The Sword of Midras

by Tracy Hickman

  The general scowled at the mention of the name.

  “Captain Bennis sent a message out this morning with one of their legion’s squires saying that they would be evacuating the city today,” Halik continued. “He said they would leave by this gate.”

  “You needn’t look so worried, Halik,” General Karpasic sneered. “I gave that Obsidian sorcerer my word that none of them would be harmed and that your friend the traitor captain could lead them back to Hilt.”

  “Begging your pardon, General,” Halik said, his eyes fixed on his commander. “Are those your intentions?”

  The general looked sideways at Halik. “Why do you ask?”

  “You have occasionally interpreted your orders from the Obsidians with broad latitude,” replied Halik carefully.

  “Indeed I have.” Karpasic chuckled as he turned to look again upon the North Gate. “However, in this particular case, I am in complete agreement with that sniveling sorcerer Evard. The longer these people believe they are being led to freedom, the easier it will be to deliver them into the hands of the Obsidians, and the sooner they may be reshaped into the creatures that will swell the ranks of my army. I am, as you can readily see, the most obedient servant in the Obsidian Cause, especially on those occasions when their purposes suit my own.”

  “Then we are to let them pass unhindered,” said Halik.

  “Hardly,” Karpasic said, setting his jaw firmly against the thought. “The arrangement is that the citizens may leave the city with their pitiful personal possessions and nothing more. They are to leave all their weaponry behind and, more important, all their coins, gold, gems, jewels, and riches of the city. That is why your men are here, Halik. I want everyone and everything coming out of the city inspected and searched. Every wagon, every cart, every chest, barrel, and bag. Every man, woman, and child is to have every pocket turned out and every fold cloth examined, prodded, and pinched. Not so much as a garnet or copper piece is to leave the city.”

  “And what of Captain Bennis?” Halik asked. His voice was low and troubled.

  “What of him?”

  “What will be his fate?” Halik pressed further for an answer.

  “Why, he will deliver his precious refugees into the hands of his conspirator Evard Dirae,” said the general, a strange smile playing about his lips. “And what his fate will be then, at their hands, will be something you will tell me.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.…”

  “Because, Captain Halik,” General Karpasic said as he turned toward the young captain, “it will be your charge to follow the refugees to Hilt and deliver our dear Captain Bennis over to the Cabal of the Obsidians for what I believe will be the last time. I have handpicked a unit of elves to help you do just that.”

  “You mean, I’m l-leaving?” Halik sputtered. “But, General, I am due a share of this campaign!”

  “A share I will personally increase tenfold when you return,” Karpasic answered. “It will be worth it just to be rid of Bennis once and for all.”

  The sound of the timber bar shifting against the wood of the far side of the gate was followed by a loud thud. Halik could feel the army tense around him. He turned away from the general to face the wall of the city.

  The North Gate was flanked by two towers and the city’s wall extending from those in either direction. The magical shield that had protected the city since their arrival, and that had proven to be so costly in their assault on the Fields Gate, could still be seen extending above the wall despite the daylight shining down upon the plain. The elegant and remarkable towers of the citadel within the city rose high up over the walls, taunting the Westreach Army with the promise of plunder beyond the dreams of avarice. The eyes of all Karpasic’s army who were within sight of the North Gate were fixed upon it.

  The enormous gates shifted. Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, they swung inward toward the city.

  Halik found himself holding his breath along with every warrior around him. The promise of riches without further pain or sacrifice seemed almost within their reach.

  CHAPTER

  26

  The Open Door

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Syenna whispered into the air between them.

  “No,” Aren answered in hushed tones into that same air. “But who is sure of anything anymore?”

  Syenna sat upright, her back stiff as the horse beneath her walked down the tunnel between the two sets of gates. She felt vulnerable without her armor. She especially felt the absence of her sword and scabbard. It had hung so long at her side that it had almost become part of her. Now it lay abandoned among the pile of weapons left in the center of the marketplace along with every other weapon in the city.

