Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Eredin strolled to the table where the map lay sprawled with rocks holding the corners. “If we head for the Ferminki Bridge as we planned, we got maybe sixty horizons, but once over the bridge we must move another thirty horizons or so back southeast. The route I rode takes us straight to the Bisele River, and we can follow that to a ford before the Gediswon meets the Bisele. The waters run low enough to cross.”

  Polus said, “I know not to trust these damned maps, but that there looks like rough ground. And if it rains?”

  “The terrain is harsh and narrow, but passable. And we’d need to cross a little river that flows into the Bisele.”

  A collective groan from around the tent. Ivin glowered. “Can we cross this tributary?”

  “Aye, my horse took me across. There’s a fall just to the north before it hits the Bisele.” He tapped the map and smiled. “It’s easy enough to cross with no arrows comin’ at you, but we could defend it easy.”

  Ivin’s eyes widened. “A narrow pass with a river to defend? We can hold pursuit there while everybody else makes the Gediswon, which is how many horizons from there?”

  “Six, maybe seven. If no rains beat us there, I crossed it, there’s nothing stopping us. If heavy rains come to the Gediswon, we’d need wait out the waters or make for the bridge.”

  Ivin looked to Roplin and his hollowed eyes. “What do you think?” Ivin wanted Roplin to speak but his brother had lost his spark, he needed a kick to his ass to set him in motion. “Roplin?”

  The man shook his head, eyes locked on blood-stained scars in the oak table. “I don’t know nothin’ no more, little brother.”

  Roplin’s refusal to lead rankled Ivin; his muscles clenched, his jaw set tight. He caught Solineus’ grin and curt nod, one of a few men at the table who hadn’t surrendered. “The Tek Malstefne struck us hard, but we fought them off, we’re alive. I know we’re fewer than we’d like, but we can’t stop now.”

  Tedeu Ravinrin raised her darkened eyes. “They’ll be back and in force. Stand, fight, die. Run, fight, die. It matters little to me now.”

  Locust Mulharth puffed his chest. “Hunker down and fight like badgers, if they mean to destroy us, we make it hurt.”

  There were too many murmurs of approval for suicide. Ivin needed Tedeu, the bold woman who’d sailed from Kaludor months ago to return, who would scratch out eyes to save her children and people, not this broken shell. He couldn’t blame her, but at the same time, her words would carry more weight than others. He locked his eyes on the woman. “Have you not heard a word Eredin has said? Tedeu! You’ve still three sons, are they so ready to die? Would you have had your husband and your brothers change course, to live as cowards instead of dying as heroes? They died and you lived, are you so eager to throw yourself and your sons on the fire? Are the Ravinrin led by a woman of metal or cloth?”

  Ivin shot for pissing her off to stiffen her spine, and from the glare, it worked. “No, by the Twelve Hells. But how heroic to die so we live another day? Maybe two.”

  “The deeds of the Ravinrin will die with us and be spat upon by the Tek if we don’t survive! Live to make certain their deeds were worth the blood.”

  “What hope in that, I ask?”

  Solineus said, “If the Helelindin come to our aid—“

  Tedeu slapped the table. “Your woodkin witch bringing our saviors, how long have we clung to this promise? And still we need pass one… two more rivers for them to help us, if they arrive at all. More apt we’re all rotting and feeding worms by then. We’ve lost our bridge and half our people!”

  Ivin said, “You wanted hope, there is hope. With or without the Helelindin, we cross the Gediswon River and we’re no longer in Tek territory.”

  Borun Mulharth, Locust’s twin and younger by a candle, said, “You think there’s some magic in yonder river that’ll keep the Tek from crossing? They won’t stop.”

  Ivin smiled, the more mouths he got to open the better. “We don’t know, I grant you. Fear of the Helelindin may not keep them from crossing, but it could. If not, we keep running, they won’t go deep into the Dragonspan Mountains and start a war.”

  Tedeu cast her hands up and let them fall to her lap with a slap. “You say we defend this unnamed river, to buy time, with what?”

  Eredin cleared his throat. “We’ve got maybe ten thousand Edan arrows—“

  Borun said, “And if we had as many warriors we’d hunker for a fight.”

