Shadow Star

by Chris Claremont

  Surprise soon ran its course, and as the defenders watched, the Chengwei troops rallied. The ogres took a fearful toll, no less than you’d expect from fearsome brutes whose average height was double that of a tall Daikini, whose hands could grasp a human skull like it was a child’s ball and crush it more easily than a grape, whose rage and raw strength beggared belief. They were territorial creatures, staking out a range much as bears or great cats would, and generally solitary except when they were gripped by the urge to mate. They weren’t so much intelligent as cunning but their physical assets were so formidable that most folks gave them the widest possible berth. No spread, regardless of how rich and fertile the land, was worth intruding on an ogre’s turf. Only the greatest of fools picked a fight with them.

  Once that fight started, there was only one possible outcome.

  Bugles and drums sounded, resulting in a purposeful deployment of forces away from the fort and to the support of their embattled comrades. Troops advanced at the run, in a haphazard collection of armor and weapons, their officers allowing no opportunity to properly prepare for battle.

  The distant flames were fading, depriving all save Elora of a decent view of the end game. For everyone’s benefit, she presented a running commentary. The ogres had begun with their usual weapon of choice, huge, spiked mallets that were as tall as the average Daikini and weighed as much. They were meant for smashing walls; flesh and armor hadn’t a prayer of standing against them. One was flailing about with a body in his other hand. Arrows and javelins filled the air, so that the ogres quickly assumed the macabre appearance of living pincushions but given the stamina of their race even these appalling wounds took what seemed like forever to have any visible effect.

  A Chengwei leaped to the fray and buried a war ax into the back of an ogre’s leg to sever its hamstring. Crippled, the monster dropped to one knee but not before a back-swipe of his club made the soldier responsible little more than bloody pulp. Off-balance and deprived of effective mobility, this ogre’s end came quickly.

  Having determined that only a single foe remained, the Chengwei swarmed over the ogre like ants, without regard to their own survival. A shake of massive shoulders sent troops flying in bunches, a swing of the mallet sent most of them to their final rest, but there were always more to take their place, to grasp the arrows and spears that had found their marks and shove them deeper still.

  “Well now,” Shando muttered, “whassup here, hey?”

  Someone was at work at the nearer encampment as a lantern described a short arc through the air to scatter fuel and flame throughout the interior of one of the many tents that sheltered these troops. Once more, the fire spread from one to the next with lightning speed, following a trail of accelerant to engulf the entire site quickly and completely.

  Elora beheld a single figure, striding with purpose on the periphery of the conflagration, lacking the mass and stature of the ogres but in her own way far more deadly, as those who rushed to face her learned to their sorrow.

  Cries filled the air from midway between the two burning camps, as the reinforcing troops realized their own stronghold was under attack. There was a burst of disarray, officers and men torn by indecision about where they were needed most. The ogre seized that moment to shake himself free of his own attackers and take the initiative.

  Inspiration struck Elora Danan but when she turned back to the waryard to give it voice she discovered that Colonel DeGuerin was far ahead of her. A troop of fifty was mounted below in the full armor of heavy horse, with swords and bucklers, battle-axes and javelins. Another hundred of infantry stood poised to follow, some carrying short swords, others the double-handed claymores with blades almost as long as they stood tall.

  Without drum or bugle to announce their attack, the gates were swung silently open, a single outthrust hand from the Colonel giving the signal for the advance. This was their ground, where his regiment lived and trained—none knew it better. These men and their mounts needed no daylight or torches to see their way, the stars were more than adequate on this moonless night.

  The Chengwei archers were silhouetted against their burning camp but DeGuerin’s cavalry had no interest in them, they were left for the infantry that followed. He led his troop through their ranks at a gallop and onward in a curve that took them clear of the fire. Most soldiers let out a great shout when they attack, just before the initial clash of arms, to summon forth a transcendent surge of energy to propel them through that fearful moment of collision and as well to strike a measure of fear and terror into the hearts of their adversaries. The Sandeni assault was carried out in silence, DeGuerin’s answer to the Chengwei commander, his own demonstration that the fort’s defenders likewise knew their craft. Arrows were of little use in close combat and the invaders were cut down like wheat before a scythe.

