Dek said, “Lumber comes into Meth every day from Rascalla, Highness. There will be nothing to arouse suspicion. Still, you may be boarded for inspection. Do not worry. Everyone here is related to me by blood. You will not be betrayed.”
Ryckair dressed himself in a sailor’s breeches and doublet. He rubbed his shaven chin. “I wish I had left the beard from the Sarte mines. It would have helped hide my identity.”
“You will just have to busy yourself if you are stopped,” said Dek.
The wizard said, “There is good reason not to be disguised. Even if I conjured a beard, the people must see your face to take heart.”
Dek nodded. “And take heart they will. Carandir is a nation beaten to its knees. Yet, beneath the surface, its strength awaits a call to rise.”
They said their good-byes. Dek and Jarat went ashore and oars pulled the ship out into the river. Ryckair watched the others standing on the banks.
The ship rowed north until it was out of sight of land. They navigated east for several days and rowed against the slow current of the river until they passed the Bay of Hasp. Then, they headed south until they were in sight of land before rowing west for Meth.
To Dek’s surprise, they encountered no resistance in their march across Carandir. The outposts were abandoned. There were no signs of the mercenary army. He was certain they were walking into a trap. Even so, if he drew the Barasha’s attention away from Ryckair his mission would succeed.
They came to the Dragons’ Mound. As always, there was a cold disquiet to the place and everyone looked about nervously.
Dek thought of Baron Etera and his dying wish that all baronies would pledge their loyalty to the Crown for the good of Carandir.
Jarat rode ahead of the army and scanned for magical traps and illusions. As with Dek, she found nothing. It was as if the Barasha perceived no threat from the west, but she knew it was not the case. Something awaited them ahead.
They turned north and moved through thick forests until they reached the edge of the plain in front of the palace. It was filled with soldiers. He estimated the mercenary host was at least seventy thousand strong. He took a drink of water and handed the skin to Batu. “They outnumber us and they’re dug in.”
Batu wiped water from his chin. “I was going to retire from smuggling. If Quib had bought those Karaken fire stones I could have bought a farm near Madewy, maybe gotten married.”
“Nice country, Madewy.”
“Good dairy land.”
“Probably the best.”
The two men stared across the plain. Dek said, “Well, let’s to it.”
Column upon column of mounted troops and foot soldiers engaged in mortal confrontation. Exor led his soldiers in a flanking maneuver to the left while Udalla and his troops rode down the mercenaries on the right flank. The Xinglanders used their long tridents onto bite into the enemy, then finished them with their axes. Udalla’s charge rode down their adversary and laid waste to them with swords and spears. In the center ranks, Ichary brought his archers forward and assailed the enemy’s ranks. Mercenary troops fell. They had no weapons capable of reaching the Fadella. As the Barasha troops pulled back, Colonel Herrik led a wave of foot soldiers into the fray.
Dek drove his cavalry in a charge toward the palace. The horses drove aside or trampled most resistance. Dek’s men wielded heavy battle sabers that slashed through those few enemy soldiers standing in their way.
The attacking army pushed the mercenaries back toward the bridge connecting the palace to the mainland. Karaken fighters dropped their weapons and fled. In less than a tespan a rout had ensued. The forces of Carandir and their allies cheered and surged forward.
Jarat watched silently as the battle moved toward a quick conclusion. It seemed that victory was at hand. Yet, the Barasha had not acted.
A tall mercenary captain appeared on horseback. He wore shining armor with a white plume on his helmet. His presence stopped the rout. He turned the mercenary army around and led it in a charge. Herrik’s troops in front were ridden down by light cavalry. Mercenary foot troops swept behind the horses to dispatch any who lay wounded. The rest of the Barasha’s forces took heart from this and pressed forward.
The battle raged for most of the day. Both sides were exhausted. Dek ordered retreat. The same call came from the other side. Both armies drew back. Dek’s line was now within a league of the bridge.
It was almost sunset when he slid from his horse in front of the command tent. He doffed his helmet and handed it to an aide as he stepped inside. All of the other commanders along with Jarat and Jea awaited him.
