Shillond sighed. "If we were near a place of power, perhaps, but we are not." He swept his hand in a gesture that took in the entire mountain range. "Once these mountains and the desert were a place of power, a great place of power, but their energy has long since faded."
He took a seat next to the fire. "I will begin. Stay close. I will need some hours before the effects of the spell begin, but do not wander off."
With that Shillond began to chant in a soft voice. Kreg did not know the language; it was full of gutturals and sibilants and sounded evil in Kreg's ears. Kreg turned to the fire and was startled to see the flames dancing in time to Shillond's chant.
Time dragged. All Kreg could do was wait. He tried mental games to keep himself occupied, but that did not work. He could feel the tension in Kaila and Faron and caught it himself. Finally, Kreg began to run an oilstone over the edge of his sword, letting the motion sooth his nerves. He met with only partial success.
The sun was sinking toward the western horizon when the rising winds drew Kreg's attention.
"What?" He glanced around. A furious windstorm surrounded them, yet within about ten paces of Shillond the air remained calm. Kaila had sat and was watching Shillond intently.
"Be ready," Shillond called over the rising winds. "Demons of air! I command you in the name of Baaltor, the lord of all your kind, to carry us safely to Norveth."
The roar of the wind rose to a deafening shriek. Kreg felt himself lifted, and then hurled, through the air. He shut his eyes as the wind drove into his face. The wind-blown sand scoured his skin painfully.
The roar and motion continued for an unmeasured eternity. Kreg was aware of pain and noise and difficulty breathing. He choked as he inhaled sand as well as air.
Several eternities passed. Kreg felt himself rolling across a surface. He opened his eyes to a confusing, whirling blur of green and brown and blue. With each bruising bump, he felt certain he would finally come to a stop, but he kept rolling. His vision blurred and sparkled as his head struck a rock a glancing blow and he closed his eyes again.
At last, just when he decided he would never stop after all, he did. His fingers felt grass, not sand, beneath him.
Finally, he opened his eyes once more. Something wet ran down his face and he reached up a hand to stingingly wipe it away. Blood.
Kreg looked around. The first thing he noticed was Shillond, his face a maze of scratches. What skin of Shillond's not bloody from scratches shone scarlet from windburn. His robes hung in tattered shreds.
Shillond swayed. "We’ve arrived." He clutched his left arm.
Faron caught Shillond as he fell. He listened at Shillond's chest for a moment, a grave expression on his face.
"He is being dead." Faron sat back.
"No." Kaila turned her back. Her shoulders shook.
"Like hell." He scrambled over to Shillond.
Kreg ignored Faron's perplexed look as he placed both hands on Shillond's chest, one on top of the other. He leaned forward, shoving down on Shillond, then back, relaxing.
"One and two and three and..." Kreg counted pushes. When he reached fifteen, he took Shillond's head in his hands and, with his mouth over Shillond's, blew air into his lungs twice, checking for a pulse at Shillond's throat as he did so. He then went back to shoving on Shillond's chest.
"Come on," Kreg whispered. "Don't die on me."
"He is being dead already," Faron said.
Kreg continued. He scarcely noticed Kaila preventing Faron from restraining him. After an interminable time, he felt a twitch under his fingers while checking Shillond's pulse. Shillond's heart was beating. A few seconds later, Shillond began breathing on his own.
Kreg leaned back, exhausted. "He'll be all right now." He did not add "I hope."
Faron listened at Shillond's chest for a moment. He sat up and stared at Kreg in awe, then at Kaila. "What manner of man is being this that is raising the dead?"
"Not dead," Kreg said. "Just very, very close."
"But--" Kaila was as confused as Faron. "--How?"
"A technique from my world," Kreg said. "A skill anyone can learn."
At Kreg's use of the word "world" Faron's head snapped up to stare at Kreg. A moment later, he asked. "Can you be teaching me this skill?"
"Of course," Kreg said. "When we have time."
Shillond groaned. His eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up.
"Stay there." Kreg pushed him back. "This time I'm the doctor and you just barely avoided a long walk into darkness. You belong in a hospital, but I don't see any ambulances around." He stopped when he realized he was babbling, as much in English as in Shendi.
