Perian stopped and raised a hand, pointing. Several paces away they saw a large pile of what appeared to be dung. Flies buzzed around it in a small cloud.
“Fresh,” the girl whispered. “It’s here!”
CHAPTER 31: A BREACH OF HONOR
Damicos brought his heavy cutting sword down on the horseman’s shoulder, hard enough to part the leather strap that cinched his breastplate tight around his upper torso, but not enough to break or wound the man’s collarbone. Felca responded by head-butting Damicos viciously in the face, knocking him back a pace.
The downward-pointed cheek guards protected Damicos’ skull from the battering motion of the Black Mane helmet of his enemy, but he was thrown back by his taller enemy.
And then the thing he’d feared happened. Damicos stepped hard on one of the half-buried stones and slipped, rolling his ankle and nearly shearing the sandal off his foot.
He fell back on his haunches, sword-hand coming down to brace himself and stay somewhat upright. He immediately began a mad scramble to gain distance and get his feet under him, but Felca leaped forward with a jubilant cry and brought his longer cavalry saber down at the infantry captain’s head.
Damicos rolled sideways just in time to avoid losing anything more than a small piece of his shoulder. Chiss Felca’s saber came down on empty sand only slightly bloodied, and Damicos kept rolling, leaving his sword behind for the moment.
His helmet came off as he twisted his body around on the sand. Ignoring it, he scissored his legs against the horseman’s shins, throwing the man forward onto the ground where he’d been.
Then he reached over and grabbed the black mane of Chiss’s helmet. Wrenching the man’s head back and eliciting a scream, he pounded a fist into the thigh he’d stabbed earlier.
“You are a dog, and you’ll die like one,” he grated.
Reaching over, he took up the rock he’d tripped on and used it to crush in the side of Chiss’s helmet. The flat banging sound rang over the suddenly-silent beach, and Damicos dropped the stone and got to his feet. He picked up his sword and turned, panting, to finish the fight.
Felca struggled to his knees, still holding his sword. But his eyes were wild, and he looked stunned.
Damicos advanced. Chiss swung frantically, his saber cutting the air in front of him with a whizzing sound. Damicos stepped back to avoid it, then bulled into the man, knocking him down on his back.
Straddling his opponent and pinning the man’s sword-arm to the ground with his legs, he brought his sword up and then down sharply, with both hands, right into Felca’s sternal notch. The place he’d hoped to pierce with his spear, just above the breastplate. A sword would do.
Blood was pouring down Damicos’ arm as he stood and turned toward the edge of the ring. It was all over the sand, too. And it was seeping rapidly out of the man he’d finally slain, who lay still behind him.
Damicos stooped, ignoring the cheers of his own men, and scooped up another of the rocks that had been buried in the sand to trip him up.
Telros wasn’t cheering, and Damicos meant to learn why not. He stood in front of the glowering baron and held the stone aloft.
“This is no surf-polished beach pebble,” he called out. “It came from the breakwater, over there, if I can guess by its color and shape. It was placed on my side of the ring before the fight.”
Telros pointed at the Baron Vocke, standing among his men with a stricken look on his weathered face.
“Vocke’s men chose and prepared the dueling area. Vocke’s men placed the stones!”
Vocke shook his head. “We did no such thing. And you had ample opportunity to check the ring yourselves prior to the combat—or to bury the rocks there yourselves.”
Telros screeched. “What cause would I have to bring down my own champion? Are you mad?”
“What treachery is this?” Vocke asked in turn, desperate to shout down the younger baron. “I seek only to find peace for my people now, and I am ready to surrender. Do not make this an occasion to destroy us further. My city is yours, my castle is yours. I ask mercy for the people and their homes, I ask quarter for my men and I. You are a baron of the king, and he will see justice done if you pursue this battle further than is warranted.”
But a strange look had come over Telros. His face grew nearly purple, and several of his men had drawn their swords now.
“You should have died on the battlefield, Vocke, but now I will see you all slaughtered. We will water the sands with your blood!”
