Flight of the Fallen l-2

by Mary H. Herbert

  Harsh laughter rang in the clearing. “What a touching scene!” Lanther was about add more when the sound of hoofbeats distracted him.

  A slim Keena in the dark robes of a priest trotted into camp and saluted the new Akkad-Dar. “Majesty,” he said. “Urudwek’s body has been brought to us and is safely sealed for mummification.”

  Lanther turned away from Linsha and the dragon. “Very well. Then let us leave.” He stepped away and raised his voice for all the onlookers to hear. “Commanders, I want this army on the move before the sun passes midday! You two!” He pointed to two guards. “Put Sir Remmik in the slave cage. No food or water. I will find a good use for him.”

  “And the woman?” one asked.

  “Tie her to a horse. She rides with me.”

  The Tarmaks bowed and hurried to their tasks. Shortly thereafter, the large army pushed on, leaving the fords behind and following the Run toward the distant town of Stone Rose.

  Crucible estimated that at the rate they were moving, they would be in the small town in six or seven days-if the militia and tribesmen did not stop them somewhere along the way. Disgruntled, he stamped along behind Lanther’s retinue and thought about everything Linsha had told him and a few things she knew nothing about. By the First Eggs, he wished he could sear Lanther where he stood. This was the second-no, there was that Lonar in the Crystal Valley. So this was the third man Linsha had liked and trusted who had lied to her, betrayed her, or even tried to kill her. It was enough to give any woman reason to never trust another man as long as she lived.

  He ground his sharp teeth together and fought down his despair. By the absent gods, how would he ever find the courage to tell her?

  25

  The Mask of a General

  The next few days became a blur to Linsha-hot days on horseback and cold, uncomfortable nights spent tied in Lanther’s tent. The new general did not try to kiss her or touch her again, but he would not let her near Crucible, and he never let her out of his presence. Linsha wished sometimes he would, even for just a few minutes. She was starting to loathe this man she had once considered her friend. She stared at him sometimes as they rode, still in shock that he had turned on her so suddenly. She half expected him to slouch in his saddle, turn around with his crooked grin, and tell her it had all been a joke. A poor joke, but a joke nonetheless. And then he would limp to her side and apologize. But it never happened. The Lanther she knew was a lie, a fabrication that was gone forever, and she began to grieve for that person as surely as she grieved for Mariana.

  She saw Sir Remmik a few times during those bleak days. The older Knight had been locked in a small barred cage used to discipline disobedient slaves. The cage was loaded on the back of the wagon that hauled most of the furnishings, ropes, and walls of the general’s tent, and in those rare moments when the Akkad-Dar was distracted and the wagon was unwatched, she tried to slip Sir Remmik a water bag or a fragment of food. The Tarmaks gave him water and bread in the evening, but it was not nearly enough to last through a long day. Sir Remmik swallowed his pride and took what she could give him with mumbled thanks. He would say nothing more to her for fear of being beaten. In spite of his earlier animosity to her, she feared for his well-being. At least the traces of the blue paint remaining on his skin protected him from sunburn and helped heal the wound on his leg and the many cuts and bruises from the fight.

  When she wasn’t worrying about Sir Remmik or Crucible or Varia during the long days of endless riding, Linsha often wondered what Falaius and the militia were doing. Had they gathered enough people to confront the Tarmaks? Would they attack before the army reached Stone Rose? Or would the town be sacrificed? Where were the inhabitants of this land? Thus far she had seen no sign of tribesmen, centaurs, or anyone. The desolate land they traveled was seemingly empty of people. There were no travelers, no caravans, no shepherds herding their flocks, no nomads to watch them pass by. Even when they stopped near the river to replenish their water supplies and water the stock, they did not see boats or local fishermen. This was not a heavily populated land, Linsha knew that, but this close to the river, there should have been someone.

  The Tarmak scouts did not seem to be finding anyone either. Whenever they returned to report to the Akkad-Dar, she sidled close to listen and heard enough to make her suspect the local inhabitants were fleeing the coming of the Tarmaks. They were wise, she thought.

