The Lion moved quickly and broadened a couple of miles later when it was joined by another river from the north. Talen kept his roamlings above, watching for trouble. What he found were occasional groups of Fir-Noy fisherfolk. Each time, he gave their numbers and location, and Chot and the woodikin would duck down while Harnock would pull River’s cloak over his head. Of course, the craft was clearly of woodikin make, and the fisherfolk stared, for what would Koramites in a woodikin craft be doing here? The fifth time the woodikin and Harnock ducked, a trio of fishermen, probably drunk, shouted jests from shore. Talen and River waved and smiled. But the next set of fishermen weren’t so easygoing. They pointed openly at them and gestured with concern. Then Talen spotted two men rowing a boat across the river. The men tried to row close enough to get a good look at the woodikin craft and its occupants. Talen and River paddled to avoid them, but the men were quick and had better control of their craft and passed by only a dozen yards away. One of the men stood to get a good look.
They saw the woodikin. Their faces registered alarm, and they rowed hard for the far shore.
“Rot,” said River.
“What?” Harnock growled from underneath the cloak.
“We’ve got to get off this river,” Talen said. “The woodikin were spotted.”
“I was sick of hiding anyway,” Harnock said and pulled the cloak down.
The men in the rowboat were still close enough to see him clearly. The one facing backward and rowing exclaimed. The other turned, and his eyes went wide. Then he joined his companion, and the two of them began to row together, frantically pulling at their oars.
“Do we get off on the north or the south?” asked Harnock. “That is the question.”
“The fires are principally to the south,” Talen said.
“But where’s the army? That’s what we need to know. Where is Shim?”
Up ahead the river bent around a corner. Talen paddled to keep them in the middle of the stream. “I’ll go high this time,” he said and sent his roamlings up.
But as they turned the corner, he stopped, for two long skir raced up the river just above the face of the water. They were each about twenty feet long, and red with what looked like black spikes or thorns running the length of their backs. They were hissing, coming right at the woodikin craft. As they approached, one dove into the water. The other continued straight for the boat. Talen thought about bringing his roamlings back in, but the skir were moving too fast.
“Lords!” Talen exclaimed.
Then from the water a cluster of pale yellow skir burst into the air right in front of the boat. The red skir skimming the surface lunged, took one of the fat creatures right behind its head. A moment later the skir under the water burst to the surface and chased another of the yellow skir, both of them flying inches above Talen’s head.
“Goh,” he exclaimed.
“What is it?” River asked.
“Skir. They flew right over us.” Talen’s heart was banging in his chest. “This yellow world is going to be the death of me.”
“They don’t call it the perilous journey for nothing,” Harnock said. “But I still don’t have a landing site. North or south?” he demanded.
Talen watched the red and black skir, but climbed higher with his roamlings, climbed so high the boat below was nothing but a speck. He feared that some skir would attack him at any moment. He felt like some fat dove, racing through a sky filled with hungry falcons. But it was a spectacular view. He saw the land rolling out to the sea, saw the columns of smoke in more than a dozen places. He searched south and saw nothing. He glanced north. And there, upon Sooth’s Plain was the darkness of many men and horses. He looked down the coast and saw an even greater host following.
“I think I’ve found them,” he said.
“No thinking,” Harnock said. “We’ve got to know.”
Back upriver, the men on the row boat reached shore and began to shout an alarm.
Talen took his roamlings even higher. “I see ships following an army that marches along the coast. I see another army of men on horses a few miles in front of them. I see—”
What did he see ranging in front of and on the flank of the greater host? He sent his roamlings farther than they’d ever been. He felt exposed. Felt himself reaching a limit. The trailing host was too far away for him to make out the groups on its flanks, but then he saw one of those groups closer, only a few miles away. “They’re giants with bears,” he said. “No, dogs. I think they’re dogs.”
“Toth,” Harnock spat.
“That must be Mokad,” River said.
“Then the other army must be Shim,” Talen said.
“We land on the north shore,” Harnock replied.
“Hala,” Chot said.
“We’ll eat soon enough,” Harnock replied.
Talen directed them to a lonely stretch on the bank of the river where they landed the craft and pulled it well into the trees. He then directed them to their next meal.
River was the first to step out of the trees by the Fir-Noy fisherman and his two daughters. The little group stared at her. But when Harnock and the woodikin joined her, they ran. Harnock let them run, then divvied up their abandoned haul of fish and eel. Talen and the others gutted their portions and ate their fill raw.
Before they left, Chot removed the small wasp basket from his neck. He took a small glistening piece of fish and masticated it, then opened a side to the small basket and revealed a small wasp comb inside. He slipped the glistening glob of masticated fish inside, then closed the basket up again.
“What is he going to do with that?” Talen asked. “There can’t be more than a dozen or two wasps inside. Are those some kind of super killer wasps?”
Chot slit open a fish’s belly and grinned.
“He’s not a wasp lord,” Harnock said. “They’re not going to fly anywhere for him.”
Talen pointed at the basket and asked Chot, “Are those killers?”