Damicos threw the stone he was holding directly at Telros’ stomach. The blow knocked the wind out of the man, and Damicos stepped in close to grab the noble by the collar. His blood-soaked sword was still in his hand, and now it was near enough the man’s throat to give Telros’ followers pause.
“I think you had the stones buried there so that I would lose,” he shouted. “You drummed up this stupid war, but now it comes to it you don’t want a ruined port city. Now you make a show for all to watch, but you are a coward and a liar.”
He shook the man, and Telros bleated.
“I will not slay you because you are a baron,” Damicos declared, “and because I have no proof against you. But I swear if you do not pay me the reward this second and leave Vocke to go his way, my men and I will fall upon your forces and make an end of it all right here.”
It was a bluff, if he were to be completely honest. His men likely wouldn’t and couldn’t savage the baron’s forces, certainly not if the other mercenaries came down against him. But he was enraged enough that Telros believed it. The baron’s color changed from purple to yellow, and as Damicos released him he stepped back amid the safety of his officers.
Lorcos Longhand said nothing and made no move to intervene. By the bearded man’s face it was clear that he was as troubled by the apparent act of perfidy as Damicos was.
Telros breathed quickly, recovering some of his breath. “Pay him!” he squawked to Lorcos. “He won the duel, did he not? Pay the man, and get these mercenaries away from here. I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”
Lorcos nodded and took out a pouch of silver. Damicos held out a hand, and after the bearded man looked the infantry captain in the eyes for a long second, the coin purse was delivered.
Damicos held it up for all to see.
“Telros has paid the reward. Vocke has surrendered. Let no more blood be spilled here. We march away from here at dawn.”
There were plenty of mutters as he wearily picked up his fallen spear, kicking away the shattered remnant of Chiss’s lance, and delivered the fat coin sack to Leon for safekeeping. None of Telros’ men made any trouble, though, and Vocke’s retinue beat a hasty retreat up the beach toward their castle.
Cormoran and some of the other Tooth and Blade infantrymen slapped their commander on the back and offered words of high praise. But Damicos waved them off.
“Save it,” he said. “This is the end of a foul business. But it won’t bring back those eaten by worms, nor fill our coffers as much as we needed. Let’s go before these barons play any more tricks.”
“We ought to get on the road this very night,” Leon suggested in a whisper, looking over his shoulder at Telros and his men. They were in conference with some of the other mercenary captains.
Suddenly their voices rose.
“Always you talk of pay,” Telros spat at the man who confronted him. “And yet what have you done that I should pay you for? None of your men fought in this duel. It wasn’t your men who chased Vocke away from the field of battle.”
The man he argued with was Rovos, of the Red Lancers.
“If there is to be no pay, then we are finished here,” he said. “You are on your own, my lord baron.”
“I was ever on my own! Yonder city is a ruin now, and I can get nothing further from Vocke or his people, not with an open plea of surrender. What am I to do with it all? Your pay was eaten up by the worms, you fools!”
“Then may the worms have their way with you, Te
lros! Your honor is tainted.”
“Go!” shouted the noble. “And do not expect further hire from me. I have no more need of your slippery kind. In at the scent of gold and glory, out at the hint of danger.” He turned to his own men, gesticulating wildly at the mercenaries that were slowly backing away from the arena. “What worthless cowards are these!”
The captain of the Deep Shields, Hamon Tern, was right behind Rovos, shaking his fist. “This day won’t be forgotten, my lord. Mokar’s scales will tip against you in hell, and the dead will bear witness against you! Faithless dog!”
“Stay far from my lands, on pain of death. You are warned!”
The soldiers all took their own ways back to the encampment, staying in tight groups with weapons ready. They began to break camp immediately, unwilling to spend the night in close proximity to each other.
The tents were struck and the men on the move as the moon rose high overhead, lighting up the beach with a silvery glow. Damicos meant to camp a few miles from the rest of the armies, far enough from the stench of battle to find some rest. And far enough that if any further trouble took place between Telros and Vocke, he would not be involved.
