“Which is pretty fast,” Ban said, giving the dragon a respectful pat on the side.
“He is a speedy boy,” Yarren said, smiling at his match-mate.
“Alright then, I guess this is it,” the boy said, suddenly feeling a tiny speck of uneasiness as the time for the execution of the plan he’d suggested had actually come.
Yarren clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re more than equal to the task, Ban. I’d warrant a guess that you’re smarter than anyone you’re going to encounter in the Stygian camp, child or adult. Just don’t let them know that. You’ll stick out like a blue dragon in a field of white wheat.”
“I’ll be careful, Yarren. Thanks for the ride. And the conversation. You gave me a lot to think about.”
“All good, but keep your mind on what’s in front of you right now. There will be time to ponder Ma’uzzi’s handiwork later!”
Yarren offered Ban his hand, and the boy shook it, then turned and headed into the forest.
10
The Spy
When Cerah opened her eyes, it was to brilliant sunlight, dancing in fractured splinters on the cold waves of the Karrak Ocean. Tressida was flying close to the surface, looking for fish in the deep water. She sensed that Cerah was awake and said, “Good morning, sleepy girl! I trust you are rested?”
“I am much better,” Cerah said. She hadn’t realized how poorly she was feeling until she had her improved state with which to contrast the former.
“I have eaten four fish already. Would you like one?” the dragon asked. As Cerah prepared to reply, her stomach growled loudly. Tressida laughed as she heard the sound over that of the wind and white caps. “I guess I have my answer,” she said. A moment later her fore-claws stabbed into the water and when she withdrew them a large fish wriggled in her grasp. Squeezing tightly, she quickly killed the animal, then as Cerah watched with delight she tossed it high into the air above them. As the fish began to descend Tressida opened her mouth and sent a column of fire to meet it. The force of the flames held the fish suspended in the air for a moment, before falling once more into Tress’s mouth. She turned her head, never missing a wing-beat, and offered the succulent smelling roasted fish to Cerah.
“I don’t expect I’ll be able to eat this entire fish,” she said as she leaned forward and took the fifty pound icthura from Tressida’s jaws.
“Don’t give it a second thought,” the dragon said. “I will gladly dispose of your leftovers.”
“I’m sure you will,” Cerah said, taking a bite of the hot fish. A moment later her eyes rolled skyward in delight. “I have never tasted anything so delightful!” she exclaimed, her mouth packed with food as she spoke.
“Manners, girl!” chided Tressida. “Don’t talk with your mouth full! But I accept the compliment. You think I’m a good cook, then?”
Cerah laughed. “Easily the equal of the wizard’s culinary genius.”
“I would not go that far, sweet! I have tasted wizard food. It would take more than quick-braising a fish in the air to match their skill,” replied Tress.
“I know you’ve tasted wizard food. Who shared it with you, after all?”
“You, of course, my love and benefactor!”
“Well, consider the favor repaid. After several days of hunger, this meal is totally satisfying.”
Cerah ate as much of the fish as she could manage, then, rising up on Tressida’s back, threw it as far and as high as she could. Tress easily caught it in her mouth, and with a single swallow, devoured it. “Mmm. That was good! Perhaps I’ll have to do that more often. Raw fish is fine, but since I’m now a skilled chef, maybe I’ll treat myself from time to time.”
“By all means!” Cerah laughed. “You deserve only the finest.”
As they laughed together, Tressida gained altitude, satisfied that both she and her match-mate were sufficiently sated. Once they were again high enough, Cerah surveyed their surroundings. Though the frigid air made it clear that they were still deep in the southern hemisphere, when she looked behind the forsaken ice of the Frozen South was no longer visible. Indeed, the only trace of that place was a hint of grey cloud cover close to the horizon. Tressida had kept her promise and had gotten them far enough out to sea that they were free of the perpetually dismal skies of the southern continent. For her joy at being away from that awful place, the absence of anything else besides ocean always made her a little melancholy. Having grown up in the mountainous terrain of central Illyria, as well as having spent nearly a year on the beautiful Isle of Melsa, the ocean did not hold much enchantment for her. Perhaps the only thing about it that brought her any pleasurable thoughts was the fact that it had been while at sea, traveling to the wizard’s homeland, that she first realized her love for Slurr. I guess I should be forever grateful to the Mayduk for that, she thought.
As always, Tressida heard her private thoughts. “I’m afraid there won’t be much to see apart from the occasional small island for most of the day today,” the dragon said in response. “In fact, it will be late tonight before we reach the warm currents that mark the end of the Karrak’s influence and the beginning of the Mayduk’s. Even then it won’t be till the following morning that we see any significant land.”
“Ceekas,” Cerah said, correctly identifying the first landmass they would encounter on the northerly flight to Melsa.
“Yes. I am bypassing Niliph,” the golden queen replied.
“Thank you. I do not wish to return to that place yet. Perhaps someday before too much longer we can lead new settlers there to reclaim what Surok took, then abandoned. But for now, its desolation serves us no purpose.”
Tressida knew that the massacre of the people of Niliph, Surok’s first act of large scale war against the Free People, still weighed heavily on Cerah’s soul. She blamed herself for leaving the continent underdefended. Flying over it now would do her no good.
