“For revenge?”
“The Easterners killed your mother and your brother, Thelena. They held you as a slave for four years. Do you not wish for revenge?” His daughter blushed and turned her head away. He had seen the blood on the back of the slave woman when he returned to their tent. Thelena had clearly taken some measure of revenge already.
“They should be punished,” she said at last. “And prevented from ever hurting us or our people again.”
“That is what I intend. But no simple measures will suffice. If we have to conquer and collar all of them to be safe, then that is what we shall do.”
They said no more for nearly an hour as the miles sped past. A new column of smoke rose up to the southeast. Scouts were ravaging the countryside. There was no time for proper looting, but a dozen villages had already experienced the wrath of the Kaifeng. He noticed that Thelena was looking at him, again.
“I love you, father,” she said. Now it was his turn to blush. But he smiled and nodded. “Many, many times in the fort I wished I had told you that more often. I never thought I would have the chance again. But now that I do—I love you, father.” There were bright tears on her cheeks. He blinked back his own. “I just wish…I wish I could tell that to Mother and Ardan.”
“I’m sure they know, Thelena.”
They were silent all the rest of the way to the enemy fort.
It was three hours before dark when they arrived. The enemy was taken completely unawares, and they had caught a great many people outside the fort’s walls. Atark had been counting on this. He would be needing sacrifices to work his magic, but he had not brought any captives along. Fortunately, he now had more than enough. He chose twenty men for his needs. There were a number of women and children among the prisoners, but he did not choose any of them. He supposed they would work well enough, but he wasn’t sure. Did physical size or strength affect how much power could be drawn from them? In any case, the women could serve the men this night and the male captives would be put to the sword when they left.
“Have them tightly bound and gagged, and then brought up to the hill over there,” he commanded. The men struggled, eyes wide in terror, but they could offer no real resistance. Well, one resisted to the point that he had to be killed and another substituted, but soon twenty men were readied.
“What do you need them for?” asked Thelena.
“Their lives will help power the spell.”
“Really?” Atark looked closely at his daughter. Her voice had wavered a tiny bit and she seemed upset. He could hardly blame her. He had been upset the first time he had done this, too. But it was necessary. She would come to realize that. “When you worked your magic against the first fort, I thought I felt something very…odd.”
“Indeed? Well, you were always sensitive to the Power. Watch what I do now.”
They walked up to the grassy mound opposite the fort. The warriors were assembled below them, just out of cannon shot from the fort. Noyen Muskar of the Yattu was in command of them, and he told Atark that he could work his magic as soon as he was ready. Atark had a number of helpers now: a few young shamans he was trying to train and a score of warriors whom Zarruk had assigned to him. They were bodyguards as well as helpers, Atark, knew. Zarruk was far more concerned about that sort of thing than he was. The warriors had the sacrifices arranged and stood ready with their swords. They were bronze swords, because iron would interfere with him seizing the power from the sacrifice. When he worked his magic at the first fort, they had had to search through the whole force to find enough bronze weapons. A few of the sacrifices had simply had their brains dashed out with wooden clubs. This time, however, there would be enough. The apprentice shamans had a low table laid out with the items he would need for the spell. They were quite simple: a pair of candles, some incense, and a small amount of gunpowder in a crystal jar.
“I’m afraid I will have no time for any instruction today,” he said. “We are in haste. But observe what I do and try to sense me grasping the Power. That is the essence of it.” The others nodded and lined up behind him. He made sure Thelena had an unobstructed view and then took his own spot by the table. He could see the ranks of horsemen below him and the enemy fort a little over a mile away. It was smaller than the other one, but the approach was more difficult. He hoped the men would be able to get in as easily as they had before. Enough, that was Muskar’s responsibility. He sprinkled a little incense on one of the candles, breathed in the smoke, and cleared his mind.
He began to recite the incantation for the spell and reached out for the Power. The words and the incense had no actual function other than to allow Atark to concentrate properly. The Ghost had told him that with more practice he would not need either anymore. Indeed, when he had destroyed Gerrik, he had not needed them. But then this spell was of much greater power, and mistakes with powerful spells were to be avoided at all costs.
He felt the force of the energy swirling around and drew it to him. He shaped and molded the spell with the strength within himself. He formed it so that it was like the mold of an ironmonger, ready to receive the hot metal. He knew that, in fact, he was doing nothing of the sort, but that was the image he used and it served him well. The Seekers were ready now, and at his signal, a helper tossed a handful of the gunpowder into the flame of one of the candles. It flashed and a puff of smoke rose up and turned red as it did so. The Seekers now knew what they were to seek. Now he needed only the raw power to multiply the Seekers and send them on their way. The signal was given and the swords began to flash down. The sacrifices were behind him and he could not see them, but he could feel what was happening with ease. The first man died and his strength flashed away like the gunpowder. Atark seized the smoke from it and added it to his spell. The next died and the next. He continued to gather and add. The spell grew stronger. The golden ball started to become visible directly in front of him. More deaths and more power and the ball grew and grew. The last man died, and again, Atark felt like he was stuffed almost to the bursting point. But not so much as he had the last time. It was easier this time: he knew what to expect and he could control it more easily.