  DeGuerin’s troop opened its formation, from the standard column of twos to an arrowhead shape. As well, their gait increased into the headlong rush of a full-fledged charge, aimed at the heart of the Chengwei force floundering between the two ravaged campsites. Only at the last, when the thunder of approaching hoofbeats carried warning of their approach, did he order the bugles to sound. On that cue, spears were leveled and the fate of those Chengwei sealed.

  In strategy, there’s but one practical defense against an assault by heavy horse—the armored cavalry—and that’s to face it behind an embrasure of defensive spears better than twenty feet long, whose butts are embedded in the ground. The trick is to deceive the horsemen into committing to the attack, and when they’re too close, and coming too fast to stop, raise the spears into position so the cavalry can impale themselves on them.

  The Chengwei had no such opportunity.

  The tremendous shock of contact—fifty powerful beasts weighing a ton apiece moving at better than thirty miles per hour—smashed through the Chengwei line like a plow through soft earth. Any possibility of mounting effective resistance was trampled beneath the hooves of DeGuerin’s chargers and the blades and spears of his men. While the Chengwei were still reeling, scrambling to arrange themselves in some semblance of order against the follow-on assault they knew was imminent, the Colonel hauled his force around and gave it to them.

  There wasn’t so much momentum behind the attack this time and even a minute’s preparation could make a difference. DeGuerin’s troop struck like a hammer and the Chengwei force broke again before them, even as a ragged cheer went up from the main encampment, signifying the death of the second ogre, but not without effort and a share of casualties.

  A bugle sounded the recall from the ramparts of Fort Tregare, a rocket was launched skyward to convey the same message. DeGuerin’s force obligingly disengaged, leaving the enemy the field of battle and their dead, the infantry coming last to cover their withdrawal.

  Khory was waiting at headquarters when the troop cantered home, a few horses with empty saddles, a few men riding double. The infantry hadn’t been hurt as badly, the element of surprise and odds totally in their favor meant that their own engagement had ended almost before it truly began. This was a far more significant victory than the day before but in stark contrast to the response then, precious few cheers greeted the warriors as they returned. Folks took their cue from the soldiers themselves; the men knew they’d done a good night’s work, they also knew it was but the first of many and that a gift like this wasn’t likely to come again.

  Elora didn’t wait for a summons from the battlements; she took off around the ramparts while DeGuerin’s troops were still returning, Luc-Jon hustling after her, trying to close the gap left by her unexpected head start.

  She didn’t find just Khory in the Colonel’s sitting room, but Thorn Drumheller as well, with Rool and Franjean ensconced on the sideboard beneath one of the windows, one brownie keeping watch while the other carved up a piece of marzipan fruitcake baked by the Colonel’s wife. As always, though they talked the parts of fierce rival
s, Franjean split their bounty equally between himself and his companion. Elora was struck right away at how weary her friends looked. Brownies and Nelwyn were coated with trail dust and Thorn sat gingerly in DeGuerin’s easy chair with the bowlegged presentation of someone who’s come straight from a hard ride. Given his diminutive stature, Elora knew that meant precariously perched on Khory’s saddle, between the warrior and the pommel.

  The Colonel’s wife rushed in with a tray of fresh stew and a carafe of water, plus a mug of steaming broth. That was what Thorn reached for first, drawing a measure of comfort from the warmth of the rugged, serviceable stoneware.

  He caught sight of Elora in the doorway and creased his face into a small smile.

  “I hear you’ve been busy,” he said companionably.

  “You’ve missed your share of excitement.” The words were innocuous, the underlying subtext anything but.

  “You’re upset.”

  “No less than you’d be, were our roles reversed.”

  “The Colonel felt this reconnaissance was necessary, child…”

  “I’m not a child, Drumheller. Not the way you mean!”

