Indomitus Oriens (The Fovean Chronicles)

by Robert Brady

  “Being a good archer isn’t hitting a target,” Xinto said, and grunted as he cocked his pistol again. The dart seated with a click.

  “Anyone can hit a target. Being a good archer is shooting where the target is going to be. That’s hard—because you have to understand what you’re shooting at, and you have to be right.”

  “That must be Xinto’s philosophy on life,” Raven said, grinning.

  Xinto turned to look up into her eyes. “No, daughter of Men” he said. “My philosophy is, ‘Don’t be a good target.’”

  They were close enough to see the gray in Nina’s eyes, about forty feet away, when Nina held a hand up and Raven reined her mount in. To her left and right the men kept moving until they formed three corners of a triangle with the Wolf Soldiers and Nina at their center.

  “The Emperor misses you,” Nina called out to them.

  “Well then, by all means, bring us to him,” Xinto said, standing on the saddle.

  Raven turned slightly to keep the little man’s butt from right in front of her face, and to see what was going on.

  “I didn’t think you would be so cooperative,” Nina said. “Dismount and we can begin the journey back to Galnesh Eldador.”

  “I think we will stay mounted,” Xinto called back. “Scitai have such difficulty staying out from under the feet of Men. However, you begin the journey, and we will be right behind you.”

  “I am afraid I cannot accept your terms, Xinto,” Nina said. Raven saw the leering grin on her face now. She wanted this fight.

  Jerod must have as well because he kicked his mount into motion and approached the Wolf Soldier guard from the side opposite Nina.

  One of them, a Man with three scars on his face a lot like Jerod’s, turned to his right for just a moment, saw Jerod, then turned back, only to whip his head around again in double-take, his mouth open. He stood in the middle with the swordsmen. He closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes, then turned to Nina.

  He said something to her, she turned and snarled something back. He said something similar, his tone more insistent, and Nina looked past him to Jerod.

  “I don’t know you,” she said to Jerod.

  “That’s right,” he said. He turned his head and spat on the ground, then turned back to her.

  “You don’t.”

  “You don’t want to be between me and—”

  “Save it.”

  Nina’s eyes narrowed.

  “You’ve heard him use that expression before, haven’t you?” Jerod said. “You know he says that, and ‘skip it.’”

  The Wolf Soldiers had already begun to waver, turning their heads, lowering their weapons slightly. Jahunga and three Toorians approached quietly from the right, behind Nina and her distracted, single squad.

  She said something too soft for Raven to hear. She could see Xinto strained for it, too. She wanted to urge her mount closer, but she didn’t want to spoil what Jahunga and Jerod were doing, whatever that might be.

  “Who or what does he want her to save?” Xinto asked her without turning.

  “What?”

  “He told her to save something,” he said.

  Raven shook her head despite herself. “No, it’s an expression,” she said. “Like, ‘never mind.’ It means not to continue talking about something, to save your breath.”

  This time he did turn to face her.

  “How do you know that?” he asked, his brown eyes finding hers.

  “I say it all the time,” Raven said. “Everyone does.”

  “Everyone, at this place you are from,” Xinto said. “This place where you and Jack and Lupus come from.”

  “Yes.”

  “So,” Xinto asked her, and she saw a grin bristling his beard, “how do you suppose our Jerod knows it?”

  * * *

  The spring wind caught Glynn’s hair in its chill grip, running its fingers across her dainty skin like some depraved old man, even through the thick cotton travel dress she wore. Atop her mount, still sitting a proper side-saddle, she kept her posture straight, her hands in her lap, the reins to her mount held in them, and looked to the West, to Thera, and the setting sun.

  For three days they’d stayed off the road, and this had slowed them. Zarshar had run regular reconnaissance and told them he’d seen many patrols, some with dogs, clearly looking for them, as well as companies of Eldadorian Regulars, the cavalry and foot soldiers of the Empire.

  For eight years, when the Emperor had sought to expand or express his power, he had used Wolf Soldiers. They were the most feared troops on known Fovea, having defeated many times their number in enemy warriors.

