That evening, Damar and all the Keltens were invited to visit the cavalry encampment. One of the officers had said to Damar, “Since you helped herd the horses along the river path, we would be honored to have you join us. Tomorrow we will break up into ten different units, each following a different trail. Tonight, we sing songs. We have hired musicians as well.”
The Keltens sat with the cavalrymen in their camp next to the horses. A bed of glowing coals was spread out, fifty feet long, and entire cows and pigs were roasted above it on spits. They all drank a strange alcoholic beverage made partly from fermented mare’s milk. The hired musicians, a trio, strolled through the camp, playing their songs. One had a wood flute, the other had a cittern (just like the ones that were played in Kelten), and the third had a pair of small drums hanging from his thick belt. The piper led the trio, and his high-pitched flute sounded like a songbird. As he played before the commanders and the Keltens, it seemed the sparks from the bonfire behind him were flying into the air in time with his notes. Though the songs were unknown to Sandun, the melodies sounded like those played by Kelten bards. The Kelten knights applauded loudly after each performance.
“Now this, this is music!” Padan shouted. He had drunk quite a lot of the mare’s milk.
“These fellows could make a good living in Erimasran,” Kagne said. “By the stars, who doesn’t like new tunes well played? No one, I say!”
The commander of the cavalry leaned over and told Sandun, “This is Kitran music.” Pointing to the flagon of mare’s milk, he said, “Kitran-style drink. Kitran have the best cavalry. We copy them, copy their way of fighting. And with Serice discipline, we will beat them!” His officers raised their glasses and cheered his words. The chant, “Beat them! Beat them!” spread throughout the cavalrymen.
Sir Ako stood up, none too steadily. The mare’s milk was a lot stronger than it tasted.
“Who wants to fight me?” he shouted. “I haven’t killed a man in months. My sword thirsts for battle, my blood is on fire, and my woman is back in Tokolas. Where are some Kitran for me to slay?”
One officer stood and said, “I lead the cavalry of Jupelos. There are raiders all over the north, but every time we approach them, they scatter like cockroaches.”
“A small group of fast riders might catch these insects unawares.” Sir Ako came up close to the officer from Jupelos. “Where is the latest sighting? Give me a guide, and I will ride with the speed of a hunting falcon to find them and quench my blood lust.”
“Up in the hills.” The man pointed in the darkness a little off from the north star. “East and north from here. This day, we gathered all our warriors beside the river, so we did not respond to the reported sighting.”
“Excellent! My men will leave at first light. You have a guide?”
“The young man who brought word. I will have him found, or another if he is unwilling.”
“Two guides are best,” Sir Ako said, nodding to himself. “We wouldn’t want to get lost and miss the big battle.”
Sandun knew the schedule; the army of Kunhalvar would not leave Jupelos tomorrow and maybe not the day after, depending on when the rest of foot soldiers arrived. This was as good a time as any to go out in search of battle. He wondered if it was wise for them to tire the horses chasing after rumors, but Sir Ako had led soldiers since he was eighteen. Sandun trusted the knight in matters of war.
Sir Ako spoke loudly to the cavalry commander. “My men and I must go and make ready. We will return here with dawn’s light.”
On the way back to the ships, Sir Ako said to Sandun, “You are coming with us.”
It was more a statement than a question. Sandun said yes.
“Pack your armor. The raiders will be wary. If we find them, we may have to scout a bit before attacking. Ask the Rutal-lil if they want to join us. I’d like to see how they perform in battle and if they will follow my orders.”
On board the flagship, Sandun found Jay and Ven; they both accepted the invitation without hesitation. He left word with Lord Vaina’s page boy. In his cabin, he packed his saddlebags while Miri watched silently from her bed.
“I’ll be gone for two or three days. The fleet may not have moved before I return.”
“I will pray for your safety every evening, until I see you again,” Miri replied.