“So, it’s water for now,” Cerah said. “Still at this pace, reaching Melsa should take no more than…what?”
“Two and a half days,” Tressida answered. “I’ll have you there by lunchtime on the third day.”
“Hmm. Yes. Perhaps we shall visit the defenders of Melsa for lunch before we fly to the Zandarians,” Cerah said. It was in the impressive Zandarian mountain range that Quarada, the home of the sacred cave Onesperus rose. “Many of the finest wizard cooks are among those who remained behind to protect our home.”
“Sometimes, the way you think so lustily about food, I am not sure that you’re don’t have at least a little dragon blood in your veins!” Tressida laughed.
“I’m not sure how that would work,” Cerah replied, “but I would be honored if it were so.”
“Yes,” the dragon replied as she soared through the gradually warming sky, “yes you would!”
Ban knew he was approaching the Stygian camp by the stench that assailed him. Even after covering himself with a fresh layer of filth for the purpose of blending in with the haggard warriors before leaving Trakkas, he feared he would not smell foul enough to avoid detection. As he drew within a hundred yards of the outpost he came across a pile of waste that had apparently been hauled out of the camp. After a moment’s repugnant consideration, he reached down and took a handful, rubbing it on his armor and hands. Now I’ll smell as well as look the part, he thought.
He could see into the clearing from his vantage point. There was a lot of activity, though no one seemed to be doing anything worthwhile. Just a lot of random movement and talk. Ban moved along the perimeter looking for a likely place to enter the camp itself. After a few minutes, he found an area that was almost empty; there were only two people about twenty feet away, with their backs facing him. He decided this was as good a place as any. Using his well-practiced stealth, he stepped out of the bushes. The two seated figures did not hear him. When he was about ten feet from them he altered his direction so that it appeared he was crossing behind. He saw a twig on the ground, and intentionally stepped on it.
&nb
sp; With the crack both heads shot around. They were boys, both younger than him and both wearing fearful expressions.
“Hey there,” said one. “Stop lurking around. We’re supposed to watch this area, and we don’t need no help.”
“Sorry,” Ban said, adopting the thick tongue of the speaker, heeding Yarren’s suggestion that he not appear too intelligent. “I was just behind the tree. Doing…you know!”
“It smells like ya did, sure enough!” said the other boy as Ban walked to where they were sitting. “Did ya do it in yer drawers?”
When the other boy laughed, Ban joined in. “You two don’t smell no better!” he said.
“Never mind. Just get back to what yer supposa be doin’,” said the first.
Ban left them behind and ventured further into the camp, still unsure of what he’d find, but happy with the way his first encounter had gone. Did the fact that the first people he saw were two unaccompanied boys mean that the young people were indeed segregated? He hoped it did not, as he would have a better chance of overhearing something of value if he were permitted to move freely among all the troops.
The next parcel of men he came upon answered his question favorably. A group of five men and four boys sat around a small fire, cooking a foul-smelling stew in a crusty black cauldron. They took no notice as he approached, save for one of the men who looked up and held a dented cup toward Ban. “Hungry?” he asked.
Ban knew there was no way he would be able to hold down whatever it was they were cooking, so putrid was its aroma. “Already et,” he said, waving him off and continuing on his way.
“Suit yerself,” said the man after him.
The further Ban ventured into the camp, the more disordered it seemed to be. At one point, he encountered a group of about ten warriors of all ages. One older looking man stood to the side pointing to various locations. The others, picking up and moving a pile of nasty looking pikes, hurried to the stop he indicated, dropping the weapons in a heap. “Hurry yer asses!” shouted the man in charge. “There’s plenty more pikes need movin!”
Ban grabbed a few and dragged them to the pile, where he released them in a haphazard manner, just as the others had. He kept this up until the pikes were all transported from one apparently random spot to the other, then walked off, hoping his careless abandonment of the group demonstrated the same degree of indifference that he saw all around him.
Finally, he spotted a crowd that seemed a little less helter-skelter. There were easily fifty warriors, seated more or less in rows. He saw several boys scattered among them. Growing in confidence that his presence was garnering no undue attention, he walked up and sat towards the rear of the group. A boy sat a few feet to his left. He nodded as Ban settled in. Ban returned the gesture but said nothing. He did not know if there was any purpose for this gathering, but he thought it best if he didn’t ask any questions.
Toward the front of the assembly a man in heavy plate armor stood, his hand on the hilt of his sword, which was held by a wide leather belt. He said nothing, but occasionally looked to the sky. Ban wondered if he was on the watch for any wizard scouts that might fly overhead, though he knew the riders of the Light were too experienced to move directly over the camp, even if they had been sent to spy on the activity of the outpost. Maybe this man thought the wizards of Melsa were as stupid as everyone else seemed to be, as his cold slate-gray eyes continued to peer upward.
