The Missing Kin

by Michael Pryor

  'It may be time to try your illusion potions,' he said to her.

  'If that means I don't have to lift any more rocks, I agree wholeheartedly.'

  She rummaged in her pack and pulled out a bottle the size of her thumb. It had a gold cap. She handed it to Adalon and he stifled a grimace.

  She snorted – a pure musical tone. 'You're going to have to overcome this dislike of magic. We're living with it every day now.'

  He knew she was right. His attitude was foolish, but his distaste was real. He simply didn't trust magic. It was slippery, sly, apt to turn and bite when least expected.

  Use it, but be careful, he told himself and he flung the bottle over the edge.

  It fell, glinting in the sunlight. Adalon and Simangee leaned out as far as they felt safe and watched. Adalon held his breath.

  A cloud of colour erupted right at the head of the marching column. The neat ranks recoiled and stumbled as apparitions sprang up in front of them: twisted, long-limbed terrors, moaning and wailing, which stretched up until they towered over the panicking troops. But the illusions didn't last long. The wind from the heights tugged at them, tearing great holes in their flimsy substance before they were whisked away entirely. Bellows and oaths from the sergeants soon had the soldiers back in formation, and the army pushed on.

  Adalon grimaced at Simangee. 'I hope there's something more successful in the other bottles.'

  He was disappointed. The remaining potion bottles burst to shower the advancing army with flowers, buttons, a flock of bright, squawking birds and, finally, a school of startled fish. This at least surprised the front rank enough to cause a snarl in the advancing column, but it wasn't the sort of effect Adalon had been hoping for.

  'I'm sorry,' Simangee said.

  'It's not your fault.' He sighed. 'It's time for the boulders.'

  Adalon's heart was heavy as he heaved the first rock over the edge, then followed it quickly with another. He wished that the boulders would only strike the warmongers, the generals who loved strife and conflict, but he knew that was not possible. The boulders were effective, but they weren't fussy. They cut swathes through the column, knocking the soldiers off the road and down the steep, tree-covered slopes. Some soldiers tried to move backwards but the press of the advancing troops made it impossible.

  Sickened by the task, Adalon ordered boulder after boulder be brought to the edge and hurled onto the unfortunate troops. It became a deadly routine. Drag, move, make sure of position and then push. No time to see the impact or the damage caused – line up the next.

  Cracked screams rose, buoyed by clamour and confusion. The Army of Thraag finally understood it was under attack. Adalon saw a flag crumple and fall, but it was up again in an instant as the standard bearer was replaced.

  He looked over to the Fist. The archers had arrived and flights of arrows began to rain down on the hapless Thraag soldiers. Adalon was bleakly surprised that they didn't move into a turtle formation with shields held over their heads. It reinforced his feeling that the Queen's Army was poorly trained and led.

  Adalon dropped to hands and knees and stared at the mayhem. Go home, he thought, turn around and go home.

  The barrage continued but the massive army pushed ahead, leaving the dead, wounded and suffering on both sides of the road.

  'We'd have to have a hundred thousand rocks to stop them,' Simangee said, joining him and peering over the edge.

  'We must slow them down. We need to give our allies time to arrive.' He looked eastwards, searching for a signal.

  'And if they don't arrive?'

  'We fight. Fight and fall back, do what we can, hope.'

  'For what?'

  Adalon stood and sighed. 'For something to happen.'

  It was just after noon when the final rock was rolled to the edge and dropped onto the enemy. The arrows had been exhausted an hour earlier and the archers had retreated to the valley.

  Adalon gathered his small band. They had failed to halt the advance of the enemy, and they looked miserable. 'You've done well,' he said to them. 'I couldn't have asked for better soldiers.'

  They stood taller. Although begrimed and scratched, they deserved to be proud of their work. 'We join the others,' Adalon said.

  On the valley floor, Adalon found Ordoon had formed the Callibeen force into ranks where the gap opened into the valley. There was no other way in, no paths that would bring the Thraag Army around the rear, no positions that would allow Thraag archers to rain arrows on the Callibeen defenders. The enemy had to cut through the Callibeen troops to enter the valley. It was to be hand-to-hand fighting.