  She turned slightly in her saddle to look at Aren. She wondered for a moment why it was that his strange weapon would be the only one carried out of this place by anyone whom she was willing to call a friend. Everything had been arranged according to Aren’s will, but now, faced with the helpless reality before her, powerless before their enemies on open ground, she wondered if Aren had some private game that he was playing with all of their lives.

  Aren rode on the back of his own horse beside her. He wore what remained of his Obsidian armor; the breastplates and backplates and one of the spike-adorned shoulder guards. He even looks like one of them, Syenna thought.

  Behind them were arrayed all the citizens of Opalis, prepared to follow them through the gates and, they hoped, to longer life.

  “You’re sure about the Titans?” Syenna asked, and not for the first time.

  “Grannus has remained to maintain the shield,” Aren answered. “You can see that for yourself.”

  “But the others—”

  “Each of them has sent word,” Aren reassured her once more. “Everything is as ready as it can be made.”

  “Is that ready enough?” she asked.

  “Well, we are about to find out,” Aren said as their horses walked through the outer gate of the city.

  The Westreach Army continued to maintain its encirclement of the city, but now, facing them across the causeway of the North Gate, they seemed a formidable and continuous wall.

  Syenna slowed her horse. Doubt filled her mind.

  “Stay with me,” Aren growled back at her. “They have to know we believe this!”

  Syenna swallowed and urged her horse forward next to Aren. Together they slowly rode the length of the causeway until they were within a dozen strides of their forward pike line. Aren stopped his horse and waited.

  A large man in shining black armor stepped forward through the ranks, a captain at his side.

  Aren bowed slightly from his saddle. “General Karpasic. An unexpected honor.”

  The general turned his gaze toward Captain Halik at his side.

  “Hardly unexpected, Captain Bennis,” Halik said. “General Karpasic has come to accept the surrender of the city of Opalis from its rightful sovereign lord. Where is he?”

  “He is sitting on this horse in front of you,” Aren replied.

  “Wh-what?” Karpasic sputtered, glaring at Halik. “What is he talking about?”

  “The Titans of Opalis and its city elders convened yesterday and surrendered the city to me,” Aren replied, ignoring the general’s snub. “I accepted their surrender on behalf of the Obsidian Cause just last night.”

  Captain Halik was in shocked surprise. “They … they surrendered the city to you?”

  Syenna turned her own angry look at Aren. “What are you doing?”

  “That’s right.” Aren nodded and then turned to face General Karpasic. “It’s all mine. So, if anyone is empowered to surrender the city to you, General, it would be me.”

  Karpasic looked up at Aren with unabashed hatred.

  “Oh, come on!” Aren rolled his eyes in frustration as he leaned back in his saddle. “General, what do you think I’ve been doing all this time in the city? I’ve been playing them. I bemoaned my fate, I appealed to the
ir sympathies and asked for their pity. And they gave it! I showed them this ridiculous, lousy sword and convinced them it was some sort of sign of prophecy that the good old days before the Fall were coming back. I even talked them into walking away from their city with their personal trash and leaving all their legendary treasures behind. And now they’re even going to do it. The Obsidian Army doesn’t lose any more men at arms, and everyone gets rich on the spoils. I’m here to hand all that to you, so how does that make me your enemy?”

  Karpasic stared at Aren, struggling to think through everything he had just heard.

  “Look, all I ask is for a piece of the plunder,” Aren said, flashing a brilliant smile. “Is that too much to ask? I mean, I already own the city and all, so I don’t really have to share. Just accept my surrender, give me, oh, say, a tenth of your take, General, and we’ll just forget about everything that’s happened and get back to the business of conquest.”

  Karpasic’s eyes narrowed in thought and then his face relaxed into a smile. “Why not?”

  “Captain!” Syenna’s voice shook in anger. “You cannot do this! You promised the people of Opalis…”

  Aren ignored her as he smiled back at the general. “A wise and reasonable bargain, General.”

