Bazil Broketail (27 page)

“Well,” said Hollein, “I must see some proof that you are who you say you are. I know that you control the great magic, but so does our enemy.”

Lessis’s eyes sparkled with fire for but a bare half second. When she spoke she remained quite calm and unconcerned.

“Of course, young Captain, and you will have it. But do not think that the enemy controls the great magic. The enemy’s arts are of the false magic—they trade on fear and superstition. There is no reverence, no feeling for life. Their charms and tricks are always cold and painful. They give no nurture.”

“I am happy to be rebuked then, such matters are not my province. We in the legion follow a more linear, restrained mode of thought.”

“Indeed, and so it should be. You are soldiers not spies. Believe me when I tell you how much the emperor and all his council value your courage and skill in war. You provide us with the rapier by which we puncture each of our enemy’s greater designs. What we in the Sisterhood do is to provide a shield, so each of us serves in an essential way.”

She paused, exchanged a glance with her assistant and then turned back to him.

“And now, Captain, I think we should go down to the surgeon’s tent and lend our skills to the doctors. There are many badly wounded men.”

Hollein would have gotten to his feet to bid them farewell, but they both reached out to touch his arms.

“Do not get up, young Captain,” said Lessis. “Save all your strength for the morrow.”

Lessis and Lagdalen moved away from the captain’s tent. When they were safely out of earshot, Lagdalen spoke.

“Can the bird really cover that much distance so quickly?”

“He can. He will be hungry afterwards, so I tremble for the squirrels of Red Oak, but he will be back tomorrow. Rassulane can speak the tongue of the owls and she will bear my message to General Hektor. A relief column will be here within the next week or so.”

The dawn came bright and chilly on the high slopes of Mt. Red Oak. Relkin awoke to find brilliant sunlight all about him while the camp slowly stirred to life.

He discovered that Bazil had already gone off to drink and wallow in the stream. There was time, to get the sleep out of his eyes and take some breakfast. The smell of griddle cakes and katlu, the dark coffee of Ourdh upon which the legions of Argonath depended, was coming from the cook pit.

He stirred himself. His body was sore, especially his shield arm, which had taken a pounding the day before. When he walked he found his right leg had an ache in the thigh and a very tender ankle.

Beyond the camp the great funeral pyre for Sorik had burned down to a mound of smoldering embers. The sound of men digging came from the meadow. There were a group of local gravediggers at work creating a communal grave for the enemy dead.

A few legionnaires were up, taking breakfast or lining up at the field-smithy to repair weapons, helmets and shields, all of which had taken a beating the day before. The smith had several fires going and the sounds of the bellows whooshing mingled with the clang of hammer on metal.

Relkin’s first priority that day was to re-bandage the cut on Bazil’s shield arm and to get the shield itself repaired.

The smith would not be looking forward to that job. But Relkin realized that all the dragons must have taken damage to their shields and weapons. Yesterday’s fighting had been the hottest they had seen since the assault on Elgoma’s Lodge. The smith and his assistants would be working until well past nightfall for the next few days.

A group of men were standing by the cook fire eating wheat cakes and gulping down hot, black kalut. As they ate they chatted. Relkin’s ears pricked up as he heard what they were saying.

Two Grey Sisters had come in the night, and Kesepton had given orders that what was left of the command was to accompany these Sisters across the Argo into the great forest. There was the likelihood of more fighting in the near future, too.

Relkin took some rolls and some polenta cake, plus a mug of the hot brew. He ate quickly, listening to the men complain about being suddenly thrown into danger again, with more miles of marching ahead. Everyone felt much too worn down for this. Another battle was out of the question. They were barely more than a third of a company, how could they be expected to fight without reinforcement?

When he’d finished Relkin went back to his sleeping place. Bazil’s weapons were stacked there along with his shield, helmet and armor.

Piocar was too long and heavy for Relkin to work with easily, and by common consent Bazil took care of his own sword. The big leatherback had a mystical communion with that blade anyway and spent many hours polishing and caring for it. But the tail sword, the mace, the helmet and all the rest, they were Relkin’s to keep repaired and ready.