"My pouch," Shillond said. "I have herbs that will help."
Kreg nodded and helped Shillond to sit up. Shillond produced a bright red herb from his pouch. He crushed the herb and mixed it into some wine. He then drank the mixture with a grimace.
Kaila touched Kreg's shoulder and motioned for him to follow her. They went a little way from the other two.
"I find myself in your debt," she said softly. "All that I have is yours, for nothing I value so much as the life of my father."
Kreg waved the suggestion aside. "He's my friend, too. What else could I do?"
"Nevertheless, I shall not forget."
Kreg was more interested in her eyes than her words. They held more than a hint of moisture, making them sparkle like finely wrought silver jewelry set with polished onyx and surrounded by alabaster. They were eyes he could sink into at times like this, times when they lost their steel hardness.
#
King Marek was all that Kaila and Shillond had claimed, and more. He was a giant of a man who stood nearly seven feet tall and weighed well over three hundred pounds, all of it granite muscle. When they clasped hands, Kreg felt sure that the King could have crushed his hand with little more than a thought, yet the grasp was firm but gentle, the kind of grasp that inspired confidence.
Deep lines marked the King's face, lines of worry and concern. But lines from laughing showed as well. The King made Kreg welcome when Kaila introduced him as her squire, and more than welcome when Kaila and Faron had related to him the story of Kreg's restoring Shillond.
"These are grave tidings that you bring," Marek said when they had told her their story, "for Schah has conquered Ored. Anoris and Seladan will likely fall 'ere another week has passed and on the west, Shendar is hard pressed."
"Schah has done all this?" Shillond asked. "Schah?"
"Aye," Marek said. "Methinks they have aid of some kind, yet of a truth, I know not from whence it comes. There are mages of power in the armies and Schah has produced such. None know from whence they come."
"What of our other allies?" Shillond asked. "What aid may we expect?"
"Daanem," Marek said, "has pledged us two thousands of archers and a green wizard with some few lesser mages. The ambassador from Eftrol claims to need the forces of their armies to put down a border dispute with Tanak. Merona answers us not."
"And Belise?" Shillond asked.
"We have had no news from thence." Marek frowned. "Nor has our embassy returned hither."
A guardsman entered the room and bowed. "Your Majesty, a messenger from Shendar."
"Send him in," Marek ordered.
He looked around at those with him. "What tidings, I wonder?"
A man in dust-caked clothes and rusty, torn mail strode into the room. "Jerge Hecter, third cavalry division, Shendar Army."
"Speak." Marek waited.
"Shendar falls." Hecter saluted. "I have gathered the remains of my forces and such others as I could recover. We pledge our service to Aerioch."
Marek sank back in his throne. "Shendar is gone? The last remnant of the Empire of Shend has passed." He sat up again. "Commander Hecter, bring your men into the city. Duke Kaila, take them to the seneschal. See to their quarters and provisioning." Kaila bowed and stepped back.
“Commander, I can give you two days rest then, if your men are able, I
will send them to Elam. It is besieged and that pass must be opened.” Marek leaned forward and pressed his right hand flat against the tabletop. “It is the most direct overland route to take an Army to Schah and I like not fighting defensively.” He leaned back in his chair. “Shillond, I will need to send a mage, one skilled in magical defenses."
"I will go myself, Majesty," Shillond said.
"No, Shillond." Marek shook his head. "I have other tasks for you. Choose instead from those masters pledged to the service of the kingdom, though these be few enough."
"At once, Majesty." Shillond bowed. At Marek’s gesture, he turned and left, followed by Kaila and Hecter. Kreg started to follow them.
"Nay, Kreg," Marek said. "Tarry here."
"Faron," Marek said, "go with Commander Hecter and plan such strategies as you think best to free Elam. That pass must be opened."
"At once, Majesty." Faron bowed. He looked from Marek to Kreg, shrugged, and left.
"I have heard your story," Marek said to Kreg now that they were alone. "I am much intrigued. Have you no knowledge of how you were brought here?"
"None, Your Majesty."