  “Indeed, and I’ll be happy to hold it for you, Captain,” Karpasic finished.

  “Hold it … for m-me?” Aren stammered.

  “Why, of course.” The general nodded, placing his gloved hands on his wide hips. “Perhaps you have forgotten, but your orders still include leading these people to Hilt for—what did you call it—resettlement?”

  “Wait! Surely someone else can nursemaid these people back to the Obsidians,” Aren objected. “Captain Halik, for example, is perfectly capable of—”

  “Oh, Captain Halik will be going with you, but only you can lead this column back to Hilt, Captain Bennis,” the general said with no small delight. “Perhaps you forget that the Cabal of the Obsidians is also most anxious to examine that ‘ridiculous, lousy’ sword of yours. I’m afraid there is no one else as uniquely suited to the job as you.”

  Aren drew in a long breath. “So, you’ll hold on to my percentage of the city’s plunder?”

  “Absolutely.” Karpasic nodded, he mouth breaking into a grin. “And when the Obsidians are finished with you, you can come right back and get it.”

  * * *

  The stream of refugees coming from the North Gate of Opalis had been going on for more than an hour. It already stretched for miles to the east across the South Paladis plain. Now the column snaked eastward, trailing both Captain Bennis and the scout Syenna. She had spoken of a little-used track that could lead them more quickly across the prairie to find the Broken Road and then bring them northeast to the pass through the Blackblade range and to Hilt.

  When the last of them was clear of the city, Aren had promised Karpasic, the mystical, glowing dome that protected the city would vanish. That would signal the end of the city’s defense and the open invitation to enter the walls and strip the spoils from Opalis.

  Yet before that could happen, each of the refugees, their carts, and their wagons had to pass between several ranks of satyrs whom General Karpasic had ordered specifically to the duty of inspecting the column for contraband; in this case, weapons or, more important, treasure. It was a unique quality of the satyrs that they could “smell” gold. Their cousin fauns could even use their high-pitched voices to “call” to gemstones. Their voices would reverberate and resonate within the crystal structures in ways that they could hear. It was a specific talent the Obsidians had concocted for each of their races when they were reshaped from the humans they once had been, and one of the few that had worked out better than the sorcerers had anticipated.

  It was their task to insure that nothing of value was taken from the city, hidden among the refugees. Their reward was that they could be the first to enter the city.

  “Halt!” bleated the satyr as he stepped in front of a large wagon. It had just crossed the causeway from the North Gate and was moving between the jittery ranks of satyrs.

  A stocky man with broad shoulders walking beside the oxen coaxed the team to a stop with a long, willow goad. A woman sat on the seat at the front of the freight wagon as it lurched to a halt, her boots pressed against the footboard and her hands clinging to the edges of the seat in a white-knuckled grip. Both the man and the woman wore long cloaks, their hoods pushed back. The man turned to the satyr and quietly asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Inspection,” the satyr screeched. He had forgotten everything about who he had once been, and the language came hard to him. His hind hooves clacked against the stones protruding from the ground as he moved back toward the wagon. He gestured up toward the wagon seat. “This your woman?”

  The woman with the thick, curly hair at the front of the wagon glared with her large, dark eyes indignantly back at the scrawny creature striding in her direction. “In point of fact, I am most certainly not his woman, or anyone else’s for that matter! I’m the loremistress of—”

  “She’s my sister,” the man interrupted with a broad grin, his face outlined by a circle of white beard and a fringe of hair. “You know how they can be!”

  In point of fact, the satyr had no idea how they could be and was about to say so when two other satyrs and a faun scrambled up to him from behind the wagon.

  “Well, Simeus?” the satyr asked. “Do you smell anything?”

  “Not a single nugget,” the thin satyr answered.

  “And I sang ’em, too,” the faun offered. “Not a gemstone in the whole box, Gargo.”

