[Ergoth 01] - A Warrior's Journey

by Paul B. Thompson

  Standing at the top of the steps was a fellow slight even by kender standards, almost lost in a long pinkish-brown cape.

  “Is that the king?” Tol asked Darpo, but Darpo could only shrug. He had visited various Hylo ports, but had never caught sight of the kender king.

  Tol halted Cloud at the foot of the steps. Kiya dismounted and stretched, her limbs unused to riding. Tol tried to mask the exhausted tremor in his own muscles. At his order, Egrin, Darpo, and Kiya joined him in climbing the steps of the royal residence. The tiny kender in the cape resembled a wooden doll, his face seamed with a thousand fine cracks and his long white hair pulled back in a tight bun.

  The crowd quieted somewhat. With a respectful nod, Tol said, “Do I have the honor of addressing Lucklyn, king of Hylo?”

  “You have more honor than that,” said the wizened kender. “I’m Casberry, the queen. Lucklyn’s gone on a wander and left me in charge.”

  Tol and his party knelt. “Forgive me, Your Majesty!”

  The queen cackled. “Never mind. At my age, I don’t mind being mistaken for a king. It’s better than being taken for a corpse!”

  “Very true,” said Tol. The Ergothians rose.

  The queen took out a long-stemmed clay pipe and stuffed a brown weed into it. She stamped her foot and one of the militia left his post to fetch a burning twig from within the house.

  While he waited for the queen to get her pipe lit and drawing, Tol noticed she had extremely bright green eyes, like the color of new spring leaves. They reminded him, with an unexpected pang, of Valaran’s.

  At last the queen said amiably, between pulls on her pipe, “So, you finally killed XimXim?”

  “I did, Your Majesty, though not alone.” Tol introduced Kiya, and gave credit to Miya and Mandes as well.

  Queen Casberry choked on smoke. “Not Mandes the Mist-maker?”

  “It may be, Majesty. He is skilled at making fogs.”

  “He owes us money,” said the queen. “For practicing magic in our realm without a license.”

  Tol promised to settle the debt, and the queen moved on to another subject. She tottered over to the Dom-shu woman, gazing up at her considerable height.

  “Did someone hex you?” she demanded. “You’re tall as a vallenwood!”

  “We of the Dom-shu tribe are all of goodly height,” said Kiya.

  The queen tapped the pipe stem against her yellow teeth thoughtfully, then asked, “How’d you like to work for me?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Bodyguard.” The ancient little queen stepped closer and continued in a loud whisper, “This bunch of empty pockets aren’t much good, you know. When XimXim attacked the city, all of them hid in the cellar!”

  “Probably a wise decision,” said Kiya, remembering the terrible toll XimXim had taken on the trained warriors of Ergoth.

  The queen snorted. “So? Want to be my royal guard?”

  Kiya’s open face revealed the blunt rejection she was prepared to make, but a warning glance from Tol prompted her to say, “Sounds tempting, Your Majesty, but I’m not a free woman. Lord Tolandruth here is my husband.”

  The map of fine lines on the queen’s face drooped in unison. “Oh. Well, if you ever get tired of him, come see me. I pay good. Ask anybody.” With a sparkle in her green eyes, she returned to the center of the landing.

  “Thanks very much for killing XimXim,” she said to Tol. “He’s been bothering us for a long time. Ate a cousin of mine, Rufus Wrinklecap. Not the Rufus Wrinklecap, mind you. That one once borrowed—”

  “You’re welcome, Your Majesty,” Tol said hastily, forestalling what he supposed would be a long tale. “By your leave, we would like to camp for the night just outside the town. We’ll be marching off to Old Port in the morning.”

  “Fine, fine. There’s the matter of the fee, though.”

  Tol again promised to meet any fine levied against Mandes for his unlicensed practice in Free Point. He was grateful to Mandes—and not a little worried about his recovery from the battle with XimXim.

  “There’s another fee,” Casberry said, stroking her pointed chin. “For killing XimXim.”

  Tol’s comrades exploded with outraged exclamations. The queen was unmoved by their protests.

  “Our law requires all hunters pay a fee, since all game in the kingdom belongs to the crown. That’s me,” she explained. She rapped the bowl of her pipe against the heel of her hand. Burnt weed spilled out, soiling the front of her belted robe. “You being foreigners, I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t pay first. But I must have the hunting fee before you leave my domain.”

