The Serpentwar Saga

The leader was a grey-bearded man who stepped forward to speak with Foster, while the other three stood motionless. Erik glanced around and saw no sign of any horses; these men hunted on foot. Given the terrain, Erik judged that more sensible than trying to convince a horse to act like a donkey or goat. If the hunters’ village was any higher up the slopes, horses would be less than an inconvenience; they’d be a danger.

Two of the other men bore a strong resemblance to the leader, while the third appeared like him in manner only. Erik guessed they were a family, with the odd man perhaps being married to a daughter.

Foster nodded, reached into his tunic, and pulled out a heavy purse. He counted out some gold pieces and returned to where Roo held his mount. ‘You men wait here.’ With a motion of his head he made it clear that they were to keep the hunters from running off with the gold he just gave them. ‘I’ll bring up the rest of the company. These fellows have a way over the mountains that’s safe for the horses.’

Erik glanced at the steep rise of the landscape before him and nodded. ‘I hope so.’

While they waited, the hunters talked among themselves. The one who didn’t resemble the other three listened as the leader spoke, then without comment he turned and began to trot toward the tree line.

One of the soldiers, a man named Greely, shouted, ‘Where does he think he’s going?’ The hunter stopped. Greely’s command of the local language, learned on ship and while traveling, was better than Erik’s, but his accent obviously struck the hillmen as odd enough that they looked puzzled by the question.

The leader looked at him. ‘Do you think treachery?’

Seeing that all four hunters were ready to unsling bows and start firing if the wrong answer was forthcoming, Erik glanced at Roo; suddenly Roo said, ‘He’s sending his son-in-law home to tell his wife and daughter that he and his sons won’t be home for supper tonight. Am I right?’

The lead hunter nodded, once, and waited. Greely said, ‘Well … I guess that’s all right.’

The leader made a curt gesture and the fourth hunter began trotting off again. Then the leader of the hunters said, ‘And tomorrow, too. It’s a harsh two days over the ridge, with no easy time going down the day after, but once on the trail you’ll have that well enough without my help.’ He leaned upon his bow once more.

About fifteen minutes of silence followed, then the sound of horses approaching from the rear heralded Calis and his company’s approach. Calis rode at the head of the company and when he pulled up he spoke rapidly to the hunter. The exchange was so quick and heavily accented that Erik couldn’t follow most of it.

But in the end Calis seemed satisfied and turned to the others, who were still riding up behind. ‘This is Kirzon and his sons. They know a trail over the ridge and down into the Vedra River valley. It’s narrow and difficult.’

For two hours they followed the hunters along a narrow trail, winding up into the hills. The way was dangerous enough that they took it at a slow pace, since any mistake could cause an injury to horse and rider. After reaching a small meadow, the hunter turned to confer with Calis. Calis nodded, then said, ‘We’ll camp now and leave at first light.’

Suddenly de Loungville and Foster were shouting orders and Erik and Roo were snapping to without thought. Getting the horses in picket, unsaddled and placed so they could crop the long grass, proved more time-consuming than if they had simply been staked out in a line and had fodder carried to them.

By the time Erik and the others in charge of the horses were finished, the rest of the company had already dug most of the moat, throwing up dirt on four sides in a breastwork. Erik grabbed a shovel and jumped down next to the others. Quickly the defense was made ready. The drop gate was assembled, interlocking planks of wood carried on a baggage animal that, when run out, served as a broad bridge over the trench. Then Erik climbed out as others were doing, on the short side of the trench, walked to the gate and crossed over, and began tamping the earth of the breastwork. Roo came over with a set of iron-tipped wooden stakes, which he inserted at a set distance along the top of the breastwork. Then they hurried to join with the rest of the men and erect their six-man tent, fashioned with interwoven pieces of fabric, one section carried by each man. They placed their bedrolls inside and returned to the commissary area, where soup was being boiled.