Chot dipped his head to his fish’s belly and sucked up a string of orange fish eggs in reply.
“I think it’s how they find one another,” Harnock said. “It’s how they let someone know where they are.”
“They’re going to send a wasp back like some carrier pigeon?”
“No,” Harnock said.
Chot wiped his mouth. “The Shum knows his wasps.”
“Somehow,” Harnock said, “a wasp master knows where his wasps are. He can sense them.”
“It must be the thrall,” River said. “Argoth said that when he was enthralled, he could point to the Skir Master with his back turned. Perhaps it works the same for a thrall’s master.”
“So they’re tracking us.”
“You can look at it that way,” Harnock said.
Chot took a bite of fish and said, “Those skinmen will bring their brothers. They will want their fish. They will come here.”
“Talen,” Harnock said. “Are there any homesteads around with horses? I think we’ll cover more ground that way. We could run multiplied, but I have a feeling we’re going to need to conserve our strength.”
Talen reached up with his roamlings and surveyed the land about them. The thickets of trees along the river gave way to fields. It didn’t take him long to find a barn and horses.
“There are some close enough,” he said.
“Good,” Harnock replied. “Let’s go borrow them from our fine Fir-Noy neighbors.”
A few minutes later, the crew scrambled up the river bank and took a course that avoided the Fir-Noy fisherfolk who were racing down the road to most assuredly alert the countryside that woodikin had appeared at the river in the company of two Koramites and another creature from a nightmare.
17
Sooth’s Plain
ARGOTH SAT UPON his horse in the vanguard of Shim’s army riding north acr
oss the last few miles of Sooth’s Plain, the Lion River flowing far behind them. He grinned. Flax’s plan was working brilliantly.
Behind them, smoke from hundreds of large fires polluted the skies, turning the sun amber. All night long, hammers of Shim’s men had ridden about the countryside, setting Fir-Noy homes and granaries on fire. All night long, the many Shoka, Vargon, and Koramite villages, ordered to flee to the Black Wood, had been setting fire to every scrap of grain they could not take with them. A portion of Shim’s army had ridden with the villagers to provide escort. But Shim had led the bulk of his army precariously close to Mokad’s troops in an effort to tempt them. The whoresons had fallen for the ruse and given chase.
Mokad’s vast army now marched behind Shim’s much smaller army, all of them heading north, away from the clanspeople.
But there was more good news: not one kiteman flew in the sky. Not one dust devil from a skir wind had been seen. The Skir Master’s wounds had apparently been too grievous. This meant Mokad’s best weapon lay bloodied in some bed back in Blue Towers. It meant that Shim and Mokad were on even terms—dreadman against dreadmen, wit against wit, skill against skill. It meant they had a chance.
Next to Argoth rode Shim, Flax, and Matiga. Behind them stretched a column of a few hundred men on horses.
Flax sat atop his horse with a bag full of walnuts and dried currants. He plopped another handful in his mouth and said, “It appears we have a little black rain cloud headed our way.”
Argoth turned to see Eresh galloping up from behind on his piebald mount, his face as sour as vinegar. He pulled alongside the others, his horse heaving. He pointed at Matiga, then addressed Shim. “What is she doing here?” he demanded.
“I’m riding,” Matiga said. “Hence the horse.”
“You were to follow the women and children with your fell-maidens. Provide protection. That was the plan.”
“And that we did.”
Argoth said, “Mokad sent two companies of men after them. Matiga and her fist of fell-maidens diverted them quite nicely, letting the others escape.”
“We diverted more than that. We captured the attention of at least two cohorts, which are now behind us, eating our dust, not to mention a pack of dogmen they picked up along the way.”
Eresh shook his head. “Why would they divert so many to follow a mere fist? It does not smell right.”
“Maybe they have about as much sense in their skulls as you do,” Matiga said.
Eresh grunted. “I don’t like it. I don’t trust this.”
“Grandfather,” said Flax, stroking his long blond moustache, “you’re just angry you didn’t think up the plan before I did.”
Eresh glared at him.
“Oh, come,” said Flax, motioning at the heavens. “The sun’s in the sky. The weather’s mild. It’s a glorious day to march. We’ll be to the Chalk River bridge and across before Mokad can catch us. When we camp tonight in the Warrens, you and I can share a cup of ale.”
“That will be a sight to behold,” Shim said in his rough voice. “Master Kish, if this works, I expect you to dance a jig here for our friend in celebration.”
“Oh, I’d be happy to, as long as he lets me perform the dance on his head.”
Shim chuckled. Argoth smiled. They weren’t out of this yet, not by a long shot, but they were getting close. About three hours of good trotting lay between them and the Chalk River bridge. To the east, on Argoth’s right lay the bow of the Chalk River estuary. To his left, rose the southern-most end of the Coral Mountains with their orange and white hoodoos riddled with ancient stone-wight caves.
