by J. W. Webb
They rode north through the night. High above, stars studded the desert sky. The only sounds were the dull thudding of their horses’ hooves and the relentless sighing of the wind coming down from the mountains.
Every now and then they heard a distant shout and spied the gleam of a spear in the moonlight behind them. The sultan was driving his men hard tonight. They kept the pace.
Slowly the shadow of the Crystal Mountains slipped behind and the stony ground beneath them softened to sand again. Fresh dunes reached toward them out of the darkness ahead, resembling frozen waves in the night. Corin asked Ulani if they had reached the High Dunes but the king shook his head, informing Corin they were many leagues east of that region. Besides these dunes were tiny by comparison.
Throughout that long night the six riders rode due north under Zallerak’s guidance. The bard had said little since his pyrotechnic display the day before. Corin had seen how sorcery had an exhausting effect on the user. Power had its price. Corin hadn’t softened toward Zallerak an ounce, but even he had been grateful to the bard yesterday.
Behind Zallerak the others also rode in silence; Ulani’s bulk thundered to Corin’s right whilst Tamersane flanked his left. The Kelwynian’s eyes were despondent as he gazed up at the clear sky above.
“I’m bored with all this sand,” he told Corin. “I’m ready for a plump wench and a horn of ale.”
“Me too,” grinned Ulani.
Corin, thinking of Shallan, didn’t respond. He wondered how his friends fared. It seemed they’d been gone for months and Corin was desperate to ride north and find Shallan again. First they had to win free of Permio and that could well prove tricky.
They reined in briefly when dawn filled the sky, but Zallerak was in no mood for stopping despite his weariness. Tersely he urged them on.
“We dare not idle here,” he told them amid grumbles and groans—mainly from Tamersane and Tarin. These he ignored. “Some way ahead is the great oasis called Isalyos. We can quench our thirst there before departing this desert.”
Weary and worn, beast and rider had struggled on through the morning over waves of sand, battered and bruised and scorched beneath the leaden sun. Hours passed.
With the exception of the bard and Bleyne, the riders took turns dozing in their saddles, those close by ensuring they didn’t fall.
Corin allowed his body to relax. A whole chunk of it still felt sore from his many scrapes. Nevertheless he felt better than he had done for weeks. They had done well. Against all odds they had recovered the Tekara and made it whole again, and now at last they were heading back.
To war.
So what? Corin didn’t care. Soon he would be free to act as he chose. Free to seek out the woman who filled his waking thoughts. He just hoped Car Carranis was still standing when he arrived at its gates. A long hard trip through winter’s worst awaited Corin before he reached that distant stronghold. No matter. He didn’t intend to tarry on the way. Again Corin pictured the chestnut-haired beauty that had walked beside him in Silon’s vineyard.
Where are you now?
It seemed more than just a few weeks ago. Corin missed Shallan more than he thought possible. Their brief encounter had reached deep inside him. Something that he—wayward stray and world-weary cynic—hadn’t expected to feel about anyone. But Corin had loved Shallan from that first moment. He realised that now and yearned to see her again. He loved Ariane too and still felt guilty how he’d behaved with the queen. Corin couldn’t control his emotions about these things. They just were. Besides, he was a warrior not a bloody philosopher. Head bowed in thought, Corin let Thunderhoof take the lead. If the horse had any views on Corin’s issues he didn’t offer them.
They watered and rested the horses only briefly under the full heat of the sun. Zallerak said it was crucial they made the oasis as soon as possible.
“But isn’t the sultan going to make for it as well?” Corin had enquired, receiving no response from the bard.
During their quick rest the riders kept a wary ear out for pursuit. Nothing stirred. The only sound the sigh of hot desert wind caressing the dunes. It seemed at last they were putting distance between themselves and the Permians. For three nights they had ridden, stopping only when they must and snatching sleep at the saddle.
On the dawn of the fourth day Corin was heartily relieved to see the swaying shape of palms in a distant valley surrounded by the deliciously sparkling blue glimmer of water.
“Ain’t that a pretty sight,” Corin said. Beside him Ulani grinned. They rode on eagerly. The horses picked up their pace, smelling water.