Jarat studied a map with markers showing the armies’ positions. “Success seems within easy grasp. Too easy.”
Herrik said, “My troops can be ready for battle after a few hours of rest. We can easily break through to the palace. The mercenaries are rabble.”
Jarat studied the map. “I have no doubts about your troops, colonel, but I suspect some sorcery in the waiting.”
“I also remember the cloud demon in the courtyard, Mistress Jarat. It is all the more reason to act now before they can regroup.”
Jea nodded her head, “Had we broken through and killed the Barasha while we skirted the swamp the ice demon would never have never been called.”
Nissor ran into the tent. The garat jumped from foot to foot as it chirped rapidly. Dek had never seen the creature so agitated.
Jarat said, “It is as I feared. Colonel Herrik. Call the troops to arms. Our enemy attacks.”
“Impossible. They’re as exhausted as we are.”
“We fight more than a mortal army. Come.”
Ryckair’s Galley entered the Bay of Hasp. Dozens of boats and ships sailed by. Most were fishing vessels. A Carandir war galley raised a green and white pennant and made for them. The captain of Ryckair’s ship said, “They order us to come about and make ready for boarding, Highness.”
Ryckair began coiling ropes in the stern of the vessel as the war galley shipped oars and put in next to the Rascallan craft. A Karakien wearing a Carandir officer’s uniform came aboard. “Bring me your manifest.” He spoke with a thick accent. Ryckair looked up to see that the rowers on the war ship wore tattered Carandir uniforms. Each man was shackled to his bench.
Four other mercenary officers stood on the deck. One was clearly a Sinkarekan. The Karakien walked up and down the galley as he inspected the load of wood. Ryckair continued to coil rope. He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to stare into the officer’s face.
The mercenary officer said, “What are you, some kind of idiot? You’ve been coiling the same rope for a tespan.”
Ryckair let his arm relax a he realized that the officer did not recognize him. The prince wobbled his head from side to side and stared vacantly ahead. He picked up the end of the rope and studied it intently.
The commander pushed him away. “Rascallan inbreeders.” He threw the manifest to the deck. “Take your cargo in and get back to your incestuous lands.”
Ryckair looked up at the war ship again. One of the rowers stared, then opened his mouth wide. Whispers rumbled from the Carandir galley.
A Carandir sailor shouted, “Prince Ryckair has returned.”
“Praise be to Jorondel and Ilidel.”
“Praise to the dragons.”
“Praise to Prince Ryckair.”
The mercenary officer reached for his cutlass.
Ryckair pulled the dagger from his doublet. With a single thrust he sunk the blade into the Karakien’s spleen, then grabbed the cutlass and leapt to the Carandir ship.
Dek’s men followed. They retrieved the axes they used to fell the trees and broke the chains of the rowers. The freed sailors grabbed belaying pins and scraps of wood to join in the rout of their captors.
The mercenaries positioned themselves on the aft deck. Ryckair charged up the ladder. The Sinkarekan slashed for the prince’s neck with his heavy cutlass. Ryckair parried with confidence. The Sinkarekan’s cutlass swung
wide. Ryckair sliced open his opponents belly.
The Rascallans dispatched the other mercenaries. The freed Carandirians cheered. A sailor in a tattered commander’s uniform came forward and knelt before Ryckair. “Highness, I have secreted this for many years now, though I would have been killed for it.” The man held up a crudely sewn pennant. It was a blue field with a silver, leaping dragon against it.
Ryckair took the flag in his hands and kissed it. Everyone on board touched their heads in the sign of the covenant. The prince handed the flag back to the officer. “No greater act of love for Carandir have I ever seen. Guard this for a little longer. The battle is not yet won and we require stealth.”
The officer pointed to the rest of the Carandir fleet. “Every ship on the bay is commanded by foreign officers and rowed by Carandirians in chains.”
“What is your name?”
“Commander Feto, Highness.”
