by John Dalmas
"What army is that?" he demanded, pointing.
"They're barbarians from across the mountains, come to raid in your country," said Eltrienn. "Three days ago they heard about the foreigners from across the ocean. They want to join you in fighting them."
The captain's eyes searched them coldly. "You've an accent."
Eltrienn decided to ignore the question, and the hostility behind it. "We'd like to talk with the commander of your army," he said.
The eyes flashed anger. "You would, eh? To what purpose?"
"To plan a joint attack on the foreigners. We're envoys from the barbarian chief. He's prepared to . . ."
"We don't talk with barbarians," the man said coldly, "we kill them."
"I'd say you have enemies enough to the west of you," Eltrienn said mildly. "If you've got the good sense I hope you have, you don't want five thousand more to the east."
Without taking his scowl from the Hrummeans, the captain ordered his men: "Take these two spies out aways and dispose of them. Out far enough that the stink won't . . ."
A colonel had ridden out after the captain, and come near enough to hear the order.
"Hold on there," he said. "What's this about?"
The captain turned. "Renegade spies," he said. "I've just ordered them executed."
"Your name and unit, captain."
The captain's voice changed from hostile and deadly to military and obedient, and faintly resentful, as he answered. The senior officer looked him up and down. "Ah. A ducal defense unit from Koziida Monteeros. Captain, you're not back home riding patrol. We're army here, and you will damned well follow regulations. Stand by till I say you can leave, and hope I don't have you broken and flogged."
He turned to the Cadriio brothers. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
Eltrienn repeated what he'd told the captain, adding that he was Hrummean. It seemed safer than being taken for a renegade.
"And what are Hrummeans doing among the barbarians?"
"Just now, serving as envoys, as I said."
"You twist my question," the colonel replied, then paused. "Well, I'll take you to the general. We'll see what he makes of you. Captain, assign two of these men to escort the envoys."
His face dark with blood, the captain obeyed. The colonel walked his horse alongside the brothers, looking down at them. "I will put my question differently. How did you two come to be with the barbarians?"
"I am associated with a businessman on our east coast," Eltrienn answered. "He sent me to buy timber from them if I can."
"Umm. And your friend?"
"He's my brother, a man of Hrum, a holy man. He went with me hoping to teach among them there. The barbarians know rather little about Hrum beyond some ancient lore."
"You. Holy man. Do you speak our language?"
"Certainly, sir. They're not that different. And we're from Kammenak, where it's not unusual to know Djezian. More than a few have come to us there from across the border. When we were boys, our father sometimes hired one or two of them to work with my brother and me, herding vehatto."
The colonel grunted. "That explains your dialect. You must also speak the barbarian tongue."
"The dialect of the south coast," Eltrienn put in. "I was shipwrecked there a few years ago, on a fishing smack. My brother has learned it since, partly from me and partly since we came among the tribes."
The colonel's smile was dour. "I'd not like the job of sorting truth from lies in what you say. Well, what counts is whether you can be of any use to us."
There was no more talk then till they came to the cluster of broad tents that was army headquarters. The colonel dismounted—a lean man whose exceptional height became conspicuous when he stood—and took them in to the general.
"General," he said, "the large body of men reported east of us is the barbarian army, as you supposed. These men are Hrummeans they've sent to us as envoys."
The general tended toward paunchy, his hair gray tinged with yellow. He looked tired but strong, frustrated but functioning. "Hrummeans with the barbarians?"
He asked much the same questions then as the colonel had, and heard much the same answers, elaborated a bit.
"How does this Killed Many propose to help us fight the Almites?" he said to Eltrienn. "That's what they call themselves, Almites. We had some living among us before their army came."
"First we need to know more about them," Eltrienn answered. "How many of them are there?"
"We've heard estimates of thirty to fifty thousand, by several people, military, who watched them land their troops. They had 200 ships, huge things that gave off smoke without apparent fire. All three counted the ships the same, so that figure should be good. As for the number of men . . ." He shrugged. "Probably at least thirty thousand, which is somewhat more than we have until our other armies get here from the south and north. In addition they have strange and terrible weapons; the sound of them is bad enough, and they kill from a distance. Also, some of the ships carried kaabors of a sort, small and black. We don't know how many; they unloaded them at the dock, which made them hard to estimate. They took the city in a single afternoon and night."
The general's jaw jutted angrily. "I sent out a light probing attack. Their answer was to shoot their great weapons at us. Things we couldn't see burst overhead and killed scores of men in a minute. I tried it again by night and they shot torches into the air that lit the earth and sky, then shot their great weapons as in daylight. Hrum hasn't deigned to instruct me in how to deal with them.
"Yet they haven't attacked us. Which I suppose I should be grateful for, but it worries me. Certainly they'll have to, sooner or later. They have no way to leave Haipoor except through us, because after they took the city, all their ships sank overnight. Without storm. Perhaps Hrum took offense at them. Only their masts still stand above the water, leaning in every direction."