Tamersane eyed the tall palms with distrust as they approached. He was still haunted by his vision of beauty and no longer trusted his eyes in this desert. He scowled at the palms, challenging them to vanish. They stayed put and finally Tamersane allowed himself a joyous grin.
This was no mirage. They had reached the oasis of Isalyos in eastern Permio. A large oasis ridged by reeds and thickets of palm on its far side. Isalyos was the last known water stop before the Liaho, still several days ride north.
Reeds echoed the breeze as the riders approached. They were wary at first, but soon abandoned all care hurrying down to the water’s edge. Reaching it, they dismounted. All save Zallerak who remained po-faced and thoughtful.
They let the beasts drink and drank deeply themselves. The water tasted like clearest wine. Laughing, they washed the dust and filth from their tired faces. Bleyne kept watch while the others shed their clothes and dived blissfully into the blue water.
Corin, once free of his steel shirt and leather, scrubbed and rubbed his battered body. He emerged moments later to stand grinning, pale and naked beneath the morning sun.
Corin dressed swiftly, feeling exposed without his ring mail. He felt stronger but sobered by the knowledge that the enemy would still be hard on their tails and closing. That sultan wasn’t about to give up. But they’d needed the respite and were better for it.
Time to get going again. Judging by their expressions the others were ready too. When Prince Tarin asked when they were leaving, Zallerak’s answer had surprised them all.
“We stay put,” said the bard. “Let the horses rest and get some sleep if you can. I will take first watch.”
“But the crimson elite?” challenged Corin. “They’ll be on us in no time if we stay here. Samadin Pain in the Arse must have guessed this place to be our destination.”
“This is no place to be trapped, Sir Zallerak,” grumbled Ulani. The king too was restless. He looked up at the reeds. Suddenly something felt wrong. Ulani tensed.
“It is too late you already are!”
The voice was deep and sardonic. Corin groaned. Suddenly soldiers were emerging from the tall reeds beyond the oasis where they had lain hidden awaiting their chance. There were scores of them. Corin grasped Clouter’s hilt but it was fruitless. He couldn’t believe after all they had been through they’d come to this sorry pass.
The Permians surrounded them with a cordon of level spears. Looking beyond the reed beds Corin now saw the tell-tale signs of a rudimentary camp at the far end of the water. Here and there were marks in the sand that had been half obscured.
What fools they had been not to notice. So eager to douse themselves in those clear cool waters, they had completely forgotten basic reconnaissance skills. The Permians must have spotted them and slipped in under the reeds. At least they hadn’t caught them swimming. The thought of being skewered naked was intolerable to Corin. At least he could die with his pants on. Small comfort though that was.
Beside Corin, Ulani let out a remorseful sigh. Tamersane looked dreary and Bleyne’s face was grim. He curtly notched an arrow to his bow. It wasn’t like the archer to miss a trick and he clearly wasn’t happy with himself.
Prince Tarin looked terrified and was pleading with Zallerak to do something.
Corin turned in the bard’s direction, his anger (rather unreasonably, considering they were all to blame) levelled sol
ely at the Aralais enchanter.
“Wizard, in case you haven’t noticed we have a situation here.” The Permians were grinning at them. It was apparent they were in no hurry to attack. Corin assumed they were waiting for their big boss to arrive and announce their prisoners’ fates. These boys would most likes be in for promotion. Certainly they looked smug.
“Zallerak?” Corin glared at the bard. But Zallerak looked oddly distant as if nothing untoward had occurred. He turned in Corin’s direction and his expression was, if anything, triumphant. Yards away the crimson elite waited with spears held ready, watching them in haughty silence.
Corin had had enough. He tore into Zallerak.
“You have led us into a trap!” Zallerak raised an eyebrow hearing that. Once again, Corin was on the verge of punching him.
A shout behind announced the sultan had arrived at the oasis. The spearmen grinned and cheered, anticipating a high reward for capturing such dangerous renegades. In Corin’s opinion they were over-optimistic.