  Eldadorian Regulars were simply clean up, maintenance, border guards. Even as their ranks swelled, the Emperor had demonstrated no respect or even any real interest in them, leaving them to his Dukes, his Barons, his Counts and Earls.

  But now they marched to Thera, and now that she could see the outlying villages surrounding the historic port—the first duchy on the Conqueror’s road to empire—it became clear they marched here.

  “There must be thousands of them,” Zarshar informed her. It wasn’t common for the Devil to be so plainly surprised.

  “Tens of thousands,” Jack added, astride Little Storm. Their campfires had begun popping up across the plain at night. They were in their jess doonari, the little cities on the plains from which they could either fight or project their positions. At the infamous ‘Battle of Tamaran Glen,’ as few as 200 had defended themselves against thousands.

  Eldadorian Regulars with Wolf Soldier training, perhaps? Tens of thousands capable of defeating hundreds of thousands?

  Glynn hated to admit it to herself, but Angron Aurelias had been vastly mistaken in his decision to turn over everything they knew to the Emperor. It had clearly inspired him to mobilize, and to ready Eldador for war.

  “This must have taken years to assemble,” Zarshar informed them, still taken back by what he saw. “He must have planned this, even before he became a king, much less an emperor.”

  Jack shook his head. Glynn noticed him from the corner of her eye, the blank expression followed by the anger.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  Jack turned to her slowly, as if he had to peel his attention away from the collected warriors. As if looking away were painful.

  “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “Well, not seen it—heard of it. Someone who did something like this before.”

  Now he had Zarshar’s attention, too.

  “And?” the Swamp Devil asked him.

  “And if Lupus is emulating him,” Jack said, “then we really have a lot to worry about.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four:

  It Begins

  Nina of the Aschire had never really gotten her mind around the concept of what made Wolf Soldiers any better than any other kind of soldiers, other than the simple fact—they were.

  She knew they wouldn’t survive an hour among her Aschire, no matter their numbers. The Aschire would pincushion them before they could have their precious shields up, or their pikes out, or whatever else they did.

  Except the Aschire loved Lupus as they did the very forest, and wouldn’t raise a hand against him. In that, the Wolf Soldiers could in fact walk through Aschire unmolested, if unwelcome.

  Now she had a troop of these ‘invincible warriors,’ and here they were telling her they couldn’t fight.

  “You can do whatever I tell you,” she told their sergeant. “Or you will be dead, and the one who replaces you will do it.”

  Their sergeant looked her right in the eye, his expression flat. The three scars on his cheek, the Mark of the Conqueror, made him look slightly crazed. Nina had never seen a Wolf Soldier so highly decorated, who didn’t command at least 100.

  “You weren’t at the battle,” he told her, “but I was. I recognize him and neither I nor any among us will lift a sword against him. Not on your order.”

  “You have a real problem,” the Volkhydran informed her
from his horse, a half-grin on his scarred face.

  “I can deal with you,” she told him, and reached within herself, finding her power as Shela had shown her.

  Her mind took on the spontaneous calm that came with years of training; the calm of an experienced sorceress, capturing the moment, embodying the thing, calling what she needed.

  In this case, she sought the fire—she would eradicate this Volkhydran in flame.

  “’Ware, Nina,” the Wolf Soldier sergeant told her. They remained in their formation, and would do so until she ordered them otherwise. Nina allowed the smallest portion of her attention to waver, and became aware of more than saw Raven’s mount, bearing Raven and Xinto, pounding the plain directly toward her.

  “Protect me,” she ordered them. That order didn’t bother them. Raven and Xinto meant nothing to the Wolf Soldiers, other than another enemy to kill.

  Her mind saw the flame, felt its power, knew its heat. She called forth the element of flame, and in her mind’s eye she saw fire, cupped it in her unburned hand, willed it like a living thing from the source of its being to the place where she wanted it to be.