  “Then I stand corrected. But I also agreed with him.”

  She wanted to say much, much more, but she didn’t trust herself to keep her anger in check. She also wasn’t completely sure why she was so angry and she felt uncomfortable proceeding further without that answer, either.

  “How did you bring two ogres into the fight?” one of the officers asked of Khory.

  “Leave a proper trail, you can get ’em to follow you pretty near anywhere.”

  “But I thought the Chengwei had driven out all the Veil Folk.”

  “Ogres are like bears,” Thorn explained from his chair as he relaxed into the plush cushions, giving the impression that the broth he savored was melting his bones. “They can be blessed stubborn when they’re of a mind. They also weren’t too happy about the absence of game—not Veil Folk, not animals, not Daikini. All we really did was provide the connection between all that frustration and upset and the probable cause.”

  “Not so nice for the ogres,” Elora muttered. “Or the Chengwei.”

  “Welcome to war, girl,” Khory said, cutting herself a piece of cake.

  DeGuerin didn’t sit, but took a stance in front of Thorn that allowed him easy sight of the Nelwyn, Khory, and Elora. His senior staff spread out behind him, just as eager for Thorn’s report but with nowhere near their commander’s expressionless poker face.

  “Well?” the Colonel prompted.

  “Leading elements by morning,” Thorn replied. “More than likely the better part of a week before the entire force is on-site.”

  “Is it truly as large as…” someone began to ask but the rest of the query was forestalled—and died stillborn—by Thorn’s shallow nod.

  “They’re not bothering much with outriders and flankers,” Khory said flatly. “They don’t feel the need. Small force ambush won’t do ’em any harm, won’t hardly be even noticed, so why worry?”

  “The arrogance,” another officer exclaimed. “Gods, for the chance to teach ’em a lesson!”

  “You did,” Khory said flatly. “On your doorstep. They won’t care.”

  “What about the Caliban and the Barontës?” asked Elora.

  Thorn pursed his lips. “They are creatures of magic. We drew their attention, you and I, because I was using magic. And while you cannot wield those powers in the same way, Elora, it is integral to the fabric of your being. We came at the Chengwei as Daikini would, using nothing more than stealth and guile.”

  “But you took the brownies!”

  “We needed their services, and their ability to go places Khory and I cannot.”

  “They look right at us, those lummoxes,” Franjean chortled, “didn’t see a thing.”

  “No challenge there,” agreed Rool. “Playing hidey-seek with the likes of the Caliban, that was fun!”

  “Came walking by once, he did. Thought he sensed something. Did a lookabout, came up dry. Could’a stripped them bare, they’d never have noticed.”

  Rool provided a reality check to his friend’s exuberance. “Chose instead not to press our fair fortune. Had what we were sent for. Did a rabbit back to Drumheller. Won’t go back.”

  “Don’t be such a ninny.”

  “You should share some of his sense, Franjean,” said Elora. “That’s the Caliban’s style, to make you believe he’s missed you and catch you by surprise during your next incursion.”

  “You’re two days late, Drumheller,” the Colonel said idly and at his comment the breath went out of Elora in a rush. She hadn’t realized he’d been gone that long.

  “We found something that required further investigation. And then Khory insisted on finding the ogres. It led to a somewhat more roundabout journey home.”

  “What something?”

  “I’m not altogether sure. Tyrrel tells me his people of Lesser Faery couldn’t easily see the force opposing you.”

  “It made their heads hurt,” Elora told him. “And dizzy, like they were seasick. By day, it wasn’t so bad, just annoying. By night, though, they were worse than useless.”

  “Franjean and Rool had the same complaint. We managed to isolate the source—a freight wagon, big as a house, with some sort of fantastic mechanism inside. Whatever it is, the Chengwei are taking precious few chances. It’s sited in the heart of their army, within the grounds of their commander’s pavilion. As you can imagine, the location is well guarded, and not just by soldiery. There are Chengwei sorcerers, thick as proverbial thieves, and none of less than adept rank. At that level, magi generally like their creature comforts, they view them as well-earned perks; usually that means a full complement of novices and initiates to do all the scut work—but we didn’t see nary a one. These Adepts cooked their own food, did their own cleaning.”

