He spat on the ground, trying to rid himself of the evil taste, but at the same time he pondered some of the insights he'd been granted. The A'ak commander had been experienced, something Adalon was not. In such a perilous situation, perhaps his memories could be useful . . .
Adalon hissed and shook himself as he remembered how casually the commander had thought of flogging his own troops. No, the cost of such wisdom is too high.
A flare of light bloomed in the night sky. Adalon looked twice. It wasn't a signal coming from the Fist – it was coming from the eastern end of the valley!
He bounded down the rubble-strewn hillside in time to meet Simangee. 'What have the lookouts seen?' she said.
Targesh appeared on his riding beast. 'I'll find out.' He galloped off into the night.
Adalon roused his troops. 'Get your weapons ready! Put on your armour!'
He asked Simangee, 'What potions did you bring?'
'Healing potions, mostly. They're the ones I'm surest about. I have a few fire potions, too.'
'Nothing else?'
'Well, when I was fetching the potions I remembered I'd just found that some of the bottles contained illusion potions.'
'Illusions?'
'Fantasies. Mirages. Things that don't exist. They're not real, but they appear solid.'
'How do you know?'
'I tried some of them.' She held up a thumb-sized vial. The glass was clear, with spiral grooves. Inside, the potion was a rich purple. 'When I shatter these, apparitions appear. Bright lights, frightening faces, loud noises from nowhere.'
'That was dangerous, trying them like that.'
'It was the only way to find out.'
At that moment, Targesh rode up, his steed clattering in its haste. 'Soldiers from Callibeen!'
Adalon brightened. 'Good news indeed!' He looked toward the cleft. Torches twinkled as soldiers marched into the tiny valley from the east.
'Simangee, can you assemble our company while I go and meet the commander?'
'Of course.'
Adalon ran for his riding beast and sprang into the saddle. With a clash and a clatter it bounded forward, sending gravel spraying from its brass hoofs. He arrived at the gap in time to greet the Callibeen soldiers and he was heartened at their numbers.
They eyed him suspiciously.
'Who is your commander?' he asked.
'I am.' A tall Billed One stepped forward. While most Billed Ones preferred the trading life, being well represented among merchants and traders, this Billed One had the bearing and the scars of a warrior. 'And what kind of creature are you?'
Adalon was taken aback at the question, but then realised how he must appear. Astride a brass beast that neither breathed nor blinked, clad in sky-blue armour that would appear inky-black in the night, he must look unsettling. He took off his helmet and cradled it in one arm. 'Adalon of the Eastern Peaks, good sir, here to stop the Army of Queen Tayesha.' He smiled. 'We're grateful for your joining us.'
The commander inspected him. 'You are young, Adalon of the Eastern Peaks. Where are your elders?'
Adalon frowned. 'How old do I have to be to defend Callibeen? Queen Tayesha's madness will destroy young as well as old. The young have a right to resist.'
The commander held up a hand. 'Well spoken, young sir. I apologise for my rudeness. What is the size of your force?'
'Nearly a hundred. Plus forty riders.'
'So few? You are courageous indeed, to oppose an army with such paltry numbers.'
'It is all we have,' Adalon said simply.
The Billed One was silent for a moment. 'I am the Duke of Ordoon. The King of Callibeen has entrusted the safety of his realm to me.' He held out his gauntleted hand.
Adalon took the commander's hand and shook it. 'Let me take you to our camp, Your Lordship, and I'll tell you of the countryside.'
'Call me Ordoon, Adalon. In battle a single name is more than enough.'
As they led the Callibeen warriors to the camp, Ordoon told Adalon of the troop-raising. It was almost the entire fighting strength of the country, or at least those who could be summoned at short notice. 'One thousand, more or less,' Ordoon said as they reached the first tents. 'Many Clawed Ones and Toothed Ones, but plenty of Billed Ones, Longnecks – everyone flocked to the flag.'
'Hoolgar!'
Adalon turned to see Simangee running through the tents. She'd removed her helmet and her eyes shone in the torchlight. She rushed through the startled Callibeen troops and threw herself at an ancient Crested One who was hobbling at the rear.