He had pulled out the most damaged things, other than the shield, and was about to head for the smith’s fires when a figure stepped in front of him.

He saw the grey robes and the brown eyes, heard his name and felt his heart leap.

“Lagdalen!”

“Relkin Orphanboy, greetings to you, mighty warrior.”

She was smiling, amused and pleased at the same time. She had grown since he’d last seen her, back in Marneri. Her voice had changed, sounding much less like a girl now. He noticed other things, there was a sense of maturity about this Lagdalen. She was a woman now.

“So you were one of the Grey Sisters I heard talk about this morning.”

“Yes, we got here late last night. The Lady Lessis was in deep discussion with your commanding officers for a while. Indeed it was a busy night.”

“Well, we had a busy day of it yesterday. Bazil was very fierce with the trolls, killed three himself.”

She nodded. “We have been up with the surgeons through the night. There was much work to do, it was pretty grim.”

Her eyes seemed to pierce him then. He shivered—he never liked to see the surgeons at work, it was indeed most grim.

“Yes, I’m sure it was. We all came close to ending as meat for trolls yesterday.”

“But the victory was yours,” she said with a smile. “The enemy were swept from the field.”

At which point he remembered the end of the battle. Where were the reinforcements? He looked around but saw no regimental banner other than that of the 13th Marneri. It was quite mystifying.

“It was confusing, I still don’t understand.”

She was giving him that piercing gaze again.

“And you have become a fiercer fellow than the Relkin I knew in Marneri.”

He returned her gaze. “And you have grown up, Lagdalen of the Tarcho.”

She giggled and looked for a moment like the girl he remembered.

“It seems an age has passed since we were in Marneri together,” he said. “What happened there after we marched out?”

“Not much,” she said. “It does seem as if it was years ago, does it not? But that’s because we’ve been so busy ever since. I have been to every city in the Argonath now: Bea, Volut, Kadein. Oh, how I loved Kadein. The women there dress with the most wonderful taste; the city is so sophisticated, compared with Marneri. Someday I would like to live there, I think.”

Women always loved their first visit to Kadein; Relkin had heard this a dozen times or more. Well, at least Lagdalen seemed to have forgiven him for his role in her expulsion from the Novitiate.

“And what brings you to old Red Oak here in Argo?”

“We are on the same business. All winter we have been chasing Thrembode the magician. He still has the Princess Besita, but the Lady Lessis thinks we have him trapped at last. Your dragons are going to come with us into Tunina, where we’ll head him off and capture him.”

Relkin whistled. “I’m afraid this lot of dragons won’t be worth much for a while. We took a beating yesterday.”

Her face had become grave. “We will have to find a second wind, Relkin, all of us, for we cross the Argo this morning.”

Relkin stared at her. “It can’t be true.”

“Oh but it is, there’s no time to waste. We must meet with the elves of Matugolin today. We will fight tomorrow.”

“Oh, Lagdalen, you have indeed become a Grey Sister. Already you bring tidings of woe to us. We ache and must bind up our wounds, all the equipment is notched and cut, and you tell me we have to march this morning.”

She seemed unaffected. “Alas, there’s no alternative, my friend. We must make one more effort and save the princess.”

Shortly after that she excused herself and left on an errand for the Lady Lessis, with a promise to meet with him later to tell him all about her adventures and hear about his, and he went on down to the smithy fire with Bazil’s hacked-up shield.

The forest of Tunina was a dark, haunted place. Enormous groves of hemlocks crowded the stream bottoms. On higher slopes massive oaks spread their branches beside maples and ash.

Along a winding trail through these great trees came the weary men and dragons of Captain Kesepton’s command.

Kesepton had mounted all his men, and his supply wagons had taken fresh horses too, so they had made good time except for the dragons, who were close to exhaustion and had fallen some ways behind.

The dragons were less than happy with this situation. Kepabar was still suffering from a tremendous headache. Only Bazil and Nesessitas were in any way fit to march all day. The dragonboys had a difficult time keeping the dragons moving and out of the streams they passed.

