and our fortress below us.
 
As I watched it seemed to recede a bit.

“Talon is letting up on the storm,” I said.

Beside me, Jamie nodded.

We continued to climb.

The plan was not audacious.
 
I doubted the F'rar would follow our ragtag remains into the scattered heights of the mountain, and I was right.
 
With our army split into hundreds of pockets it would take them weeks if not months to root us out.
 
As I hoped, they did not bother to try.

After twenty-four hours, and a few not-bad meals made from local roots which Brenda, who had insisted on accompanying me, turned into delicacies, I thought it safe enough to descend to one of the many promontories which dotted the mountainside.
 
From there I could survey our former home and the battlefield beyond it.
 
Scouts had been here from the beginning, reporting on the retreat of the dust storm and its wake.
 
I was not surprised by what I saw through one of their spy glasses.

The fortress was pink with dust which had drifted like dirty snow up its sides.
 
It was free of F'rar interlopers now, who had poured through the gates at one point and then, mere hours later, retreated.
 
They had joined their main force on the battlefield, which had then moved off to the east.
 

The Baldies were nowhere to be seen.

I surveyed the battlefield and saw no movement, and no sign of the great army that had left our fortress.
 
It was a plain of drifted, silent dust, like the surface of another planet.

“I want scouts to make sure the F'rar army is gone for good.
 
Tomorrow we will go down there.”

“Yes, my lady,” General Xarr answered.

That night the sweet mountain roots that Brenda cooked tasted bitter in my mouth.

There was not a breeze to stir the red dust the next morning.
 
Only a small contingent came with me, since we had not many horses and without their steady strong legs it would be almost impossible to get through the stuff, which was knee deep in places.

It was silent now, but I could hear the silent screams of the dead in my ears.
 
Here and there, like monuments of defiance, an arm bearing a sword, or the legs of a fallen mount, poked through the surface like a bizarre sculpture.
 
There were many mounds, where bodies lay entirely covered.
 
In one spot a dead soldier sat, his chest to the top of his helmet exposed, his open mouth filled with dust.
 
Below the surface he had been pierced with a F'rar sword.

“We'll never find them all,” Xarr commented.

“We won't even try.”

I rode on through this petrified field of death, my heart growing heavier.
 
I had hoped that by some miracle some had survived, that Kerl had been successful in his inherently good choice to attempt to ride completely through the artificial storm and out the other side.
 
My mare stumbled on a buried body and I urged her forward, around the fallen soldier.
 
My eyes were on the far side of the valley, where the red dust eventually thinned up a far hill.
 
If only Kerl and some of his men had made it that far.

But there was nothing but this field of ghosts and swirling dust.

Xarr rode up to join me, his mount kicking red drifts aside.
 
“What do you wish?” he asked.

I hardened my voice.
 
“How many do we have in reserve?”

He looked surprised at my question.
 
“Perhaps three hundred, if that many.”

“And if all the able bodies are conscripted, as well as ill and infirm fit enough to fight?”

“To fight?
 
Do you mean to pursue the F'rar army?”

I ignored his question.
 
“Did you notice their air power capacity?”

“They had no airships.”

“Which means they relied on Talon's machine.”

“My lady, even if we could pursue and catch the F'rar, the Baldies–”

I dismounted, my boots sinking into the silky ground covering.
 
Nearby was the extended dead arm of one of our soldiers.
 
I reached down into powder covering it and pulled up something long and white, a different arm whose long claws lay locked around my soldier's own.

“The F'rar lured the Baldies here and killed them too.
 
They were not given masks.
 
They were not allies, but victims.”

“Merciful Great One in heaven...”

“At what strength would you estimate the F'rar army?”

He considered this, tallying.
 
“By sight, I would say one thousand.
 
Perhaps as many as twelve hundred.”

“Very well.
 
Return to the fortress and strip it of everything usable for a forced march.
 
We have wagons enough for provisions.
 
Pack them to the brim.
 
Send out scouts, but tell them by all means to remain unseen.
 
We will leave at dusk and catch the F'rar before they can reinforce.

“I will lead the army.”

I could say one thing for General Xarr: once given orders, he acted on them.
 
If there was grumbling I never heard it.

The setting of the sun found us heading east, pursuing the F'rar army.
 
Scouts had found them easily, as they made no attempt to hide themselves.
 
Having vanquished two enemy forces with one deceptive blow they were feeling fat and happy, and had stopped to pillage what small towns lay on the way.
 
We passed through two of these unfortunate outposts, and were treated to nothing but tales of woe.

We almost overran them at a third, larger town named Odin.
 
It was late into the night, almost dawn, and yet their revels continued.
 
From the hill where we came to rest I could hear their drunken shouts, and the sound of music.
 