Chapter Seven
Ghost Wolf
Sandun got a few hours’ sleep; he was wakened by Ven’s tapping on the cabin door. The stars were fading in the sky as they walked down the gangway and found their horses stabled in a voluminous horse tent set up at the end of the pier. He had to admit, he was excited. This was his first military expedition as a knight. He had his sword, his bow, two daggers. He wondered if he should bring another sword or an axe, but then he saw Jay take one of the light spears from the rack. That was the extra weapon he needed to carry, so he grabbed one himself.
When they rode up to the second boat, Sandun was not surprised to see that Frostel was with the Keltens, along with another person, wearing a hooded cloak, who he did not recognize at first until he heard Damar talking and realized the stranger was Sumetar. Thus it was twelve who rode to the cavalry encampment. As the dawn sky turned rose red in the east, they found two guides ready beside the small watch fire.
To his surprise, one of the two guides was Filpa, the fast rider who had escorted him to the foot of the Great Sage Temple. Sandun and Basil dismounted and shook hands with the young man.
“How is Zaval?” Sandun asked.
“Zaval better, rib still pains,” Filpa said, pointing to his own lower rib. “Not so fast rider yet.”
“And what brings you this far north?”
“I ride across all Kunhalvar now. Promoted special messenger now, good!” Filpa smiled broadly. “Hear Keltens need guide, and I in town. Mission is mine. Fight beside Fire Sword again, hey!”
“And Frostel!” boomed the boisterous warrior as he made his way up to Filpa.
“Blue Frostel?” Filpa looked surprised. “I hear of troubles in Rulon Mors.”
“I came for the battle. The other masters, they are not seeing things correctly,” Frostel said, dismissing Filpa’s concern with a wave of his hand.
“Enough talk, let’s ride!” Sir Ako said, and off they went, clattering through the sleeping town and out the east gate. Sir Ako knew exactly how to pace the horses: they alternated paces, the occasional gallop followed by a canter, a long trot, a bit of walking, and then speeding up again. They halted to let the horses drink every hour or two. The hills, which had been low on the horizon, loomed higher and higher as they ate up the miles. The young man who had brought word of the raiders was named Arno; he was awed to discover that Frostel was the true heir of the famous general.
“Just call me Ro,” said the young man.
“Arno is a good name,” Frostel told him. “My ancestor deserves to be remembered, now more than ever.”
They entered the foothills, and the road they followed stayed wide and hard, even as it wound its way up into the hills. Sandun rode up next to Ro and asked, “What large city does this impressive road lead to? Why are so few merchants and travelers on it?”
The young man laughed and said, “You will not believe it, but this road was not made by man. It was made by buffalo in centuries long past. At least that is what the old legends say.”
Ro was correct about one thing: Sandun did not believe him. Sandun looked at Filpa, expecting to see him laugh, but instead Filpa vigorously nodded.
“Young man knows straight story. Buffalo made this, I’m told. Follow this road to rapids on Mur, near Oardulos. In days of First Kingdom, settlers new here. Every year, long lines of buffalo, they travel to Mur River and cross. Calves born on south shore. Then in spring, back again and graze around Jupol for summer.”
Despite Filpa’s words, Sandun didn’t think such a farcical legend was believabl
e. Animals didn’t make roads, not in his experience. He had accidentally followed many deer trails in the hills around Hepedion and Tebispoli. Such deer trails always ended in thickets of deer brush. At that point, you either forced your way through the bushes, with scratches and dead leaves in your hair as a reward, or you turned around and took a different path, one made by humans. Cows didn’t make trails either, as they ambled around pastures searching for grass. Were buffalo different from cows? Not that he knew.
Instead he asked, “How far are we from Oardulos?”
“Three hundred tik from Jupelos to Oardulos,” Filpa said without hesitation. “Already we have ridden more than eighty tik today.”
“How much farther are we going?”
Ro answered, “There is a village not far from here called Olitik. I shall ask for news there.”
Half an hour later, Sir Ako halted them. “I smell smoke, and not from burning wood. Armor up!”
