“Who?” asked Luis.
“You call them Dog Soldiers,” said the Keshian.
“In ancient times they were kept away from the cities, penned up like dogs, to be unleashed upon the Empire’s enemies.” Like Jadow, Natombi shaved his head, and his dark skin made the whites of his eyes and his teeth appear in stark contrast when he spoke.
The nearly black irises made Erik think of deep secrets.
“You’re a dog, then, you’re saying?” asked Biggo with mock innocence.
The others laughed. Natombi snorted. “No, stupid-head, I was a Legionary.” He sat up on his bedroll, his head almost touching the canvas above.
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He placed his fist on his chest. “I served with the Ninth Legion, on the Overn Deep.”
“I’ve heard of those,” said Luis, making a display of not being impressed by shaking his open hand back and forth.
Sho Pi rolled over and raised up on his elbows.
“In my country, Kesh is the heartland of the Empire.
Isalani is my nation, but we are ruled by Kesh. Those he speaks of are the heart of the army. How did one from the Legion come so far?”
Natombi shrugged. “Bad company.”
Biggo laughed. “This isn’t an improvement, I’ll wager.”
“I was serving with a patrol that was to escort a man, a very important man of the Trueblood. We traveled to Durbin, and there I fell into disgrace.”
“Women, gambling, or what?” asked Biggo, now genuinely interested. Natombi was something of a mystery to the others, even though they had shared the same tent with him for more than a week since Billy’s death.
“I let the man die at the hands of an assassin. I was disgraced and fled.”
“You let him die?” asked Roo. “Were you in charge?”
“I was a captain of the Legion.”
“And I was Queen of the Midsummer Festival,”
said Biggo with a laugh.
“It’s true. But now I am as you, a criminal living on time given to me by another. My life is over, and now I live another man’s life.”
“That doesn’t make us particularly unique,”
observed Biggo.
Roo said, “What was it like in the Legion?”
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Natombi laughed. “You know. You live like a Legionary.”
“What do you mean?” Roo looked confused.
“This is a Legion camp,” said Natombi.
“It’s true,” agreed Sho Pi. “The formations, the way we march, the practices, this is all of the Legion.”
Natombi said, “This man Calis, our Captain, he is a very smart man, I am thinking.” He tapped his head to make the point. “This Captain, he trains us to survive, for, man to man, there is no army on this world that can face the Legion of the Overn and survive.
No army here has faced the Legions of Kesh, and when you fight someone, it’s good to fight them with tactics they’ve never encountered before. Makes even better the chance to survive.”
Luis was cleaning his fingernails with his dagger.
Flipping it up, he balanced it on the tip, resting lightly upon one finger point, then he let it slip, caught it by the handle, and slammed it point first into the dirt.
Watching it vibrate from the impact, he said, “And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, my friends?
Survival.”
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Village
The llookout shouted.
“Riders!”
Erik and the others moved away from their various tasks and put on their weapons. Since arriving the week before, Praji had warned Calis’s men that companies fleeing the fall of Khaipur would be heading south. Twice already bands of fighters had passed, avoiding the village after having seen the fortifications Calis had ordered constructed after conferring with the villagers.
Erik was uncertain if the Captain intended to truly defend this village or simply wanted to drill the men in another aspect of warcraft. Where just another village had stood, now a respectable fortification sat athwart the road. A full-scale moat had been dug around the village, with the earth from it serving as the foundation of the palisades. Two gates bound with iron had been hung, one at the north end and one at the south of the village, each securely attached to gateposts carved from the trunks of oaks from across the river. Erik had overseen the forging of the hinges, pins, and bands.
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The village smithy had been abandoned years before when the last smith died, but the old forge still stood. Lacking a full set of smith’s tools, Erik had made do with those carried in the baggage train so he could shoe the horses. Given enough time, he could use those tools to make other tools, and eventually restore the smithy completely. Each time Erik looked at the gates he felt a sense of pride. It would take a serious siege engine to knock them down. Glancing around, he thought he’d rather attempt to breech the log wall, perhaps burning it, than to send a company against either gate, while being fired upon by the men on the wall.
He looked over his shoulder as he put on his armor, and saw Foster and de Loungville, following hard on the heels of Calis, as they came down from the tower that was being erected in the center of the village. This tower, built atop a huge mound of earth, when finished would give them an unobstructed view for miles, and prevent any company of significant size from approaching unnoticed.
Erik and Roo hurried to their appointed places, each silently checking to see that all weapons and supplies were where they needed to be. Roo carried a half dozen of the heavy iron spears, and Erik found himself amazed at the wiry strength his friend had developed since they had run from Ravensburg.