  “Well, they got to be carrying something,” Gargo answered. Thus far they had not found a single thing worth confiscating. “It’s a mighty big wagon for hauling nothing!”

  “I checked the box,” Simeus said. “Figured it might be worth a look.”

  “And?” Gargo demanded.

  “Nothing but fruits, dried meats, water, bread,” Simeus answered, shaking his horned head. “And stacks of them … What do they call them … books?”

  “Books!” Gargo snarled.

  “Aye.” Simeus shrugged. “Books, scrolls, and the like.”

  “All day, nothing but paper.” Gargo spat on the ground between his hooves. “Every wagon we’ve looked in is full of writing. It’s all barely worth burning, and that’s what they bring with them. No wonder we conquered them so quicklike! Bunch of fools!”

  “Excuse me?” the man standing near the front of the oxen asked. “Is there a problem?”

  “You’re the problem!” the satyr screeched back at him. “You’re blocking the road! Get this garbage out of my sight!”

  “As you wish,” the man said, urging the oxen forward to follow the line of wagons stretched before him toward the eastern horizon.

  * * *

  The last of the wagons left the North Gate just before sundown. It had barely cleared the causeway when, in the failing light of day, the dome over the city flickered and then vanished.

  Every member of Karpasic’s army—from the general and his captains, down through his warriors and archers, his elves, fauns, ogres, and satyrs, and even to the teamsters, smithies, and cooks—could see at once that the city was instantly defenseless.

  The refugees were, in that moment, forgotten.

  The warriors poured across the causeway through the North Gate. They flowed into the wide avenue of Muse Way that ran as a circle inside the city walls. They were soon met by others in the army who had charged through the rubble of the collapsed Fields Gate and were pouring into the city from that breach as well. The Storm Gate to the southeast was discovered to be left open and, in a moment, the army was pouring into the city through that gate too.

  Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the obvious prize: the towering citadel of the Titans near the center of the city. They converged on its outer wall, searching for its gate, for a way in so that they might find the treasure for themselves.

  So quick was the rush
into the city, for each member of the army determined to take as much as he could for himself from the citadel, that the encampment of the Westreach Army was completely abandoned.…

  Including the supply wagons.

  * * *

  Three men stood at the crest of the hill, gazing east toward the towers of Opalis that stood shining in the last light of the setting sun.

  “They’re pouring into the city,” the scout reported between gulping breaths. “They’ve posted no pickets to guard their perimeter. Even the encampment appears to be abandoned.”

  “Boreus was right,” Tribune Marcus Tercius observed with a nodding grin. “They are not expecting company.”

  Legate Planus Argo could barely make out the stream of refugees moving slowly eastward beyond the city. He could see movement within the walls, but none outside.

  “Then I believe it is time for us to come calling,” the legate said, setting his jaw. He looked down the hill to either side. His legions were facing east as well, their eyes, too, set on Opalis. “The order is given. Tell the commanders they are to charge and surround the city and then prepare to lay siege to it.”

  “By your word, Legate!” the scout answered, smartly slapping his scabbard against his leg in salute. He then ran down the hill toward the ranks of warriors over a mile long in each direction, waiting for word.

  “How long do you think they will be able to hold out?” asked Marcus Tercius as he, too, looked toward the distant city.

  Legate Argo folded his arms across his chest, considering. “If we can confiscate their supply wagons, and if what Boreus told us is true…”

  “He has proven to be correct so far,” Marcus observed.

  “Then this shouldn’t take long at all.” The legate smiled.

  CHAPTER

  27

  Epiphany

  General Karpasic pushed his way through the group of confused and listless satyrs. He choked suddenly, coughing from the dust that filled the corridor from the collapsed wall he had just climbed over. He had “liberated” a lantern from one of the city’s shops earlier in the evening. He now held it high over and to the side of his head, trying to pierce the darkness of what had been an enormous, elegant hall.