Rise of a Hero (The Farsala Trilogy) (41 page)

“I never saw them,” said Kavi. “So I don’t know what they look like.”

“Neither do I,” the commander snorted. “But that didn’t stop them from ordering me to go find the bastards.”

He followed his men to the next alley, but Kavi saw him glance at the brand on the barrels as he passed.

“Start loading other goods,” he told his men. He managed to keep his voice from shaking, though he wasn’t sure how. This was different from firing the warehouse. This was a job for some soldier-hero, like that young fool leading the army. So what was a sensible man like Kavi doing here?

But he knew the answer to that, and his debt
was still unpaid. If it took a fool-hero, then a fool-hero he’d be. And fool-heroism had worked . . . so far.

They loaded the wagons hastily, not paying much attention to what food they stole, for anything would be welcome in Mazad. And if some of the barrels were different sizes, and all had different marks, that couldn’t be helped.

Kavi mounted the lead wagon, praying that the perimeter guard would be less alert than the night watch. Praying that when the patrols had been called in, the real shipment could get through. Praying that the cursed ox would move when he told it to!

It took him several attempts to get the beast walking, for it seemed to be unnerved by the darkness and the torches. But once in motion it kept moving, and turned when Kavi told it to, and all too soon brought him to the perimeter of the Hrum camp.

The road between the camp and Mazad glowed in the moonlight. It looked rough and ill tended, but it was better than the blackened rubble that had once been a prosperous suburb.

Kavi had known people who’d lived and
worked in those buildings, and a sudden surge of anger steadied him.

“Halt! What are you doing, heading out of camp at this time of night?”

“We’re supposed to take the poisoned beer out in sight of the walls,” said Kavi. “And pour it on the ruins. It’s supposed to symbolize something, or something. As long as I don’t have to get within arrow range, I don’t care.”

“This couldn’t wait till morning?” One of the perimeter guards eyed him suspiciously. There were only two of them, Kavi was relieved to see, though he had no doubt that more could be summoned swiftly. Assuming they weren’t all lined up at the latrines.

“I guess they want to be sure no one else gets into it,” Kavi told him. “I thought the same as you at first, but then I realized that by daylight their archery is likely to be better, and changed my mind.”

“But why drop it on the ruins at all?” the guard persisted.

“Like I said, it’s supposed to symbolize defiance or something,” said Kavi, trying to sound impatient instead of frightened. “Personally, I think someone’s brains were affected as well as
their bowels, but all I know is what they told me to do. It’s away from the camp and the river, so it hardly matters, does it?”

“Hmm.” The perimeter guard stepped forward, looking at the mark on one of the kegs.

Kavi swung his ox goad, catching the man on the face, and he staggered back with a cry of pain. Blood, black in the moonlight, poured through his fingers.

“Go!” Kavi yelled. He jabbed the goad into the ox’s hindquarters, harder than he’d dared before, again and again. “Go, go, go!”

The ox was too large to shy like a horse, but it tossed its massive head and set off down the road at a lurching trot.

The others were already in motion behind him. The other guard drew his sword and leaped toward them, but when the heavy oxen charged down on him he leaped out of their way, and the other carters’ whistling goads kept him at a distance.

The guard Kavi had struck was also standing back, already shouting for help.

Kavi didn’t think it mattered. The great city gate was only a few thousand yards from the camp, the road before them open and empty. They
would reach the gate long before the Hrum could gather enough healthy men to stop them.

But he kept the lumbering ox to its trot, though his jabs with the goad were no longer so savage. Looking back, he could see men running to the perimeter, bringing horses, the flash of armor. On horseback they’d cover the distance to the gate in moments, and would be able to escape as swiftly, but the gate was looming before Kavi now and would open any time. Any time now, so they could charge through without a check. Any time!

The ox lurched to a stop in front of the closed gate, breathing in puffing gasps.

“Open the gate!” Kavi shouted. “The Hrum will be after us in just a moment!”

He heard men moving on top of the wall, then a man in the helmet and tabard of the guard leaned over and peered down at them. “You look like the Hrum to me. What if this is a ruse?”

Kavi started to scream at him, realized it would do no good, and tried to sound reasonable instead.

“We’re not the Hrum! We’re the food shipment Commander Siddas told you to expect.”

At least he’d better have told them to expect it! Kavi looked over his shoulder. Some of the Hrum were mounted already, but others were still bringing up their horses.

“Not tonight,” said the guardsman. “The commander said he’d warn us when the shipment was supposed to arrive, and he didn’t say anything about tonight.”

“He didn’t know it would be tonight because the patrols were too thick for me to get the message in, you . . .” Kavi stopped and took a deep breath. “You were told we’d be coming, and here we are. Flame take you man, they’re mounting up! Let us in!”

The guardsman scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. The shipment was supposed to be delivered by Sorahb’s men, not Hrum soldiers. Suppose you’re Hrum, who caught Sorahb’s men and took their place. And after we open the gates you block them with your carts, and all those horsemen charge right through. Then what?”

Kavi clutched at his hair. It did no good to scream, he reminded himself. Though when he got his hands on this fumble-wit . . .

“We had to put on Hrum clothes to get out of
their camp,” he said, as calmly as his furious frustration would allow. “If it makes you feel better, we can take them off.”

“I don’t know. I think I’d better wait for the commander.”

“Look, there’s no time for—”

Hoofbeats drummed on the road behind him. Kavi gave the charging Hrum horsemen one frantic glance and screamed, “Open this gate right now you feather-witted, moronic, incompetent, shit-for-brains! Who put you in charge of the gate? You couldn’t manage a butter churn! I’ll see you reported to the craft master, and the guard commander, and . . .”