Adalon laughed with surprise and delight. 'You have some older soldiers,' he said to Ordoon.
'Not all who came are soldiers. That one insisted on accompanying us. A scholar and a musician, he claimed he knew the Sleeto Pass well and could help us. He was very insistent.'
Simangee, laughing, presented a familiar old Crested One. 'Adalon, it's Hoolgar!'
'Hello, Adalon,' said Hoolgar. He wiped his glasses on the long sleeves of his travel-stained robe. 'I hoped I would find you here, and it's important that I have.'
Adalon had always admired Hoolgar for his patience and his wide-ranging intelligence. Insects, mathematics, calligraphy and glass-making all came within his compass; he roamed across fields of knowledge like a bold explorer, belying his venerable age. 'Where have you been, Hoolgar?' he asked the venerable Crested One, then he embraced his frail form. 'Where did you go when you left High Battilon? Why didn't you send us news?'
'Questions, questions. You were always the one with the questions, Adalon.' Hoolgar smiled. 'It's good to see you again.'
'And you. But what have you been up to? Why did you leave us so suddenly?'
Hoolgar grew serious. 'I saw dark times on the horizon. Dark indeed. But I needed to know more, so I've been roaming all seven kingdoms, talking to wise ones, sages, scholars of all kinds.'
'You knew about Queen Tayesha's plans?'
'I learned much about them, and about Wargrach.'
Adalon held up a hand. 'We know about him. He's installed himself in High Battilon. We've been there and rescued my uncle.'
'You have, have you? That is well done.' Hoolgar looked at the sky for a moment. 'But that's not all. He's taken Knobblond, you know.'
Adalon was shaken. So soon? he thought. 'The seven kingdoms are no more.'
'Correct. With Knobblond fallen, we no longer have seven monarchs in harmony with the land. Such a disruption to the natural order has shifted the balance. We must be prepared for an upheaval.'
'Upheaval,' Adalon echoed. 'The land in torment.'
'But that's not all.' Hoolgar put his hands together, clasping them tightly and bumping them against his chin. 'I've learned that something equally dreadful is about to happen, something all saur have been fearing.'
Adalon felt as if a hand made of ice had clutched his heart. He knew what Hoolgar was about to say. He wanted to beg him to be silent, but he knew this would change nothing. 'What is it?' he whispered.
'The A'ak are returning.'
Seventeen
The next morning, Adalon lay dreaming. In his dream, he was marching at the head of an army. All the warriors were giving throat to a tune full of honour and glory. The song soared above the tramp of feet and the clanging of armour, while banners snapped in the breeze above their heads. Adalon's heart was full to bursting with pride. He was a fortunate saur to be leading such a host.
The dream vanished. Adalon struggled from its clutches to find that the song still hung in the air. For a moment, dream and waking were as one, then he realised he was in the misty, still heights of Sleeto with the melody echoing around him. He rolled to his feet and stepped into the fog to find its source.
His blood stirred. He picked through the rocky waste, casting from side to side as the sound seemed to come from all around. Groping through the shifting mist, he finally came on a hollow. It was a shallow depression in between two folds of the mountain skirts, strewn with boulders and shards of rock from the
heights.
Many soldiers were gathered. They were staring, rapt, at the figure in red armour on the slope above them. Their eyes were bright, their fists were clenched and they beat the air in time with the song. Slowly, it dawned on Adalon that the song was in a language unknown to him. It didn't seem to matter; the song still moved him. It made him want to fight, to bring glory to his family and his people. Caught up in its wild strains, he knew that cowardice was worse than death and that weakness was to be spurned. Nobility lay in force of arms. War was the great game and victory was the highest honour.
Then, just as he was about to be swept away by the song, Adalon caught himself. This is wrong, he thought.
With an effort, he turned away from the music and refused its call. When he did, he saw that the singer was Simangee.
He hissed. Simangee's songs were not songs of war. Her songs were full of life, not blood and death. And she certainly never sang in a language like this.
A figure approaching through the mist asked, 'How long has this been going on?'
'Hoolgar,' Adalon said, relieved. 'For some time, I think. It smells like more A'ak mischief.'
