Fires of Memory

by Washburn, Scott;

  Still, Dauros was correct: he had more than enough material for several books. The information on the aftermath of Soor would allow for an entirely revised edition of Downfall of the Wizards. Oto Weibelan had already hinted he would consider a co-authorship if Jarren brought back the required information. The other things he had could fill a year’s worth of lectures and many papers. His future academic career was already assured. And if he could follow up by producing a live wizard or two…!

  “Oh, by the way, Jarren,” said Dauros, “Brother Rianzzi is extraordinarily sensitive to ripples in the ‘lake’, and yesterday he felt a significant one from far to the southwest. It probably is nothing: such things do happen naturally from time to time, but you might want to keep an ear and an eye open for any news from that area.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”

  “We are ready to depart, Lord,” said Lyni coming up and curtsying to Dauros. “All the baggage is loaded, we only await the passengers.”

  “Well! Then I suppose I should let them go. Goodbye, Jarren. I sincerely hope we are able to meet again.”

  “Goodbye, sir. I hope so, too.” Jarren bowed and then followed Lyni out the door of the library. Gez had been prowling around the foyer of the hall and now attached himself to Jarren.

  “We leavin’?” he asked.

  “Yes. Time to head home.”

  “Through that bloody town again? Erberus or whatever it was called?”

  “I’m afraid so. But we have been guaranteed safe passage. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Like hell. I’m gonna load that dinky pistol of yours before we get there, and you bloody well carry it, mister!”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “All right, I’ll carry it then.”

  “Gez!”

  “Alright, alright! But remember it’s my neck, too.”

  “I’ve already saved your neck once. I think you owe me this.”

  “Aw, I was doing okay. Just needed to catch my breath and I coulda swum out of there.”

  “Really?”

  “Well…”

  The boy fell silent and they concentrated on following Lyni down the many steps that led to the dock. It was a gray and windy day. A few drops of rain were falling by the time they reached the boat. They hopped in, and almost immediately the vessel was cast off from the dock. The sail unfurled itself and caught the wind, and the boat surged forward sharply enough to almost throw Jarren off his feet.

  “I suppose you will be glad to see the last of us,” said Jarren to Lyni.

  “If it is the last of you, then yes, I’ll be glad.”

  “You don’t like me,” said Jarren.

  “My, you are observant.”

  “Why? What have I done to anger you, so?”

  “Not you personally, but what you represent.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Danger.”

  “So you side with Stephanz on this issue.”

  “Yes. I have my own reasons to hate and distrust the mainlanders, just as they hate and distrust my kind. I do not believe that the two can live together. We are better off separated.”

  “I’m sorry. And I do hope you are wrong.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You could still invoke the fish bait option.”

  “Dauros has ordered otherwise, and I will obey him.”

  She would say nothing more, and Jarren turned to look back at the rapidly dwindling island. He did hope he could return here someday, but he feared he would never see the place again.

  A few minutes later, the wall of fog swallowed them up and the island was gone.

  * * * * *

  “You don’t have to carry me, Sergeant,” growled Matt. “Save your strength for yourself.”

  “Just so you keep up, sir. Them bastards will spit you if you can’t. I’ve seen ‘em doing it.”

  “So have I. Don’t worry, I’ll keep up.”

  Chenik grunted and then they both stopped talking to save their breath. Matt was sweating. The weather had turned warm again, which was fortunate since the Kaifs had stripped them of everything except their trousers. Matt cursed as he stepped on a sharp stone. His boots were gone and his feet were cut and bruised. Just about all the rest of him was bruised, too. Chenik’s horse had fallen on him, and he was black and blue from head to foot. Everything hurt. Amazingly, nothing was broken. Or he didn’t think so.

  He had come back to his senses to find that Chenik had freed him from under the horse. Unfortunately, he had also come to his senses to find that there were a dozen Kaifeng warriors around them with drawn weapons. Chenik was standing there with an arrow through his arm and a bloody sleeve. His sword was on the ground.

  Matt had scarcely been able to move, so there had been no hope of fighting. The Kaifs took them prisoner and herded them off to where all the other captives were being kept. There had seemed like a large number of them, but it was actually shockingly few compared to how many soldiers there had been in the army. Maybe a thousand were left alive. At least among the soldiers.

  As with any army, there had been a large group of camp followers tagging along. The Kaifs had scooped them up with everything else. The first day and night of Matt’s captivity had been filled with the cries of the women. The men had been too stunned, or in Matt’s case too bruised, to make any trouble at all. Matt had managed to remove the arrow in Chenik’s arm and bandage him as best he could. But it wasn’t a good job at all and they both knew it.

  They had been marched east for the last three days, and all the captives were nearing the end of their endurance. They had only been fed once and not given nearly enough water. Matt’s mouth was parched.

  “Hell, and I thought those bloody gendarmes were bastards,” gasped Chenik.