  The Callibeen force was quiet, waiting. Long pikes in the front ranks, swordsaur ready behind them. They stretched right across the road, ready to plug the gap between the sheer rock walls, twenty saur to a rank, forty rows deep, with a hundred kept in reserve.

  After conferring with Ordoon, Adalon joined the troops he'd brought from the Lost Castle. They had taken up their pikes and were fidgeting, wondering about their role in the defence. He ordered them to fall back to the far side of the river, ready to act as light troops, harrying and skirmishing.

  Once they'd crossed the little bridge they ate. Adalon sat with his back to a large rock and wondered when they'd find time for food again. The river, deep and strong, rushed over rocks and hurried on its way toward the eastern end of the tiny valley. Here lay the cleft in the surrounding mountains where the road wound down toward Callibeen. The village of Sleeto had once stood there, where the river and the road began their descent.

  Suddenly, a roar went up from the west. Adalon rose to his feet. The noise was like a vast animal and it echoed from the rock walls of the gap. It was made by thousands of saur giving voice – defiance, oaths, promises of mayhem. Coming from the cliffs and rolling into the valley, it was the voice of war. Soon the sounds of steel on steel joined the din.

  The Callibeen force held for a time, but the numbers were too uneven for hope of victory. Slowly, they were cut down and pushed back, inch by inch, striving to stand but being overwhelmed, despite their courage. They took a toll on the enemy, but Adalon knew that for every Thraag saur who fell, another ten were pushed into his place.

  He gazed at the milling chaos, the boiling mass of saur filling the gap, and made a decision. 'Take the company back to the burned-out village,' he snapped to Simangee. 'We may have to make our last stand there.'

  He swung into the saddle of his riding beast and galloped along the road toward the fighting. He could see the devastation being wrought by the Thraag troops as they thrust forward. Half the Callibeen soldiers had fallen in minutes.

  He raced to the rear of the Callibeen defenders. He sought for the standard of Ordoon but could not find it. 'Fall back!' he cried. 'Fall back!'

  The hindmost soldiers heard. They showed their discipline, for which Adalon was glad, and didn't break and run. They kept formation, wheeling and marching, allowing the ranks further to the front to move slowly backwards.

  Adalon rose in his stirrups, scanning the melee. With dismay, he saw the enemy was continuing to pour into the western end of the gap. 'To the rear!' he shouted.

  As the Callibeen troops fell back, Adalon felt his anger rising. It was wrong, giving way in the face of the enemy. The way to victory was to advance, sweeping through a larger foe with the strength that comes from valour. Voices urged him on, insisting that glory was for the brave, that triumph was waiting to be plucked.

  He narrowed his eyes and hissed. No, he thought, I won't be tricked again. He rejected the A'ak whisperings with disgust.

  He took his steed to one side of the road to allow the retreat to go unimpeded. But the Callibeen troops were growing ragged. Wounded soldiers staggered from the gap and eventually a few soldiers began running. That was all it took. Panic spread through the Callibeen troops, pricking them with terror. A roar went up from the enemy and they began to pursue.

  Adalon urged his steed forward. With a clash of brass hoofs, it canter
ed toward the Thraag troops who were emerging from the narrows.

  'Adalon!' The cry made him turn in his saddle. Targesh and his High Battilon riders were racing to join him. He bared his teeth and drew his sword, which glittered like blue fire. He hurtled at the Thraag line, crashing into them like a thunderbolt. Reaching the other side he wheeled and galloped back to join Targesh and his force.

  'We ride!' Targesh bellowed.

  The Thraag troops had not been expecting cavalry. Seeing the blue and green armour of the cavalry leaders, they quailed. Some dropped their weapons and tried to press back into the gap but were pushed out by the bulk of the army coming the other way.

  Adalon glanced over his shoulder and saw that the Sleeto company had disobeyed orders. Instead of retreating to the burned-out village at the eastern end of the valley, they were helping wounded retreat along the road. He smiled grimly. These were the sort of troops he wanted, not mindlessly following orders, but using their brains and doing the right thing instead.

