The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch)

by David L Burkhead

  "At thirteen I overthrew Faron. I then rode to the next royal tournament. I rode in proudly, wearing my mother's armor. The same armor in which Shillond had first seen her. Though armored, I rode without helm, my face bare for all the world to see.

  "Some among the knights did contest my right to enter the tournament, but my skill at arms proved the greater and I overthrew them. Many have since disputed my right to the title of knight and noble. Always I have prevailed, and yet, Dahren, to this day, would deny me that right. So you see, I am no stranger to frustration."

  #

  When Kaila had finished, Kreg grasped her hand and squeezed it lightly. "I noticed something in your story."

  "Oh?"

  "Why would your mother's armor still be around after, what was it? Thirteen years?"

  Kaila nodded. "And I do not know. 'Tis custom to bury a slain knight in his armor."

  "And you told me your mother was a small woman. Even when you were thirteen, would her armor have fit you?"

  "Every year, as you grew, we added links to the mail to match your size. You had to find your own path, Kaila." Shillond stuck his head into the tent. "I could not choose it for you. But I could make the path available."

  "You were listening?" Kreg scowled.

  "Only the last part," Shillond said. "I came to speak to you, Kreg, and I couldn't help overhearing..."

  Kreg motioned Shillond in.

  "Bertan has been speaking to many of the squires and pages," Shillond said as he made himself comfortable on the ground. "There is an army of Schah beyond the mountains and it has been acting oddly."

  "Oddly?" Kreg said. "How so?"

  "They've been marching a great deal." Shillond tapped the ground in front of him in several places. "Here one day. Here the next. Here the day after. They march across their line of advance and back again. It is a large army, true, probably the largest we've seen yet, but why exhaust themselves that way?"

  Kreg gasped. "In how many different places has this army been sighted?"

  "Five, six, something like that," Shillond said. "Does it mean anything?"

  "Converging columns. Five or six divisions." Kreg bit his lip. "And each one larger than anything we've yet faced."

  "Kreg?"

  "We're in trouble," Kreg leaped to his feet. "Come on. We've got to find Prince Keven. We are in bad trouble."

  "Bertan!" Kreg roared as he stormed out of the tent.

  "Aye, Sir Kreg?"

  "I want the leaders of the scouting parties for the last week at Keven's tent and I want them now. I don't care how you do it."

  "Yes, Sir Kreg."

  Shillond and Kaila stared at each other in confusion for a moment before following in Kreg's wake.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kreg used a stick of charcoal to mark down the location of the scouts' contacts with the Schahi forces on the map. As the contacts were marked, a pattern emerged.

  The candleholder hanging from the tent’s ridgepole dripped wax on the map. Occasionally Keven or one of the others in the tent would scrape the wax spots off the map. The light of the candles left the corners of the tent wreathed in shadow. The oily smoke from the candles hung in the air, making Kreg’s nose burn and his eyes water.

  "Six." Kreg marked the last location.

  "Why are you troubled?" Keven asked. "Their army exhausts itself with these forced marches and will be no threat." He pointed at the first contact. “First they were here." He pointed at another contact. “Then they marched to here.” The third contact. “Then they went here.” Keven spread his hands. “Back and forth for no good reason."

  Kreg shook his head and drew six lines on the map, each one passing through several of the individual contacts, the lines converging on their position. “Not one army. Six...in converging columns.”

  He turned to one of the scouts. "How large was the army you found."

  "Maybe twice our own strength. Forty thousand."

  "The same with the rest of you?" Kreg asked.

  The other scouts nodded.

  Kreg shook his head sharply and stared down at the map. "Not forty thousand, Your Highness. Two hundred and forty thousand. We’re facing close to a quarter million troops."

  "'Tis not possible!" Keven said.

  "Kreg," Shillond said, "I told you before. There is a limit to magic. Not all the mages of Chanakra could conjure such a horde."

  Kreg thought for several minutes. "This changeling spell. The possessed animals are men at arms?"

  Shillond nodded.

  "Could they also-–“ Kreg paused. "--be mages?"