  “Aye, we’ve only got about five hundred bows, but half that with wall shields planted can make them think twice about how fast to cross a river in such a tight pass.”

  “If what Sedut says is true, half their army heads for the Ferminki Bridge—”she stood and pointed at the map”—if they cross and reach the ford they will pin our people, crushing us between a hammer and an anvil.”

  Ivin said, “We have to move faster than they do. We cross the Gediswon, we’re only a dozen horizons from survival.”

  Borun scoffed. “And what of all our warriors holding this river? A heroic suicide?”

  Ivin said, “Everyone who stays behind we give a horse, fed and rested. Riding to the attack will exhaust the Tek horses, and soon as our people must, they ride to the Gediswon, where our remaining archers give them cover while our women and children flee further south.”

  Solineus said, “And if the Helelindin are waiting for us, all the better.”

  Shezu Bulubar, Heshiu’s eldest surviving daughter, asked, “If most of our warriors stay at the river, do we stand a chance?”

  Rins Tuvrikt twisted his gray mustache when he spoke. “We’ve a chance, I say. A chance to hurt them enough to give us time to cross the Gediswon in peace. If we destroy the bridge spanning the west.”

  Ivin watched the glances passing between the leaders of the Clans. The northerner’s point was valid, but could they bring the bridge down? “Word is it’s stone and mortar, two hundred feet or more.”

  Rins said, “The Tuvrikt built more than a few bridges the past decade, we know well how they go up, and how to drag them down. Sappers burrow beneath an end, weaken the structure—“

  Solineus asked, “And if it’s built into bedrock?”

  “You haven’t seen the bridge.”

  Ivin said, “And neither have you. We don’t have enough horses for every man who can fight. If the Tek make the riverbanks, or cross the bridge, it’s a slaughter. We don’t have time for digging holes to drop a bridge.”

  “Hells then,” said Polus Broldun. “Who’s to stand this ground, if it’s what we decide?”

  “Volunteers only, men who can ride and string arrows.”

  Roplin stood, rubbed his nose. “I will take command of any who will follow me.”

  Ivin glared, “You lead the Choerkin—“

  “No.” Roplin laughed. “You do, little brother. You have for a while, you’re just too blind to see it. Our people look to the Hero of Istinjoln. Besides, I don’t plan on dying.” He took a cup of water, saluted, and drank.

  Polus chuckled. “The Broldun won’t sit idle where a Coerkin steps forward. I’m with you.”

  Ivin said, “Your clans need the both you.”

  Polus choked on his laugh and coughed. “Way I figure, we’re as apt to survive as anyone.”

  Kistenu Broldun said, “Polus is a bullheaded bastard, I won’t stop him no matter how much I’d like to. High Priestess Sedut, you’ve been quiet. What say you, mm?”

  “We’ve lost so many, I’m sure most of my people will make their way to the Gediswon. I will fight at this tributary, and I will name this water the Tarmujon, the old Silone word for a defeated enemy. It’s about blessed time one of these rivers bore a Silone name.”

  Cheers rose, and Tedeu stood with cup in hand. “I don’t like a bit of this, but with the Coerkin and Broldun together, volunteers will need turned away. If it’s to work, that’s what we need.” She tipped her cup and sipped.

  The Clan heads rose one by one, saluting with a drink, the last to stand
Solineus, but his position wasn’t in question. “I too will fight at the Tarmujon.”

  Ivin shook his head. “Clan Emudar has no one, I can’t command you to remain with the main host, but I ask it.”

  “There is Gevern.”

  “Emudar clanblood, sure, but your cousin without hair yet on his face. In time he can speak for the Clan, but now?”

  Solineus’ lips twitched, but Heshiu Bulubar spoke up. “It’s a desperate plan fashioned for dark times, and but for the sacrifice of many we wouldn’t be here today. Your deeds are renowned, but your swords at the river won’t make the battle less desperate, and the Emudar need a voice.” The Lady Bulubar was the eldest of the clan heads to survive, and well respected, Ivin hoped her words sank in.

  Solineus tilted his head in a modest bow to her will. “I will consider your words.”