On the march they ate dried bread and fruits, with vegetable soups whenever possible. At first Erik and some others grumbled over the lack of meat in the diet, but he now found he agreed with the older soldiers that heavy food weighed them down in the field. He knew that while the thought of a steaming roast or a joint of mutton, or his mother’s meat pies, could make his mouth water, he hadn’t felt stronger in his life.

Wooden bowls were handed out, and each man came away with a steaming helping of stewed vegetables, with just enough beef suet and flour to give it some texture. Sitting near the campfire, Roo said, ‘I’d love some hot bread to soak this up with.’

Foster, who was walking by, said, ‘People in the lower hills would love a cool drink of water, me lad. Enjoy what you have. Tomorrow we’re on trail rations.’

The men groaned. The dried fruit and hardtack was nourishing but almost tasteless, and a man could seemingly chew for hours without making the mess any easier to swallow. What Erik found himself missing most was wine. Growing up in Darkmoor, he had taken wine for granted. The quality of the wine made in the region was near-legendary, and this made even the cheapest ‘plonk’ drunk at meals by the commoners a cut above the usual. Until he reached Krondor, he had no idea that wine that was too inexpensive to justify transport would have earned a fair return in the taverns and kitchens of the Prince’s City.

He remarked on this to Roo, who said, ‘That might be just the ticket for an enterprising lad such as myself.’ He grinned and Erik laughed.

Biggo, who was sitting on the other side of the fire, said, ‘What? You going to truck bottles of the stuff into Krondor and lose money?’

Roo narrowed his gaze. ‘After my father-in-law, Helmut Grindle, advances me enough gold to work with, I have a plan that will put good wine on every table in the Western Realm.’

Erik laughed. ‘You haven’t even met the girl! She may be married with a brace of children by the time you return!’

Jerome Handy snorted. ‘If you return.’

They fell silent.

Horses are contrary creatures, thought Erik as he blinked dust out of his eyes. He had been given the responsibility of herding the remounts over the mountains and had picked a half-dozen of the better riders to ride herd. One surprise had been Nakor volunteering. Most men would find riding behind the herd – ‘drag,’ as the position was called – choking on their dust, poor duty, but the chronically curious Isalani found the entire process fascinating. And it turned out, to Erik’s relief, that the man was a competent enough horseman.

Twice, horses had been content to walk down a bluff that would have taken them to a place where they would either have to back up – one of the least-favored choices of most horses – or learn to fly, which Erik judged even less likely. ‘Whoa!’ he shouted at one particularly troublesome horse who was determined to walk off the mountain. He shied a rock at her, which bounced off her right shoulder, turning her in the direction he wanted. ‘Stupid bitch!’ he shouted. ‘Trying to turn yourself into crow bait?’

Nakor rode closer to the edge than any sane man was like to do and seemed ready to somehow will his horse into flight so he could interpose himself between a horse bolting the wrong way and thin air. Whenever Erik mentioned he might come in a bit, the little man just grinned and told him everything was fine. ‘She’s in season. Mares get very stupid when in heat,’ he observed.

‘She’s not overly bright even when she’s not ready to breed. At least we have no stallions along. That would make life interesting.’

‘I had a stallion once,’ said Nakor. ‘A great black horse given me by the Empress of Great Kesh.’

Erik regarded the man. ‘That’s … interesting.’ Like the others who had gotten to know Nakor, he was reluctant to call him a liar. So much of what he said was highly improbable, but he never said he could do anything he couldn’t back up, so the men had come to take most of what he claimed at face value.

‘The horse died,’ Nakor said. ‘Good horse. Sorry to see him go. Ate some bad grass; got colic.’

A shout from ahead warned Erik the herd was bunching up, and he sent Billy Goodwin forward to help keep the horses moving through a narrow defile that cut across the ridge of the mountains. Once through that, they would be heading downward into the valley of the Vedra River.

Erik shouted for Billy to come back to the rear and ride drag while he urged his own horse on, to the head of the thirty horses that served as the company’s remounts. A balky gelding was trying to turn around, and Erik used his own horse to push the recalcitrant animal into the gap, and then the horses were moving in orderly fashion. Erik pulled up and waited for the rest of the animals to pass, then joined again with Billy and Nakor in back.

