The Dragons of Argonath (12 page)

Screams from the head of the dingle informed them that the imps were coming. And now the imps that had met them by the dingle had been reinforced by the imps that had pursued them up from Kroy Woods.

Imps came leaping down the boulders while spears flashed overhead and caromed through the lower passages. Bazil was lucky at the place called the Turnkey, where a narrow break in a rock curtain was the only good way through. He squeezed through the space just before a spear rang off the stone where he'd stood. Bazil had a healthy respect for spears. Without armor, a spear could end a dragon's life just like that.

The imps above them made weird chilling cries as they came on. More spears clattered in the gap by the Turnkey rock. After the Turnkey the passage widened, but there was a cavity big enough to take a dragon. Bazil flattened himself to the rock in the dark, and was hidden.

The imps came to the Turnkey. One passed through, yellow eyes ablaze with black drink. It snorted back to the rest, and several more came through.

Then Bazil erupted from concealment. They shrieked, and some made play with their swords, but he seized the leading imp in both huge hands and swung it like a living weapon and bowled over the others. Then he took them one by one and smashed them on the rocks and stuffed their corpses back into the Turnkey passage, partially blocking it.

Bazil went on down the dingle as quickly as he might, letting himself slide down the Slip Rocks to the Accordian stone, where he almost flattened Relkin.

"Hey, watch it, or you're gonna have to cut your own claws."

"This dragon in a hurry, we all in a hurry, correct?"

"Correct."

"Then, even dragonboy must get out of the way."

There came yowls and groans from above. The imps had found the remains of the scouts that had gone through the Turnkey passage. They argued among themselves over who was to put his head through the passage next.

"They'll need quite a bit of encouragement to get through the Turnkey after that," said Relkin.

"Hate imps. Let's hurry."

Now Relkin and Bazil were on the last lap of the trail. The emperor, Lessis, and Ambassador Koring were already stepping out into Brumble Woods. Thorn had gathered up a few spears on his way down. Relkin took one, so did the emperor and the ambassador.

Fortunately the woods covered them from the view of the enemy on the cliff top. They stole swiftly away into the woods as quietly as possible. For a while they ran on, down short banks and across the little bogs, breathless in the wet woods in late afternoon.

The rain had slackened somewhat and left the woods filling fast with a rising mist. The light was gray, the sun hidden in banks of clouds. Birds were busy in the trees, migratory thrushes were gathering slugs and snails, small hawks were busy stalking the thrushes.

And then they heard the nervous barking of the hounds. The imps were down the dingle. With Relkin and Thorn in the lead, they ran through the wet forest, keeping to the broad trail that ran from the dingle down to Quosh Common. The horns behind them had grown to three or four in number as other groups had joined the first two. The horns were leading a small army of imps toward the peaceful village of Quosh.

Thinking that spellsay on the run was getting hard to do now she was in her sixth century, Lessis mumbled a spell as she tried to keep up with the nervous warriors ahead. They had to warn the village, or at least stir it to life. She thought of trying another spell, to confuse the dogs, but realized it was too late. The imps had their trail now and would follow no matter what.

The spell took a minute or so of hasty recital, the volumes were very hard to handle while running like this, but at last it was done, and she released it.

An eruption of crows, starlings, and hawks rose up from Brumble Woods and flew toward Quosh with cries of alarm. On this occasion thrushes were left to their snails, for the Queen of Birds favored the sweet songsters from the south, and this was the season when they raised their young in the woods of the Argonath and needed every moment of the day.

Once they were in the village, the birds flew low through the streets, croaking and calling. Since such a thing had never been seen before, ever, the folk soon poured out of their houses. Even the hardened bunch lurking in the Bull and Bush emerged to stare at the flocks of black birds that were making such an outcry.

"What ails them?" cried Farmer Pigget.

In the woods of Brumble, the emperor, the Great Witch and the ambassador of Ryotwa ran for their lives beneath the wet leaves. The rain had died away to almost nothing, leaving everything dripping, the mist thickening. Their boots sloshed in the wet muck.