  Ivin said, “Eredin, I want you leading the Choerkin to the Gediswon… I won’t miss this fight.”

  Rumbles rose in the Choerkin ranks, but it was Tedeu who spoke. “You are a young man still, but all the clans listen to you. If you must go, sit in command and do not risk your life in battle. Agreed?”

  Solineus said, “Aye, your death is one the people would take hard, the Hero of Istinjoln.”

  Ivin stared the both of them down, but acquiesced with a roll of his shoulders. “Fine. As we’re all in agreement, make way to your people, spread the word. We need volunteers by dawn so they can travel in back; everyone will make for this tributary, then we move for the Gediswon fast as foot and hoof are able. If anyone has a better idea, I’d love to hear it now.”

  Polus said, “The Lady of Flame makes a visit.”

  There was laughter and Ivin tried to smile, but the last thing he needed was a wash of memories of Eliles. “Aye, that’d be nice. Kiss your fingers and press your forehead a hundred times, see what happens.”

  The Clan heads left the tent with unlikely smiles on their faces, except for the Coerkin and Solineus. The four of them sat in unison, and Meliu slipped from the shadows to sit beside Ivin with a grin.

  Ivin kissed her forehead. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

  She said, “I’m always lurking.”

  Solineus’ fingers drummed the table. “I’ve an idea. It’s desperate, and unlikely to succeed, but if I’m not to fight at the river I reckon it might be worth a try.”

  Ivin said, “We’re here to hear anything you’ve got.”

  “I ride to speak with the Kingdomers.”

  Roplin chortled. “The men of the Dragonspans? What the hells are goat-herders going to do for us? Not I’d complain of fresh meat.”

  “Herding isn’t all they do in them mountains, they’re miners. They use something called stonebreakers to bust up the hardest rocks in the mines.”

  “And you mean to destroy the bridge with these stonebreakers?” Ivin chided himself, he should’ve known the man wouldn’t leave a fight so easy. He had another plan. “Where’d you hear of such things? What are they?”

  “I first heard of them in the chamber of the Touched as you slept. Lelishen mentioned them when speaking of Elemental Fire with Eliles. We discussed them later, after we passed the bridge over the Porro-ok.”

  Meliu said, “I’ve heard of these, dangerous as the Forges, but they might take a bridge to task.”

  Ivin said, “You’ve thought on this a while.”

  “I’ve thought on a hundred things, this is the one we could find useful.”

  Roplin asked, “Do we have a soul who speaks their tongue?”

  Solineus coughed. “Lelishen taught me enough to not get myself killed. The Kingdomers have trade with the Helelindin, so it’s possible I’d have a common tongue with Edan.”

  The man had a way of making everything sound easy. “Why the hells do you think these people, strangers to us, would hand over such a weapon?”

  “Not a damned thing. But it’s a tool, too dangerous to be a weapon. Fire ignites the stonebreakers causing an explosion, and sometimes a Fire te-xe will set them off. No warning. The Kingdomers store them separated deep in the mountains, lest Fires destroy them all.”

  “Tool, weapon, you’ve a wax cat’s chance in the Forges of getting your hands on it. More likely they slit your throat or hand you to the Tek.”

  “The Kingdomers are traders, if we make an offer of value, they’ll reply in kind. Lelishen made a point we shouldn’t fear the Kingdomers so long as we show respect.”

  “Aye, but nowhere do I recall her saying to count on their help.”

  “If the Tek ride across that bridge every damned one of our people is a wax cat, so you tell me what you want of me.”

  Ivin glanced at Roplin and Eredin. “I want Wardens with you. Take Rinold, Puxele… and I’m sure other clans will want to ride with you.”

  Solineus’ smile stretched wide. “I’ll get on it.” He turned and marched from the tent.

  And Ivin spoke to no one in particular: “I swear that son of a bitch is happiest rushing headlong toward doom.”

  Meliu giggled. “You might be right. But then, we’ll be fighting at a ford against a trained army… who’s crazier.”

  Ivin glanced at her; his next words wouldn’t be welcome. “I want you with Eredin, get our people south.”