‘Downhill from here,’ said Billy.

Suddenly Nakor’s mare took a bite at Billy’s horse, and his animal reared. Nakor shouted, ‘Look out!’

Billy lost his grip on his reins and fell backwards, and landed hard on the ground. Erik jumped down from his animal and ran over while Billy’s horse ran after the herd.

Leaning over, he saw Billy staring up into the sky. His head rested upon a large rock while a crimson pool spread behind him.

Nakor shouted, ‘How is he?’

Erik said, ‘He’s dead.’

There was a moment of silence, then Nakor said, ‘I’ll follow the horses. You bring him along to where we can bury him.’

Erik stood up, started to reach down to grab Billy, and suddenly remembered having to pick up Tyndal’s body. ‘Oh, damn,’ he said as tears came unbidden to his eyes.

He found himself trembling as he realized that of those who had been sentenced to hang that day, Billy was the first to die. ‘Oh, damn,’ he repeated, as he stood clenching and unclenching his fists. ‘Why?’ he asked the fates.

One moment Billy had been sitting astride his horse; the next he was dead. And nothing more important than a stupid, poorly trained gelding shying from a bite by a mare in heat had caused it.

Erik didn’t know why he suddenly felt so sad at Billy’s death. He felt his body tremble, and realized he was afraid. Sucking down a lungful of air, he closed his eyes and bent and picked up Billy. The body was surprisingly light. He turned and moved to his own horse, who started to shy as he approached. ‘Whoa!’ he commanded, almost yelling, and the horse obeyed.

He lifted Billy across the horse’s neck and the front of the saddle, then swung up behind. Sliding into the saddle, he lifted Billy enough so that he could rest him as much as possible across his upper thighs, so the horse could manage the weight. Slowly he moved after the distant herd.

‘Damn,’ he whispered again as he willed his fear and anger back deep inside himself.

A man named Notombi, with a heavy Keshian accent, was moved into their tent, taking Billy’s place. The five remaining members of Erik’s company were cordial, but distant. While he was an outsider, his training made him mesh quickly, knowing exactly which duties to perform without being told.

Two days after crossing the ridge of the mountains, Kirzon and his sons pointed the way down and returned to their hunting. Calis paid them off in gold and bade them farewell.

Erik returned to the routine of travel, though the difficult descent into the hills west of the mountains gave little time for reflection. He buried all his memories of his feelings at Billy’s death and continued as before.

Five days after crossing the mountains, they encountered a difficult rise. Erik went ahead with Calis to scout out a clear trail before allowing the full company to proceed. Turning around nearly seventy-five riders and another thirty remounts was tricky business under the best of conditions. In tight quarters, it was nearly impossible.

Reaching a crest, they reined in and Erik exclaimed, ‘The gods weep!’

In the distance, to the north, the great tower of smoke that had been turning the sun red could now be seen. ‘How far is that?’ asked Erik.

Still more than a hundred miles distant,’ answered Calis. ‘They must be burning every village and farm within a week’s ride of Khaipur. The wind’s blowing it east, else we’d be tasting that soot as well as seeing it.’

Erik’s eyes stung slightly. ‘I’m feeling it now.’

Calis smiled his strange half-smile. ‘It would be worse if you were closer.’

Riding back, they found an easier trail than the first, and as they moved toward the company, Erik said, ‘Captain, what are our chances of getting home?’

Calis laughed, and Erik turned to regard him. ‘You’re the first with the grit to come out and ask; I was wondering who it would be.’

Erik said nothing.

Calis said, ‘I think our chances of getting home are as good as we can make them. Only the gods know just how mad this plan is.’

‘Why couldn’t you sneak one man in, have him look around, then sneak him out?’

‘Good question,’ said Calis. ‘We tried. Several times.’ He glanced around as he rode, as if scouting was a habit. ‘This land is a land of few standing armies, as we know them in the Kingdom and Kesh. Here you’re either a swordsman for your family or clan, or you’re in the palace guard of some city ruler, or you’re a hired sword. Mercenary armies are the rule.’