  Kiya muttered something about thievery. Egrin looked grim, and Darpo scratched his scarred brow, trying to think of a reasonable argument to offer for why they shouldn’t be required to pay.

  Tol simply said, “How much, Your Majesty?”

  “It’s based on the weight of the game killed. Rabbits are half a copper each, wolves three, deer five, pigs seven, elk and wild oxen go for one silver piece per carcass,” Casberry said, regarding Tol slyly. “XimXim was a rather big fellow, was he not?”

  “Yes, Majesty. Yet his carcass weighs surprisingly little.”

  “Eh? What?”

  “He fell deep into the mountain and burned up in a pool of molten rock. All that’s left of him is smoke and ash, probably weighing no more than a grown boar.” Tol put two fingers in his belt pouch. “Seven coppers, you said, for pig-sized game?”

  Plainly unhappy, Queen Casberry ignored the snickers of her militia and grabbed the coins. “How do I know XimXim burned up?” she asked, once the money was in her hand.

  “You have my word as a Rider of the Horde and a lord of the Ergothian Empire,” Tol replied loftily. “Of course, Your Majesty could visit the cave and see for herself that the monster is dead. I myself will mark a map for you.”

  “Yes, yes, thank you very much!” she said, waving away Tol’s offer. “You may camp outside our city for as long as you like.” The crafty look returned to her wizened face. “Your Lord Urakan is already defeated, though.”

  Tol advanced two steps until he was standing over her. The Royal Loyal Militia tried to interpose their spears, but he would not be deflected.

  “You have news of Lord Urakan?”

  “I do,” answered the queen, not in the least intimidated.

  When she offered nothing further, Tol said, “Perhaps my men and I should remain in Hylo City, to defend it from the Tarsans. We could camp here in this square—”

  “They aren’t coming here!” Casberry snapped, then began fussing with her pipe, trying to stuff more brown weed into the bowl.

  “How do you know?”

  When she ignored him, stubbornly persisting in loading her pipe, Tol delved into his pouch and produced five gold coins—part of the original treasure paid to him by Prince Amaltar after the battle in the Great Green. The coins were imperial crowns, rated at twice the value of a typical gold piece. The haughty profile of Ackal Ergot marked each thick, heavy disk.

  Seeing the coins, the queen of Hylo forgot her pipe completely. Tol put the imperial crowns in her hand and gently closed her tiny fingers around them. She could hardly hold them, they were so large.

  “I may have been wrong about XimXim’s weight,” he said in a low voice.

  Casberry bit one coin. Satisfied, she tucked all five up one voluminous sleeve. “I’m told on good authority that Lord Urakan’s army tried to cross Three Rose Creek two days ago,” she said, naming a shallow stream northeast of Old Port. “When half his army was across, the Tarsans attacked. Many Ergothians were slain, and Lord Urakan withdrew into the town.”

  Tol chewed his lower lip. Timing like that was no accident. Tylocost was living up to his reputation. He’d probably had Urakan’s hordes under observation the whole time, and struck when he could do the most damage.

  “How do you know the Tarsans won’t come here?” he repeated.

  “Don’t have to,” was her acute reply.
“If they destroy Lord Urakan, Hylo is theirs, isn’t it?”

  When Tol turned to order his men to march away, he was stunned to see the square, formerly packed with deliriously cheering kender, was now empty, save for his ten companies. He heard a rustle of cloth and the clink of armor and spun around in time to see the last of the Royal Loyal Militia closing the door of the royal residence behind him. The Ergothians were alone in the square.

  * * * * *

  It was raining by the time they pitched camp, halfway between Hylo City and Far-to-go. A pile of thunderheads had risen out of the bay and rolled ashore, loosing a deluge that drenched everyone.

  Tol made sure Mandes had a warm, dry place to sleep. The wizard was still in his litter, face wet with sweat. Tol lightly pressed two fingers to the vein in Mandes’s throat. His pulse was rapid, his breathing shallow.

  Surprisingly, the sorcerer’s eyes opened. “My lord?” he said weakly. “The monster… defeated?”