  Her lips slipped into a snarl. “Hells no. You don’t need to protect me.”

  “I’m not protecting you, I’m protecting all our people.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Sedut will be in the north. You are the only one close to matching her ability to fight the enemy. If the Tek reach the Gediswon Ford we’ll need you there. And if they’re chasing us south? We’ll need you there again, alive and rested.’

  She stared, relenting with a sigh before casting her eyes to the ground. “Damn you for being right, Choerkin.”

  Ivin laughed. “Pray I’m right about more than this one thing.”

  61

  Fishing for Thunder

  Have you yet seen the demon’s eye?

  Listened yet to the demon’s lie?

  listing and twisting, reality cold,

  baying and praying, fanciful bold.

  How in deed to be a god?

  How in deed to kill a god?

  Wishful suicide.

  —Tomes of the Touched

  The Silone caravan reached the tributary, anointed the Tarmujon, on a sunny afternoon without seeing an enemy in front or behind, but Sedut assured him their darkness was there. He and the high priestess crossed the river before strolling north into rocky hills where the small river turned to white waters on the way to a waterfall five poles high.

  “We’ll post a few archers here in case they try to push a small group around us, but I wouldn’t expect a heavy push. They’ll be forced to come at us horns forward, no room to maneuver.” He glanced back to the southern trail, then back to the river, pointed. “Archers here will have a straight shot, archers deeper down the trail a volley.”

  Sedut sat on a boulder catching her breath. “How long do you think we can hold the river?”

  He gazed at the pass below; the Tarmujon flowed broad and shallow into the Destil, and by his eye, there was no crossing the other river to flank them. One hundred strides of open ground to defend, with thirty strides of river running damned near waist deep. He’d hate to be the one trying to get across.

  “Can’t say for sure.” He pointed. “We set tower shields on the southern side with spearmen behind to push and stab. We’ve enough shields to run four deep, and that’s a damned prickly wall. Archers high in these rocks and deep to the rear…. and you.”

  Sedut frowned, “The artifact will kill friend and foe, it isn’t a thing for a tight formation.”

  “Which is why I want you on the other side of the Tarmujon.”

  She put hands to knees and cocked her gaze his way. “You got a plan other’n getting me killed?”

  “I do, but first I want to take a look at our enemy.”

  Sedut stood as she mumbled a prayer and touched his shoul
ders. A pressure built around his eyes and his lids blinked like a hummingbird’s wings before his vision cleared. The Tek Malstefne troops blurred into view marching a tight line down the Bisele. Hard as the Twelve Hells to take a count, worse than counting chickens in a coop, but it was fewer than he’d feared. A cavalry was a small blot of man and animal compared to the footmen; this spoke volumes.

  “They’ve only a couple hundred horsemen, they sent most to the Ferminki Bridge.”

  “My more distant visions weren’t so clear.”

  “Maybe three thousand footmen… this is the anvil, they’re here to push us to the hammer’s blow at the Gediswon.”

  “You think we can win this fight?”

  “No, but it’s only one or two days to the Gediswon. We’ll fill the Tarmujon with their dead and hold long enough for folks to reach the ford… And if Solineus succeeds, there won’t be a hammer waiting for us.”

  Solineus had confidence in the Squirrel finding his way home no matter where you might drop him, but getting lost was pretty damned easy when you didn’t know where you were going.

  The steep face of the Dragonspan Mountains loomed ahead, mountains the native Kingdomers named Nîstrimhîn, the Foundations. But finding the mountains was never the challenge. The range stretched an east-west arc a couple thousand horizons long, if one trusted maps; it was damned near impossible to miss. The challenge was finding roving bands of goat herds and the men who tended them.

  Solineus patted his horse’s sweaty neck. The world was a sweltering place so far south. As hot as it was, it was shocking to see the row of snow-capped peaks ahead. He glanced to the Squirrel. “How high you think those are?”

  The man raised his hand, holding his fingers across his view. “About as tall as a three finger shot of whiskey.”

  Puxele said, “Always got your mind on booze.”

  “Priorities make a man who he is.” He blew her a kiss.

  “It’s priorities can make a man’s bed cold.”