  But more time was needed if the Callibeen survivors were to make it across the bridge. He wheeled again, trying to keep momentum and surprise in his favour.

  A red flash hurtled along the road in his direction as he slammed his tail against the jaw of a foolishly brave Clawed One who'd tried to grab the bridle. Simangee, in her ruby armour, joined them, scattering the Thraag soldiers.

  The three friends clad in their bright metal armour met for a moment. Then they sprang to lead the High Battilon riders against the vast Thraag army that was still surging into the valley.

  Again and again the riders turned and assailed the enemy, but despite the magic of the A'ak armour and weapons, they were outnumbered. Gradually more and more Thraag soldiers pushed out of the gap, regrouping into formation under the harsh orders of their sergeants. Adalon pulled up his steed for a moment and stood in his stirrups, staring back toward the entrance to the valley. He cursed when he saw no end to the troops.

  He risked a glance eastward. 'Simangee! Targesh!' he called. 'The wounded have crossed the bridge.'

  As one, they rounded and galloped up the road, taking the High Battilon riders with them. Adalon's mind raced, thinking what to do next. He was grateful that none of the riders had been lost in their desperate defence.

  The bridge loomed and he saw that much of it had already been torn down. A single, narrow span remained. Burly saur with axes were waiting for them to cross. The river was a torrent – young, just born from the springs and meltwater of the mountains. It was wild, deep in places, but barely twenty paces across. He couldn't see that it would stop the enemy for long, but it was the best defensive position in the valley.

  They raced over the remains of the bridge, brass hoofs crashing on the timber. Once on the other side, Adalon leaped from the saddle. 'Now!' he shouted.

  The saur went to work, swinging wildly, and the beams soon splintered. With a groan and crash, the bridge fell and the timbers were swept away by the waters.

  'Here we make our stand,' Simangee said.

  Hoolgar broke off from tending the wounded and approached. He gazed toward the enemy. The commanders had reasserted control and the ranks were reforming in their terrifying strength. 'We must hold them.'

  'We have allies,' Adalon said with a confidence he didn't feel. 'Reinforcements should be with us soon.'

  Hoolgar burbled a few sombre notes. 'I know some healing arts. Where would be the best place to set up a field hospital to tend to the wounded?'

  Hoolgar's simple, helpful request made Adalon clench his jaw, hard. It emphasised that on this day saur would be hurt. Saur would die. How Adalon managed himself and his forces would make a difference to the numbers, but it would not change the fact that death would stalk Sleeto Pass this day.

  For a moment, he felt crushed by the responsibility. Then he straightened. His father had led saur into battle. He had spoken little of it, only to say that he did the best he could.

  Adalon promised that he would try to do the same.

  Nineteen

  At that moment a ball of flame the size of a house erupted from the road, swallowing dozens of Thraag soldiers. Adalon glanced at Simangee. 'Your work?'

  'I managed to bury a fire potion in the road,' she said. 'There are two more.'

  'They will be more careful,' Hoolgar said. 'They'll march off the road and be alert.'

  'I hope they will. I put the others to either side of the road.'

  Simangee's clever plan worked. Two more fireballs bit chunks from the advancing army, but the holes in the ranks were soon filled by soldiers from the rear.

  'They're like ants,' Simangee murmured.

  Hoolgar whistled a short, sad tune. 'We are facing a vast foe. Fear will be at work in our troops. I suggest that we do what we can to lift their spirits.'

  Adalon walked among his warriors, hoping to rally them. The Callibeen soldiers were grateful for the bravery of the riders. They knew they would have been cut down long before they reached the river if not for them. They confirmed that Ordoon had been lost, fighting in the thickest of the fray. They seemed to accept without question that Adalon was now their leader. In their eyes, his bravery more than outweighed his youth.

  He kept moving, offering words of comfort to the wounded and uncertain, organising them into small units of four or five saur each. As much as possible he included one of the Sleeto soldiers in each company. If all looked lost, their orders were to scatter to the caves around the edge of the valley and to harry the rear and the flanks of the Thraag Army. Under no circumstances were they to engage at close quarters. Throw stones, dig pits, use snares, attack the baggage train, use local wiles and knowledge to strike and slip away.