Feeling a tightness in his chest, Sandun hastily pulled out his armor from his saddlebags. He helped Basil with his armor, and then Basil helped him. When everyone was armored, they proceeded down the road. They were not quiet as they clanked along between the trees.
Reaching a clearing that ran up to the town of Olitik, they found it was the fields that were on fire. After harvest, the farmers in Serica often burned the stubble, just as was done in many parts of Kelten. Sandun saw thin lines of fire and smoke creeping across the fenced croplands, leaving behind blackened earth and drifting ash. It seemed as though the whole village was out supervising the activity, keeping the fires under control.
While Padan had the bear flag of Kelten on his lance, Filpa carried the red crane flag of Kunhalvar on his spear. As this was a friendly sign, two small boys ran down to them with soot-stained faces and blackened hands. Ro asked them if they knew anything about raiders. The two boys had lots of rumors to report, and they pointed excitedly east and south. As the boys spoke in a heavily accented version of Serice, they kept eyeing the Keltens sitting on their horses in shining metal armor that reflected the light of the afternoon sun. However, after fifteen minutes, it was apparent that rumors were as thick as the smoke that swirled around, and just as useless.
“Not much to go on, and it’s getting late in the day. Suggestions?” Sir Ako said to Ro.
“No one wants to visit a town when the folk are burning the fields,” Ro said. Everyone agreed about that. Ro continued, “My sister married a man who lives in Essebeg. It’s a small village beside a lake up in those hills.” Ro pointed to mountains north of them. “The lake is pretty, and the town is safe, I think.”
Filpa lifted his hands palms up and shrugged.
“Better to be the attacker than defending a strange place in the middle of the night,” said Padan.
“You’re right, Padan,” said Sir Ako. “We are too few to defend against a surprise assault by raiders in the middle of the night.” He took off his helm and wiped his forehead with a piece of cloth he had tucked in a saddle pouch. “This all may have been a wild goose chase. We may as well see the lake; I could use a swim.”
Skirting around the edge of the fields, they rode into the hills, following Ro. He led them along a narrow track through the dense forest. The broadleaf trees were changing color, and many leaves had fallen, painting the forest floor yellow and orange. As they climbed higher, pine trees began to crowd out the maples. The first signs of Essebeg were stumps of trees beside the trail, and then they passed the tree line and could see a small valley. As Ro had promised, there was a delightful blue lake right under a cliff. The village of Essebeg was built along the shore, closer to the trail than the cliff.
Sandun immediately noticed men carrying spears; others were setting up barricades of logs around the village. “They look like they are preparing for battle,” Sandun said.
Sir Ako nodded. “Ro, find out what is going on. Is there another trail to this place?”
“I’m not sure, Opmi. I’ll seek answers.”
Ro trotted in the direction of the houses beside the lakeshore. Some people waved at him and then waved at the knights, indicating they should come over to the village.
“Seems friendly. Glad they aren’t burning their fields today,” Kagne said.
“If I guess true, they harvested their crops two days past,” Sandun replied.
“Let’s go. Since the harvest is in, they will not begrudge us some food,” Farrel recomended.
As he slowly walked his horse down a lane between old wooden fences, Sandun looked at the mountain on the other side of the lake. It rose steeply, and a pine forest went only halfway up the slope, leaving the rest of the peak bare. “Looks a bit like the karst we climbed,” Sandun said to Basil.
“Easier to climb—just follow the line of trees from the south. Likely eagles and mountain goats live around the peak,” Basil replied.
Frostel drew close, “This is indeed like the karsts of the Towers of Heaven. Not as tall or as steep. Due north of here, three or four hundred tik as the eagle flies, sits the city of Kemeklos. But the many karst hills make this portion of Kisvar province impassible to armies. No battles were fought here, so I have never come to visit.”
Ro, returning to the company, spoke up. “We tell stories about the fierce saber tigers who once lived in these hills, long ago, in the time of the Gold Kingdom. We say the king and his men came to these parts and hunted the deadly beasts. But there has been no sign of saber tigers since the days of my grandfather.”
