The Treasured One

by David Eddings

  Skell led them to the temporary camp near the geyser and uncovered the bug-bat’s carcass. It was starting to get just a bit ripe, so Skell moved around to the upwind side. “As you can see,” he told them, “It looks like an ordinary bat—or a mouse with wings—right up until you get to its head. That’s when ‘bug’ takes over.”

  “Are you certain that it’s venomous?” Narasan asked dubiously.

  “Red-Beard told us that he could smell the venom,” Skell replied. “I’ll take his word for it. I’m not going to touch the silly thing with my bare hands just to make sure.”

  “Have they killed any of your men?” Narasan asked.

  “Not so far. Longbow thinks that these bug-bats are just scouting for the time being. Bats would make good scouts, wouldn’t they? I’m definitely hoping that scouting around is all our enemy uses these things for. If the whole enemy army’s nothing but bug-bats, we’re in a lot of trouble. Just the thought of an enemy that knows how to fly makes my blood run cold. Rabbit came up with an idea that might work. He suggested that we might want to bring all of our fishnets up here and tent over any place where we’ll be after the sun goes down with netting.”

  “Maybe,” Narasan said a bit dubiously. “How far is it to the most likely invasion route?”

  “Just a few miles off to the north,” Skell replied. “I think it might cause some problems, though. There used to be a ridge line that had pretty much blocked off that slope that leads down to the Wasteland, but quite a while back it seems that there was an earthquake that opened a gap about a mile wide in the ridge. It’ll take us a long time to build a wall that long, so things won’t be nearly as easy as they were back in the ravine.”

  “Let’s go take a look,” Sorgan growled.

  The Trog commander stood looking down at the littered slope leading down to the barren desert of the Wasteland. “Depending on how much time we’ve got, we could use all that loose stone to build barriers that’d hold the enemy back long enough for us to build breastworks across this gap,” he suggested.

  “Only if the enemies have to walk,” Sorgan replied. “If they’re snake-men like the ones we came up against in the ravine, it might work, but if they can fly over the barriers, they’ll be on top of us before we can even blink.” He looked around. “Where is Longbow?” he demanded irritably.

  “He told me this morning that he wanted to take a look at the ridge line off to the west, Cap’n,” Rabbit said. “I think he wants to make sure that the enemies can’t slip around behind us like they did back in the ravine.”

  Sorgan grunted. “Did Red-Beard give you any kind of idea about how long it’s likely to be until the archers get here?”

  “Right after he saw the bug-bat, he took off running, Cap’n,” Rabbit said. “He’s going to hurry them along.”

  “Good. We’re going to need them, I think. Swords and spears won’t be much good this time, I’m afraid.”

  “The Trogs are better at building walls and forts than we are,” Skell told the scar-faced horseman Ekial. “From what I’ve heard, they’ve got walls all over down there in the Land of Trog.”

  “I thought they were called ‘Trogites.’ Why do you shorten it down to ‘Trog’?” Ekial asked.

  “It’s something my brother and I picked up from our papa. He seemed to think that ‘Trogite’ was a term they’d invented to make themselves sound important. Papa didn’t think much of the Trogs. What they call ships are a lot like floating washtubs. That made things a lot easier for us, though, since we could chase down any Trog ship afloat in about a half a day.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “So that we could rob them of the gold they’d stolen from some people off to the west.”

  “How is it that you’re both on the same side in this war, then?”

  “Lady Zelana hired my cousin Sorgan to gather up a fleet and come here to the Land of Dhrall to fight a war for her.”

  “She’s Dahlaine’s sister, isn’t she?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard, yes.”

  “What’s it like spending all your time out there on the water?” Ekial asked.

  “It’s the best kind of life there is,” Skell told him. “When you’ve got a good ship and a good following wind, it’s almost the same as flying. The air’s clean, and the waves sparkle in the sun like jewels.”

  “You’re starting to sound poetic, Skell,” Ekial said with a faint smile.

  “Life at sea tends to do that to people.”