‘I would think that with hired swords on both sides, it would be easy enough to slip a man across the lines.’

Calis’s expression showed it was a fair observation. ‘One would think that. But a single man attracts notice, especially one who is ignorant of basic customs and attitudes. But a company of freebooters from a distant land? That’s not unusual in these parts. And reputation counts for much. So, I am Calis, and we’re the Crimson Eagles, and no one looks twice at an elf living among humans here. A “long-lived” leading such a company is rare but not unheard of. You would be found out by magic or treachery were you to come here alone, Erik. But as a member of my company, no one will pay you the least heed.’ He said nothing for a while, looking down on the rolling hills that led down to the river. After a while he said, ‘This is a beautiful land, isn’t it?’

Erik said, ‘Yes, it seems so.’

Calis was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Twenty-four years ago I came to this country for the first time, Erik. I’ve been back twice since then, once with my own army. I’ve left graves behind me in numbers you can’t imagine.’

‘I overheard de Loungville and Nakor, back on Sorcerer’s Isle,’ admitted Erik as he reined his horse around for better footing on the trail. ‘It sounded terrible.’

‘It was. Many of the Kingdom’s best soldiers died on that march. Hand-picked men. Foster, de Loungville, and a few others were able to escape with me, and only because we took a chance and went where the enemy didn’t expect us to go.’ Calis was again silent a moment. ‘That’s why I agreed with Bobby’s plan, and convinced Arutha that only men desperate to stay alive would serve. Soldiers are all too willing to die for the colors, and we need men who would do everything in their power to stay alive, short of betraying us.’

Erik nodded. ‘And soldiers don’t make convincing mercenaries.’

‘That, too. You’re going to meet some men who will change your thinking about what humanity is capable of, and you won’t be better for knowing them.’ He looked at Erik as if studying him. ‘You’re part of an odd lot. We searched for those things in each man that would give us all the chance of blending in – an ability to be violent, no pretension of ideals, just men who are as rough as those we must go among – but we also needed men who were more than the common scum the tides of battle usually wash ashore. We needed men who, when it came time, would answer the call rather than run.’ He smiled and it was a smile of genuine amusement. ‘Or at least they would run in the proper direction, and keep their wits about them.’ As if a thought struck him for the first time, he said, ‘I think I had better keep you and your company close by. Most of the men we’ve selected are cutthroats who would happily kill their grannies to earn a gold piece, but your little band numbers some of our oddest characters. If your friend Biggo starts talking about the Death Goddess – who is a figure of terror in this land, named Khali-shi, and who is only worshiped in secret – or if Sho Pi starts discussing philosophy with some of the blood drinkers we’re going to hook up with, we’ll have hell to pay. I’ll tell de Loungville when we camp tonight that your six is to be billeted closest to my tent.’

Erik fell silent. He was surprised that Calis knew enough about them as individuals to know about Biggo’s theories on the Death Goddess or Sho Pi’s odd views of things. And he didn’t know if being close to the Captain, de Loungville, and Foster was a comfort or nuisance.

Days of cautious travel at last brought them to rolling lowlands. Then on the fifth day after leaving the mountains, they approached a village, one that sat athwart the major north-south road between Lanada and Khaipur. They found the houses abandoned, for the presence of a company of armed men usually meant a raid in this land. Calis waited an hour in the small town square, his men tending their horses with water from the well, but otherwise leaving everything untouched.

A young man in his early twenties appeared from hiding in a stand of trees close by. ‘What company?’ he called out, ready to duck back into the sheltering copse at the first sign of trouble.

‘Calis’s Crimson Eagles. What village is this?’

‘Weanat.’

‘Whom do you serve?’

The man, eyeing Calis suspiciously, said, ‘Are you pledged?’

‘We are a free company.’

That answer didn’t seem to sit well with the villager. He spoke softly, conferring with someone hidden behind him, then at last he said, ‘We tithe the Priest-King of Lanada.’