  But this empty peace would not last much longer. Of that she was sure. The people of Duntollik had not maintained their free realm between three dragonlords by sitting in their homes and running at the first sign of trouble. Somewhere out there on the Plains the tribes and clans were mustering to confront the Tarmak invaders, and she doubted they would wait much longer.

  Three days’ march to the southeast of Stone Rose, another tributary of the Toranth River joined the Red Rose in a confluence of shifting sand bars, twisting currents, and treacherous shoals that changed the character of the river to a staid, meandering waterway with enough water to float a boat. The southernmost tributary, the Khol, was named for a village in its proximity and stretched lazily through the southern reaches of the vast desert. West of the confluence, where the Red Rose ran alone, the river was not a pretty sight in anyone’s imagination, for it was shallow, thick with silt, and meandered through rusty colored mud flats and sand bars. The Red Rose, Linsha learned, had been named by local centaurs for its reddish color and for the odd stone rosettes that could sometimes be found in the weathered gullies and canyons of its watershed. Its banks supported only tough cottonwoods and thick willows and beds of rushes that harbored every biting insect known to the Plains. But it was water, and water was more valuable in the desert than gems.

  Even though the Run paralleled the river, the majority of the Tarmak army did not see the confluence of the Khol and the Red Rose simply because it was too far from the Run for the wagons, chariots, and slow-moving oxen to detour. However, a day later they reached a section of the road that passed a great northern loop of the Red Rose and saw for themselves the muddy, red-hued river and its striated hanks of red sandstone. After several days of skimpy water rations, everyone was pleased to see it. No one minded a little mud.

  Especially Crucible. Without waiting for Lanther to agree, he galloped down the bank and plunged into the water, wallowing snout-first into the mud and sending waves of muddy water washing up the bank. Linsha laughed for the first time in days, and Lanther, who knew more about dragons than the Akkad-Ur before him, grunted and said, “He could have done that a little farther down stream.”

  That evening, they saw the first rider on a hill to the west, silhouetted against the setting sun. Lanther send a band of the mercenary brigands after the rider, but he disappeared before they could get near him.

  At dawn there were two watchers on the distant hill.

  Lanther sent out Tarmak trackers and put his army on alert. They broke camp quickly, and every Tarmak carried his weapons on the march. They did not see a concentrated band of the enemy that day, but they saw watchers on every distant hill and occasionally a troop of centaurs would canter by on a parallel track and observe the Tarmaks as closely as they dared.

  Linsha observed the sentinels and felt her nervousness increase by the hour. The Tarmaks’ opponents were out there, waiting for the most advantageous time or the best place to attack. Were they going to launch an ambush? Or use the old familiar form of advancing lines? Would they attack at dawn? She could only wait and try to keep her worried frustration from boiling over.

  At dawn the following day, signal horns blared all around the camp, alerting the warriors and bringing the commanders running. They stopped and stared at a sun-capped hill on the western Run not far from the sprawling camp and saw at least seven mounted riders and three centaurs standing in the middle of the road as if they were attempting to block the Tarmaks’ path. One carried a truce flag.

  Lanther buckled on his sword and strapped the gold mask of the Akkad on his face. Taking Linsh
a with him, he mounted his horse, called his guards, and rode up the hill to meet the waiting riders.

  Linsha kept her face expressionless as the group of Tarmaks came to a halt ten feet away from the truce party. She scanned the faces in front of her and saw Falaius, Sir Hugh, and several of the militia she recognized. The others were tribesmen and centaurs from Duntollik clans. She gave Sir Hugh a scant nod and tore her eyes away from his questioning expression. She hoped they would not get a chance to talk. She did not want to have to explain Mariana’s death to him under these circumstances.

  The rider carrying the flag nudged his horse forward to meet the Akkad-Dar. He held his hands out so the Tarmaks could see he was unarmed. The only thing he carried was the torn scroll Sir Remmik had given to the leaders at the Grandfather Tree.

  He handed it back to Lanther and said, “I am bidden to return these to you and offer you the same terms. If you surrender to our commanders, we will not slaughter your men. You will turn over your weapons to us and return to Missing City.”