This went on for nearly a half-hour, as the others continued to sit, mostly in silence. Ban began to think he was wasting his time sitting with them. Finally, however, he learned the reason for the man’s steady surveillance of the space above them. A green dragon, bearing a wizard he did not know, (though in truth he had met only a few thus far,) set down a short distance from the seated warriors. He could not comprehend the thought of a wizard parlaying with these lowlifes, and was very confused as the lean, wiry sorcerer landed. As he slid off the dragon and approached Ban took one look at him and decided that this wizard was not like Yarren, Kern or Parnasus. He wore an angry scowl, and walked as though being there was beneath his station. I do not think I like this fellow, Ban thought.
When he approached the man, who had apparently been watching for him, he came to a stop and stared at the warrior, seemingly waiting for something. After a moment, the man removed his hand from his sword and bowed deeply to the wizard, though the gesture was clearly not a spontaneous expression of respect. The mage clearly expected it, and the soldier just as clearly did so without liking it.
When at last he spoke, even his voice sounded cruel. “I am Zenk, emissary of the mighty Surok. Give me your report.”
The standing man cleared his throat then said, “All sentries report nothing goin’ on in the area. Also the scouts I sent out. One boy drifted away from his platoon and got mauled by a randa for his stupidity, but he lived.”
“Pity. That kind of idiocy deserves the reward of painful death,” said the wizard. The captain grunted noncommittally in response. The gaunt mage rankled at the sound. “You disagree, kvarna?”
“I just figgered the more live fighters Surok’s got the better,” the other replied, clearly offended by the wizard’s insult.
“A boy torn up by a randa will not be very effective in battle. Better to have the animal finish the job.”
“Alright,” was the only answer the warrior could think of, hoping to not further upset the small man in the gray robes. Even that reply didn’t seem to satisfy him, as his angry huff indicated. But he said nothing more on the subject.
“Very well, then,” Zenk went on at last. For the first time, he turned his attention to the men and boys seated on the ground. “These are your platoon leaders?” he asked, obviously unimpressed.
Unit leaders? thought Ban. Oh my! I hope I can pull this off. I hadn’t expected to need to act like an officer. But then, as he looked around, he realized that there wasn’t anyone in the group who looked anymore qualified to be a leader than did he. The most experienced-looking of the lot was digging a finger into his ear and then inspecting the pullings. No, he would not be found out. Still, he was a little surprised now that there were boys included in the crowd.
“Yeah,” replied the standing man. “I picked ‘em myself.”
“They’re the best you could find?” the wizard asked, still clearly not convinced of their caliber.
“They is what I was told to gather. ‘Men with no hope and boys with no future.’ That’s what the message said.”
The wizard scanned the group. “Well, they certainly appear to meet that criteria, although I would venture to say it applies to anyone in Stygia,” he said. Finally resigning himself to the fact that these were the soldiers he had to work with, the wizard continued. “Very well. This is what Surok commands: You are to lead your platoons to the outskirts of Trakkas. Rather than a major assault with the full fury of Surok’s army, your instructions are to harass and harry. Find and kill any outlying sentries, and strike the enemy’s camp from many directions at once, utilizing units small enough to allow quick movement. While I do not care if any of you make it back alive, it is not Surok’s design that you make bold frontal attacks. This is clandestine warfare. Are you familiar with the term?”
There was not a trickle of recognition in any of the faces, and Ban aped their blank expressions. When no one replied Zenk shook his head. “Pitiful!” he spat. “As obtuse a people as I have ever had the misfortune to be associated with.” This outburst met with the same lack of understanding as had his question. “Pitiful,” he said again. “Clandestine warfare means fighting in small, rapid strike groups, looking to avoid detection. You will not run screaming into a sea of enemies, but will pick them off, one by one, using stealth and guile.”
Again, there was no sign of comprehension, so he said in exasperation, “Sneak attacks! Hide in the bloody bushes and stab them in the back when they walk by!”
“Ah!” came a chorus of responses, as the first dim comprehension began to sink in.
> “Finally, I’ve broken through your rock-like skulls. You are to take out as many of the enemy as you can, and stay out of sight as much as possible. After you’ve completed your raids, bring back any information you can about the composition of the enemy force.” Zenk was again greeted by silence. Ban actually thought he heard an ekka rub its back legs together, making a chirping sound. Zenk heard it too. “The insects understand better than you! Creep up and kill humans and wizards. Don’t get caught. Tell your commander what you see. I can’t make it any plainer.”
A rustle of movement among the men indicated that they finally seemed to understand their orders. “Assemble your units. Wait until nightfall, then head toward Trakkas,” Zenk said. He then spun and walked away in a manner that was intended to display his disdain. Without addressing them further he climbed onto his dragon and flew off in the direction of Stygia.
Ban remained seated, seeing that the others did as well. Once he was sure Zenk was out of earshot, the standing man said, “I hates that bastard warlock, but he speaks for Surok, so we do as he says.” The seated crowd looked around nervously as if someone might hear what their leader had said, although they all clearly agreed with him. “Pick your fighters. No more than ten or fifteen in a group. Once it gets dark, head out. Do what damage you can, and keep yer eyes open and yer heads low. Bring me back news of what ya see, if ya don’t get killed seein’ it. Yer raiders now. Go raid.”
A Single Candle Page 15