  There was a commotion up ahead and Matt saw that a man had collapsed. He was still wearing the red leggings of the Guard artillery. Two of his comrades pulled him to his feet and they staggered along for another hundred paces before all three of them fell. One of the Kaif lancers rode up and shouted at them. They tried to get the man to his feet but could not. The Kaif just shrugged and drove his lance into the man’s body. The two others stared for a few moments and then shuffled along with the rest of the prisoners. Three days ago, there might have been a fight, but by now, the prisoners didn’t have the strength for any resistance. Matt trudged by the body of the man. He was face down with a bloody hole in his back. Chenik was cursing beside him.

  “What…what d’you think they’re gonna do with us?” gasped a man at Matt’s side. He looked over and saw that it was Private Teeldor, the last surviving survivor. None of the others had made it through the battle. Matt had listened with pride when Teeldor described the dragoons’ last stand.

  “I don’t know,” said Matt. “I can’t think they are going to drag us all this way just to kill us. The Kaifs will make slaves out of the women and children, but I don’t know what they want with us.”

  “The shape we’re in, we wouldn’t even make much sport for torture,” said Chenik. “Course I suppose they could let us rest and feed us first.”

  “You’re thinking again, Sergeant. Stop it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They marched along in silence, passing several other bodies in the road. There had been a thousand or so when they started this, but Matt doubted if there were even seven hundred now. Around midday, they were allowed to stop next to a stream. It had been muddied by those who had come by before them, but they didn’t care. They drank their fill and washed the filth off themselves. Matt tried to change the bandage on Chenik’s arm, but all he could do was rinse the cloth out and tie it on again. The wound looked inflamed.

  “No surgeon around if it has to come off,” observed Chenik, as it he was talking about a hangnail.

  “It’s not that bad yet.”

  “Not yet.”

  They were not given anything to eat, although a few men dug up some sort of roots and were gnawi
ng on them. Suddenly, a large band of Kaifs rode up. Several hundred at least, and they were each leading an empty horse. There was a great deal of shouting, and then Matt could see that they were grabbing some of the prisoners, tying their hands behind them, and then slinging them over the empty horses like sacks.

  “What’s this all about?” wondered Matt.

  “Dunno, but at least those sods get to ride,” said Chenik. “Think we ought to volunteer?”

  “No. I don’t like the looks of this at all. They’re not picking the ones who are worst off, they’re just grabbing the ones who are nearest. Let’s skip this party, Sergeant.”

  “If you say so.”

  The Kaifs finished what they were doing and rode off with the men they had selected. All too soon, the rest of them were on the move again. They were prodded back to their feet and the march continued. By the middle of the afternoon, Matt was almost ready to drop and wondering if not getting a ride had been the right decision. He forced his mind away from his own pain and looked around. There were more buildings along the road now. All were deserted and some of them burned.

  “That mill looks familiar,” muttered Chenik. Matt looked without much interest and then looked again. He had seen that mill before. It was not far from the camp they had been in outside of…

  “Berssenburg,” he hissed. “We’re back.”

  He shook his head. They had left this place so proud and determined, thirty-five thousand men off to rout the Kaifs. Now a mere five hundred stumbled back as miserable captives. It was almost unbelievable. Matt could believe it only because of what he had gone through earlier. He could scarcely imagine what was going through the minds of the other men. A nightmare.

  Booom!

  There was suddenly a low rumble from beyond the next ridge. Then another. Then a whole series that blended into each other.

  “Gods! They’re attacking the city!” hissed Matt.

  As they continued to march, clouds of smoke began to appear. First they were white smoke, but they quickly turned to black. The column somehow instinctively quickened its pace, prisoners and guards alike. Another few hundred yards and they would be over the ridge and could see…

  More rumbles. Louder now and sharper. More smoke. A white thundercloud hovered just beyond the ridge, and columns of black smoke were rising up to mix with it. Boom, boom, boom, the explosions continued. The head of the column reached the top of the ridge and halted. Those that followed crowded up behind and then spread out on either side of the road. Their guards seemed as transfixed as the prisoners. All just stood and stared. Matt and Chenik hobbled off the road and around to the right of the crowd to get a clear view. A moment later, Berssenburg was laid out before them.

  “Gods!”

  From the ridge, the city was like a detailed map or an exquisitely crafted model on a table. Matt could see the whole city. The Glovina River was a glittering ribbon that ran from his left to his right. The city sprawled on both banks. It was a large city of a quarter-million people, and it was the capital of a very large kingdom. Churches and palaces rose up above the rooftops of the lesser houses, broad boulevards led to parks and plazas. Matt knew that there was an opera house and several museums and a university. By good fortune, most of the city lay on the east side of the river, away from the invaders, but there were still thousands of buildings on the west side. A ring of modern forts dotted the outskirts. They were in the latest, precise mathematical style, mounting hundreds of cannon. Even though the Berssians had sent the bulk of their army west, they had retained many thousands of troops to man those forts.

  But the forts were in flames.

  As Matt came up to look, the magazine of another fort exploded. A dirty cloud erupted upward with tiny specks that Matt knew were men or cannons flung above it. Long seconds later, the noise rolled over them. Columns of black smoke rose up from the other ruined forts, and a number of buildings were on fire. Smaller explosions kept puffing up here and there. He could not see any fireflies, but he knew they must be there, doing their fiendish jobs.