  Lanther laughed behind his mask and took the torn scroll. “Very well. Your message has been delivered. I give you the same answer you gave me. No. Go back to your commanders and tell them to meet us on the field of battle.”

  The tribesman turned to go, but there was a sudden commotion in the group of riders behind him. Sir Hugh, his face thunderous, urged his horse through the clustered party and yanked it snorting and prancing to a stop directly in front of Lanther’s horse. The Tarmak guards drew their swords.

  “Who are you?” Sir Hugh demanded. “I’ve seen the Akkad-Ur! And unless he shrank a foot, changed his voice, and cut off his braids, you are not he! Who are you?”

  The guard beside Lanther answered with a thick accent, “This is the Akkad-Dar, the golden general of the western armies, Lord of Missing City, Sword of the Emperor. Bow when you speak before him!”

  “In a pig’s eye,” Sir Hugh snarled. “What happened to the other one?”

  Linsha felt the tension around her tighten even further. If Hugh didn’t back away, she was afraid these guards were going to start the battle on the hilltop using him as their first target.

  “He’s dead, Sir Hugh,” she said quickly. “Sir Remmik killed him in a duel. But we have found the traitor.”

  Before she could continue, Lanther pulled the mask from his face and gave Sir Hugh a sardonic salute.

  Exclamations of dismay and anger burst out from the militia who recognized him.

  Linsha’s eyes sought Falaius’s face among the tribesmen. He had been the one who worked the closest with Lanther the Legionnaire; he had been Lanther’s commander and supporter. Had he ever guessed, she wondered, that this crippled Legionnaire from City of Morning Dew was in reality a spy, an assassin, and a dark mystic? From the look of angry surprise and dawning comprehension on the old tribesman’s face, she had to guess not. Lanther’s subterfuge had been perfect.

  Falaius’s voice cut over the noise like a saw. “Sir Hugh, let us go. We have our answer.” He wheeled his horse back over the hill without waiting for the others. The rest of the party followed.

  The young Knight looked at Linsha uncertainly, then he and the flag carrier spurred their horses after the group.

  As soon as they were out of arrow range, Lanther and his guards rode to the crown of the hill to look down the road. Ahead of them the Run dipped down the slope of the hill and could be seen like a pale ribbon winding through a broad, low-lying valley On the far side, across a flat stretch of dried mud flats, small sand dunes, and rocky scrubland stood a large force of men, centaurs, and others waiting in quiet ranks on the rise of the opposite hills. To the left curled the river, its sluggish water glistening in the morning light. Beds of reeds and clumps of scraggly willow lined the shores, where Linsha could see ducks and small birds feeding in the shallows. She saw another, larger bird glide across the river and disappear into one of the willows, but she could not tell from this distance if it was Varia. She turned away from the river and sighed.

  “Linsha,” Lanther’s voice cut through her thoughts. “You were in the gathering. How many warriors did the tribes muster?”

  Linsha stiffened. She had been dreading this and had hoped he would not press the issue of divulging information. “I have no idea. Thanks to Sir Remmik and your trackers, I left the gathering before all the forces had arrived.”

  He twisted around in his saddle and fixed his eyes on her face. Linsha glared back.

  “Was there a tribesman there by the name of Wanderer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did the Windwalker clan come?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What is their favorite color?”

  “Tarmak blue. They can’t wait to see how it mixes with blood red.”

  His eyebrow curved up and his lip twisted down in a sarcastic sneer, and he yanked her horse closer to his. “Good. You were listening. Then listen to this. It does not really matter how many face us today. We are the Tarmak. We will prevail. There is nothing on this plain that can stop us. Not elf, not centaur, not human. Not even dragon. If you wish to see that bronze of yours survive this day you will obey me. As much as I would enjoy to have you fight by my side, you will stay in the camp under guard, and if you so much as twitch a muscle, I will let him die. Is that clear?”

  Linsha matched his expression with a sneer of her own and nodded. It was clear enough.

