D & D - Red Sands

by Tonya R. Carter

  "1 don't propose to charge down on the camp and put them to the sword," said Tamakh. "If we could somehow frighten them away—"

  "And restore the Sacred Chimney fire," said Elperex. His Faziri was rapidly improving; the 'strelli were very imitative speakers. Elperath was beginning to use Faziri as well.

  "On the day the rapa came, a great wind bore down the crater and snuffed the flame. Truly, the Ones on High have cursed us," Elperex added mournfully.

  Tamakh patted the 'strelli's leathery shoulder. "Never fear, my friend. What has been done can be undone."

  "This is madness!" Nabul said. "Why must we always put our heads on the block? We've escaped from Omera-bad, crossed the Red Sands, saved an efreet, fought mummies, a scorpion, and a love-sick spirit. What more do you want?"

  "What would you have us do, Nabul? Turn our backs on the "strelli and go our merry way?" said Jadira.

  "Yes."

  A heavy silence surrounded them. Nabul broke it by saying, "Is anyone with me?"

  Marix stirred. "Time is fleeting. The High Day is coming. ..."

  "Are you siding with him?" asked Jadira indignantly.

  "No, but I—we—can't afford to tarry here too long."

  "I'm not going to tarry at all," said Nabul. "My belly and pack are full, and I'm going on now. Will anyone go with me?"

  Marix felt every eye on him. "Not I," he said.

  ""Vbu're all mad," the thief said. He stood and hitched his bundle higher on his shoulder. "If you stay and fight these gnoles, you'll all find nameless graves." He walked away.

  Tamakh started to call out to him, but Jadira stopped him. "Let him go," she said. "He's earned his independence. If he wants to leave, it's better to let him go; if he stayed, he'd hate us for keeping him."

  Elperex said, "The rest, you will help?"

  "We will help," said Jadira. She folded her arms. "What's our first step?"

  "Reconnoiter the enemy position," said Marix.

  "We did that," said Uramettu. They had heard her and Tamakh's description of the gnoles' camp.

  "That's not enough," Marix said. "We have to know where their commander is, where their weapons are stored, how many there are—we need a complete plan of the camp."

  "The 'strelli could fly over and spot for us," said Jadira.

  "This we dare not," Elperex said. "The rapa have stick-throwers—pardon, I mean crossbowmen—on the heights above the camp. We cannot fly high enough to avoid their nets and crossbows. They kill many, many pip'strelli."

  "Then we'll go to the heights ourselves," said Uramettu. "Tonight."

  The four humans and the 'strelli huddled together and made their plans. So absorbed were they, they had no time to think of the departed Nabul.

  Hard Duty

  The jingle of spurs echoed in the valley. A long double line of horsemen rode slowly along the rutted trail. Horses' and men's heads hung low, for they were near exhaustion. How different now were the proud Phoenix and Vulture troops than when they first departed Omerabad!

  From fifty, their number had shrunk to thirty-seven. Six of those walked on foot, as their mounts had perished in the high desert. All were wrung-out and saddle-sore, but not one Invincible thought of turning back. The sultan's methods of dealing with failure were known to all, most especially to Captain Fu'ad.

  His gleaming helmet bounced loosely from a saddle ring. The chin strap it hung by was stained and rotting. Fu'ad had cut a crude hood from his cloak and wore that: on his head. Dust and sweat had dulled his mail from silver to gray. Only his lance tip still shone, so diligently did he polish it.

  He signaled to Marad, who rode up to him. "What is

  it, my brother?" asked Marad.

  "How are the men holding up?" Fu'ad said.

  "As Invincibies should," said Marad. "Though more than one has wondered if we can ever find the criminals' trail again."

  "We know their destination is Tantuffa," said Fu'ad. "They should have reached the mountains four days ahead of us. If we keep moving and traverse the central valley from Mount Qaatab north, we're bound to pick up their trail."

  Marad surveyed the peaks on either side. "So many passes. They could have gone through any one of a hundred."

  "It matters little where they crossed. On foot, they cannot open the distance between us unless we falter." Fu'ad remounted. "Column! Forward!" he shouted. The Invincibies kicked their tired horses and moved on.

  Marad paced his commander. "There should be villages in the valley we can provision from," said Fu'ad. "Do you have the map?" Marad tugged a vellum scroll from under his surcoat and gave it to the captain. Fu'ad looped the reins around his forearm and unrolled the scroll.