  Shillond answered slowly. "Aye, if the spell were cast from a place of power, I suppose it could draw a somewhat more powerful grade of demon. It would serve little purpose. Even these would only be able to cast one or two spells. They would be of little use in the war."

  "And if one of these spells was this changeling spell?"

  Shillond opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Nothing.

  "Let me put it this way," Kreg said. "One mage. Two mages. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two. How long until you can conjure any number you require? Will they run out of demons?"

  “Unlikely,” Shillond said quietly.

  "We are doomed." Kaila's voice was also quiet.

  "Shillond," Kreg said, "we need an answer. I spotted the problem because I know something about numbers. I know nothing about magic."

  "Answer?" Shillond shook his head. "I don't know that there is one."

  "Kreg is right, Shillond," Keven said. "You must find an answer or we are truly doomed. For the nonce, we face an army the likes of which the world has never seen. We need to take counsel how to survive the next march of days."

  "The pass is narrow," Kreg said. "That's good. It'll keep them from flanking you and reduce the advantage of their numbers somewhat."

  "You believe we may yet be victorious?" Kaila asked hopefully.

  Kreg shook his head. "No, I don’t think so, not against that many. What I hope to do is blood them and blunt their advance. We haven't bought as much time as we could have wished, but maybe we can buy a little more."

  "The trouble," Shillond said with a grin, "is to do so without being too good at it."

  Kreg looked at Shillond and tilted his head. "You've lost me. Would you mind explaining that?"

  Shillond nodded. "When you vanquished the army in the east, that worried them. Then you did it again in Merona. And Keven and Kaila did it yet again here. All this must have caused them to conjure up the vast army we face now. It is a compliment of sorts."

  "Compliments like that I could live without," Kreg said. "So what do we do now?"

  "We delay them," Kaila said. "Shillond knows of no answer, but answer there must be."

  "Aye," Keven said. "Find it we must or Aerioch will never know another spring. Kreg, you have shown much knowledge of matters martial. Have you any counsel?"

  Kreg thought for a moment then shook his head. "All I know comes from the history of my world. With the right tactics, and the right situation, a smaller army can defeat a larger. We've done it several times here. But these kind of odds...I just don't think it can be done. I'm tapped out."

  "The idea is not to win," Shillond reminded him. "The idea is to allow them to win, but neither too quickly nor too well."

  "Mayhap we can fortify the pass?" Kaila pointed to the map. "Aye. Here, the pass is less than a mile wide. We could dig a trench across and pile the dirt on the nigh side, then surmount it with a battlement of stone. Our archers could shoot from behind in safety."

  "Aye, Kaila," Keven said. "And these ridges, here and here, overlook the pass. Archers placed thereupon will be able to strike at the enemy's flanks."

  "Feel left out, Kreg?" Shillond whispered to him as Kaila and Keven continued their plans.

  "Not at all," Kreg whispered back. "I never pretended to be a general."

  "Ah, Kreg." Shillond grasped Kreg by the arm. "You set spark to tinder and now the flame burns brightly. The
y will buy us time and you and I must decide how to use it."

  Keven and Kaila, heads huddled over the map table, did not note Shillond and Kreg exit.

  #

  The soft scrape of metal against leather snapped Kreg awake. In the gloom of his tent, Kreg could just make out a dark figure looming over him, with a blade poised to strike. It had been the drawing of that dagger that he had heard.

  Kreg rolled off his bedding toward the figure. He heard a thud behind him as the blade struck the ground where his neck had been.

  Kreg continued his roll, catching the figure in the legs. They ended in a tangled heap. After a short scuffle, Kreg found his right hand clutching the would-be assassin's throat. His left he locked around the intruder's right wrist, keeping the sword at bay. The assassin reached for Kreg's face with a claw-like hand, but Kreg was larger, his reach longer.

  A few seconds later, the stranger went limp. Kreg shifted his position, drawing his legs under him in preparation to dragging the would-be assassin to his feet.

  In that moment on inattention the assassin drew a dagger with his free hand. He swung and the dagger's tip seared a line across Kreg's cheek. The cut, although shallow, burned with an intensity all out of proportion to its severity. A wave of nausea rolled over Kreg.

