The hour with Sho Pi and Nakor became the high point of the day for Erik, and the other men seemed to enjoy the exercises as well. The meditation was strange at first, but now it refreshed him and made his sleep better.
By the third month, Erik was adept at open-handed fighting, as he thought of the strange Isalani dance Sho Pi taught them. No matter how strange at first, the movements wove themselves into an arsenal of moves and countermoves, and often without thought Erik found a sudden response, completely unexpected, coming from him during a combat drill.
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Once, when using knives, he almost cut Luis, who said something in Rodezian as he studied his one-time death cell companion. Then he had laughed.
“Your ‘dance of the crane’ has turned into the ‘claw of the tiger,’ it seems.” Both were moves taught him by Sho Pi, and neither had been conscious on his part.
Erik wondered what he was becoming.
“Land ho!” cried the lookout.
For the last two days tension on the ship had mounted. Sailors had mentioned that they were close to the point where they should be making landfall, and now every man was conscious of how long he had been confined to the ship. These large three-masted warships were provisioned well enough for the long four-month voyage, but the food was now stale or old and tired. Only Nakor’s ever-present oranges were fresh.
Erik went aloft and made ready to reef sail, as the Captain took the ship through a treacherous series of reefs. Moving past a clear patch of water, Erik looked down and saw what appeared to be part of a ship lying under ten feet of water.
An older sailor named Marstin standing next to him said, “That’s the Raptor, lad. Old Captain Trenchard’s ship, once the Royal Eagle out of Krondor. We sailors of the King became pirates for a time.” He pointed toward the rocky shore. “A handful of us washed up there twenty-four years ago, and young Calis, with the Prince of Krondor—Nicholas, not his dad—and Duke Marcus of Crydee.”
“You were among that party?” asked Roo on his other side.
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“There’s a handful of us still alive. I was on my first voyage, a seaman apprentice in the King’s Navy, but I served on the best ship under the finest Captain in history.”
Roo and Erik had heard several versions of the story about Calis’s first voyage to the southern continent. “Where are you going once we’re dropped off?”
Marstin replied, “City of the Serpent River.
Revenge is going to wait for you men, while Ranger is going to refit and go home with the current news.
That’s what I hear, anyway.”
Scuttlebutt they called it in the navy, but it was the same gossip they’d heard. Further conversation was cut off by the order to reef the sails, and Erik and Roo got to it.
When they were done scrambling around enough to take in their whereabouts, they saw they were lying off a long, empty beach beneath a huge wall of cliffs, easily one hundred feet high. The breakers and combers indicated the area was thick with rocks, and Erik was impressed with the Captain’s ease at reaching this relatively safe anchorage.
“Muster on deck!” came the command, and Erik and Roo scrambled down to the deck with the others.
De Loungville waited until the entire company was settled before he shouted, “We get off here, ladies.
You have ten minutes to get below and gather up your kits and get back up here. The boats will be putting over the side at once. We don’t dawdle. No one will be left behind, so don’t get cute ideas about dodging into the rope lockers.”
Erik was convinced the warning was unnecessary.
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of this company led him to judge that everyone understood there would be no quick escape from this mission. Some might not believe that everything was as Calis had said, but Nakor’s words seemed to have reached all of them, and whatever the truth of it, this band of desperate men would meet the challenge face on.
Horsemen waited at the top of the cliff. The climb had been relatively easy, as a rope-and-wood ladder had been installed on the face of the rocks. Anyone in poor health might have had difficulty with the long climb, but after four months of ship’s duty, hard upon the heels of the training at the camp, Erik had no trouble climbing with his backpack and weapons.
At the top of the bluff, Erik saw a pleasant oasis hard against the edge of the cliff. A large pool of water was surrounded by date palms and other greenery. Then he caught sight of the desert. “Gods!”
he exclaimed, and Roo came to his side.
“What?” asked the smaller youth. Biggo and the others came and looked where Erik pointed.
“I’ve seen the Jal-Pur,” said Billy Goodwin, “and it’s a mother’s kindness compared to this.”
In every direction, rock and sand greeted the eye.
Save where the cliff showed ocean, there was only one color, a slate grey, dotted with darker rock. Even this late in the afternoon, the heat shimmer rising made the air ripple like bed sheets on a line, and suddenly Erik felt thirsty.
Biggo said, “I’d not wish this on a hound of hell.”
The attention of Erik and his five companions was diverted by Foster suddenly shouting, “All right, ladies, enough time to take in the scenery later. Fall in!”
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They were moved to where de Loungville waited.
He pointed to a group of six men, the one that included Jerome and Jadow Shati. Erik knew them by name and had spoken to each from time to time on the long voyage. “This is the oldest team of six I have. They’ve been training for three years.” Then he motioned toward Erik and his group. “This is the newest group. They’d been training for only a few weeks before we left.” He addressed Erik’s group.