Harsh triumphant shouts broke out not far behind them, and the baying of the hounds grew loud.

Away in the village, people heard the hounds and the sullen horns, and they turned to each other with wonder in their eyes.

"The birds have gone mad, and now there are hounds in Brumble Woods?"

"Call out the militia," bawled Tarfoot Brandon. "Something's up."

"Remember what happened on Pawlers Hill," bellowed Nurm Pigget, coming out of the Bull and Bush and standing in Brennans Road.

"Call out the militia, don't waste any more time."

Nurm Pigget brought out the bell from the Bull and Bush, and started ringing it in the street. Rustum Bullard brought out the Great Horn used to spread the alarm to the farther parts of the village. He tried to blow it, but could only get a few fitful squawks from it.

"Here, give it to me," said Nurm Pigget. Nurm had a huge chest, and he made the horn give a bright, brassy blast that would be heard in Barley Mow. Or even on Pawlers Hill.

Certainly they heard it in Brumble Woods, and the hearts of the fugitives leapt at the sound, for this was the Great Horn of the Argonath. The village was awake, the guard was being summoned. The emperor and his party were encouraged to pick up their pace, and it was good that they did, for now coming on after them were some of the new monsters that had smashed the emperor's coach to flinders. They emitted guttural growls as they shambled in the manner of bears on all four legs. With these beasts there were men and imps, almost a hundred strong now, and they were driven onward by the black drink and the furious will of the Great One that had brought them into this land.

Amid the wailing of the hounds, this small army came on at a great pace, and gained steadily on the small group of fugitives up ahead.

The mist thinned ahead, and they crossed a lane and saw the open space of Quosh Common ahead. To the right, the tower of the temple soared above the trees. Beyond the common lay the village.

"Run for your lives," shouted Thorn.

The breath came harsh and hard in their chests as they pushed themselves to keep running, to keep planting one foot in front of the other and lurching forward across the open meadow of Quosh Common.

For the emperor this experience was a vindication of the hours and hours he had spent jogging to stay fit. He had never particularly enjoyed exercise for its own sake, but he had persevered, not wanting to ever become the immobile sort of emperor. Not like old Mikalus the Obese.

Now Pascal ran across the wet grass, and his lungs were searing and his heart felt as if it might burst out of his chest, but he continued running at this insane speed, which might have been fine if he'd been twenty years younger. And yet he was keeping up, Thorn only a few feet ahead of him. He risked a look back and saw the dragonboy, looking fresh and running easily with his bow in hand. Ah, youth! Farther back loomed the dragon, a great grey shape, loping along on two legs, his body bent low for speed and his tail outstretched behind. A true monster of war, thought Pascal.

The Emperor Pascal Iturgio Densen Asturi was not the only one astounded by what their legs were capable of. Lessis was grey in the face, literally, but somehow, she too was keeping up with Thorn. It was amazing that her ancient body could actually do this, sprint along like some forest hind. By the Hand of the Mother, she had not run like this in centuries! What would the other Great Witches say if they could see her now!

Even the portly ambassador was running flat out across the common, though he was purple in the face and his breath came in stentorian gasps.

There came a chorus of harsh calls from behind them, and they knew that the imps were out of the woods and in pursuit. Hounds bayed on the left, the imp horns sounded almost directly behind them.

Ahead lay the only chance, the village of Quosh, which was now looming out of the mist. The distance was perhaps a quarter of a mile, straight across the flat ground. It seemed impossible that they could stay ahead of the charging imps. They would surely falter and be overtaken and hacked down, despite the presence of the dragon, for once the imps were close enough to engage, they'd be mixed too inextricably for the dragon to wield the sword upon them without killing those he sought to protect.

And then on their right came another sound, a bright-sounding horn. From across Temple Lane, down from Birch's farm, rode Farmer Birch and his sons and their men, some twelve in all. They were all mounted and most had swords, a few even had spears, snatched from Birch's front hall when they'd first heard the alarm horn blow at the Bull and Bush.

"To rescue, to rescue!" they shouted as they spurred their mounts up the bank from Temple Lane and out onto the common.