'Ah.' Hoolgar studied Adalon. 'What about you?'
'I've felt it, too. I thought I was the only one.'
'The A'ak work in cunning ways. We must help her.'
When Adalon and Hoolgar took Simangee's arms, she broke off her song and stared with eyes that were wild and unfocused. Then she turned her head and looked at Hoolgar. 'We slaughtered them?' she said, and then hesitated. 'No, that's not right. We haven't fought yet. We are massed for battle glorious with weapons polished and eager.'
'Come, Simangee,' Hoolgar said.
'But I thought – ' She halted and put a hand to her cheek. 'No. That wasn't me. That was someone else.' She looked at Adalon. 'It's the A'ak, isn't it? I was singing an A'ak song?'
'I think so.'
'My throat hurts.' She put a hand to her neck. 'I remember now. It felt like the black presence.'
Hoolgar gripped her shoulder. 'What black presence?'
Startled, Simangee took a step back. 'Months ago, we were set upon by warhounds,' she said. 'I used a potion bottle I'd found and a black horror emerged. Once it slaughtered the warhounds, it entered my mind.'
Adalon hissed as he remembered. 'It took some time before she threw it off. I thought we'd lost her.'
Hoolgar studied Simangee's face. 'This isn't good. Not good at all.'
'You know about this black horror?'
'I've read about such a thing. You may have set loose a powerful agent of the A'ak. Ach!' he exclaimed. 'It could be worse than I thought.' He clicked his tongue. 'You may have to give up these A'ak artefacts.'
Adalon's heart lurched. 'The armour?'
'And the weapons. I had no idea that their influence would be so robust. After all these years,' he added.
Give up the A'ak sword? Adalon dropped his hand to the scabbard. He could do it, of course, but there was no denying how useful it was. 'I've felt the A'ak influence,' he admitted, 'but I think it's getting easier to handle. We'd be foolish to throw away such strong help when we need it.'
Hoolgar nodded slowly. 'The A'ak were mighty. Are mighty.'
'We should be careful, of course,' Adalon said. 'If it proves too much for us, naturally we'll abandon the A'ak equipment. Besides,' he glanced sidelong at Hoolgar. 'If the A'ak are returning, perhaps we need to know about their capabilities. We may be able to use their tools against them.'
Hoolgar studied him for some time. The old saur's eyes were steady. 'There is much we still don't know about the A'ak,' he said. 'None of the scholars I spoke to in my years of travelling ever claimed to truly know these mysterious saur. And yet when I find my young students, I find them ensconced in an A'ak stronghold, clad in A'ak armour, and wielding A'ak magic. It seems as if I still have much to learn.'
'And we'll help you,' Adalon said. 'We have much to share.'
'I'm sure you do,' Hoolgar said, but Adalon was unsettled by the old tutor's thoughtful gaze. Briskly, he turned to Simangee. 'Can you use magic to help us see where the enemy is?'
She shook her head. 'Scrying can't find something if I don't know where it is. I can bring far things closer, but that's all.'
A cry went up from the camp. The mist had lifted and Adalon could see the whole valley in front of him. Ordoon, the Callibeen commander, was hurrying toward them. 'Adalon!' he called. 'A signal!'
Away to the west, over the ominous bulk of the Fist, twin columns of smoke rose in the early morning sky. Adalon's chest tightened. The lookouts had seen the enemy. He turned and scanned the eastern skyline, hoping for a signal that the Winged Ones were on their way, but the horizon there was clear.
The time of trial had come.
Eighteen
A small force confronting a larger one. As Adalon ran to the camp he tried to remember the lessons his father had taught him. The most important thing he recalled was not to be on the side of the smaller force.
He found his belongings and began to don his armour. The motions were as easy as breathing by now. He strapped on the scabbard and felt utterly whole and ready.
Fight, fall back and fight again. The tactics were simple. Make use of the terrain, harass from a distance wherever possible. Misdirect the enemy efforts. Make them fight uphill and into the sun.
And don't lose a single soldier, Adalon thought as he studied the troops preparing for battle. Ordoon's saur were readying themselves with the quiet deliberation that came from experience and training – a quick final whetting of blades, a checking of armour straps, a last-minute bite of food. Their expressions were grim but calm.