  Tol smiled. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

  “Filthy creature… mangled my arm, didn’t he?”

  Tol didn’t know how much to tell the weak man, so he said, “You made the difference, Mandes. If it hadn’t been for your magic, none of us would be alive now.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” His gaze flickered around the tent. “Where…?”

  “Outside Hylo town. We saw the queen today. She claims you owe her money.”

  For the first time Tol heard Mandes use a foul word. “Some thieves get hanged,” he murmured. “Others get crowns.”

  “Never mind. Take your ease while you can. We’ll be on the march tomorrow. Lord Urakan has been bested by Tylocost again, and we’re marching to his aid.”

  Tol was leaving when Mandes rasped, “My lord, a thought!”

  Tol returned, and the sorcerer said, “It’s no betrayal of the empire to help yourself, instead of Lord Urakan. To win the war, you must overcome Tylocost, even if that means letting others taste defeat.”

  Mandes’s strength was exhausted. He closed his eyes and slept.

  Outside, rain poured down Tol’s face. What did Mandes mean? The words of a feverish man were often like divination—a glimpse of truth through a veil of mystery. Was there a way Tol could defeat Tylocost with fewer than three hundred men?

  Tol walked around the camp, weighing what he knew about the situation in eastern Hylo. He turned the facts over in his mind, considered, pondered, mulled. Although several of his soldiers called greetings, he never heard them.

  There was a way, he decided at last. A very dangerous way, calling for extreme coolness and the utmost courage from his men. He was prepared to try it, but what of the others?

  He stalked through the rainy night, calling for Egrin and his captains. It was time for a council of war.

  * * * * *

  “With all respect, my lord, the notion is insane.” The flat statement came from Egrin. As a life-long warrior, his opinion carried considerable weight, but for once Tol was unmoved by his mentor’s caution.

  “Very well,” Tol replied. “Other opinions?” Darpo, as stalwart a man as ever lived, looked at the movements marked in charcoal on Tol’s map.

  “If it works, it would be glorious,” he said, chewing his lip. Egrin was adamant. “Our men will be slaughtered.” “I don’t think so,” Tol countered. “Tylocost is a clever, accomplished general, but who has he faced all these years? Lord Urakan?—a stout fighter and steady leader, but a dull tactician. Lord Regobart?—a brilliant general, but impetuous and unstable. Prince Nazramin—” Tol paused, unwilling to speak his mind even in front of his loyal officers. “Prince Nazramin thinks war is like a boar hunt: Whoever sheds the most blood wins.”

  A few tired chuckles greeted this comment. The council of war had gone on a long time, first with Tol explaining his idea, then with his subordinates discussing it. Midnight had come and gone.

  “I believe in this plan,” Tol said. “Tylocost knows nothing about us. If he’s heard we went after XimXim, he might even believe us destroyed. Should word of the monster’s demise reach him, he’ll not credit it. After all, his army of trained mercenaries was decimated by XimXim. What chance would three hundred Ergothians stand?”

  “It took only four,” said Sanksa, with a rare smile.

  Tol remained serious. “We must attack,” he said, “but I want each of my commanders to believe in my plan. Anyone who doesn’t should remain behind in Old Port.”

  The men from Juramona didn’t hesitate.

  “We’ll follow you anywhere,” Darpo vowed, and others echoed the sentiment.

  Only Egrin remained silent. He stared down at the map with a frown on his bearded face. All eyes turned to him.

  At last he looked up. “I go where you lead, my lord,” he said.

  “That’s not what I want,” Tol said. “Do you believe the plan can succeed?”

  When the elder warrior pursed his lips and said nothing, Tol nodded. “Very well. I have a special task that needs doing. You will undertake it.”

  Although Egrin looked chastened, Tol clapped him on the shoulder warmly. He was ordered to head south with Miya, Mandes, and the seventeen men who had been badly wounded in the fight with XimXim. Mounted on all their remaining horses, Egrin and his party would seek out Lord Urakan and inform him of Tol’s intentions against the Tarsans.

  Egrin saluted. “That mission I shall fulfill.”