  “What made you decide to come here to a place where you’d have to fight a war on dry land, then?”

  “Money, Ekial. Lady Zelana’s got more gold than she can even count, and cousin Sorgan brought about a hundred blocks of it to the Land of Maag to hire an army.”

  “That sounds sort of familiar,” Ekial said. “Dahlaine did much the same thing when he came to Malavi to hire horsemen.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse,” Skell admitted. “I’ve heard that they’re a lot like cows—except that they don’t have horns.”

  “There are quite a few other differences,” Ekial said. “Horses love to run, and a good horse can run all day if you ask him to. The Land of Malavi doesn’t have very many trees, so it’s all grassland that goes on for hundreds of miles in every direction. In a peculiar way, I suppose we feel much the same about the meadowland as you Maags feel about the sea.”

  “Except that you don’t get wet when you fall off your horse, do you?”

  “Not very often, no.”

  Then there was a sudden blinding flash of light and a shattering crash of thunder, and Veltan was there. “Where’s Narasan?” he demanded.

  “The last time I saw him, he and Sorgan were looking around down there on the slope.” Skell turned and shouted at one of the men building the breastwork. “You there! Go find Narasan and tell him that Veltan wants to see him!”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” the sailor called back, running off down the slope.

  “Is something wrong?” Ekial asked Veltan.

  “We’ve got trouble on down south,” Veltan said tersely. “There’s a whole fleet of Trogite ships landing on the southern beaches, and I don’t think they’re friendly.”

  Skell dispatched runners to bring most of the significant people to the gap overlooking the Wasteland, while Veltan paced back and forth muttering curses under his breath.

  “What’s this all about, Skell?” Sorgan demanded when he arrived.

  “There’s trouble in the wind, cousin,” Skell replied tersely.

  “What else is new and different?”

  “Don’t try to be funny, Sorgan,” Skell snapped. “This is serious business. Now we’ve got two invasions to deal with instead of just one.”

  “That went by a little fast, Skell. Why don’t you give me some details?”

  “Veltan just got here, and he wants to talk to all of us. I’ll let him describe what’s happening. He saw what was going on, but I didn’t. Let’s get it right the first time, for a change.”

  By the time the others had all reached Skell’s temporary camp, Veltan had managed to get his temper under control. “All right, gentlemen,” he began, “after you’d all left to come up here, I received some very disturbing news from the south coast of my Domain, and I went on down there to have a look for myself. Evidently, there are some people down in the Trogite Empire who are very interested in the Land of Dhrall, and they’ve come here to investigate. A huge fleet of Trogite ships is anchored in the large bay between two of the peninsulas on the south coast, and the men from that fleet have occupied several coastal villages and captured almost all of the inhabitants. Most of the men from those fleets appear to be soldiers wearing red uniforms, but there are others who evidently aren’t soldiers, because they’re dressed in black robes, and they aren’t carrying weapons of any kind.”

  “Priests,” Narasan said in a bleak tone of voice, “and the soldiers in red uniforms are members of Church armies.”

  �
��That explains a few things I didn’t quite understand,” Veltan said. “Anyway, the soldiers have built a number of fenced-in compounds and herded all of their captives into them, and the ones in black robes have been going into those compounds to make speeches to my people.”

  “That has a familiar sort of ring to it,” Padan said. “Let me guess. The priests want to tell your people fairy tales about Amar—how wonderful he is and how everybody who doesn’t fall down on his face every time he hears somebody mention Amar’s name won’t go to paradise after he dies. Is that pretty much the way it goes?”

  “It’s happened before, I gather,” Veltan said.

  “It’s been going around, yes,” Padan replied.

  “As I recall, I mentioned the corruption of the Amarite church to you when you persuaded me to stop begging and go back to work, Veltan,” Narasan said. “The Church has turned corruption into an art form based entirely on raw greed. The thought that so much as a single penny might somehow get away from him sends a member of the clergy into deep mourning.”