Torchlights burned.
 
At least one home had been set afire.

“They will never be more vulnerable,” I observed, watching the raucous proceedings below.

“Do you propose to attack them now?” Xarr asked.
 
I had learned by now that he was much better at taking orders than formulating them.

“No.
 
But find me one feline good with explosives and another with weapons, and have them meet me here in ten minutes.”

“You don't mean to go down there by yourself!” Xarr protested in horror.

“No,” I said, smiling grimly.
 
“I'll have those two experts with me.”

The explosives expert, to my surprise, was Masie, my maidservant.
 
“Let's just say I have many talents,” was her explanation.
 
When I explained to her what I wanted she had no trouble with it, nor with her change of clothing to nomad dress.

The weapons fellow was fresh out of hospital, wounded in the left side but right handed and more than ready for battle.
 
He had more trouble with the robes but was more than willing to fight.
 
His name was Brace.

“I hope it doesn't come to it,” I instructed him, “but have your blade ready.”

“Yes, my Queen,” he said.

With no more discussion we made our way down the hill toward the darker end of the town.

It was almost too dark: my companions and I stepped into a trench which proved to be a latrine.
 
To their credit, they made no protest, but I could not hide my own disgust.
 
On climbing out the other side, I observed, “Just think of it as more camouflage.”

We soon were able to test our camouflage, as a F'rar foot soldier appeared and ordered us to halt.
 
He was very drunk, but still bore a dangerous sword and a nasty expression.

“Who are you!” he said when we halted.

Then, the wind being to our backs and toward his nostrils, he said, “Ugh!
 
Latrine workers?”

I nodded.

“Get on with it!” he shouted, urging us past and covering his nose.
 
“Damn it!” We heard him retch as we hurriedly passed.

“I didn't think we smelled that bad,” I commented when we were safely within the town limits.

Masie, obviously disagreeing, rolled her eyes.

The lights of the officer's quarters were like beacons.
 
They had appropriated the town hall, such as it was, and as we approached it from the rear, the smell of spilled ale almost overwhelmed our own odor.
 
I sneaked a look through one of the windows and saw what I expected to: three or four diehards still wielding flagons, the rest sleeping where they had fallen, on the floor or on tables.
 
In one corner I recognized one figure not inebriated: Talon, the fat traitor with the piggish eyes, looking just as he had in the photograph in Newton's wife's room, who sat seriously discussing something with a man who bore general's rank but who was much more interested in the ale in front of him than in his companion's words.
 
Surrounding them were three well-armed bodyguards, very much sober.

I cursed, silently.
 
If only there had been more of us, we could have given Talon the death he so richly deserved.

We moved around the rear of the building to the side, where three horse drawn wagons and two huge long motor vehicles were parked.
 
I examined each in turn, and found what I hoped to find in the motor vehicles: two huge machines, long white tubes mounted with switches and dials at one end.
 
They looked familiar...

“Mount your charges at each end, and in the middle,” I ordered Masie.
 

After examining the machines, she nodded.
 
“There'll be nothing left but scrap,” she promised.

Hearing a rise in the noise level of the building next door, I added, “And hurry!”

Fifteen minutes later she reported, “All ready.
 
They'll go off in twenty minutes.”

We drew away from the building just as a guard, looking suspiciously sober, appeared in a side door.

“Wait,” I whispered, and watched while he poked around the spot we had just vacated, lifting the tarpaulin–

I nodded to Brace, who was already drawing his blade, moving stealthily toward the guard, who had put his head inside the tarp.

In a minute Brace was back, and I noticed the guard stumbling, unhurt, back to the building.

“All he did was pee,” he said simply, putting his blade into its sheath.
 
“He found nothing.”

We made it up the hill and back to camp before the charges went off.
 
After discarding our rancid clothing we immediately set off for the plain east of town, which our scouts had promised was good for battle.
 
A small band on horse was left behind.
 
They would drive through the town at dawn and push the F'rar army toward us, like shepherds driving a herd.

“We will see how well they fight without their machines,” I said.
 

“And full of bad ale,” Masie added.

As we reached the field of battle the charges went off, sending two dull booming plumes of yellow fire into the dawning sky.
 
I saw Masie frown, until, a few seconds later, two more charges went off.
 
We watched a blasted section of white tube fly into the air and break into three pieces.

“As I said, scrap,” Massie stated, grinning in satisfaction.

“And now,” I said, marking the peeking of the sun's edge above the violet lip of the horizon–

As if on cue, there was a whoop and wild cry from our riders.
 
Shots were fired amidst shouts from the town.
 
I watched through my glass as our little band of wild rousers tore down the streets and then out of the town and toward us.