Less than an hour’s trot ahead, at the mouth of a long narrow valley, stood a stone-wight ruin that the early settlers had turned into a small fortress and refuge. The settlers had added a wall and battlements that enclosed two odd twisting towers the stone-wights had carved from the hoodoos themselves. The early settlers called it Fort Echo. But they did not use it long. People began disappearing in the caves at the back of the fort. Others had mad dreams. And all heard the whispering from the passages that led into the blackness under the mountain. They claimed the place was haunted with the famished spirits of the ancient inhabitants. The fort had stood abandoned for decades now, a habitation for snakes and owls.
Just beyond the fort lay the Echo River which ran out of the mouth of the canyon to the Chalk River estuary. There was a ford along the river about a quarter mile from the fort. Once Shim crossed that ford, it would be an easy ride to the bridge. An easy crossing. And then Shim’s army would destroy the bridge, and Mokad would be left on the other side. They would have to skirt miles and miles upriver to find another suitable crossing. And then they’d have to travel all those miles back downstream. Or maybe they would ferry across in boats, but it would take quite some time to ferry tens of thousands of men. By then Shim’s army would be divided up into small groups that would work their way through the maze of the Warrens. They would lead Mokad on a merry goose chase for a number of days, allowing the families of those who supported Shim to disappear into the southern wilderness.
There were just over 6,000 men in Shim’s small army, all of them mounted. Some were from the Shoka clan, some the Vargon, and others from the Burund. Three lords of the Mithrosh who did not hold with the Fir-Noy had brought a hundred and forty-two men. And then there was a large contingent of Koramites. The men wore a motley assortment of armor and helmets. The armsmen and dreadmen all wore mail over a padded coat. As for the rest, some had mail, some stiffened leather. A few of the Burundians sported a leather vest with metal plates sewn onto it. However, most of the soldiers had nothing but a padded jacket.
Shim had split the army into three columns of roughly 2,000 riders each. Each column was divided into cohorts, terrors, hammers, and fists with their respective leaders and banners. There were two main roads going north, one by the coast, and one farther inland. A number of smaller roads crossed between. The three columns all traveled different roads to keep the lines shorter, for 2,000 riders, even three abreast, easily stretched over a mile. But they also split to make sure Mokad didn’t come up on their flanks. Each column had a vanguard and a rearguard. And the commander of each column had sent scouts ranging even farther in front and behind.
Lord Hardy led the column traveling closer to the mountains. Lord Vance of the Burundians led the column traveling closer to the coast. And Shim led the one in the middle. The plain was dotted with copses and thickets, but the land was clear enough for Argoth to see the other columns with their bright banners when they crested a swell or the plume of their dust when they descended into a dip or passed behind trees.
Shim had demanded the army bring no wagons or carts. Such vehicles would only slow them down, so each man was to carry his own weapons, bedding, and three-day’s worth of food with him on his mount. He was also to carry his chief defense against skir—the critical spade or pick and the sturdy sacks to fill with earth.
The only exception to the ban on wagons was for the barrels of seafire. Those had been loaded on ten small carts along with the lances and other necessary gear.
As for the rest, there wasn’t enough room on the mounts for all the equipment such an army needed, and so another 1,700 horses and mules were brought to carry the excess: the tents and pegs; the medical supplies; the tools for clearing roads and setting camps and building fortifications like picks, axes, saws, spades, and rope; the tools and material to repair weapons and armor; the tools and material to maintain the tack for the horses; the horse shoes and nails; additional sacks to fill with earth or rock; and, of course, the great multitude of arrows—more than three hundred thousand—tied in bundles to the regular mounts and mounded up on the pack animals like small huts.
In front of Argoth, Eresh’s horse lifted its tail and deposited a succession of wet, green, and glistening road apples which Argoth’s horse then trod upon. Yet another load for those b
ehind who rode upon a trail of manure dropped from the multitude of horses in front of them.
The breeze changed direction, blowing the dust from the column forward through the vanguard. A number of the men pulled scarves up over their mouth and nose to keep it from filling their lungs and coating their teeth. And so the columns rode, their banners flowing in the breeze and dust, their helmets, axes, spears, and armor glinting in the sun.
6,123 brave men.
296 had survived the forcing and been raised to become dreadmen. Another 350 had put on candidate weaves. Added to that was Matiga’s hammer of fell-maidens who still wore their candidate weaves. Had Shim been given until spring, the ranks of dreadmen would have swelled to thousands. Such a host would have been fearsome indeed. But they would have to make do with their 296.
And they would make do. Surely the Creators were on their side. Even though the combined might of Mokad, Nilliam, Urz, and Toth stood against them and far outnumbered Shim’s army.
* * *
Sugar hid with Urban and his men in a thicket on the back side of a rocky knoll and looked out at Sooth’s Plain. About her neck was her mother’s weave. Around her shoulder was the sling Withers had given her, carrying her skenning. Both of these had been in the red lacquered box. But her blackspine had been lost when she’d fallen into the river, and she hadn’t been able to get a new weapon because no sulfur springs had been anywhere close to their path.
“Are we ever going to get to their flank?” Sugar asked.
“It’s open land,” Urban said. “If we run for it, those hideous dogmen will see us long before we get anywhere near Shim.”
Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 Page 21