  As dizziness followed the nausea, Kreg dropped the assassin and staggered backwards. The assassin fled from the tent.

  Kreg tried to shout but no sound emerged. The world went black and he toppled to the ground.

  #

  "Easy, Kreg," Shillond's voice came to him out of the darkness. "That was a powerful poison. I've treated it, but you must rest."

  With a supreme effort, Kreg managed to pry open his eyes. A blowtorch flamed across his right cheek. It was morning and the light stabbed painfully into his eyes. "What happened?"

  "A noise awoke Bertan," Shillond said. "He saw someone enter your tent and came to see if anything was amiss. He called for the guards. We arrived to find you unconscious on the ground. Judging by the poisoned wound I found on your cheek, I assume you fought off an assassin."

  Memory tumbled back into Kreg's mind. He spent the next few seconds sorting it out. In clipped terms, Kreg told Shillond what had happened. "Where is Bertan?" He asked after he finished.

  Shillond hesitated for a moment then sighed. "He was in the path of the assassin when he fled," Shillond said. "My guess is that he grappled with the assassin. He received a knife in the ribs for his pains."

  "What?" Kreg started to sit up. The movement riled his stomach, making Kreg gag and forcing him to lie back down. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

  "Rest easy, Kreg." Shillond replaced the blanket Kreg's movement had dislodged. "The wound, although painful, was not especially serious. I've already treated the poison and a sleep spell keeps him comfortable. He will recover in a few days, a week at the most."

  Kreg sighed with relief. "I'm glad to hear that." He paused before continuing. "I trust steps are being taken to keep this from happening again? Being a human target does not appeal to me."

  "There are guards outside the tent," Shillond said. "And either Kaila or I, or both, will remain with you at all times. She is getting food now and will join us shortly."

  "That's a little more than I expected," Kreg said. "The guards outside are enough. Really."

  Shillond leaned closer to dab a thick, greenish paste on Kreg's cut cheek. Seconds later, the stinging faded. "Kreg, someone attempted to kill you. We don't know who, but it stresses something. You are far more important than you are willing to accept. I don't know why, but until we find out, it is vital to keep you alive and functioning."

  "Shillond," Kreg said, "maybe somebody thinks I'm notable in some way but they're mistaken."

  "You're just an eye tee consultant, whatever that is," Shillond said. "I've heard the litany before, Kreg, and frankly, I'm tired of it. You must learn that no one is inconsequential. No one."

  Kreg nodded. "My head hears you, Shillond, but my heart has trouble getting the message."

  "He speaks sooth, Kreg." Kaila walked in carrying a platter laden with several wooden bowls. "Already would Aerioch have fallen an' you not have aided us. Done less have many who have been great heroes of legend."

  She set the platter on the ground next to Kreg. "Now, you must eat. The poison has weakened you and that, no doubt, is why you speak foolishness of yourself."

  At the thought of food another wave of nausea swept through Kreg. "I don't think I can."

  "Broth, Kaila," Shillond said, "and bread. I do not think he will be able to retain anything more for another day or so. The poison did a great deal of damage before I could cure it."

  "Aye, father," Kaila said. "I thought as much."

  She selected a bowl and picked up a spoon, restraining Kreg with a glare when he started to rise again. "Nay, Kreg. You lie still." Shillond slipped out of the tent as Kaila held the spoon to Kreg's lips. Kaila’s steady hands spilled none of the broth as she fed Kreg, alternating spoons of broth with holding small pieces of bread for Kreg to nibble. "Right concerned was I." Kaila set the bowl and spoon aside. "For three days Shillond tended you. He could not use magic in aiding your cure and had to use only herbcraft. He would not say but I believe that at times he despaired of success."

  "Why?" Kreg reached up to wipe a trickle of spilled broth from his chin. "Why couldn't he use his magic?"

  "Shillond said that your shield has grown yet stronger," she said. "Before effort, will, on your part was required to stop magic. Now, Shillond thinks, effort on your part is required to permit magic." She selected a cup from the platter.

  "I see."