  “Heaven forfend.” Elora managed to sound duly scandalized.

  “I grant you your amusement, Elora Danan, but this is a serious matter. Whatever that wagon carries is of sufficient importance to bring about a fundamental change in the behavior of these men.”

  “But you’ve no idea what it could be, Drumheller?” the Colonel asked.

  “The brownies couldn’t get close, for the reasons I’ve said. I couldn’t because of my stature; the Chengwei don’t hold much truck with Nelwyns. And given the quality of the opposition, I also suspected that not even my cloaking spells would be proof against their power. It was trial enough utilizing them to counteract the influence of that mechanism.”

  “But it was possible, yes?” Elora insisted, grabbing tight to that sliver of hope. “You were able to do so?”

  Thorn nodded. “I was, for brief periods, at great effort. And only, I suspect, because the device itself was not in active operation.”

  Elora was aghast at the implications. “If it can do so much while it’s at rest—?”

  “Heaven help us,” Thorn agreed, “or anyone, when it’s actively brought to bear. Khory volunteered to make a reconnaissance. In fact, she was our only hope.”

  “You were successful?” The Colonel nodded to her.

  “I got close, I got away, I believe undetected. At least we heard no alarm raised. But that may have been their intent all along, to give us a glimpse of their toy and allow us to return with the news.”

  “It’s a weapon, then? And that formidable?”

  “From the glimpse and the listen I got, I’d swear it was a clock. Something that ticks, for certes. And yes, a weapon. As to how formidable, the magi I listened to spoke of it as being the key to ultimate victory. The army is there to keep it well protected and to enforce Chengwei rule on the conquered territories.”

  “Cocky bastards,” commented an officer.

  “Supposedly,” Thorn said to DeGuerin, as if they were alone in
the room, “it destabilizes magic. Even at a distance, I could taste the chaos emanating from that infernal device.”

  “You mean disrupt spells, cripple sorcerers such as yourself, limit the effectiveness in battle of the Veil Folk, that sort of thing?”

  “Some of the above, Colonel, perhaps all, certainly more than you’ve listed. Elsewise, why make the investment in men and treasure?”

  “Magic doesn’t refer to just the Veil Folk, or parlor tricks like Thorn’s,” Elora interrupted, words coming out of her in a rush, propelled by a burst of anxiety she was struggling to understand and explain as she went along. “It’s one of those catchall words that covers a tremendous spectrum of forces and states of being. There’s ‘magic’ in the way the world holds itself together, in the soul of each Daikini, as much as in the mage who thinks himself ready to tackle a demon. Might as well try to dam the Cascadel or the Quangzhua,” referring to the two greatest rivers of the continent, one flowing west to the Sunset Ocean, the other eastward through the heart of Chengwei.

  “There’s been talk of doing both.”

  “And what of the consequences?”

  “You believe they mean to turn this infernal engine on us, Thorn?” the Colonel asked the Nelwyn mage, who responded with a shallow nod.

  “That’ll weaken the walls a tad,” Shando interjected, since he knew the physical structure of the fort better than most, “since spells’ve been used to strengthen the mortar and cement, t’ bind the logs more tightly t’gether and protect ’em from weather an’ the like. Beyond”—he shook his head—“they’ll have t’ reduce this yard the same as it’s allus been done, by siege an’ storm.”

  “It’s Tyrrel’s folk who’ll suffer the most,” agreed Thorn.

  “Cut them loose, then,” Elora cried. “Give them leave to go while there’s still time.”

  “I’ll lay odds, Elora, that’s where we’ll find the Caliban and his Barontës.”

  On that note, DeGuerin ushered his staff out the door, to consider the further defense of their position in light of this new intelligence.