Ryckair handed him the cutlass. “Commander Feto, I appoint you master of this galley. Continue your patrol as if nothing has happened. When you hear a battle begin in front of the palace, board every Carandir ship and free the prisoners.”
“It shall be done, my prince, and may the dragons protect you.”
As Ryckair returned to the lumber ship, an exhausted terec landed on top of the north tower. Without a specific location imprinted on its mind, the bird had flown down the Carandir coast through fierce storms for over a month with only the image of a face to guide it to the recipient of the canister tied to its leg.
A thin, bony hand reached down and picked the bird up. The crimson-robed sorcerer dropped powder on its wings. The terec shrieked and convulsed. Before the bird died, the sorcerer was able to read its mind and determine who it sought. Deftly, he removed the canister containing the target poison and walked down the tower to report to Reshna.
In her chambers, Mirjel packed quickly for a long voyage. Yetig told her only that they must flee before the Barasha discovered Telasec was missing. She knew Carandir was lost and still thought Ryckair dead. Yetig was all she had. She made him promise to take Lek. They would all escape east up the river where there were others faithful to the dragons who might help.
She selected clothing best suited to a life of running, jerkins and blouses and pantaloons. The finery was left behind.
It had been nearly a span since Lek and Yetig had left to gather more supplies. A knock came. “Thank Ilidel they’re back,” she said and opened the door. Reshna stood in the corridor with four crimson robed Barasha priests.
Mirjel tried to force the door closed but one of the priests held it open with his arm. She dropped the clothes she was carrying and backed away toward the balcony. Reshna stepped into the room and surveyed the tousled belongings. “You would leave your love, just as he is about to return to you?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You lie so poorly, Princess Mirjel. You think to protect your lover, Yetig, by hiding your affair. I have known of this for some time. I speak of your true love, your one love.”
She gasped. “Ryckair.” Then she shook her head. “Do not think you can torment me with such lies.”
“It is no lie. Ryckair lives. He approaches from the bay at this moment.”
Mirjel wanted the words to end. She had accepted Ryckair’s death. He was gone and, in a strange way, safe. More important, her own pain was safely locked away. Now the wounds broke open. In her heart she wanted Reshna’s words to be true, though she was certain they could not be. She closed her eyes. “Whatever your game, I will not play.”
“You will.” Reshna took the canister with the target poison from behind his back. Mirjel felt a deep fog form in her head. She tried to pull away, but the fog thickened and she mindlessly followed Reshna.
CHAPTER TWNETY
Ryckair slipped over the side of the lumber galley as it passed near the rock pinnacle supporting the palace. He swam to the entrance of the secret cave while the galley continued to the docks.
As Ryckair stood, Yetig stepped out of the cave and bowed. “Your Highness.” A dozen Carandir soldiers stood behind him.
Orane appeared from the darkness. “Highness, there is no time to explain, but know that Narech Yetig and the Kyar now work together to eliminate the Barasha.”
Ryckair said, “Telasec told me.”
“She lives?”
“Yes.”
“Then we must hurry.”
“I will form no pact with traitors.”
Yetig knelt in the sand. “Highness, if any of us live you may judge me as you see fit. I make no excuses. I acted to save Carandir and guide the monarchy back to greatness, though I gravely miscalculated the power of the Barasha. For this I may well pay with my life, but not at your hand, Highness.”
“And what would give you that protection?”
“Your word.”
“That is something you will never have.”
“Not even for Mirjel’s life?”
Ryckair reached for his dagger. “Where is she?”
“It is not I who threatens her. She has been taken by Reshna. Allow me and the crew of my flag ship to depart Carandir in exile. Give me your word and I will tell you how to rescue her.”
The narech extended his open hand. Ryckair looked into Yetig’s eyes and knew the man was concealing something. Still, he saw no alternative. Slowly, he raised his hand, placed it into Yetig’s and gave a single, short shake.