At the barricade, a man wearing armor and holding a broad-bladed hunting spear greeted them warmly. “I’m Gorgi. Welcome to Essebeg. You are just in time for some fun. The wild boar will attack tonight!”
“Wild boar? Are they good to eat?” Sir Ako asked frankly.
Gorgi heard Sir Ako’s strange accent, and he thumped his spear against the log barricade. “You must be the Keltens who came to Tokolas earlier this year. That explains your strange armor. Welcome again. News that the governor of Kunhalvar would take his army north must be true. To your question, the young boars make good eating; the older ones are for stew. The brawny boar captains are too tough—we drag them into the forest and leave them for the bears.”
It seemed all the spaces between the houses of Essebeg were covered with heaps of drying grain, set out on mats of woven straw or colored cloth. Everyone was busy: while the men heaved logs on top of logs, the women were tying up sheaves of grain. The sound of threshing came from inside an enclosure made of boards. Arrows and spears were being carried around by the children. Meat on skewers was handed around, fresh from cook fires.
“I see you have already killed a few of the wild pigs,” said Sir Ako as he bit into a rib.
“That we have. They come from the wilds north of here. They know when it is harvest season,” Gorgi told them. “The greedy animals wait till we have done all the work, and then they gather in battalions and try to gorge themselves on our grain. Makes things pretty exciting this time of year.”
“When will the boars attack? Is there time for a swim?”
“They will begin their assault in the evening, the young, hungry ones first. The older boars will wait till it is night. The lake is cold enough that I doubt you will spend much time in its waters. Keep your armor handy—more than a few men of Essebeg have been ripped by boar tusks. The animals sharpen their tusks on stones.”
All the riders followed Sir Ako to the lakeshore and stripped. Sir Ako dove into the water and came up immediately, spurting water and breathing hard. The rest went in after him. Sandun found the water chilly but immensely refreshing after sitting on a horse for nearly twelve hours.
Sume did not join them in the water but instead disappeared into the town. Several minutes later, she reappeared holding a pile of rags in her arms, which she dropped at the stony shore. A gaggle of young girls followed her at a distance, and there was some giggling and pointing at the
naked men as they came out of the water and dried off.
Basil had a light in his eyes at the thought of wild boars coming to town in an hour or two. His dark hair was dripping with water as he scanned the forests and hills all around. “I hope we can borrow one of their boar spears. Our weapons are nearly useless for killing boar. Did you know that wild boars will spit themselves on a lance in a mad rage? They will charge down the length of a spear just to gut the man who is holding it.”
Sandun had not known this. Wild boars were terrible pests and would root up fences and destroy crops if their numbers were allowed to grow, so they were hunted assiduously. You had to go far north in Kelten to find many wild boars.
“I’ll wear my armor,” Sandun reassured Basil. Switching topics, he pointed to the cliff face high above the lake and asked Basil, “Doesn’t the rock wall look a bit odd to you?”
“Not really. What do you mean?”
“Unnatural.” Sandun drew the word out.
Basil looked carefully at the cliff. He took out his farseer and peered through it as the western sunlight shone full upon the face of old stone. “I…maybe?”
He was interrupted by shouting from the other side of the village; mixed with the cries came the unmistakable sound of grunting and squealing boars.
Basil grinned. “There is still enough light to shoot by. Oh yes!” He ran to his horse and strung his great bow, then took off through the barricade.
“I’ll bring your horse!” Sandun shouted at him.
The horses were warhorses and only a bit nervous from the sounds of wild boars. They were put in a stable, and Ro and Filpa were set to guard them while the Keltens went to see the activity.
Sandun found the Essebeg boar spears to be just ordinary spears with a crosspiece of metal lashed to the pole, about a foot behind the tip of the spear. There were extra spears, so he borrowed one and looked out over the wooden wall.
The Fire Sword Page 25