A dozen tall riders, coming to the rescue of the Argonath in the person of its emperor. Relkin greeted them with a whoop, and Thorn followed suit. Then the rest joined in despite their lack of breath, and the riders acknowledged them with shouts of their own and waved swords while Tomas Birch blew his hunting horn.

Their mounts were fresh and eager, and they came by with hooves digging into the meadow as they galloped under the horn. They raced past the fugitives and crashed into the oncoming imps.

The imps tried to avoid the riders, intent as they were on slaying the emperor, but Birch and the others rode them down or spitted them from the saddle. The imps scattered, and scattered farther when they saw the dragon turn back and come at them with Ecator whirling. For a few moments the pattern changed.

The fugitives, staggering now and slowing from the sprint they'd made out of the woods, had gained a hundred yards, but many imps had passed around the riders and the dragon, and were racing after them with swords and spears at the ready, spread out in a line a hundred yards from end to end.

Bazil was forced to sheathe the sword and give chase, and with him came the farmer and his men, for they were simply too few to stop the enemy. The imps had got past, but they had still won crucial space for the fugitives.

As he got up to speed again, Bazil felt an arrow lodge in the back of his neck and another one strike the skin of his shoulder. Neither went deep, but still they told him it was time to retreat even faster, so he dug into his reserves and increased his pace.

Bazil came suddenly through a drift of mist upon a small group of imps, bunched together by the pursuit. They whirled in alarm as he came up on them. He drew Ecator with a fluid, practiced maneuver, but they scattered with a collective shriek before he could slay them. Bazil felt another arrow whack into his shoulder. This one had gone deeper. Clearly it was time to move. He ran, dodging as he went, for without armor he was vulnerable.

The mist thinned away to nothing, and they were running across the green toward the Bull and Bush and the row of houses that fronted onto Green Street. Beyond rose the bigger buildings of the village. A crowd was visible in the Brennans Road, staring across the common, watching them run.

The emperor, the Great Witch, the ambassador, all lurched along, still running, urged on by Thorn, who darted back and forth behind them to ward off any imp that might catch up. None did, however, and it was clear that they would reach the crowd ahead of their pursuers.

A few more strides, and they were there. The emperor was staggering a little, and now he slowed to a halt and stood there gasping for breath. Lessis was glad to do the same. The ambassador came a moment later and promptly fell flat and lay there like a fish out of water.

"Imps are coming!" shouted Thorn to the crowd.

The news was received with incredulity. People shifted uneasily.

"Imps?" said a chorus of voices. "Imps, here?"

"Remember what happened on Pawlers Hill," said a voice.

"There be imps in them hills. I've always said it," said Tarfoot Brandon.

"Shut up and help build the barricade. We need to block the street."

"Look!" screamed a voice.

And out of the mist loped imps, not in ones and twos, but in fives and sixes. They were bronze-skinned brutes with small heads and bulging eyes and huge teeth, grinning in hungry mouths, and they bore swords, round shields, and spears.

"By the breath!" muttered Rustum Bullard.

"I don't like the look of those," said Tarfoot Brandon.

"How the hell did they get here?"

More imps were coming, and then there was a roar-scream. The imps scattered, and Bazil the Broketail came up behind them.

"It's the Broketail!"

"Build a barricade, block off the street!"

The folk were already in motion. The regulars from the Bull and Bush were pushing a couple of wagons across the road. Other men were running up from the village. The cooper was coming they said, with all ten of his workers. Crates and barrels, even an empty bathtub were dragged out of the alleys and flung into place around the wagons.

Then Chester Plenth, the ostler, came clattering up on his horse along with good Martin Pueshatter.

"Where are the enemy?" called Plenth. "Clear the street, let Chester Plenth through."

"No, Chester, there's too many of them."

"Too many, you say?"

"Dismount and join us at the barricade!"

"There's an army of them!"

And this was true, for now there were more imps pouring out of the woods, and it was plain that there were hundreds of them. Chester Plenth saw the imps, and his jaw dropped. Martin Pueshatter helped him down from his horse. With trembling hands they drew their swords and took their places at the barricade.