Jarat led the way across the plain. Ahead, in front of the bridge leading to the palace, a dozen Barasha priests raised a scaffolding until it towered to the height of four men. Three solid platforms were arranged along its width. Braziers were raised to the platforms and lit. Mercenaries carried out a captured Fadella whose legs and arms were strapped to a wagon wheel. The captive twisted and pulled on his bindings as he was raised to the center platform and set behind the brazier. Drums beat out a low, dull rhythm.
The drums stopped. A sorcerer drove a dagger into the prisoner’s chest. The flames flashed in the brazier and rose to form a vortex above the tower. The wooden wheel was set on fire, incinerating the prisoner. Above, the vortex glowed red. Smoke from the burning body flowed into it.
The sorcerer spoke an incantation and tossed powder into the flames. It was sucked up by the vortex and shot into the air to shower down on the mercenary army. As it descended, battle worn men rose fresh and renewed. The mercenary troops cheered.
Jarat raised her arms overhead. “Sin cae Jorondel Ilidel, hachana.” The vortex wavered and emitted a screeching sound. The mercenaries who had been rejuvenated a moment before now fell to their knees and screamed as they held their heads.
Dek said, “What is this?”
“They have summoned a demon and commanded it to give up its life force, a very dangerous thing to do. It now consumes those it was called to strengthen.” Jarat closed her eyes and placed her hands on his forehead. “Ava hin eer.”
The demon vortex spun faster and faster as it folded in on itself. With a bang, it vanished. The mercenaries dropped to the ground and tried to crawl away.
The flames of the brazier ignited anew. Three wheels were brought out, each with a Carandirian soldier strapped to it. They were lined up against the tower and knives were driven into each captives heart. Once more, the wheels were set ablaze and powder thrown into the flames. This time, three demons in the form of vortices appeared above the tower to take in the smoke. The mercenaries were showered with the demonic powder and rose. The silver armored mercenary champion came forward and the charge was on.
Jarat staggered back. “I cannot defeat such force. We must hold out for Ryckair to take the crown.”
Dek mounted his horse. “All commanders to their troops. We fight for our lives.”
Ichary’s archers fired on the charging enemy. The arrows struck the advancing troops, but the mercenaries continued forward with arrows protruded from their necks, arms and chests. No blood came from their wounds.
Dek, Exor and Udalla f
ound the same to be true. Saber cuts, tridents and spears did not stop the advancing horde. Only when an enemy soldier’s legs were hacked away would the attacker fall. Even then, the body clawed its way forward with its hands. Dek waved his sword overhead. “Pull back, but keep them engaged.”
In the cave, Yetig handed Ryckair a sword and scabbard. “Reshna has taken Mirjel to the roof of the north tower.”
Ryckair strapped on the sword. “I will go to the throne room and take the crown. Then, I will deal with Reshna. All of you wait here. I can travel faster alone.”
Yetig buckled on his own sword. “You will need my help to get past the guards. We will pretend that you are my prisoner.”
“With a sword in my hand?”
Yetig said, “You need me, Highness.”
Ryckair looked to Orane, then to Yetig. “Very well. Let’s go.”
The prince led the way up the secret corridors to the vaults of the Kyar and into the hallway connecting the north and south towers. They entered the throne room and stopped. The crystal sphere and the crown were missing.
“Where is it, Yetig?”
“Reshna still plays his games, Highness.”
They ran to the north tower and up the grand staircase. There were no guards or Barasha. Ryckair mounted the stairs to the tower roof with Yetig behind.
A low parapet ringed the flat top of the tower. Reshna stood on a raised platform at the west end. His red robes were silhouetted by the setting sun.
A smoky fire burned in a brazier in front of him. To his left, Mirjel sat chained to a ring. Her eyes stared blankly ahead. To his right was Commander Petstra. Directly in front of him, sword in hand, stood Craya next to the wooden pedestal supporting the crystal sphere and the crown.
Reshna tilted his head, like a bird of prey. “Greetings, son of Haram. Across deep waters and past lonely wastes our paths have run.”
Ryckair looked to Mirjel, then to Reshna. “Your time is ended, sorcerer.” He took out the dragon key. “The crown will deal its terrible justice.”
Dragons Unremembered Page 28