He had the power now. The spell was shaped. He let it loose. The ball exploded into thousands of individual sparks which rushed away toward the enemy fort. A single Seeker dashed itself against the crystal jar containing the remaining gunpowder and vanished. Atark watched as the cloud of sparks faded into the distance. The horsemen were already in motion.
A few moments later, the cannons on the fort began to roar out. The sharper crackle of muskets joined in, and then other explosions, growing to a huge roar. The fort was completely wrapped in smoke. Atark sighed in relief and smiled. He had managed to do it again.
“Lord! Lord!” shouted one of the lesser shamans suddenly.
He turned around and froze when he saw his daughter crouched on the ground with her hands clutching her head.
“Thelena!” He dashed over to her and knelt beside her. “Thelena! What’s wrong?”
She was kneeling there, trembling hard; but when she saw him, she slowly lowered her hands.
“Thelena, what’s wrong?” She looked up at him and then her fear-filled eyes darted to where the sacrifices’ bodies lay.
“The dead. I can hear them. I can hear the dead!”
Chapter Eight
“Silly buggers,” muttered Sergeant Chenik. “They shoulda made you the general of this traveling circus, sir—not that we’re actually traveling anywhere.”
“Just be grateful they gave us a home at all, Sergeant,” said Matt. “They didn’t have to do even that—not after the way the colonel behaved.”
“Another silly bugger. The place is crawling with them.”
“Well, it must have been a real blow to him. The regiment was all he had, and to learn that it was gone…” Matt shook his head. Lieutenant Lerner’s statement that the colonel was going to go mad had been remarkably prescient. At first, he had refused to believe it; then, when
his commanding general had summoned all of them to report on what they knew, he had started raving and demanding a new command. The colonel’s only source of income was what he was paid for his regiment, and apparently he was rather deeply in debt. It had been extremely embarrassing, and eventually Colonel Fezdoorf had to be taken away. Matt and all the other survivors of the Tapestry Dragoons had been questioned and then assigned to another regiment.
“Sir, they still don’t believe us about the fireflies,” said Chenik.
“I know. We tried our best, but if we kept at it, they’d lock us in a mad house like the colonel.”
“If somebody don’t do something about ‘em, sir, we might as well just ride east right now and get a head start on the rout.”
“I do wish you would stop thinking, Sergeant. It’s a really bad habit for a non-commissioned officer.”
“Sorry, but someone’s got to do it…Captain.”
Matt frowned and glanced down at the gold braid around his buttonholes. He still was not sure why he had been promoted, but he was not going to argue about it. Personally, he thought the general was so embarrassed about poor Colonel Fezdoorf that promoting Matt and calling him a hero for escaping the Kaifeng was some sort of salve to a guilty conscience. But whatever the reason, Matt was now a captain in the 14th Dragoons with his own company. This regiment wore sky-blue coats with buff breeches and black leather boots. Except for a modest bit of gold lace, Matt’s uniform looked little different from his men’s.
He glanced outside his tent as the bugler sounded the assembly. He heard a chorus of groans from the row of tents his men occupied. He had drilled them this morning and he was going to do it again this afternoon. Most of them were not happy.
Most of them.
He had sixty strangers in his company, native Berssians, who did not know him and he was quite sure did not like him. But the twelve men he had brought with him from the Tapestry Regiment were his men, through and through. Every one of them was itching to pay back the Kaifeng. Matt had used them as the solid core of his company, and they took care of any bellyaching by the others. There had been no serious trouble so far, but he wasn’t sure how long that was going to last. It had been two weeks since the word about the Kaifeng had reached the capital, and things were still in a frenzy.
The army was being marshaled as quickly as possible, but far too slowly in Matt’s opinion. Those regiments which had responded to the summons first, like the 14th, were being held in a rapidly expanding camp west of the city. The men were getting restless. They were tired of all the drill and eager to get into the taverns and fleshpots of the city. Matt had no intention of letting his men out of camp. He could get away with it for a while longer, but if more weeks went by, it was going to get difficult.
Matt was of the opinion that the generals were making a serious mistake. Not just because no one would believe them about the fireflies, but also because of this delay. The Berssians had ten regiments of guard infantry, four of cavalry in the city, another fifteen musketeer regiments, and six of cavalry close by. Nearly twenty thousand troops by the time you added in the artillery. While it was true that another ten or fifteen thousand could be assembled in a few weeks, he felt sure the Kaifeng were making better use of the time than they were. Reports from refugees and cavalry patrols indicated that the Kaifeng were raiding along a wide front. Several dozen villages had been burned. But allowing for the inevitable exaggeration by people fleeing the carnage, it did not seem as though the enemy had more than six or eight thousand men. Surely twenty thousand could handle those scattered bands, even if they did have the fireflies. At the least, they should drive ahead to the pass and seal it off before more of the savages could come through.