  Then there was a bright flash down by the river itself. A huge ball of red fire climbed up into the sky and then faded into gray smoke. Across the miles, an enormous roar shook the ground.

  “The gunpowder works!” cried one of the onlookers.

  More explosions. The river was navigable to this point, and he saw a ship dissolve in flame. Then the forts on the far shore began to explode as well. Smoke rose up from a hundred points. Many of the Berssian prisoners were weeping now.

  The rumbles slowly died away, and then Matt heard that hated sound: the cry of Kaifeng warriors riding to the attack. From his position on the ridge, he could see the waves of Kaif horsemen riding toward the city.

  “By the gods,” whispered Chenik. “Can anything stop these bastards?”

  “I don’t know,” said Matt. “I just don’t know.”

  * * * * *

  A warrior on a blown horse trotted up the hill and halted in front of the assembled kas. The man was covered in soot, and his sweat had made muddy little tracks down the side of his face. “It is no good, my lords,” he gasped. “We have tried, but we cannot break through.”

  “And why not?” demanded Ka Battai. “The enemy cannons and muskets have been silenced. How can they stop you?”

  “Yes, lord, their fire weapons are useless, just as in the great battle. We rode past their forts with no trouble—the fools put them hundreds of paces apart with no connecting walls! We can ride many scores abreast between them!”

  “Had their cannons been working, they would have filled those gaps with your broken bodies,” said Zarruk.

  “No doubt,” said Battai, angrily, “But they were not working. So what has stopped you from taking the city?”

  “Inside the city, among the houses, there is another wall, lord,” said the man. “A much older wall. But it is thirty feet high and made of thick stone. There are many gates in it, but they were all closed. And we found no soldiers among the ruined forts, and very few people in the outer houses. They have all fled within this inner wall.”

  “We gave them too much time,” said Atark. “Survivors from the battle probably reached here two days ago. They abandoned the forts and the outer houses and now defend the old wall.”

  The other kas frowned and Atark wished he had said nothing. After the battle, he had urged speed, but there was far too much loot to be had in the Berssians’ baggage train. The army had not even attempted to move for a full day. True, there had been much fine booty and many women. The Berssian general’s pretty mistress now served in Zarruk’s tent alongside the red-haired girl. But Atark had urged haste. He had now been proved correct—but it was not a wise thing to remind the kas of that.

  “And you cannot get over this wall?” asked Zarruk.

  “No, lord. The Berssians have no fire weapons, but they can throw rocks at us from the walls. And some of them have bows and crossbows. Many have swords. I’m sorry, lord, but this is a great city and the men outnumber us many times. The top of the wall was thick with them. We lost three score of warriors from our helar alone. We killed some of them with our bows, but they are difficult targets. Then some of the houses near us caught fire and we had no choice but to retreat.”

  “Very well,” said Zarruk. “Call the men back. We shall make camp and try again tomorrow.” The man bowed in his saddle and then rode off. The other kas were grumbling, but they agreed to meet later that night to decide what to do next. They rode away, leaving Atark with Zarruk and his escort.

  “So what shall we do, my friend?” asked Zarruk.

  “I shall have to think on this. I cannot burn stone, so I will need another spell—if that is the way we choose to deal with this.”

  “If not with your magic, how else? We have no siege engines, nor those skilled in using or making them. Our numbers are still too small for a direct assault.”

  “They will grow. When word of our victory spreads, our numbers will grow beyond your dr
eams, Ka Zarruk.”

  “Yes, you are probably right.” Zarruk paused and chuckled. “We have already received a messenger from some of the Varag tribes to the south asking to join us.”

  “Varags,” growled Atark. “They are…not to be trusted.”

  “I know. They will sell themselves to anyone. But if they try to sell themselves to us, we may find some use for them. I told them to come if they wish.”

  Atark kept any emotion from his face. “Yes…we’ll definitely find some use for them.”

  “In the meantime,” continued Zarruk, “we need to get our men across the river. You can see that they are already moving people east, out of the city. With most of their army destroyed, we can go where we will and they can’t stop us. If we could get a helar across to the far shore, we could pen them all up in the city until we are ready to strike. I will send north and south to seize any boats they can find.”

  “That sounds wise, my ka. I shall leave all of that to your skills. For now I must go and meditate before we meet with the others tonight.”

  “As you will, mighty shaman.” Zarruk turned and rode off with his men. Atark stayed there for a while, looking at the burning parts of the city. He felt irritated. This was the first time his magic had failed to bring total victory. The enemy still held their city. All of the best booty had been removed within the walls. Several score of warriors had been killed to no purpose. It irked him. True, he had wreaked terrible damage to the forts and some parts of the city, but other parts were undamaged and the enemy was defiant. He had hoped that the destruction of their army would leave them demoralized and ripe for conquest. But the Berssians had some steel in them yet, it seemed. He needed to think. He needed advice. He turned his horse and rode back to his tent. On his way, he passed the spot where he had worked his magic. People were still dragging the bodies of the sacrifices away. He had instructed that they be properly buried. It only seemed right somehow.