“Watch them. Do what they do. If you get into trouble, they will help you. If you make mistakes, they will help you. If you try to escape, they will kill you.”
Without another word, he moved away, calling Foster’s name, he shouted instructions to get the men organized for a march.
The horsemen conferred with Calis, then turned and rode off. A short distance away, large bundles were tied down under canvas, staked to the ground by peg and rope. Foster ordered a dozen men to uncover them, and when they had finished, Erik saw a cache of arms and armor.
Calis held up his hand. “You are mercenaries, now, so some of you will dress like ragpickers, while others will look like princes. I want no squabbling over who takes what. The weapons are more important than the finery. Leave your Kingdom-made weapons here, and take what’s under the canvas Roo whispered, “Wish they’d told us we wouldn’t need all this armor before we lugged it up the cliff!”
Calis continued, “Remember, this is mummery, nothing more. Booty isn’t our objective.”
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been told,” he continued. “Now you will know the rest. In ancient times a race was created, the serpent men of Pantathia.” Instead of the usual muttering, the men were rapt and silent, for they knew their lives depended upon knowing as much about this mission as possible. “This race has lore as ancient as the Chaos Wars. They think their destiny is to rule this world, destroying all else who abide here.” Looking around at the men, as if memorizing their faces, the young-looking elf-kin said, “They have the means, I think. Or at least it’s our task to discover if they have the means.
&nb
sp; “We came here twelve years ago, some of us.” He nodded to a knot of soldiers from the last campaign.
“We thought in simpler terms then: we would lend our weight to the struggle and turn back conquerors.
We now know better.” All the surviving soldiers of the first campaign against the Pantathians nodded in agreement. “Whatever these creatures plan, it is more than simple land-grabbing or raiding for booty.
Twenty years ago they came against a small city on the far side of this continent, Irabek, and since then, any land they take falls behind a curtain of death and fire. We have no word from any place they have conquered. Those of us who faced them on the walls of Hamsa know what they are. Mercenary companies such as we pretend to be lead the wave, but behind them are fanatic soldiers. There are human officers and cadres of well-drilled fighting men, but more: there are also serpents who ride horses twenty-five hands high.”
Erik blinked at this. The largest war-horse he had seen in Baron Otto’s cavalry was nineteen hands.
He’d heard of some being twenty hands, used by the 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 312
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Krondor Heavy Lancers, but twenty-five hands?
That was nearly eight and a half feet at the withers.
Not even the biggest Shire horse he’d seen came close to that.
“We’ve not seen these creatures,” continued Calis, “but we have reliable reports. And behind these creatures come the priests themselves.
“Some men, we are told, are rewarded by being placed high within this company of well-drilled fightingmen. But all of them are willing servants of those who seek to dominate this land.
“Our mission is simple. We must get as close to the heart of this army of conquest and discover as much about it as we may. Then, when we have learned all we can, we must flee to the City of the Serpent River, and from there home, so that Prince Nicholas can prepare for the coming invasion.”
There was a moment of silence; then Biggo said,
“So that’s all we need do, and then we can go home?”
Suddenly there was laughter. Erik found be couldn’t hold it in. Roo looked at him, seemed to struggle to hold in his own guffaw, then abruptly was laughing as well.
Calis let the mirth go on for a moment before he held up his hands for silence. “Many will not return.
But those of you who do will have earned your freedom and the praise of your King. And if we can defeat these murderous snakes, you may have the opportunity to live out that life as you choose. Now, get equipped. We have a long march across a difficult desert before we meet with friends.”
The men fell upon the arms and clothing like children on gifts at the Midwinter Feast, and soon comments and friendly insults were flying.
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Erik found a faded but serviceable blue tunic, over which he strapped on a breastplate of alien design, with a worn and faded lion’s head embossed on it. A simple round shield, a long dagger in his belt, and a well-made longsword filled his needs. As men tried on various items and discarded them, a conical helm with a nasal bar rolled to his feet. He bent to pick it up, and a chain neck guard fell out. He tried it on. It fit comfortably, so he kept it.
As the men made ready, the mood turned somber.
Calis saw they were finished and held up his hands.
“You are now Calis’s Crimson Eagles. If anyone recognizes that name, you’re men from the Sunset Islands. Those of you who served before can tell the others what they need to know about the Eagles if they’re asked. We are the fiercest fighters in the Kingdom, and we fear no man, or demon. We got our backsides booted when last we came this way, but that was twelve years ago, and I doubt there’s one man in a thousand alive who remembers. So, form companies—we’re mercenaries, but we’re not rabble—and check your rations. Each man’s to carry three full waterskins. We’re marching at night and sleeping during the day. Follow instructions and you’ll live to see water again.”