  "Drink." Kaila pressed the cup to Kreg's lips. "It is a sleeping draught. When you wake, you will be much recovered. Sleep and fear not. I will keep watch."

  The drink had a sharply bitter taste and Kreg grimaced as he drank. In a few seconds a pleasant lassitude rippled over him. Kreg's eyes closed. He sighed and drifted into deep slumber.

  #

  "How feel you?" Kaila's voice was the first Kreg heard as he opened his eyes.

  "Better," Kreg said. "My cheek still hurts." That was an understatement. His cheek felt like a hot brand scored into his flesh.

  "'Tis to be expected." Kaila held a cup of wine for him. "Shillond will return shortly with herbs that will ease the pain. He tends Bertan now."

  "How is he...Bertan?" Kreg asked after he had taken a long sip from the cup.

  "Shillond keeps him in the deepest of sleeps," Kaila said, "so he knows no pain. His wound heals well and Shillond has cleansed the poison from his body. I doubt not that he will be fit soon."

  "I'm glad. I've come to like the kid."

  "Aye," Kaila said. "In time, he will make a right good knight. Shillond tells me that you have continued his training in sword?"

  "Somebody had to," Kreg said. "I just hope I haven't screwed him up too badly."

  "Ah, Kreg." Kaila patted him on the shoulder. "Truth it is that there is none in all the kingdom who can stand against me in any weapon saving only the bow--there I bow before your skill--but it seems me that you are the better teacher. I have spoken to Shillond and he concurs. Long has it been since I faced the difficulties of a young lad, first learning skill at arms. It makes me impatient with their foibles."

  She stopped as the sound of the guard's challenge warned them of an approaching visitor. The tent flap swung back and Shillond entered.

  "How are you feeling today?" Shillond asked. Without waiting for a reply, he set to work dabbing a cloth into a bowl containing a red paste, then smearing it over Kreg's cheek. The contact stung sharply, but almost instantly a pleasant numbness flowed into the damaged tissues.

  Kreg sighed with relief. "Ooh. That's much better."

  "Here, Kreg." Shillond helped support Kreg into a sitting position, then to his feet. "I'm sure you'll need to...ah, get out for a few minutes."

  Leaning heavily on Shillond's shoulder, Kreg let Shillond lead him out of the tent. The cold o
f the air took a sharp nip at Kreg's throat as they passed out of the warmth of the brazier-heated tent.

  Kaila followed at a discreet distance, but close enough to prevent any further attempts on Kreg's life. Her hand rested lightly on sword hilt.

  When Kreg had taken care of necessary details, Shillond led him back to the tent. Kreg did not protest at Shillond's order to lie back down. The short trip had exhausted him.

  "What is the news?" Kreg finally asked. "How goes the war?"

  Kaila looked at Shillond a moment before answering. "Keven is greatly worried. Faron holds to the south and last report has a large army massing there. Likewise does Duke Bryon report from the east. We have no report from the north, but the Meronan forces cannot yet have reached their camps. You know what we face here. We are ringed about by foes." She hung her head. "Soon they will fall upon us and Aerioch will be no more. An honorable death seems all that we can hope for."

  Kreg looked away. If even Kaila was discouraged, then the situation was grim indeed.

  "Shillond?" Kreg looked back. "You said before that you asked Baaltor the wrong question. Let's go back and ask some right ones."

  "I wish it were that simple," Shillond said. "Kaila has traveled to his realm with me, as have you. Now that Baaltor has your measure, he can send much greater forces. I no longer have the strength to face him alone." Shillond poked into the charcoal brazier for a moment. "I have had to face him by stratagem for longer than the two of you have been alive. Until I have some new artifice, to return to his realm would only mean death."

  "Father?" Kaila suddenly brightened. "Take not Kreg or me. Take us both. With Kreg by my side, sword in hand, we may face aught the demon may send against us."

  "No, Kaila," Shillond said. "I cannot both defend you against spellcraft and duel with the demon."

  "Let Kreg attend to our defenses," Kaila said. "Kreg can shield us against any mystic threats and you will then be free to aid us against threats physical."