Matt sighed. No one listened to him. He only knew what was going on because the colonel of his new regiment saw fit to keep his officers informed. He got up and buckled on his sword belt; from it dangled a standard trooper’s heavy saber. His slightly more ornate one had been taken from him back at Havverdoor, and he doubted he would ever see it again. No matter, he wanted a heavy blade. He didn’t even have a set of pistols anymore and he no longer carried a carbine. His small cartridge box was empty. He knew that his old troopers were only carrying them because the regulations insisted they do so. He also knew that when combat was near, they wouldn’t be carrying any powder at all. Twelve men he could count on. If nothing else, they would cut a swath through the enemy with cold steel. He stepped out of his tent and looked off toward the west. The Kaifeng were out there, and he would dearly like to cut a swath through them.
A man was waiting there with his horse. He was one of the new men. He missed old Cofo, but he had never made it out of the fort. A lot of people had not gotten out of the fort. What has happened to Kareen? It was a question he tried not to ask, but there was no avoiding it. He knew that the Kaifeng usually slaughtered any male captives, but rarely ever killed women. Those they would keep as slaves. If Kareen had not been killed in the explosions or the fighting in the fort, she was almost certainly some Kaifeng warrior’s slave. A beautiful girl like her would be a real prize.
Matt clenched his fist. The thought of his sister being raped and forced to serve one of those savages filled him with a rage unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Perhaps the chance would come to drive his heavy cavalry saber through that man. He would like that very much. Perhaps the chance would come to rescue his sister. He had not thought about that a great deal. One part of him already considered her dead. But what if she wasn’t dead? What if he did manage to find her? Some people would consider her better off dead. Too defiled to be redeemed. Sergeant Chenik certainly felt that way. Did he believe that, too? Was his sister somehow a lesser person because some man had taken her by force? Several of the gods emphasized that the spirit was more important than the flesh. Kareen had a wonderful spirit—despite how often it had vexed Matt. Would he think less of her if she had traded her flesh to save her spirit? Did he think she was better off dead? No, of course not. He hoped she was alive. He hoped she was not suffering too much. He hoped to see her again. But to have any chance to do that…
“The company is assembled, sir,” said Chenik, startling him out of musing. He saw that the men were all mounted and waiting his command. Stupid of him. One of the things soldiers hated the most was to be forced to stand in ranks in the hot sun while their commander ignored them. He quickly mounted and went to drill his company.
* * * * *
“So, all goes well?” whispered the Ghost.
“Yes. Our warriors have ridden far and wide over the land,” said Atark. “The enemy assembles a large army near their city, but it has not moved. They are confused and uncertain about where we shall strike next. Still, their numbers are great. We grow in strength as well, but not quickly enough. It will be several weeks yet before Zarruk will be ready to move.”
Atark stared at the image floating in the darkened tent. This was the first time he had summoned the Ghost since they had quarreled. He was very relieved that the Ghost had come. So far, neither of them had mentioned the incident.
“Time is our ally,” said the Ghost. “Have patience. The tribes will come to swell our strength. Fear not the growing enemy army. They simply gather all their soldiers in one spot so that we may smash them at a blow.”
“So we can hope. Each time I have cast the spell, it has been easier. I can increase the strength by using more sacrifices. But the enemy army will require a spell far greater than any I have attempted. I fear I will not have the strength or the skill.”
“You will have the strength. Or, at need, you could cast a lesser spell against one part of the enemy army. This would throw them into confusion and give you the time to cast a second spell to finish them.”
“Many are asking that I teach the other shamans my powers. I have taken on a few helpers, but so far they have learned little.”
“Your powers,” hissed the Ghost, reminding Atark where those powers had come from. “The time may com
e when you need to share, but not yet. Zarruk does not yet have full control over the noyens. The influence you wield is necessary to keep the Kaifeng focused on the goal. Share your power and that influence is gone. The tribes could splinter and the great goal be forgotten in squabbles between the noyens.”
“Yes, so I thought as well. For now I shall hold the power myself.” Atark paused. He had another question to ask, but he hesitated to do so.
“Ask what you will.”
Atark frowned. The Ghost was far too adept at sensing his thoughts and moods. Still, there was no use denying it. “I have a question to ask about my daughter.”
“Your daughter.” Was there a note of disapproval in the Ghost’s voice? He wasn’t quite sure. But it said nothing more, so he went on.
“When I last cast the spell, I had my daughter present. She has the talent and I wanted her to learn. But when the sacrifices were killed, she was filled with pain. She says she could hear the death screams of the sacrifices. She has always had a certain sensitivity, but it has never been like this. Is there anything I can do to lessen her suffering?”
The Ghost was silent for a very long time. “There is something that could be done,” it said, at last.
“What? What can be done?”
“You have bound my spirit to this skull. To this bit of bone. The spell could be re-cast. If you were to bind my spirit to the body of your daughter…”
“What!?” exclaimed Atark in shock.
“It can be done. If she has the talent, my spirit could live with her own. And I could shield her from the pain she feels. With her living strength, my powers could be restored. I could help you and our people, I could…” There was an eagerness, a hunger, in the voice now that chilled Atark to his marrow. This…this…thing wanted Thelena’s body so that it could live again!
Fires of Memory Page 17