  A staggered row of green dots followed the contour of the valley map. Fiach dot bore numbers and a name in Faziri characters. The numbers referred to a column of writing along the right margin, which told the reader what resources could be found in each village.

  "The best place in this region is here"—Fu'ad stabbed the map with his little finger—"the village of Chatal. According to the survey of Sultan Wa'drillah, they have three wells, orchards, cattle, and goats."

  "The survey is old. Do you suppose the information is

  still accurate?" said Marad.

  "Life changes very little in these isolated hamlets. When you and I are dust, my brother, I expect the folk of Chatal will still be tending their orchards, cattle, and goats."

  Fu'ad studied the landmarks. "Eight leagues; perhaps nine. Pass the word to the men: I want to make Chatal by sundown. Tell them, fresh food for dinner."

  Marad saluted with a smile. "By your order, sir!" As Fu'ad's command filtered down the line of horsemen, the tempo of pursuit increased notably.

  The day faded, and the valley constricted to a winding chasm. Fu'ad's soldier-sense played on his nerves. He didn't like being at the bottom of a close ravine. No telling who or what might be at the top, ready to strike down at his confined troopers. . . .

  A rider he'd sent ahead came galloping back. "Sir! Sir!" the Faziri called. "Smoke, sir! From the village!"

  "Smoke? Why shouldn't there be smoke from a village, you fool?" Fu'ad snapped.

  "No, sir, not hearth-smoke. It looks as if houses have been burned."

  "Marad! Marad!" His lieutenant cantered up from the rear of the column. "Marad, there may be something amiss in Chatal. I want you to keep half the men here. I will take the rest into the village. If I need you, I'll have the trumpeter sound."

  Marad saluted. "By your order, sir."

  Fifteen Faziris from the Vulture Troop formed a block three men wide and five deep behind Fu'ad. "Boot your lances!" he cried. Fifteen ashwood and steel lances clanked into stirrup cups.

  "Troop, forward; at the trot!"

  The Invincibles clattered down the trail. After negotiating a tight turn, Fu'ad saw a heavy smudge of smoke rising from the hillside. In the fast-declining light, small fires flickered in the ruins of the village of Chatal.

  "Deploy by threes, column right!" The lancers spread out in the more open ground below the village. "Present—lances!" Sixteen deadly points swung down in unison. Fu'ad waited. Nothing stirred in Chatal. "Forward, walk!"

  A mongrel dog appeared, yelping at the horses. Its ribs showed plainly through its patchy brown hair. So maddened was it by hunger and fear, it tried to bite a trooper's horse. The Faziri put the poor beast out of its misery.

  "Troop, halt." Fu'ad looked around. Chatal had been sacked, and not a living thing was in sight. "Form a circle, and keep your eyes open," he said. He handed his lance to a trooper and dismounted. Fu'ad went to the smoldering ruins of a hut. He kicked over a charred post and pulled a brand from the fire. Holding this light, he proceeded up the street.

  "Hello! Hello!" he called. The only response was the crackling of flames. He came to a low stone wall stained with blood. Fu'ad was about to return to his men when he heard a groan. He circled the wall and found a man on the other side, propped in a sitting position. A grievous wou
nd showed through his torn tunic.

  "What happened here?" said Fu'ad. The man spoke a few broken words in his native Kaipurian. Fu'ad did not understand him. He recognized the man's wound, though. He'd been thrust through by a broadsword.

  "Vulture Troop, to me!" he shouted. The Faziris trotted to the sound of their captain's voice. Fu'ad asked, "Do any of you speak Kaipurian?"

  "I do, my captain," said a trooper. Fu'ad knew him as Yalil.

  "See if you can make out what he's saying." Yaiil dismounted and bent to the dying Chatalite. The villager's lips moved briefly, then his body went slack. Yalil stood.

  "Very strange, sir," he said.

  "Well, out with it, man!"

  "He said the beast-men came back. They were very angry because one of their number disappeared near the village. When the locals professed to know nothing about it, the leader of the beast-men went wild and destroyed the place. Sir."

  "Beast-men? What sort of nonsense is that?" said Fu'ad.

  "I do not know, sir."

  In that instant, Trooper Yalil ceased to know anything, for a steel-tipped crossbow quarrel struck him hard in the chest. Yalil threw up his hands and fell, dead before he hit the ground.