He felt a stab of unexpected pain at a fleeting memory of his mother and Rosalyn, then let the thought go as the riders came clearly into view.
It was a company of at least thirty men, all seasoned warriors by their look. At the head of the company rode a heavyset man of middle years, his grey beard hanging down to his stomach. He signaled for 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 377
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a pair of his men to circle out and around the fortress, and slowed as he approached. As soon as he came within hailing distance, he shouted, “Hello, the fort!”
From the wall, Calis shouted back, “Who rides?”
“Bilbari’s Regulars, fresh from the fall of Khaipur,” and, glancing around, he added, “or what’s left of us.”
The outriders returned and Erik assumed they were informing their leader that it was a closed fortress, not a simple barricade. Calis called back, “Who commands? I know Bilbari, and you’re not he.”
The leader again looked around. “I guess I do.
Bilbari died at the wall”—he spit and made a sign—
“and we took the day’s grace after the fall. My name is Zila.”
Praji came to stand next to Calis, and Erik could hear him say, “I know them. A good enough band for butchery, though I’d not want any of them sharing my bunk. They’ll honor the peace of the camp, more or less.”
“I can give you the peace of the camp,” said Calis.
“How long?”
“Two days,” answered Calis.
“Fair enough.” Then Zila laughed. “More than fair. Who commands here?”
“I do. Calis.”
“Calis’s Crimson Eagles?” asked Zila as he dismounted.
“The same.”
“I heard you died at Hamsa,” he said as Calis motioned for the gates to be opened.
As Erik and the others waited, Foster came by and said, “Stand down, but be alert. The
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the first to promise the peace of the camp but change their minds once inside.”
All thought of such betrayal vanished when the company entered the village. They were beaten men.
Erik noticed that several horses were injured and all were footsore. Even two days of rest would not be enough to bring some of those mounts to soundness.
Erik heard Zila snort, clear his throat, and spit.
“Damn dust,” he said. “The smoke was worse. Fires from one horizon to the other.” He glanced at the men of Calis’s company. “You did well to avoid that one.” Motioning to his horse, he asked, “Got a smith in your company?”
Calis motioned for Erik, who handed his sword and shield to Roo. “Put these away for me, would you?”
Roo’s answer was rude, but he took the armor and headed off toward their tent. Erik came up to Zila, who said, “Threw a shoe somewhere along the way.
She’s not lame, but she’s going to be.”
Erik only needed a glance to tell Zila was right.
He picked up the horse’s leg and saw that the frog of the hoof was bloody. “I’ll clean this and dress it.
With a new shoe, packed and padded, she should be all right if you don’t push her too hard.”
“Ha!” said Zila. To Calis he said, “There’s an army of thirty thousand or more coming this way.
They just kicked hell out of us. Unless someone organizes a rendezvous north of here soon, we’re but the first of maybe a hundred or more companies that are going to come riding this way, and most of those lads are damn out-of-sorts over having been butchered by the lizards—”
Calis said, “Lizards?”
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Zila nodded. “For a drink, I’ll tell you about it.”
Calis instructed Erik to care for the newcomers’
horses, and Erik signaled the nearest men to take charge of the others as he took Zila’s mount in tow.
The animal was limping, and by the time they reached the pen for remounts, Erik was certain she would have been useless in another day, two at the most.
The newcomers were split equally between those who were content to let Calis’s men treat their animals and those who insisted on following along to ensure their animals were well cared for; Erik was completely unsurprised to see that those who came along had the best mounts. Despite the hardships, those horses were the fittest and should recover after resting up. The others were a poor lot at best, and Erik suspected that others besides Zila’s would soon be unable to carry their riders.
Erik had each horse inspected and made a mental list of which animals would be worth caring for and which would be best killed today. After conferring with a couple of the more experienced horsemen in Calis’s forces, he found no argument.
As he moved away, one of the newcomers approached. “You. What’s your name?”
“Erik.” He paused and waited to see what the newcomer had to say.
Lowering his voice, the man said, “Mine is Rian.
You know your way around horses.” He was a large man with a flat face, reddish from the sun and covered in road dust. His eyes were dark, but his hair was reddish brown, his beard grey-shot. He carried himself easily, one hand absently resting on a longsword.
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Erik nodded, but said nothing.
“I could use another horse. Mine will come sound if I don’t ride her for another week. Do you think your Captain would sell me one?”
“I’ll ask him,” Erik said, and started to move off.
Rian restrained him with a gentle touch to the arm. “Zila’s a good enough fighter in a brawl,” he whispered, “but he’s no proper Captain. We were heading down to Maharta to seek service with the Raj. It should take the better part of the next year for that lot up north to get past Lanada.”
He glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. “Your Captain seems to know his way around a fortification, and you seem more like garrison soldiers than hired swords.”
Every man in Calis’s company had been warned against spies, so Erik responded without having to think. “I just follow orders. Captain Calis has kept every man here alive at least once, so I don’t question him.”
“You think he’s got room for another sword?”
“I’ll ask. But I thought you were heading for Maharta?”
“After the beating we took at Khaipur, you’d think a year or two of resting up and waiting might be nice, but truth to tell, there’s no booty and I get bored easily.”
“I’ll tell him that, too,” Erik said, leaving the man with the horses.
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and those who feared that the fortification would attract unwanted attention. The village was routinely raided over the years, and the villagers had a time-tested method of fleeing into the nearby hills. Few died if there was any advance warning. But this fortress on the road: that was both a protection and a trap.
Someone called Erik’s name, and he glanced over to see Embrisa, a girl of fourteen who had taken a liking to him. She was pretty in a large-boned way, with pale blue eyes her most striking feature, but Erik knew that she would be old before she was thirty, probably with three or four children and a husband who worked her from dawn to dusk. A town-bred boy, Erik had little sense of what real poverty and hard work were until he had come to this village.
He spoke a quick greeting, then excused himself as he went to the pavilion that served as an inn.
Rough wooden benches and tables had been fashioned by an enterprising farmer named Shabo who had used the profits from serving Calis’s men poor wine and ale to build a wooden trellis alongside his rude hut. Erik considered that if they stayed long enough, Shabo would be a proper innkeeper, as he kept using his profits to improve his little enterprise.
His latest innovation had been to knock out a second door to the hut so he could serve across a newly built bar that ran the length of the building. Erik considered the hut might get very cold during winter, though he had no idea how cold it got in these parts.
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years of fighting, man and boy, but nothing like this.”
He drained his tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Calis raised an eyebrow at Erik, who said, “Half the mounts either need a month of grazing and no work or need to be put down. The rest could be ready to be ridden if they lay up a week.”
Calis nodded. Zila said, “We don’t have much—being on the losing side pays little—but we’ll buy some mounts from you if you’ll sell them.”
“What are you planning to do?” asked Calis.
“We’re heading for Maharta. The Raj is sending his Royal Immortals to help the Priest-King of Lanada defend against the greenskins and their army. That means his war elephants and those drug-crazed maniacs of the Priest-King are on the same side for a change.”
Praji said, “Things must be grim to make those two old enemies take the same cause.”
Zila waved for another tankard, and Shabo hurried over to replace the empty one. “Yes, but it also means the Raj will need more fighters to keep pea
ce around his city, so there will be work for us. I could use a couple of years of keeping farmers in line after what we just went through.” He looked at Praji and Calis. “You say you were at Hamsa?”
“Yes,” they both answered.
“It was ten times as bad at Khaipur. Before this war began, we were like you, a company of mercenaries who plied our trade between Khaipur and the Meeting Place”—Erik knew he spoke of the annual meeting of the Jeshandi horsemen and other tribes who came to the boundary of the steppes to trade with the nomads of the eastern grasslands—“or we 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 383
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worked along the central Vedra. Once we even took a caravan across the Plain of Djams to Palamds on the Satpura River.” He shook his head. “But this war, this was like nothing I’ve seen. We signed on after the fall of Kilbar. I’ve heard enough from those who survived to know it was bad, but nothing prepared us for what happened at Khaipur.” He stopped as if collecting his thoughts. “Bilbari signed us on to ride picket and run messages. The Raj of Khaipur had one of those pretty little armies that look so nice on parade, but he knew he needed veterans to slow down the invaders while he hired some mother-killers to train his army and make real fighters out of them. My comrades and I aren’t Jeshandi, but we ride and fight well enough for the job.
“A month after we signed on, we got our first glimpse of the invaders. A company much like yours, about sixty seasoned fighters, rode skirmish against our forward position, then retreated without doing or taking much harm. We reported the contact and settled into wait for the next assault.
“We woke up one day and the sky was brown with dust to the northwest. A week later, ten thousand men and horses rode into view.”
Zila laughed a bitter laugh. “Old Bilbari messed his pants but good, and I’ll tell you he wasn’t the only one with brown breeches that day. There were maybe two hundred of us in a fortification not as stout as this one, and it took us all of a minute to decide to get the hell out.
“By the time we reached the city walls, every company to the north and west of the city was also heading in. There was no fighting except at the city wall. Then from that day forward, they just came at us.”