  “Excuse me, Commander,” the young Keselo said, “but isn’t it peculiar that the Church fleet managed to find the passageway through the zone of floating ice not long after Jalkan—a former priest—escaped and stole Veltan’s sloop?”

  “Not really all that peculiar, Keselo,” Narasan replied bleakly.

  “You should have killed that one when you had the chance, Narasan,” Skell said. “My brother Torl had an interesting idea not long after you’d put Jalkan in chains. We’d been sort of joking around about taking turns kicking Jalkan up and down the beach. But after we decided that it might get tiresome after a while, Torl suggested that we could just go ahead and give him a decent burial—whether he was dead or not.”

  “Interesting notion,” Narasan agreed. “I really blundered that time. He looked at Veltan. “Have the slave-ships arrived down there yet?”

  “My brother told me about that,” Veltan replied. “Right at first I thought he was joking.”

  “I’m afraid not, Veltan,” Narasan replied. “It’s fairly traditional in these situations. The soldiers round up the native people, the priests tell the natives that the Trogite god will punish them if they resist, and then the slave-ships come by to pick up the people, take them back to the Empire, and sell them to assorted Trogites who are too lazy to do their own work. That’s been going on for centuries.”

  “It’s not going to happen that way this time,” Skell’s cousin Sorgan said firmly. “I just happen to have a large fleet of longships down on the coast, and as soon as I get back down there, I think I’ll gather up that fleet and run on down to that big bay. The Trogites might have come here by ship, but I think I know of a way to arrange things so that they’ll have to walk home.”

  “Oh?” Narasan asked.

  “It’s called fire, Narasan,” Sorgan said with a wicked grin. “I’ll burn every Trogite ship in that bay right down to the waterline, and then I’ll go on out and sink all those slave-ships.” He gave Veltan a slightly suspicious look. “You knew this was going to happen all along, didn’t you, Veltan?” he suggested. “The fact that you’ve got the right man in the right place at the right time goes a long way past coincidence, it seems.”

  “Well—” Veltan said, sounding a bit defensive.

  “I thought so,” Sorgan said. “I’m awfully sorry, Narasan,” he continued, “but it sort of looks like I won’t be able to help you very much in the war up here, because I’ve got a different war to fight on down along the south coast. I’ll see to it that our second enemy won’t come sneaking up behind you while you’re busy up here, though.”

  “Ah, well,” Narasan replied with mock regret. “I think I’ll be able to manage, Sorgan, but it just won’t be the same with- out you.”

  Then they both laughed.

  All in all, Skell wasn’t too disappointed that he wouldn’t be allowed to fight the creatures of the Wasteland this time. He’d be going back down the gorge with cousin Sorgan and then sailing the Shark on down to the southern reaches of Veltan’s Domain to fight a war at sea. Skell knew how to fight a land war if it was absolutely necessary, but he much preferred fighting at sea, and the prospect of burning an entire Trog fleet filled him with a warm little glow.

  Then he felt another of those prickly twinges, and he was almost positive that somebody he couldn’t see was watching him very closely. That took a lot of the fun out of his day.

  THE SOUTH COAST

  1

  Torl Jodanson of Kormo was somewhat relieved when cousin Sorgan volunteered to fight this particular war at sea. The mountains were pretty to look at, but Torl didn’t really enjoy fighting wars in places where the enemies could hide behind trees or jump on him from behind. He much preferred open spaces where he could see just exactly what the enemy was doing. Then too, he was almost positive that the Lark would start feeling sulky if she wasn’t allowed to join in the fun.

  Some ships are like that.

  After they’d eaten supper and strung out the fishnets to keep the bug-bats away, Skell raised a point that cousin Sorgan had possibly overlooked. “I think we might have a problem, Sorgan,” he said.

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “That little creekbed that comes up here from the river isn’t very wide, and right now it’s filled with Narasan’s soldiers. They’re coming up, and we want to go down. I suppose we could fight our way back down to the river, but that might irritate your friend Narasan just a bit.”