  "Ambush!" cried Fu'ad. "Dismount! Take cover!"

  Quarrels hailed on them from the mountainside above Chatal. Fu'ad leaped over the wall and threw himself down They were in a bad position. The burning huts highlighted them for the hidden archers but just deepened the shadows in which the enemy hid.

  "Anyone hurt? Speak out!" he said. Each man called out his name. Only Yalil was hit. Fu'ad watched the horses anxiously. If the bowmen decided to shoot them, they'd be marooned on foot at the enemy's mercy. Oddly enough, no quarrel was aimed at the tempting targets.

  "Trumpeter, can you hear me?"

  "Yes, my captain."

  "When I tell you, I want you to blow the call for 'Rally.' Is that clear?"

  "By your order, sir."

  Fu'ad slipped off his helmet so that the gleam wouldn't attract the enemy's eye. He peered over the top of the wall. The mountain was a dark blur on which he could see nothing.

  "Men," he said, "when I order, we'll stand and draw swords. I want you to spread out and work your way to the mountain. Anyone or anything you meet is to die." He replaced his helmet. "Invincibles! Stand—up!" A line of mailed men rose up behind the wall. "Swords out!" Curved scimitars whisked out of scabbards and glittered in the firelight.

  A brace of quarrels flickered at them and missed. The Faziris spread out and began climbing the slope toward the hidden bowmen. Fu'ad lifted his heavy mail skirt and slogged up the hill.

  Something moved in the shadows ahead. He shouted, " Wah-lai-lai/" and ran at the figure. The crossbow thumped, and a bolt shot past his head. Up went the scimitar, and down. The enemy brought his bow up to parry the blow. Fu'ad altered his angle and cut under the bow. He felt his blade strike home, and the archer dropped his weapon with a deep grunt. Fu'ad advanced and slashed twice across the foe.

  The sounds of swordplay reached him. He cried, "Rally, Invincibles! Rally to me!" The trumpeter put the horn to his mouth and blew.

  Marad heard the call he'd been straining to hear. "Column of twos, forward! At the gallop, charge!"

  Marad's men thundered through the ravine, followed by those on foot. The Faziris set up a wailing war cry, the feared cry Fu'ad had uttered when he spotted his attacker. But by the time Marad reached Chatal, the fight was over. Fu'ad's men had killed three bowmen, and dragged their bodies to the village street.

  Marad's horse skidded to a halt before the captain. "We are here, my brother!" he said. Fu'ad wiped his smoke- and sweat-stained face and gave Marad his hand.

  "bu arrived with dispatch, but the enemy has already fled," he said. "Look here."

  Marad got down and examined the slain bowmen. "These are not men!" he said with revulsion.

  "'Beast-men.' That's what a dying villager called them," said Fu'ad. "I've heard tales of such creatures who dwell west of Nangol. They hire out to ambitious warlords as soldiers."

  "What are they doing in the Shammat?" Marad wondered.

  "No good, you can wager on it." Fu'ad ordered his troopers to disperse in pairs and search for other villagers or prowling gnoles. When he and Marad were alone, he said, "We must consider what this means to our quest."

  "How so, my brother?"

  "If the wretches who dishonored the vizier and the sultan—may he live forever—have encountered these beast-men, then they may well be dead. I do not believe that myself; any band clever enough to escape the dungeons of Omerabad is not likely to succumb to wandering mercenaries.

  "So the nub is this: not only do we have to struggle against Nature and the wits of our criminals, now we have to beware of armed marauders in the hills."

  "As if our task was not severe enough," said Marad.

  "Be of good cheer, my brother. Are we not Invincibies? Is there another company like us in the world? Our

  trouble is multiplied, true, but our duty is still the same. And we shall persevere." "It is a hard thing, duty."

  Fu'ad regarded his dwindling force. "Hard and costly," he said.

  On the Black Bowl's Rim

  With the coming of night, the 'strelli took to the air to hunt, to work, to play. A steady thrum hung over the village of chimneys as thousands of wings fanned the air. The companions stood assembled in the square formed by the four tallest flues. With them were Elperex and Elperath, plus a dozen 'strelli warriors of both sexes. The fighters had no armor, but wore wicked metal spurs on each ankle. The scythe-blades could easily separate a man's head from his shoulders.