"The Gods must have had a hand in it. It could not be chance that you are here as troubles so beset us," Marek said. "If you know someought, it may be our aid."
"I am sorry, Majesty."
"Kaila and Shillond have related to me the tales you tell of the wonders of your own world." Marek rubbed his chin. "They have said that you have spoken of weapons that strike death to many times further than a strong man may send a feathered shaft, further even than a ballista may hurl a stone."
"Yes, Your Majesty. We call them 'guns.'"
"Be at ease," Marek said. "I despise these formalities and use them only when necessity demands. Now, in your land they must have mastered the art of armor to defend against such weapons, have they not?"
"Actually," Kreg said, "for the most part, we've given up armor, because of these weapons." Kreg's brows knit as he racked his brain--struggling to reach past the growing headache--for bits of history, anything that could help. History was a hobby of his. Why couldn't he remember? He shook his head. Nothing. Maybe when he was over that concussion.
"Go," Marek said, not unkindly. "My valet will show you to a room."
#
That night, Kreg slept poorly. A dream disturbed him. In it he relived an old war movie. He was part of a commando unit, dropped behind enemy lines to cause havoc and organize an underground resistance. Although the unit was highly successful, a sense of something of the utmost importance that he must do tormented Kreg. With a start, he sat bolt upright in the bed, wide awake.
"That's it!" He shouted. "Guerilla warfare!"
The door to the room burst open. Kaila stood framed in the doorway, sword in hand, backed by several others.
"I heard you shouting," Kaila said, "and came to see if ought was amiss."
"I know how we can beat these guys," Kreg's voice rose to an even louder shout. "Guerilla warfare. Commando tactics." He had to use the English words. If the local language even had the concepts he did not know the words. “Well, it wouldn’t win the war by itself but it could help. Oh, how it could help.”
"I know not these words you speak." Kaila was plainly puzzled.
"Heigh ho," Marek's voice boomed from the back of the group, which parted, bowing, for him. "Seek you to rouse the dead?"
Kaila bowed. Her eyes flicked about the room noting that no one but Kreg occupied it. "A nightmare disturbed my squire."
"Bloody right. And a good thing too," Kreg said. "I know how we can beat these people."
"Now is not the time for such council," Marek said. "Let us to bed and on the morrow we may speak of it."
Slowly, the crowd dispersed. One of the men in it paused long enough to glare at Kreg. So quickly did he move on that Kreg more than half believed he had imagined the look of hatred.
"I'm sorry I disturbed everyone," Kreg said to Kaila when the others had left.
Kaila smiled. "Methinks the King would rather his sleep be disturbed with the possibility of victory, than to sleep through the night to wake to the sound of defeat." She nodded and left.
Kreg sank back onto the bed. He slept without dreams the rest of the night.
CHAPTER SIX
Kreg stood at the foot of a large, square table of heavy oak planks at which sat the high council of Aerioch. Sunlight shone into the room from tall narrow windows glazed with many small panes. Wrought iron sconces adorned the walls between the windows. From them hung small metal bowls pulled on one side into a spout, oil lamps to illuminate the room at night. Two of the walls contained large fireplaces and a smaller table sat near one of them. A pitcher of watered wine stood in the center of the table and carved wooden cups sat in front of each of the people.
"Look," Kreg said, "a group robs a caravan of provisions for the enemy's soldiers, and what they can't take they burn. The soldiers get hungry and don't fight as well, perhaps they even desert. The enemy draws troops from the front to search for the guerillas. Either way, you have fewer to fight on the main lines. Or perhaps the guerillas poison the horse fodder on its way to the front. Suddenly, cavalry becomes infantry. And how well would archers fight if their shipment of arrows was stolen or destroyed?" To emphasize his point, Kreg pointed at the north wall where a woven tapestry showed a scene of archers raining death on foot soldiers.
Kreg leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. "These small groups could damage the enemy all out of proportion to their size." He stood straight and rubbed at his temples. Despite the herbs Shillond had given him to ease the ache, his headache was already producing points of light that danced in his vision while his breakfast threatened to climb back up his throat.