  Lanther abruptly switched to Tarmakian and began passing orders to his officers. They turned the horses around and cantered down the road to the waiting army, taking Linsha with them. By the time they reached the camp, their plans were set and the leaders of the hundreds were waiting by the road to receive their commands. Horns blared throughout the camp. There was noise everywhere as thousands of Tarmaks roared their joy at the prospect of the coming battle. The boredom and tedium of the long march was about to come to an end in bloodshed and conflict.

  Lanther hauled Linsha off her horse and left her fuming in front of his tent while he went inside to ready himself. For a little while she curbed her agitation and watched the warriors hurry about their duties. Some gathered weapons, arrows, spears, and hand axes. Others refreshed their body paint or tied fresh feathers in their hair. The charioteers were told to unhitch their horses and ride, for the ground was too uneven and cluttered for chariots. On the heavy, powerful Damjatt horses they would form a cavalry that would attack the centaurs. Very quickly the Tarmaks began to form lines for the march into battle.

  Linsha glanced around. No one was watching her except Sir Remmik in his cage. He gave her quick nod and jerked his head toward the river.

  But the river was not where Linsha wanted to go. A short distance away, behind the tents and wagons of the Akkad-Dar’s retinue, crouched Crucible. His head was raised and swaying slightly as if he was breathing the clean wind from the desert. A powerful desire swept over Linsha to go to him, to talk to him, to tell him why she had left and what had happened since. After the Akkad-Ur’s death, she had not been allowed near him, and she had missed him more than she imagined. There was a wagon close by. If she could just…

  A Tarmak warrior stepped out of Lanther’s tent and grabbed her arm. At least at first glance she thought he was a Tarmak. Then she realized he was too short and his hair did not have the numerous braids with the white feathers decorating their lengths. Lanther had removed his clothes and painted his skin blue. The gold mask glinted in the sunlight, and his weapons hung from an ornate battle harness of leather and gold strapped over the Akkad’s cuirass decorated with the brass dragon scales. His fingers dug painfully into her arm as he hauled her to the wagon where Sir Remmik’s cage sat.

  His guards unfastened the cage, pulled the Knight commander out, and pushed Linsha inside on her hands and knees. The cage was too short for any occupant over the size of a small kender to stand up inside.

  “Stay here,” Lanther ordered. “I want you to see our army return victorious with the blood of our enemy
on our hands and their heads on our spears.”

  Linsha and Sir Remmik exchanged a long look, then to Linsha’s surprise, the older Knight raised his right hand and saluted her.

  His hand had hardly dropped when Linsha heard the whisk of a sword blade slice the air and a thunk as it met solid flesh. Blood spattered over the side of the wagon. Struck with horror, Linsha clamped her hand to her mouth to stifle her scream as Sir Remmik’s head dropped off his neck and fell to the ground. His body swayed once as if greatly surprised and then it, too, collapsed to the earth in a small cloud of dust.

  “Why did you do that?” Linsha cried, her face bloodless to her lips. Her head was spinning, and she feared she was going to vomit. She was accustomed to bloodshed in battle, but this second abrupt, vicious murder that came unlooked for was almost more than her over-stretched self-control could bear.

  Lanther lifted his sword and watched the blood run down the blade. “It was a quicker, cleaner death than my men would have given him. He earned that for his courage in the duel. And now you will always remember his salute to you as the last thing he ever did.”

  “But why? Why now?”

  “I told you I would find a use for him. I will send him back to my enemy, so they will know what we intend to do.” He snapped an order to his followers and sprang onto his horse. “And now, my lady, to see a dragon.” He laughed and cantered away, his guards close behind.

  Sick at heart, Linsha watched the Tarmaks heave Sir Remmik’s body onto the back of another horse and tie him upright in the saddle. It was not an easy task, for the horse was spooked by the bloodstench and refused to stand still. When they finally had his body tied to their satisfaction, they fastened his head to the saddle horn, led the horse up the hill, and let him go with a slap to the rump. The last sight she had of her old nemesis was his headless corpse disappearing over the top of the hill. It became a memory that would haunt her for the rest of her days.