Everywhere Corin looked he saw crimson-cloaked soldiers descending toward the oasis, with many more filing in from the dunes behind. To Corin it seemed that the entire Permian army had descended on them. He squared on Zallerak again, determined to channel his wrath on the bard for want of better direction. He stopped short when he saw that Zallerak was grinning.
“It is indeed a trap, Corin an Fol. But not for us this time.”
Corin gaped about. “What?” Ulani scratched an ear, the soldiers looked uneasy, and away up the hill the sultan was already yelling commands.
“It is time,” Zallerak said in a quiet voice. “Get ready.”
“Time for what—dying?” Tamersane still looked mournful.
“Listening,” said Zallerak. “One…two…three—dive!”
Something twanged and Corin hit the deck. His friends thudded alongside him, the sound of bowstrings filling their ears.
“A second ambush!” Tamersane yelled gleefully as a sound like the drone of a thousand bees erupted from nowhere. Corin, glancing up, saw the sky darken with arrows. He watched in stunned silence as shaft after shaft shrieked down from above, raining death on the elite. The spearmen surrounding them were peppered with arrows. Within minutes none were standing. At that point Corin deemed it safe to grin. They had back up at last!
Beyond the oasis the sultan and his new arrivals were in a state of utter panic. Corin and his friends watched spellbound as men screamed and horses bucked and neighed. The arrows were coming from everywhere. How many archers were out there? And where had they all come from? Corin had the distinct feeling he was still reading yesterday’s news.
Inside half hour the sultan’s army was broken. The whole valley of Isalyos filled with groans of the dying. Men crashed into each other in their panic to reach cover. Soon the clear blue of the oasis was stained muddy crimson. Thus fared the crimson elite.
***
Barakani had watched with some satisfaction at the culmination of many weeks’ careful planning. His scouts had reported back that the sultan was leading his entire force towards Isalyos, having rejoined his main army after the trouncing he got by the wizard.
Rassan, watching half a mile away, had seen the wizard’s party arrive. He’d witnessed the elite stealing into the reeds, waiting to pounce, and had hurried back to their camp in the valley beyond.
Rassan had offered to kill those soldiers but Barakani had declined, stating it would be better to wait for the sultan to arrive before showing their hand. Instead the Wolf of the Desert signalled his picked archers to take their places and wait.
And so they had gone to ground. Hiding as only the true desert people can, invisible in the folds of the dunes. Samadin the Marvellous had no idea he’d been tracked for weeks. That a force many times larger than his prized crimson elite was stalking him.
Barakani watched the last of the enemy assemble in ranks around the oasis rim. Doubtless guarding their sultan. Smiling, he rose to his feet. Barakani was standing less than twenty feet behind the nearest soldiers.
The Wolf of the Desert raised his hand palm upward. Behind their leader a host of silent archers emerged from their hides. They readied their bows.
Barakani counted to three then brought his hand down in one swift chopping motion.
Beside him Rassan hollered “Fire!” They watched grinning as a thousand arrows screamed towards the sultan’s guard. Standing beside the warlord and his favourite son was a diminutive figure. Silon of Raleen. The merchant casually watched the carnage unfold.
Back in Vioyamis he and Zallerak had agreed to liaise at Isalyos after Zallerak’s mission was accomplished. Zallerak’s rash gamble that Barakani and Silon would be at the oasis had paid off. Silon managed a curt smile when the laughing Rassan slapped his back so hard he almost lost balance.
“Remember this day, merchant,” Rassan grinned at him. “This day the sultanate dies!” Silon, half choking, nodded that he would remember.
***
Corin, after recovering from his initial shock, ignored Zallerak’s advice and launched himself at the wavering enemy, Clouter flailing in fury. The original spearmen were all dead but other elite were milling in confusion around the oasis.
Corin loped across to join them. Clouter clanged and thudded into flesh. Men screamed and died, riders were pitched form their bolting steeds. He looked across, saw that Thunder and their other horses were unhurt, still tethered to palms where they’d left them, a small distance from the shore. Corin noted Tamersane cutting a path that way.