  Sorgan frowned. “You could be right, Skell,” he conceded.

  “I’ll go have a talk with that sheep-herder who showed us how to get up here,” Torl volunteered. “He knows this country better than anybody else, so if there is some other way for us to get back down to the river, he’d be the one who’d know about it.”

  “It makes sense, Sorgan,” Skell agreed with his brother.

  Sorgan nodded. “Why don’t you go see what he has to say, Torl?” he agreed. “We’ve got work to do down south, and we won’t get much done sitting around twiddling our thumbs.”

  “You know, cousin,” Torl said, “I can’t remember the last time I twiddled.”

  “Go, Torl,” Sorgan told him wearily.

  Omago’s friend, Nanton the shepherd, had moved his flock to the southern end of the grassy plain, probably to keep the various soldiers up near the north end from poaching his sheep when suppertime rolled around, and Torl found him sitting beside a small fire and looking up at the starry sky.

  “Doesn’t it get awfully lonesome when you’re the only person around for miles and miles?” Torl asked. “I mean, there’s nobody around to talk with, is there?”

  “I can always talk to my sheep,” Nanton replied. “They don’t answer very often, but they listen fairly well. Is there something wrong?”

  “Well,” Torl said, sitting down beside the fire, “that little creek of yours was quite handy, but right now it’s running bank full with Trog soldiers. Cousin Sorgan and the rest of us from the Land of Maag need to get back down to the river in a hurry.”

  “The waterfall would get you back down in the blink of an eye,” the shepherd replied with no hint of a smile, “but that might not be the best idea in the world.” He frowned slightly. “There is a streambed a mile or so north of that one I showed your brother. I don’t think anyone would want to come up that way, but if a man had enough rope, he could go down easy enough. It’s not quite a sheer cliff, but it comes fairly close. Would climbing down a rope bother you and your crew very much?”

  “We’re sailors, Nanton. We spend at least half of our time climbing up and down ropes. How long do you think it might take us to get back down to the river?”

  “Not much more than half a day. Downhill’s always been faster than uphill.”

  “Why, I do believe you’re right, Nanton!” Torl exclaimed in mock surprise. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  The seemingly humorless native actually laughed, and that brightened Torl’s day. Mak
ing people laugh always made him feel very good.

  Torl was about halfway back to the Maag encampment when he realized that just getting back down to the riverbank wouldn’t solve all the problems they were likely to encounter, so he went looking for Commander Narasan.

  The Trogite encampment was quite a bit more orderly than cousin Sorgan’s disorganized cluster of tents and barricades. Trogs seemed to be obsessed with straight lines, for some reason. After Torl had asked a few soldiers where he might find Commander Narasan, he finally found the somewhat larger tent of cousin Sorgan’s friend.

  “We’ve got a bit of a problem, Commander,” Torl said after he’d entered the tent.

  “Oh? What’s troubling you, Captain Torl?”

  “I hope this won’t offend you,” Torl said, “but your ships are cluttering up that river down below so much that cousin Sorgan’s fleet won’t be able to get close enough for us to get on board our ships once we get back down there. If we’re going to block off that second invasion, we’ll have to get on down south in a hurry. Is there some way you could order your ships to move aside so that we can get through?”

  “Not personally, Torl,” Narasan replied, “but I know of a way that you’ll be able to take care of it.”

  “You’re going to promote me to the rank of a general in your army, Narasan?” Torl asked. “I’m very flattered, of course, but won’t that make the captains of your ships down there just a little suspicious?”

  “Very funny, Torl,” Narasan said. “All I have to do is write down orders, sign the piece of paper, and then give it to you. When you get down to the river, wave the paper around, and my ships will get out of your way.”

  “What a brilliant idea!” Torl exclaimed. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Do you really have to try to make a joke out of everything, Torl?” Commander Narasan said. “Sometimes you’re as bad as Red-Beard.”

  “Laughter’s good for people, Commander. I owe it to all my friends to make them laugh as much as I possibly can.”