The gates swung open and the portcullis rattled up. The ox didn’t even need the goad—it charged through at a brisk walk, which was as fast as an ox pulling a loaded cart could charge. But it was enough. The cart rolled through, with the other four behind it and the gates slammed shut, right in the teeth of the charging horses from the sound of it, but Kavi was too busy slowing the cart to look.

The ox stopped without much argument, which was good, because the way Kavi was shaking,
the beast might have won. He listened to the twang of bow strings, and told his racing heart it could slow down. Any time now. He was still sitting on the wagon when Commander Siddas strolled up, with an embarrassed-looking man walking behind him.

Kavi glared at him.

“Sorry about that.” The stranger spoke first. His voice was familiar—the gate keeper. Kavi wanted to climb down and hit him, but he wasn’t certain his wobbling legs would support him. He transferred his glare to the man, instead. “Really sorry,” the guardsman continued. “But Commander Siddas wasn’t sure what night you’d be coming, or exactly how, and he told us to be wary about opening up.”

Kavi had said he’d let them know when to expect him, but still . . . He moved his glare back to Siddas.

“I’m sorry too,” the commander repeated. “But in truth, I wasn’t sure you could bring it off. I’m impressed, lad.”

“The rest of the shipment is coming in?” Kavi asked, diverted from anger.

“They’ve unloaded all the supplies into the
tunnel and the wagons are headed back. By the time the Hrum recover enough to send out patrols, they’ll be well out of range.”

Elation bubbled through Kavi’s blood. If his legs would have supported him, he might have climbed down and danced.

“It almost didn’t come right, at the end,” he grumbled instead. “What made you finally decide to let us in?”

“The way you were cursing me,” said the gate keeper promptly. “Sounded just like my old master, when I messed up some simple task.”

Had he been in the habit of messing up simple tasks? How reassuring.

“And the way the Hrum were charging after you,” the man went on. “And the fact that we’d finally gathered enough men to handle things if all those kegs had proved to be full of Hrum soldiers.”

“Oh.” Kavi looked around. There were a lot of armed men present. Perhaps the man was more competent than he’d seemed. On the whole, that was a good thing, so Kavi regretfully abandoned his plan to kill him. Mazad would need all its soldiers soon.

“You may be needing more men,” he told
Siddas grimly. “I heard something tonight: The Hrum are building siege towers, in a hidden camp somewhere.”

Siddas didn’t look as dismayed as Kavi had thought he would. “I was expecting siege towers eventually,” he said. “In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t used them before now. I think they may be counting on . . . other things.”

Kavi hoped that his actions tonight would let the commander bring down Governor Nehar—because Kavi wasn’t doing this again! Still . . .

“I expect it would be useful,” Kavi said slowly, “to find out when those siege towers are likely to be finished.” And even more important, where they were being built.

“A great help,” said Commander Siddas. His tone made it clear that he was speaking of tonight, as well as the future, but it was the future that filled Kavi’s mind, as a new plan began to form. He’d need more information than he currently had, and probably some help from that foolish half-deghan and his amateur army, and, oh yes, lots more information . . .

W
ITHOUT MONEY, SORAHB
could no longer wander aimlessly. He had to stop in a town or village, for a morning, or a day, and work for his meals and a few coins to take him down the road.

One morning, after a night of storm, he came to a prosperous-looking farm.

Perhaps the storm has caused some damage,
he thought.
If it has, then surely these folk can pay for my labor.

Indeed, as he approached the farmhold he found an old woman, struggling alone to rebuild the fence that surrounded a large pen. Inquiring, Sorahb learned that the woman’s ox, affrighted by the thunder, had broken from the pen, shattering timber and uprooting the posts she was trying to replace.

Sorahb offered his services, and in return she offered to pay him a silver falcon if he would mend the pen and find her ox.

Sorahb’s brows rose, for that was pay for a month’s labor, not a few days. But he agreed, although he warned her that the beast might have come to harm.

In fact, the ox wandered back to the farm only a few marks later, and Sorahb finished rebuilding the pen by late afternoon.

“I’ll take less than you offered,” he told her, “since the second half of the task you set proved unnecessary.”

Her ancient eyes glittered. “You’re an honest man, stranger,” she said. “But I said I’d pay a falcon, and pay it I will. For a bargain is a bargain, just as an oath is an oath.”

Sorahb, remembering the oath he had abandoned, frowned as he followed her into the farmhouse.

She opened a chest and pulled out a heavy purse, which she set on the table before him to extract his wage. Looking into the bag, which he could do without effort, Sorahb saw it held many silver falcons, and several gold eagles as well, and his frown deepened.

“Mistress, I would never offer you harm myself, but not all men think as I. You shouldn’t show such wealth to strangers.”

Her smile was as old as time and as new as sunrise. “Your honesty is a gift to me, young man. But you should know that it’s a gift to yourself as well. Not because an honest man can’t be cheated—that’s a deghan’s fool fancy—but because an honest man will never cheat himself.”

K
AVI WISHED HE COULD
be in the Hrum camp at Setesafon when the report of what had happened at Mazad reached them, but instead he took over a week to make his way there. The journey usually took four or five days, but despite the dyer’s promise that just a few washings would remove it, the dark dye lingered on his hair and skin. He didn’t dare face Patrius until he was certain that no change in his appearance could arouse suspicion.

“I didn’t hear anything about that missing girl,” he told the tactimian. It was a decent excuse for the visit. “And I traveled out on the road to the north and came back on the road from the east. But she might
have gone south or west—or still be hiding in the city for that matter.”