Corin leapt at a crimson-cloaked warrior, but the man died with an arrow in his throat before he could reach him. Arrows were coming from everywhere. Corin had no idea who was firing them but assumed they were friendly, as he hadn’t been skewered yet. It would have been far more sensible to stay put with Zallerak but he just had to be part of the carnage. Ulani joined him at the water’s edge. The king was grinning like a moon-crazed hyena.
“I feel better now!” Ulani struck out with his golden cudgel, splitting an officer’s skull. The man crumpled and the king leaped over his body to batter another.
An elite dived for Corin’s waist with dagger in hand. Corin rammed Clouter’s hilt down hard on the back of the soldier’s neck, whilst bringing his left knee up and snapping the knifeman’s nose. Corin stepped back, kicked the corpse out the way and swung Clouter.
Five spearmen rushed him. The first lunged. Corin stepped aside and sliced Clouter into the shaft, snapping it in two. He reversed the longsword and rammed the wolf’s head pommel hard into the spearman’s jaw, sending him sprawling.
Two more had slipped behind Corin but he was aware of them. The closest jabbed his weapon forward. Corin turned, caught the shaft in his left hand and pulled the man forward whilst stabbing him with Clouter. The spearmen gurgled as the longsword punctured his belly.
The next fellow attempted something tricky: he swung low and wide with his spear seeking to trip the Longswordsman. Waste of time. Corin vaulted over the spear and kicked the sultan’s man in the face, breaking his nose. The spearman fell back on his knees and Clouter bit deep into his neck. The elite’s severed head sailed through air before plunking into the stained water of Isalyos.
Corin grinned. “Who’s next? Don’t be shy.”
The remaining two elite backed away from him in alarm. They exchanged glances, turned on their heels and fled back to join the main force mustering beyond the palms. Corin, joined by Ulani and a puffing Tamersane, gave hectic chase.
It was at that point that Corin turned and saw hundreds of figures had emerged as if by magic from the dunes surrounding the oasis.
The tribesmen of Permio, united at last by the cunning and patience of the Wolf of the Desert. They were armed with bows and tulwars and dressed in faded robes matching the subtle shades of the desert.
Freshly mounted on their desert ponies, the tribesmen surged toward the enemy with tulwars whooshing and circling over their heads. The archers had done their wor
k. It was time for steel on steel.
Across the water the last of the Sultan’s army took stock, waiting grim-faced for the oncoming onslaught. Their yelling officers bullied them into disciplined ranks.
In their midst was the screaming, corpulent ruler of Permio. Samadin was beside himself. He couldn’t understand what had gone amiss. He wanted to flee but there was nowhere to go. At last he fell to his knees and started weeping. The crimson elite formed a cordon around him. They were loyal soldiers. They would defend their sultan to the last. It was more than he deserved.
Corin and Ulani had also taken to their saddles amidst the confusion and hurried to join the attack. Tamersane was there too, and Bleyne with long knife held ready for close quarter work.
Prince Tarin and Zallerak stayed put by the water, watching as the two armies clashed at the far edge of the oasis. The boy prince had wanted to join the fray but Zallerak had grabbed his collar and bid him watch and learn instead.
Within minutes the sultan’s force was surrounded on all sides bar the water. Slowly and inevitably they gave ground, backing away to the oasis behind. Corin rained death from Thunderhoof’s back, savagely slicing Clouter into any exposed flesh. Beside him Ulani fought like a lion, and Tamersane yelled as he sliced and skewered.
Men groaned in agony as limbs were severed and heads hewn from bodies. To his right Corin spied Yashan wielding that wicked scimitar and urging his steed forward. Their former guide caught his eye and grinned back at him rapaciously. Corin laughed out loud. Against all odds they had won.
The sultan’s army was breaking apart. Bodies were strewn along the oasis’s banks in a tangled mess of gore and guts. Blood was everywhere. Doggedly the crimson elite fought on with stubborn courage. All save the weeping wreck of gaudy robes they protected. Samadin was still on his knees shaking and puking with fear.
The battle became a massacre. Swords sliced and spears jabbed; Horses neighed and kicked out, breaking skulls and crushing fallen bodies. Those remaining formed a tangled knot around their leader, shields locked and spears held ready.