As the sun sank Foster and de Loungville got the men ranked into companies. Calis faced west, toward an angry sun, and led them into the heat.
Erik had never been so hot, tired, and thirsty in his life. The back of his neck itched, yet he couldn’t spare the energy to reach up and scratch it. The first night had seemed relatively easy. The air had plunged from hot to brisk within hours, and as sun-
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rise approached, it was cold. Yet even then it had been a very dry cold, and the thirst had begun. As instructed, they drank only when permitted by Foster and de Loungville, a mouthful every hour.
Near sunrise, they were ordered to make camp, and quickly had small tents erected, each large enough to shade six men. They quickly fell asleep.
Hours later, Erik awoke with a start, as the breath in his lungs seemed barely to hold enough air to keep him alive. He gasped and was rewarded with a dry lungful that was close to painful. Opening his eyes, he saw waves in the air as heat shimmer rose off the hardpan. Other men moved and tried to get comfortable in the heat. A couple had left the small tents, thinking the heat outside might somehow be less than the heat radiating through the canvas, and quickly they returned to the tiny shelter. As if reading minds, Foster’s voice had cut through the air, warning any man caught drinking would be flogged.
The second night had been arduous, and the second day terrible. Now there was no rest in lying in the heat, only less energy expended than attempting to move. The night offered no relief, as the cold dry air sucked moisture from the men seemingly as quickly as the day’s heat.
They marched on.
Foster and de Loungville were careful not to lose sight of each company, ensuring that no one at the rear stumbled and was left behind. Erik knew they were also ensuring that no one dropped any vital piece of equipment because they were fatigued.
Now it was the third day and Erik despaired of ever seeing water and shade again. Adding to the cruelty of the trek was the rising terrain before them. It had 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 315
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begun gently enough, but now it felt as if they were walking uphill.
Ahead, Calis stopped, but motioned for the others to come up to him. When they reached the crest of the rise, Erik could see that they had reached grasslands, and that from the crest downward, rolling hills of green led to a scattering of copses where broad branched trees offered shelter. In the distance, a line of trees meandered across the countryside, and it was there Calis pointed. “The Serpent River. You can drink your fill now.”
Erik pulled up his last waterskin and drained it, finding it was almost empty. He was surprised; he had thought he had more water left, as he hadn’t been allowed to drink enough to drain three skins.
Calis looked to de Loungville and said, “That was pretty easy.”
Erik glanced at Roo, who shook his head. The order to march was passed along, and they moved toward the distant river.
Horses milled in large corrals and Calis spoke to a pair of horse traders. They had been at this place before, a prosperous-looking trading post called Shingazi’s Landing. One of the older soldiers said it had been burned to the ground when Calis had first come to this land, twenty-four years ago, but had been rebuilt. Even though Shingazi had died in that fire years before, the new owners kept the name. So they were presently enjoying the hospitality of Brek’s at Shingazi’s Landing.
The food was simple but welcome after the rations of the last three days, as were the abundant wine and ale. The men waiting for them weren’t the 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 316
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same riders that had met them on the bluffs. Those had been riders of the Jeshandi, Erik had been to
ld, while these were city men, up from the City of the Serpent River.
A company of guardsmen were stationed with them, and their captain was known to Calis. They had gone inside the tavern to talk, while the mercenary company was left to itself outside. Every man had bathed in the river, drank his fill, and now they were resting before mounting up to ride.
Erik watched the horses with interest. Here was something he could understand. He saw that each mount was being given a snaffle bit, a cavalry saddle with a breast-band, and saddlebags, with room for a sleeping roll or rolled-up tent behind the saddle’s cantle.
Foster was walking nearby when Erik noticed something. “Corporal,” he said.
Foster halted. “What?”
“That horse isn’t sound.”
“What?”
Erik moved between two rails of the corral fence and pushed past the milling horses near by. One of the horse trader’s handlers shouted at Erik; he had tried to learn the language of this land on ship, and knew that man was ordering him to stay away from the horses, but he didn’t have enough confidence in his ability to say he just wanted to look. He waved at the man as if returning a greeting.
Reaching the horse, he ran his hand down the left foreleg, picking it up. “Bad hoof.”
Foster said, “Damn their greedy hearts.”
The wrangler reached them, shouting at them to leave the animals alone. “You haven’t paid yet! They are not yours!”
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Foster unleashed his legendary rage. Gripping the man’s shirt in one meaty hand, he raised him to his toes and screamed in his face. “I should have your liver for lunch! Get your master and tell him if he’s not here before I lose my good mood, I’ll kill him and every cheating whoreson of a city man within five miles!” He half pushed the man as he let go of his shirt, and the wrangler fell back against the horse, who snorted in protest and moved away.
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