  The soldiers caught a few hours of rest, then, before dawn, with the rain still falling, they broke camp. The demi-horde was reorganized into eight companies—some two hundred and sixty fighting men, plus Kiya. They parted company with Egrin at Fingle’s Creek. The line of wounded, some in litters, others hobbling on crutches fashioned from spears, moved slowly away in the rain. A two-wheeled kender cart, acquired in Hylo City, carried Mandes and Miya. Miya was still asleep, which was just as well; conscious, she would never have agreed to be parted from her sister.

  Egrin raised his hand in farewell, then rode away. He and his limping command were quickly veiled by the gray morning.

  “I wish he was with us,” murmured Frez, at Tol’s side.

  Tol, equally sorry for Egrin’s absence and still grieving the loss of Narren, stiffened. Frez’s downcast words penetrated his gloom, reminding him how important their fighting spirit was to his plan.

  “Regret nothing!” Tol said staunchly. “Egrin has nothing to prove, to us or anyone.” Assuming a light-hearted tone, he gave Frez a slap on the back and added, “Would we not gladly die for the empire?”

  “Why not?” replied Tarthan, a wry look on his dark face. “I’ve done most things, but I haven’t been killed yet.”

  Muddy to their waists, the foot soldiers turned south. When Fingle’s Creek shrank to a narrow stream, they forded it and mounted the eastern bank. The woods were thin here, crisscrossed by footpaths and cart trails. The Ergothians hugged the creekbank, and by midmorning had reached the slapdash defenses of Old Port.

  Kender weren’t known for keeping buildings in repair, and the Old Port wall was no exception. The stones were cracked open by vines, and the wooden gates were rotten. None of the wall seemed to be guarded, but Tol and his men avoided the south gate just in case. They slipped silently into the sleepy town.

  In the high street they came upon a pair of armed humans, each carrying a bucket. Wellax’s company swiftly captured them. They proved to be mercenaries—men from the eastern lands beyond the Khalkist Mountains. Astonished to find Ergothians in Old Port, they finally answered Tol’s questions after a little encouragement.

  They had been looking for fresh water to take back to the Wave Chaser Inn, three streets away. A few score Tarsan soldiers were quartered there, and a late night revel had used up every potable in the place. The main Tarsan army was south of Three Rose Creek, outside Old Port. Tylocost was preparing to strike south and destroy Lord Urakan’s army once and for all.

  The number of men in the Tarsan army was somewhere between ten and twelve thousand. All the re
st of Tylocost’s fifty thousand strong had been lost in the past two years—in battle, to sickness, and to XimXim. More troops were on the way from Tarsis, the prisoners said. A reinforcement of twenty thousand was expected before autumn.

  This news added urgency to the Ergothians’ plan. Tol had the two men bound, gagged, and heaved into a convenient cellar. He sent half his men up the high street. He and the rest of the demi-horde surrounded the Wave Chaser Inn, a stout stone structure built by a Tarsan sea captain as a haven for his fellow countrymen in the kender town.

  Slipping on a helmet and yellow cloak taken from one of the mercenaries, Tol walked boldly in the front door.

  The great room was full of soldiers sleeping off the effects of too much drink. Tol took a deep breath and shattered the silence.

  “On your feet!” he bellowed. “Lord Tylocost comes! Get on your feet, you stinking swine!”

  His training-ground voice stood him in good stead. Blearily, the mercenaries got to their feet, shaking their more sodden comrades awake.

  “Turn out! Turn out!” Tol shouted. “The army’s moving out! Any man not on his feet and in the street will be considered a deserter. We all know what Lord Tylocost does to deserters!”

  In threes and fours, the soldiers staggered into the rainswept street. Tol’s own men were drawn up in two double lines, and the befuddled Tarsan troops obligingly formed up between them.

  Meanwhile, an officer, from the look of the gold leaves on his helmet, approached Tol. “What’s happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “I thought we were staying in Old Port for at least a fortnight—”

  “General’s orders. He’s routed the Ergothians and needs every available man to join the pursuit.”

  The officer nodded. Looking down to buckle his sword belt, he noticed Tol’s Ergothian-style riding boots.

  The Tarsan’s head came up. “You’re—!”

  Tol whipped out his saber and laid its edge against the man’s neck. “Be wise!”

  The Tarsan officer glared at Tol with bloodshot eyes. His hesitation lasted only a moment; he had no choice, and knew it. He surrendered.