Shillond, at the left side of the table, leaned forward. “Are you well, Kreg?”
Kaila's expression, where she sat next to him, echoed Shillond's question.
Kreg waved a hand. “I’m fine. Where was I? Oh, yes, the small groups won’t win the war by themselves, but they’ll make it easier for your main armies to win battles.”
"I understand what you say." Duke Bryon said. He sat at the opposite end of the table from Kreg, to the King's left. "But soon these, what did you call them, guerillas, could be found and killed. The force is just not large enough to defend itself properly."
Kreg thought that, to Duke Bryon “defending itself properly” meant a frontal charge against whatever was attacking, wasteful even for large forces. He measured his next words carefully. "You would be right, if they are found. The whole idea, however, is that they will be awfully hard to find." He grinned. "A small group can live off the land and off what it can steal in raids. The groups would keep moving, hiding. That would be how they would survive, by stealth. When they attack, they attack quickly, then leave quickly before the Schahi can respond. Your opponents would have to draw people from the front to search for them, many more people than you send for these guerilla groups. The result is you have fewer to fight in open combat."
"Father," Prince Keven, at the King's right, turned to Marek. "It seems me that he speaks no less than the truth. This plan would aid us greatly. If you allow it, I would fight in one of these guerilla units."
"Nay, Keven." Marek smiled at his son. "You must command our forces in the west even as I command the forces in the east. But what say you, my lords? Shall we carry out the youth's plan? Or shall we turn our attention elsewhere?"
"I say 'aye' to Kreg's plan," Kaila said. "He has proven to possess much courage and a keen mind."
Bryon shook his head. "I like not any plan that takes warriors from the battle, but...I do not know. I am willing to be overruled."
At the right side of the table, Dahren, who Kreg recalled was from the easternmost province of Aerioch, said, "These cowardly tactics like me not. You would turn our warriors into mere bandits. By my counsel, we would face the enemy in open battle and either conquer or die like men."
Shillond smiled. "
Kreg's plan would cost us little should it fail and gain us much should it succeed. I am in favor."
"But what of honor?" Dahren shot back. "If we use these cowardly tactics what honor have we?"
"And what kingdom will we have if Schah conquers?" Shillond said. "And what good is honor to dead men?"
Dahren snorted and said, "I would expect such talk from a mage who consorts with demons."
"Would you be so quick to condemn," Kaila said, "were such words to come from a noble and a knight?"
"Such words from anyone would prove that she was neither, Duchess Kaila." Dahren stared at Kaila, his left hand gripping his scabbard, his right clenching and opening repeatedly.
Kaila's face clouded at the insult. Slowly, she rose to her feet. She walked stiffly, deliberately around the table until she stood facing Dahren. Then she moved with the speed of a praying mantis snatching a meal. She whipped a glove from her belt and hurled it to the ground where it lay between her and Dahren. Her eyes locked with his in stark fury.
Dahren bent to pick up the glove. Kreg noted a slight tremor to the knight's hand that could only be fear but Dahren had carried things too far to back out.
"Halt!" Marek said before Dahren could touch the glove. "Lest you have forgotten, there are enemies nearly at our gates. If you must duel, then do so after the war is won."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Dahren said, his voice thick with relief.
"A thousand apologies, Your Majesty," Kaila said. She favored Dahren with a withering stare. He flinched.
Marek waited until Kaila had returned to her seat before continuing. "Better. Keven? Your thoughts on Kreg's plan?"
"I have spoken all I need on the matter," Keven said. "I am in favor."
"I respectfully am declining comment," Faron, seated next to Dahren, said. "My course will be unaltered whatever you are deciding here."
Marek leaned back in his chair for a moment. He said, "We have heard the opinions of this council. Now we will make our decision. Each of you will detail two squads of ten proven warriors, skilled with bow and with sword. Let one in each squad be an able hunter and a tracker. These we will send forth to strike at the Schahi as the squire of Duke Kaila has bade us. Further, Duke Kaila's army is to remain under the command of her seneschal for I have a special duty for her and Shillond. These are our Royal Commands."
The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch) Page 9