The story startled Eltrienn, despite what Vessto had said. "All 200 sunk? Overnight?"
"All. Unless some fled by darkness. It's said their masts look like a forest drowned by flood and falling over.
"Meanwhile their army seems content to simply hold the city. They haven't tried to break out. Which I assure you they could do, although we'd make them pay. They haven't even shot at us except when we attacked them."
He cocked an eye at Eltrienn. "Five thousand warriors, you say? What could 5,000 barbarian warriors do to an army like the Almites? Besides give them targets."
"General," Eltrienn said, "they are men who can stalk their enemy in the dark and not be seen or heard. They are men who use the knife skillfully. Let them pass through your army after nightfall and they will sift through the Almite camp like smoke. They will cut throats. And when the Almites realize they're there, they won't know where to shoot, or what to do. The barbarians will confuse and terrorize them.
"After your men have let the barbarians through, have your outposts listen carefully. The enemy should start to shoot their noisy weapons, and there will be war cries. Then I suggest you send forces of your own, quietly, not to probe but to strike and kill. Take prisoners if you can. Capture as many of their great weapons as you can."
Then a thought occurred to Eltrienn. "Did all the people flee Haipoor, or did many stay?"
The general frowned. "I have no numbers. Most fled, but also many stayed."
Eltrienn said nothing for a moment, thinking. "It would be best if you sent an officer back with us to talk with Killed Many—someone authorized to say yes or no. Killed Many should make the final agreement."
The general pursed his lips and looked at the man who'd brought them. "Colonel Kazirru, I want you to go with the Hrummeans and talk with this Killed Many. If, when you've talked with him, it seems the right thing to do, you are authorized to guarantee the barbarians free passage through our positions to attack the Almites."
The colonel saluted. "Thank you, sir. I'll be happy to do that."
The general watched them leave. I'm grasping at straws, he said
to himself. But then, straws is what I've got, if the Almites decide to break out before our reinforcements come. Or maybe even when they've gotten here.
* * *
Grain stubble poked his body uncomfortably, but Eltrienn ignored it. Neither moon was up, and they'd crept to within fifty yards of the Almaeic outposts. Killed Many had made the call of a night darter, three times sharply, sending ten five-man squads, well separated, slipping forward to and through the Almaeic line. Now the rest of them waited for a sign.
From somewhere well off to their left came a bloodchilling scream, followed by a shot, then a flurry of shots, then a silence which wouldn't last long. Over there somewhere, waiting barbarians would be surging to their feet and running silently forward.
Killed Many and the other warriors nearby began creeping forward again, the Cadriio brothers keeping pace. In seconds, rifle fire flurried from the direction of the earlier disturbance, with screams and war cries. From well ahead came another scream, and shooting. Killed Many surged to his feet, running crouched in the darkness. The brothers followed, and a river of warriors. They came to a ridge of dirt, plunged up and over, then jumped the anticipated ditch behind it, plunging on. Some squads of warriors would be dropping into the ditch, swords chopping. If things got too intense for them there, they'd climb out and disperse in fives, killing through the camp. A hundred yards into the camp, Killed Many stopped and began directing traffic, left, right, straight ahead. The Cadriio brothers went straight ahead.
Behind them, firing still was scattered and less than heavy. Around them on both sides there were tents and confused shouting, but no gunfire yet. Squads of warriors peeled off the running column, these squads each with three swordsmen, and two spearmen who'd shortened their pikes to about six feet. A small man, shirtless and barefoot, gun in hands, ducked out of a tent and almost collided with Eltrienn, who cut him down.
The shooting became more intense; Eltrienn saw a barbarian fall just ahead of him, and heard the high-pitched keen of ricochets. Presumably the Gorballis would have started their charge now. He hoped the squads sent to kill the cannon crews had done their job.
They were beyond the bivouac then, and slowed to an easy lope. The warriors had been told to stop short of the city and circle back, savaging Almites. The idea had been for them to confuse the Almites and draw their attention while killing as many as possible, then return to their own camp. The Gorballis were to capture the Almites' forward artillery and drag it away. How much or little of all that would get accomplished, Eltrienn could hardly predict.
Then the brothers were through the Almaeic camp and into the fringe of Haipoor, small houses of adobe, some plastered over and some not. Presumably these would now house Almaeic soldiers too. The last of the warriors peeled off to investigate, and kill any Almites they found. The volume of rifle fire behind them was an unbroken racket now.
So far Eltrienn had no plan. He'd see what opportunity gave them. He knew the city and numerous of its people, from his time there as a spy, but the odds, or the value, of finding anyone he knew seemed slight. They slowed to a walk, hoping to pass in the dark for locals breaking curfew, and shortly stooped around the corner in an ink-black alleyway.