  "Are you sure this is necessary?" Marix said. Jadira was smearing an ointment of soot, grease, and water on his face. Her own was already blacked.

  "The gnoles see ten times better in the dark than humans," she said. "Isn't that right, Tamakh?"

  "Oh, at least ten times."

  "And we don't want that pale face of yours giving us away, do we?" She dabbed an extra-thick glob on the end of his nose and smiled. Her teeth stood out like pearls against her soot-daubed face.

  "I feel like a painted savage," he complained.

  "On the contrary, friend Marix," said Uramettu. "For the first time, you resemble a true gentleman." Tamakh burst out laughing.

  The 'strelli had painted themselves, too, though not to conceal. Their task was to distract the gnoles so that the humans could get into position at the crater lip and spy on the camp. So their slender, hairless bodies were marked with streaks of glowing diol. Elperex showed Tamakh where diol grew, in the damp blowholes in the once liquid lava. Diol were long and stringy mushrooms, and the spores yielded the glowing paste.

  When Marix was fully painted on face and hands, he reached for his Faziri helmet. Uramettu told him to leave it behind.

  "But why?"

  "Tonight we move fast and quietly. Armor adds weight and makes noise."

  Marix dropped the helmet in the cinders. "Cuirass, too?" he asked. Uramettu nodded. Jadira helped him unbuckle the metal breastplate. "Strangest thing I ever heard of," he said to no one in particular. "Going into battle without shield, helm, or armor, face black as a kettle, and on foot, no less."

  "I pray we're not going into battle," said Jadira. "We're four against a thousand."

  Elperex hooked one of his wing-fingers on Jadira's sleeve and said, "The time to go is now."

  Elperath gave a piping command to her followers, and the armed 'strelli took off. From the ground, the humans could see the glowing strips blinking in and out of sight as the 'strellis' wings flapped deeply, screening their torsos. They set off in single file with Uramettu leading. She decided not to assume panther shape for the reconnaissance, as the gnoles' guard-wolves would

  detect her strong cat-scent.

  The airborne 'strelli led them to a crack in the crater wall. Rock and dirt from the surface had filtered in, making a rugged ramp out of the crater. They emerged after a short climb and lu
xuriated in the cool, dry wind blowing across the mountain.

  The walk to the gnoles' end of the crater was fraught with tension. Elperex had told them the gnoles patrolled aggressively, and more than once the companions had to lie low and let the marauders pass. Beast-men swaggered by, talking loudly in their own tongue. They chewed cbarred mutton joints and passed jugs of strong liquor back and forth, but were still too vigilant for the humans to ignore.

  Elperex alighted noiselessly behind Marix and tapped him on the shoulder. Marix started so violently the last pair of gnoles paused and looked back. The quick-witted 'strelli made a very high, keening sound, and two of the d/o7-streaked warriors swooped down on the gnoles. There was a muffled thud, a scraping sound, and the ghostly fliers zoomed back into the sky. The gnoles lay on the ground, one face up, the other face down. Neither moved.

  Uramettu darted out. She dragged the bodies off the path and rejoined her comrades.

  "Dead as doorposts," she reported.

  "That was very good!" Marix said to Elperex. "If your people can fight like that, why haven't you driven the gnoles out?"

  "Stupid rapa, they not wear iron like most. Also, rapa awake all the time, and in bright day pip'strelli cannot see to fly," he said.

  "Stalemate," said Jadira.

  The crater widened as they neared the place of the

  Sacred Chimneys. The wind was off the east, and a vile odor blew over them. Tamakh said, "The vapor coming I loin the sacred flues seems not only flammable but mephitic."

  "What did he say?" asked Marix, pinching his nose.

  "It stinks," said Tamakh.

  "That it does!"

  "Quiet," said Uramettu. She dropped on all fours and (rept to the rim of the bowl. The camp below was lit by several large bonfires. Groups of gnoles were standing .tround the fires, singing and chanting in unison. The song was a monotonous succession of three notes, over and over.

  "I've heard better singing in a dogfight," quipped Marix.

  "They're not just crooning for amusement," said Tamakh, on his belly beside Marix. "They're building i heir power."

  "How so, Holy One?" asked Jadira.

  "It's a standard magical practice. They chant slogans together, things such as 'We are great', 'We are strong', 'Heath to the Enemy', and so forth. This excites the mind, and they become convinced what they say is true. And it is true."