  Targesh ordered the riders to do the same – harass, don't get trapped into close combat.

  Adalon knew that it wasn't victory he was seeking, it was time. Time for his allies to appear.

  He saw Simangee's ruby armour as she moved from one saur to another, rallying spirits through her example. 'Sim!' he called. She looked up from exchanging a joke with a young spearsaur and jogged to join him.

  'They're scared, Adalon,' she reported. 'Which is sensible. What's remarkable is that they still want to fight.'

  Adalon didn't want to fight, but he knew they needed to. 'I think it's time for the three warriors to ride.'

  Simangee's face was solemn. 'It's come to this?'

  'We can keep 'em from crossing,' Targesh said. 'We'll stop 'em.'

  Adalon gripped Simangee's shoulder, and Targesh's upper arm. 'For the land's sake.'

  With Targesh and Simangee at his side, he urged his steed to the bank of the river and waited for the might of Thraag. The white water foamed and rushed, making for a challenging crossing but not an impossible one. If Adalon were in charge of the Thraag force, he'd order the soldiers to link arms and form chains across the river, with the foremost taking ropes to be anchored on the other side. Once anchored, the rest of the Thraag soldiers could use the ropes to cling to while they crossed.

  So, Adalon thought, all we need to do is to stop the ropes.

  The enemy was slow and deliberate in approaching the river. On command, they stopped when they neared the bank. A company of crossbow saur stepped forward. At a trumpet blast, they let their arrows fly at Adalon, Simangee and Targesh, unmissable figures mounted on brass riding beasts.

  Adalon was grimly pleased at the consternation that went up when the arrows bounced off his armour and the plates of his riding beast. Simangee sang a jaunty song. Targesh held up his emerald green shield to protect his bare head, and bellowed laughter at the puny attack. The crossbow saur tried another volley but when that was unsuccessful they were ordered to rejoin the ranks.

  Two score or more columns of lightly armoured saur trotted forward. Their intent was clear: cross the river and secure ropes. Some would fail, but just one successful crossing was necessary, then the others could follow in numbers.

  'I love a challenge,' Targesh rumbled.

  Ad
alon spurred his steed forward to repel the sortie.

  He rode like a mad thing, galloping along the uneven riverbank, crashing through reeds, splashing through shallows, leaping stones and driftwood. Whenever a soldier managed to stagger to the bank, Adalon slashed and drove him back. Many were swept away by the torrent, tossed and tumbled by the white water until they were able to drag themselves to shore.

  Targesh rode and swung his axe as if he were lopping wood. The Thraag soldiers flung themselves away from his deadly passage, shouting in dismay.

  Simangee used a short, stabbing spear, and it was a blur in her hands. Any saur quick enough to avoid her thrust found himself flattened by a whirl of the spear butt.

  The three friends kept the Thraag soldiers at bay for what seemed like an eternity, but the enemy continued to swarm into the river in their hundreds, then thousands. Every time a soldier was beaten back, three more took his place. Adalon galloped like the wind, but he felt as if he were being swamped by the river itself.

  And all the time, in the middle of the desperate business of thrusting, defending, battering, Adalon had to devote some of his energy to resisting the call of the A'ak. His sword and armour muttered to him, tempting him to surrender to the blood rage that would make him an unbeatable warrior. He refused to be taken by the call and instead fought with a cold determination, saving his strength as much as he could.

  He slashed at a gaunt Billed One, who squawked and stumbled backwards, knocking over three of her comrades. They were dragged away by the white water. Adalon eased his steed up the bank and surveyed the scene, taking a moment to draw breath. Endless waves of soldiers were making their way across and his heart sank. Then he saw that Targesh and Simangee were dealing with a band of doughty fighters who'd managed to haul pikes across the river, and Adalon knew he should help.

  It was then that half a dozen of the wading soldiers disappeared. Adalon blinked. They'd simply vanished, as if they'd all stepped into a deep hole at the same time.