  The Wolf Soldier squad moved as one being, picking up on the left foot, marching from between her and the Volkhydran to between her and Raven, in three smart steps, their pikes lowered threateningly. If Raven made it through that, it would be flying from the back of a dead horse.

  She made herself the conduit between the place where she stood and the home of flame, and she willed the energy transfer, exhilarated by its power. Balled fire blossomed in her hand, a living rosebud, hungry to return from whence it had come.

  She reached her hand back over her shoulder; she saw her target, seated on his warhorse, smiling at her with his arms folded over his breast.

  She had time to think, “Why would he be doing that?” before the dark green blur from the plains grass knocked her from her feet.

  * * *

  The Man was becoming irritating, and Zarshar prided himself on being dangerous to irritate.

  They had needed to take a wide route around Thera in order to avoid the Emperor’s troops and his outlying patrols. Easier said than done on wide Theran plains, where one could be seen for a daheer or more, and where the noise from the horses carried at least as far.

  He tolerated the horses—without them, the Uman-Chi and the Man would slow his pace considerably. Zarshar had no desire to spend any more time with these creatures than he had to.

  The horse’s speed became useless if it took them to an Eldadorian dungeon and, although Zarshar could handle ten times his number in Eldadorian soldiers, he couldn’t beat them all, neither did he want to suffer the whim of an Emperor notorious for his effective methods of torture.

  “Stop,” the Man commanded them.

  Zarshar caught himself as he obeyed. He hadn’t expected that tone of command from this one. He’s never made it a practice to follow anyone else’s leadership. He hesitated, and that gave him the moment to see what he should have detected before the Man had.

  A dog, on a hill a tenth of a daheer before them, stood looking right at them, wagging its tail.

  “It’s seen us,” he informed them unnecessarily. He flexed his talons. He’d catch the beast in a sprint, but not with too much of a head start on him. Four legs still moved faster than two.

  “Don’t frighten it,” Jack warned him.

  Glynn regarded him from her sidesaddle. “You can’t think to want it, Sirrah,” she said.

  Jack dismounted. The dog’s ears lowered and its tail dropped. Zarshar recognized the signs of an animal ready to run, probably to the patrol it served.

  Zarshar suddenly realized it hadn’t bayed. The Confluni employed dogs along their borders and, when they either saw or scented a stranger, they howled to bring troops.

  Jack seemed focused on the animal. “Is that a common dog here?” he asked them.

  Zarshar turned his head to Glynn, just slightly above his eye level in her saddle. He recognized that look that Uman-Chi wore—as if it actually pained her to have to tolerate the company of inferiors, but they were trying to hide the pain.

  Zarshar would show her real pain when this was done.

  “Sirrah, what would constitute a common dog?” Glynn asked.

  Jack sighed. “Have you seen that breed before?” he asked her.

  She closed her eyes. So stupid, Zarshar thought. It was a dog, and Zarshar meant to kill it before it drew other dogs. He took a step forward and the Man actually dared to place a hand on his hip.

  “You go too far,” Zarshar warned him, turning his head to meet the Man’s eyes.

  Most Men would look away—not this one. Jack didn’t look away from Zarshar because his eyes had never left the dog at all. Zarshar hunted his mind for a way to call this an attack, in order to finally turn on these two and be free of them.

  Glynn recognized the situation and, like a good princess, stepped in to defuse it. Placing a delicate finger on Jack’s shoulder, she said, “If you would unhand the Black Adept, Sirrah, then yes, I’ve seen such dogs in Conflu, however not so large, nor so wrinkled.”

  Jack removed his hand from Zarshar and took a step forward, lowering himself to one knee. The dog ducked his head and took a few cautious steps toward them.

  This was progress. If Jack could lure the thing in, then Zarshar could have its head off and make a meal of it.

  “That’s a mastiff,” Jack told them. Zarshar didn’t recognize the word. “We have them on my—where I am from.”

  “Sirrah, I saw no such beast—”

  “Shh!” he commanded her. Zarshar grinned wickedly at the look of shock on her face. No Uman-Chi wanted to believe the rest of the races didn’t hang on their words.