Despite his victory in the duel and the honor it restored to Lord Jaimesh’s legacy, Damicos found himself in a black mood. The Tooth and Blade had shown itself strongly both in battle and in the single combat. Then why was he brooding?
The whole northern campaign, this business on hire for Lord Telros—it had all turned out to be a bad move. The cause was foolish; that was the first problem, one he should have seen at the start, when he was drinking with Pelekarr back in Dura. When Damicos was old and toothless, recounting tales of his past exploits to whoever would listen, he could hardly boast of the magnificent charge he’d led against fellow soldiers, in the name of a deceitful baron, which had been interrupted and made irrelevant by a swarm of horrific subterranean creatures.
Perhaps if they’d been paid in full, he wouldn’t feel so bad. But that was the second problem. He’d led men north on the promise of riches, and now they had only two hundred silver coins between them all.
And he’d let himself be fooled, played like a mindless peasant. Leaping at the chance to erase the stain of Chiss Felca from the land, he’d played into the conniving baron’s hands and nearly lost his life to cheap tricks.
“It all crumbles to dust,” he muttered. “Perhaps the gods will not grant us all that we thought we could attain.”
Leon looked over at him.
“Sir?”
Damicos frowned. “Is it all vain, Leon? This whole business with the company and making a stand in Ostora. Perhaps it’s a mistake.”
Leon eyed him sideways. “Captain, I feel low as well. Like there’s a cloud over us. But hark to this: you defeated Chiss Felca against unfair odds. There is that, and no man can take it from you, not even the scheming nobles.”
Damicos chuckled drily as he remembered what he’d done, right in the baron’s face. “Telros will think twice before crossing the Tooth and Blade again,” he admitted. “As will any that hear that tale.”
Suddenly a shout arose behind him, and he saw several of his men breaking from the marching line to dash off across the sandy ground toward a copse of red alders. They drew swords as they ran.
“What is it?” he asked. “The baron’s men?”
A reply came up the line from one of the sergeants a moment later.
“Not the baron. Men skulking in the trees, watching us. Cormoran says they’re barbarian tribesmen.”
The hoplites all faced the trees, aside from a few that the sergeants hastily ordered to watch the rear. It was hard to see what was going on by the trees, so Damicos just listened.
More shouts. The snapping of trampled branches as armored men rushed through the grove.
“Flush them out! This way!”
“How many are there?”
“Four. Five!”
Then came a high-pitched scream that ended in a long squeal, the dying groan of a man.
Was it one of his? Damicos clutched the sword at his side.
“Leon. Send in Third Troop. At the double. And Fourth Troop to stay at the tree line for backup. We’ll find out what this is.”
CHAPTER 32: VICTORY OR DEATH
Keltos tightened his grip on his lance as he followed Perian forward. The lance shaft was polished ash-wood, the bronze head almost a cubit in length. If the monster charged them and he was able to get the butt-end of his lance braced in the ground, he might be able to spit the behemoth as it came, like boar-hunting back home.
He shook his head. Even if he scored a direct hit, the creature was so large and would be moving with such momentum that he would be trampled and crushed immediately, whether or not the behemoth died afterwards. And his lance wasn’t nearly as sturdy as the heavy thrusting pole-arms of the infantrymen. He wondered if he could meet the charge with braced lance, then dive to one side just at the moment of impact. It almost certainly wouldn’t work, but nothing better came to mind.
Makos seemed to be having the same doubts; he was eyeing his own lance dubiously.
“Perhaps if we both stick the thing at the same time,” he suggested in a whisper to Makos. “We might be able to—”
The girl threw up a warning hand, and they all three froze.
For a long moment, all was still. A slight breeze moved through the upper treetops, but it did not reach the forest floor, and Keltos felt a trickle of sweat run down his temple. A pale yellow butterfly flitted past them and disappeared into the pines.