"What now?" asked Vessto.
"I have no idea."
"You need to take your sword off if we're going to pass for harmless," Vessto pointed out, then added, "I'd like to go to the harbor."
"The harbor? What for?"
He grinned. "I don't know. There's a reason, but I haven't found it yet. I should know when we get there,"
Eltrienn stared at him for a moment, then removed his sword and laid it against a wall. It was harder to give it up than he'd have thought. Now Vessto led, walking briskly but never running.
Twice, before they reached the waterfront, they saw street patrols. Presumably the Almites had proclaimed a curfew. They ducked around a corner and the first patrol never saw them. The second did, and they ran furiously under chase, speeded by gunfire, dodging behind houses and up alleys till well after they'd lost any sign of pursuit. Occasionally they heard rifle fire that seemed to come from inside town. Eltrienn decided some of the barbarians had succumbed to the temptation of exploring the city.
After a bit they reached the waterfront district; the Almites had shelled it to discourage attacks on their landing troops, and fires had burned. Shortly afterward they saw water, the harbor, glass smooth and sparkling with star reflections. Without either saying anything, both men crouched low, slinking along the margins of rubble heaps, past broken walls. Finally, crouching, they could look along the nightbound wharf and make out a sentry walking his post on it, not far away. Presumably there were others.
There were big stacks of kegs and boxes here and there all along the wharf, as if waiting for work crews to clear a street of rubble and cart them off. Clearly they'd been piled there after the cannonading, which seemed to mean the Almites had put them there.
"S-s-st!"
Eltrienn turned to look at his brother. Vessto beckoned him back into the shadow of a standing bit of wall, then whispered softly. "We need to set fire to those kegs and boxes."
Eltrienn didn't ask why, just, "How do we do that?"
"We find a house or apartment with lamp oil and some matches. Then we come back and take care of the sentry."
Take care of the sentry? Eltrienn thought. How? He had no sword now, nothing but his knife.
They sneaked several blocks up a rubble-clogged minor street, to an apartment building that hadn't been burned. Now, thought Eltrienn, is anyone at home? It seemed doubtful. They tried a door. It opened and they slipped inside. The city had smelled increasingly of ashes and char as they'd hiked farther into it, but here it was the odor of old grease that led them through pitchy darkness to the kitchen.
They explored it with their hands. Vessto found a match pot, the size of his palm and flat, recognizing it by the abrasive patch on the top. It was half full of matches, stout and waxy like those at home. He took one out and struck it against the patch; flame flared, then steadied, and by its light, Eltrienn found a large crockery jug with a whittled wooden stopper. He sloshed it; three-quarters full, he judged. Pulling the stopper, his nose identified the faintly fishy smell of lamp oil.
"Why are we doing this?" asked Eltrienn. "What's in those kegs and boxes?"
"Elver Brokols had thoughts of guns, cannons, and you've told me he was preparing to make a substance he called 'gun powder.' But he wasn't sure if the ingredients were available in Hrum. Gunpowder makes a loud noise, and seems to be what makes cannons function, and the smaller guns, the rifles.
"So I suppose the Almaeic army would bring their own. In large quantities."
Eltrienn thought he saw the rest of it now, but he let his brother continue.
"The Almites fought for the city through much of a day and night, and in the morning, their ships were all sunk. Do you suppose their gunpowder went down with the ships?"
"Ah-h!" Eltrienn took it from there. "And the reason they haven't tried to break out of the city, and the reason they haven't shot their cannons except when attacked, is that they are short of this 'gunpowder.' They're working to get it out of the sunken ships, and stacking it on the wharf temporarily."
"That's how it seems to me."
"Then let's go."
"Just a minute. We need to do something about the sentry. The sentries. There are more than one of them. We need to consider means."
Eltrienn shook his head. "I should have kept my sword."
Vessto said nothing for a moment, seeming to concentrate, then gripped his brother's arm. "Never mind. I was wrong to be concerned. We'll have no trouble with the sentries."
Eltrienn blinked, puzzled, but Vessto had started out of the kitchen, so he shrugged and followed. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they saw several men, barbarians, moving down the street, keeping close to the walls.
"Ho! Vinnta!" Vessto husked after them in their own language. "Os innska o ha yollpos!
"
The five warriors wheeled, bowstrings half drawn, peering into the denser dark beside the building. The brothers came out, hands spread. These warriors had no doubt been spearmen, who seemed to have cast their spears. For each spearman had also carried a bow and a quiver of arrows. The swordsmen had carried only their swords and shields.
Vessto held a murmured conversation with them, then they all went quietly together toward the waterfront. There, at the corner of a wall, the leader of the bowmen drew back his bowstring and launched an arrow. The sentry fell without a cry. Vessto laid a hand on the warrior's arm and whispered.
"Killed Many said the spearmen should carry fire arrows. Do you have them?"