In contrast, the saur Adalon had brought from the Lost Castle were organising their weapons and gear while chattering with a mixture of excitement and fear. Some looked bewildered and hefted spears as if for the first time.
And I hope it's the last time, Adalon thought. I hope they can go back to their families, their farms and mines, and live long, quiet lives.
He gathered Ordoon, Targesh, Simangee and Hoolgar. 'Do you have magic, Hoolgar? Anything we can use to stop them?'
The old Crested One spread his hands. 'I brought advice and wisdom. I have no magic.'
Adalon's tail thrashed with frustration. 'Ordoon, how many archers do you have?'
'Five score.'
'The Fist would be their best position, that rounded peak overlooking the western entrance to the valley. Make it hard for the enemy.' He clicked his claws together. 'And I want the bridge ready to be destroyed after we fall back. Can you put a company on to that?'
'I can.'
'Targesh, keep your riders on the north side of the road, ready to sweep in if we have to retreat.'
Targesh rumbled his agreement.
'Simangee, get the Sleeto saur we brought from the Lost Castle. I have a task for them.'
'And the rest of my troops?' Ordoon asked.
'The road squeezes between the Fist and those cliffs opposite. It is like being at the bottom of a deep crevice. The rock walls there are hundreds of spans high. It is the only way in. It will be pike and blade work for your saur, I'm afraid.'
The camp became all haste and action. Fires were doused, tents hurriedly stowed. Ordoon's lightly armoured archers were the first away, trotting down the road to assist the lookouts. It would take them some time to climb the Fist, but they would be as safe as anywhere – at least until their arrows ran out.
Simangee brought up the Sleeto volunteers. Adalon explained what he wanted: for them to show him the best way to the heights overlooking where the road entered the valley.
Half an hour's scrambling brought them to a flat shelf of rock high above the valley. The Fist loomed an arrow's flight away across the gap where the road lay. Adalon waved at the brave lookouts who were perched high on the rounded dome of rock. He could make out the archers slowly climbing to join them, but guessed it would be an hour or more before they would arrive.
Adalon looked
down and to the west. He hissed. Far below, massing at the start of the upward climb, was the Army of Thraag.
It was huge, spreading back along the road, which mounted the slope in a series of long stages cutting back and forth across the flank of the mountain. The flags of the regiments, bright and colourful, fluttered over the marching ranks, while polished armour and weapons caught the sunlight. Adalon saw disarray at the rear, with the soldiers marching haphazardly, spreading out into the countryside. No doubt they were pillaging as they went, a sign of poor discipline. Further back, the baggage wagons and camp followers stretched into the distance.
It was daunting, ten thousand strong at least, an army to crush any foe. But the way it was marching said that the generals weren't expecting to meet resistance. Where were the outriders? The forward scouts? The skirmishers? A hard smile came to Adalon. They'd find that the road to Callibeen was not as simple as they'd thought.
He slapped his gauntlets together. 'Now the work begins,' he announced to his small band of saur. 'We need to assemble an arsenal of stone. Boulders and rocks will be our weapons. Spread out and bring what you can – the larger the better.'
Much sweat and cursing and many skinned knuckles later, Adalon heard a cry from across the gap. He straightened from rolling a barrel-sized boulder and saw one of the lookouts on the Fist. She was waving frantically. Adalon peered over the ledge and saw that the vanguard of the army was pausing halfway up the mountainside.
He looked for Ordoon's archers. They still hadn't reached the lookout position. He clicked his claws together. It wasn't good. He'd aimed to begin the barrage of stones and follow it with the archers' deadly work. But if he held off for much longer, the first ranks of the enemy could reach the entrance to the valley. Tactically, they'd never be in a better position than they were here, with the enemy trying to climb a steep path toward them.
Behind him, the mound of missiles grew as his band of saur laboured.
Simangee staggered up, holding one end of a long stone shaped like a coffin. She and the squat Plated One holding the other end dropped the stone onto the pile. Simangee straightened and rubbed her neck. Adalon caught her eye.
The Missing Kin Page 9