Both Keltos and Makos were experienced enough to remain motionless until told to move. They trusted the barbarian girl—had to trust her. Their lives hung on a pair of pretty ears and a strong, bony nose. She was a wood sprite, alone of the three able to decipher the myriad signals of the Ostoran wilderness. Motionless they watched. Only their eyes moved.
A beetle crawled down Keltos’ lance shaft. He watched it, and as he focused on the insect, his peripheral vision, blurred as it was, registered movement in the trees. Had he not been staring at the beetle, he might have dismissed it as a tree limb stirring in the breeze.
The beetle whirred its wings and was gone. A gift from the gods. My thanks, little friend.
Knowing where to look, he could now make out the huge shape in the trees just to their north. Shadowed, screened by many slim evergreen trunks, many long needles. But definitely there, a vast bulk that could be only one thing.
Had the others seen yet? It was too close to risk speech. He tried to catch Perian’s eye without moving or making a sound.
The breeze came again, this time lower, and as it stirred the edge of the trees along the rocky hill it brought a scent. Musky-strong and unmistakably living, it was the smell of fur matted with mud. Keltos saw the girl stiffen and knew she’d caught the scent. Makos, too. Kel slowly pointed with one outstretched finger at the spot in the trees just off the knoll where the huge body rested, heaving slowly with each monstrous breath. Was it watching them even now, waiting for them to get a few steps closer before it pounced?
They’d found their quarry, but they couldn’t move a muscle or they risked triggering a charge. At this distance it could reach them in an instant and rip them apart before they could even shout a warning.
Perian waited until the breeze came again and watched it rustle its way across the clearing, stirring the fallen needles on the rock whereon they stood. When it reached the three she turned her head with a little shake, like a leaf in the wind, her golden hair fluttering and then hanging still as before, just as the breeze stopped. Now her head was craned around, facing the two troopers behind her, and Keltos marveled at her woodcraft. An animal, watching for unnatural movement, would have seen nothing amiss.
The girl flicked her eyes back across her shoulder—once, twice.
Keltos nodded nearly imperceptibly, and Makos mimicked him.
The girl turned her gaze to their lances, then she shook her head with excruciating sl
owness, warning them against using their weapons. It was one thing to lance a behemoth while riding full-tilt at it, quite another to run at the thing with only their own strength to drive the point home. Their lives hung on the difference.
Keltos hoped Makos understood; he was slightly behind his friend and couldn’t see his face. The girl then stared fixedly across the rocky shelf at a large tree. Keltos and Makos, unmoving, strained their eyes to follow hers.
It was a giant conifer, trunk so big around that Keltos doubted whether any four troopers in the company could encompass it by holding hands. There were no branches anywhere close to the ground, so climbing it was out of the question. But Keltos understood. The tree’s size, bespeaking a deep and powerful root system, was the only thing nearby strong enough to stop the behemoth if it charged them as they tried to leave the low ridge.
Perian waited for another breeze. When it came she slowly sank to the ground and began creeping backwards off the ridge, motioning the others to do the same. Keltos made to follow, but found it much harder to match her movements while holding a long lance and keeping his armor from scraping on the rock.
Suddenly his sandal slipped on the loose pine needles and he fell to one knee, his bronze leg greave clanking loudly on the granite.
At the sound, Perian threw caution to the winds and darted toward the tree. Keltos and Makos lunged after her.
The trees erupted. Jagged shards of shattered pine, bright yellow in the sun and reeking of sap, hummed through the air. In their midst, knocking them out of the way even as they spun and whistled, came a moving wall of gray hide. There was a hoarse huffing sound as the wall rippled towards them with unbelievable speed. Kel, looking over his shoulder, realized they were two or three seconds from obliteration. The thing had indeed seen them, and now it wanted vengeance.
The three humans threw themselves down the ridge slope. Perian gained the giant tree, moving so fast she had to grip the bark on the trunk to keep herself from whipping on past. Keltos knew he couldn’t stop that way, not with one hand still gripping his lance, so he aimed for the tree itself and smashed into it, breaking his desperate sprint with a loud grunt and then scrabbling quickly around to the safety of the tree trunk’s bulk.
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