To make things worse, swarms of deer flies attacked the dragons along the way and the boys were busy swatting the pesky things with their leather belts. All the dragons were at the limits of their patience and ready to commit murder.

Relkin and Bazil were in the lead by this point. Relkin had stripped to the waist to ward off the heat. For a spring day it was murderously hot and humid. And since Bazil was far too worn to carry him in addition to his equipment, Relkin had had to walk all day. His leg ached and his feet hurt and he wanted to lie down and sleep for a very long time.

. The infantry and the cavalry had moved steadily ahead and were now a mile or more in front of them, at least Relkin could see no sign of them except the trail they’d left.

From occasional glimpses of the sun he knew that the afternoon was waning. He wondered how long it would be before they could stop and rest. He was sure that all the dragons, and their dragonboys, would be asleep in a matter of seconds following the command to halt.

The path ahead was bisected by a small stream, and on the far side it ran between two massive oaks. Bazil had sworn that he was going to stop and drink at the next stream and cool his aching feet in the cold water. Relkin wasn’t going to say a thing in protest. Let Liepol Duxe come back and talk to the dragons himself. The great beasts were close to the breaking point.

Abruptly, slender figures appeared in that gap beyond the stream. Relkin saw them and gaped.

Elves! The wild folk of the trees. Holding bows and arrows, arrows no doubt tipped with one of their deadly poisons. The elves did not look at all friendly.

Relkin tried not to move, not to excite them. There could be an army of these grim-faced folk surrounding them.

Bazil suddenly shook to a stop. Tired as he was, the leatherback had only now noticed the elves.

“Fool boy, we have trouble. Look ahead.”

“I see them, Baz. Tunina elves.”

Everyone else had seen them now. Dragoneer Heltifer, who now commanded the 109th, moved cautiously to the front. “Does anyone speak the forest tongue?” he said in a very quiet voice. No one, not even Marco Veli, replied to that.

More elves were becoming visible on either side. They kept their bows cocked, with slender arrows ready to deal death to man or beast.

“Hail!” said Heltifer finally.

The elves by the stream moved aside and another figure appeared, this one clad in the feathered costume that denoted rank among the green forest people.

“What is this?” grumbled Bazil.

“Someone of great importance, that’s all I know,” said Relkin.

Dragoneer Heltifer rounded on them. “Quiet! Wait for them to speak.”

Bazil snorted irritably and rested on his sword. “We’re supposed to meet with elves today anyway, that’s what I heard,” he said in a mutinous whisper.

“Silence,” said Heltifer.

The feathered elf approached.

“Greetings!” it said, and raised a hand, palm toward them.

“Well, at least it speaks the tongue of the Argonath,” said Relkin.

“We come in peace,” said Heltifer nervously.

“You come to Tunina, and you bring wyverns. You bring trouble to Tunina.”

Heltifer winced at that; the elves were supposed to regard them as allies on this venture.

“Look, we’re bringing up the rear on the company, everyone else is up ahead. Don’t you want to talk to Captain Kesepton?”

The feathered elf came closer. He was a typical example of his kind, of medium height and slender build with the deep set eyes and long narrow jaw that always denoted elf rather than man. Relkin could see the green flecks, like little triangles, that mottled his skin.

Equally obvious was the fact that this elf lord was angry-

“No, the captain will not listen to us,” he hissed. “We talk with you to tell you to take the wyverns from our sacred woods.”

Heltifer looked around him helplessly. “But we are supposed to meet with the elves of Matugolin.”

“I am Prince Afead. This part of Tunina is my fief, I do not agree that wyverns can come here.”

Relkin spoke up. “But there are trolls coming here. Without the dragons we cannot stop them.”

“Bah, leave them be and they will soon go. They mean no harm to elf folk.”

“I must confer with the captain,” said Heltifer with a note of desperate confusion.

“No!” said the elf in a loud voice, raising his hand. “You will turn now and go back.”

Bazil and Nesessitas were growing restless. Big Vander was coming up to take a look at this. Relkin had a premonition of disaster. Bad-tempered dragons and intemperate forest elves could produce a battle right here and ruin everyone’s plans.