  Jack snapped his finger, and the dog ran right to him. As it drew nearer, Zarshar noted it was, in fact, a good deal heavier than other dogs he had seen—perhaps the weight of a grown Man. Its skin hung loose in dewlaps—as an aurochs might have, or a very old Man. Its gray coat flashed almost blue in the sun.

  It bore its heavy teeth plainly, with a wicked under bite and pronounced canine fangs. Saliva ran freely from its lips, forming liquid ropes at its jaw line. Zarshar wondered at that until he realized the lip had evolved to stay clear of the teeth when it attacked.

  The creature’s eyes struck the devil as it drew closer. Neither kind nor cruel, it took them all in, focused mostly on Jack. Zarshar had killed smaller animals his whole life, and had learned to read them, but this one had the look of a beast that would as quickly tear the Man’s throat out as lick his hand.

  The former would solve many of Zarshar’s problems.

  It ran to Jack and lay at his feet, looking up at him. Jack reached his hand down before it, far too close to those slavering teeth, and let it smell his fingers, then rubbed its head until its tail wagged.

  “You can’t think to retain the creature?” Glynn asked him. Zarshar planned to kill it, no matter what the Man wanted.

  “We need to keep this dog and see how it was trained,” Jack informed them. He looked up into the Devil’s eyes. Zarshar had already decided where to take the head to pull it off cleanly.

  “Where I am from, these dogs were used in war in different ways,” he said. “And the Emperor has gone to a lot of trouble to recreate them here. If you just kill it like you’re planning to do, we won’t know what they’re for, and we’ll give up a tactical advantage.

  That gave Zarshar pause. If the Emperor’s plans depended on some new breed of dog, then they should know of it.

  “Sirrah, such beasts are used for guarding—clearly this one is lost form a patrol,” Glynn informed them.

  “No,” Zarshar said. “It didn’t howl, and it didn’t attack us. A patrol dog is trained to let its master know when it sees something like us. This one is trained to be quiet, and it doesn’t attack on sight.”

  He squatted down beside the Man, now vigorously rubbing the animal’s belly. It had eight teats, all oversized, marking it as
female. It hadn’t had a litter yet—it might not even be full-grown.

  He held his claw out for the animal to smell. It playfully took his forefinger in its mouth, its tail thumping the ground. It surprised Zarshar with a jaw strength that might have broken a Man’s arm.

  “If it betrays us,” Zarshar informed Jack, “I’m going to gut it and leave you behind, old Man, to satisfy whoever follows us. But you have me wanting to know what the Emperor is doing with this thing.”

  Jack grinned to himself, his eyes focused on the dog. It would have been better if it had bitten the old man, Zarshar thought.

  * * *

  Raven could keep her seat when the horse plodded on, and with a little more difficulty when it trotted. She knew to keep her head up, her back straight, and her heels down as she rode.

  On a dead run the mare bounced her like a doll on its back, and in a few moments Raven’s feet had come out of the stirrups and she clung to the saddle horn. A warhorse ran completely differently than the Andaran horses she’d learned on, used to a heavier rider, built to sprint and charge.

  She yanked on the reins when the Wolf Soldier squad marched between her and her target. That turned the horse toward Jahunga and threw Xinto from the saddle in front of her. She reached for him and without thinking pulled the reins to the other side, sending the mare racing for Jerod and leaving herself tilting halfway from her seat.

  The Wolf Soldiers did a smart job of keeping themselves between Raven and Nina, which is how they missed Slurn entirely.

  Raven hauled herself back into the saddle in time to see Slurn leap from the scrub where he had been invisible, into a clinch with Nina. At the same time Jahunga and his spearmen leapt from one side, Jerod and the two Toorians with him charged in from the other, and the Wolf Soldiers were caught between.

  The Wolf Soldiers back-pedaled, trying both to keep the two opposing forces in front of them while protecting Nina, their sergeant shouting commands from their midsts. Jahunga cut behind them, moving for the shieldless pikemen. Seeing this, Jerod cut in front, trying to prevent the squad from turning.