Where lies Lanada from here?’

‘A day’s ride south along that road,’ came the answer.

Calis turned to de Loungville. ‘We’re farther south than I wanted to be, but the army will catch up with us, sooner or later.’

‘Or grind over us,’ answered de Loungville.

‘Make camp tonight in that meadow over to the east,’ instructed Calis. Turning to the still-half-hidden villager, he said, ‘We’ll need a market. I need feed, grain for bread, chickens if you have any, fruit, vegetables, and wine.’

‘We are poor. We have little to share,’ said the man, backing deeper into the shadow of the trees.

Erik’s squad was stationed right behind Calis, and Biggo, who had listened to the exchange, whispered to Erik, ‘And I’m a monk of Dala. This is rich land, and those beggars have whatever they own stashed away somewhere in those woods.’

Luis leaned down from where he still sat his horse, and said, ‘And we are probably being watched over a half-dozen arrows.’

Calis called out, ‘We’ll pay in gold.’ He reached into his tunic, pulled out a small purse, and turned it over, emptying a dozen pieces of gold onto the ground.

As if signaled, a score of men appeared, all holding weapons. Erik studied them, making a comparison to the townspeople he had grown up with. These were farmers, but they also held their weapons in a sure-handed fashion. These men had to fight to keep what was theirs, and Erik was glad that Calis was the sort of leader who paid for what he needed rather than taking it.

The leader, an older man with a limp who carried a large sword strapped across his back, knelt and picked up the gold pieces. ‘You’ll bond peace?’ he asked Calis.

‘Done!’ said Calis, throwing the reins of his horse to Foster. He held out his arm and the village leader gripped his wrist, as Calis gripped in return. They shook twice and let go.

Abruptly the trees emptied of men, followed a short time after by women and children. Before Erik’s eyes he saw a market take form in the small square of the village.

Roo said,‘I don’t know where they kept all this,’ as he motioned to pots of honey, jars of wine, and baskets of fruit that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

‘Get raided often enough and I expect you learn how to hide things in a hurry, fella-me-Iad,’ observed Biggo. ‘Plenty of basements with hidden traps, and false walls in those buildings, I’m thinking.’

Sho Pi, who motioned for the others to follow to where camp was being set up, said. ‘They have the look of fighting men, those farmers.’

Erik agreed. ‘I think we’re in a beautiful but very harsh land.’

They picketed their horses where instructed by Corporal Foster, then began the routine of making camp.

They rested while Calis waited. What he was waiting for wasn’t clear to Erik and the others, and Calis wasn’t taking them into his confidence. The villagers were guarded in dealing with the mercenaries; approachable, but not warm. There was no inn, but one of the local merchants had erected a pavilion and served average-quality wine and ale. Foster warned against any public drunkenness, promising a flogging to any man who couldn’t pull his weight the next morning because of a thick head.

Each day brought more drills and new practices. For three days they worked on holding their shields above their heads while moving heavy objects about. Foster and de Loungville stood on top of a hillock nearby throwing rocks into the air so they would fall straight down on the drilling men, reminding them to keep their shields up.

After a week had passed, one of the guards set at the north end of the town cried out, ‘Riders!’

Foster barked out orders for the men to get ready, and practice swords were discarded, replaced by steel. Those men selected as bowmen hurried to a position overlooking the town, under Foster’s command, while de Loungville and Calis moved the rest of the company to defensive positions at the north end of the village.

Calis moved to where Erik and his companions waited, and said, ‘They’re coming fast.’

Erik squinted and saw a half-dozen men racing down the road that led into the village. As they drew near, they reined in, probably having seen a glint of metal or the movement of men.

Biggo said, ‘They’re not so quick to come rushing in now that they know we’re here.’

Erik nodded. Roo said, ‘Look over there.’

Erik turned to where Roo pointed, back into the village, and was astonished to see it was once again deserted. ‘They do know how to make themselves scarce, don’t they?’

The riders began to trot toward the village, and when they were close enough to be seen clearly, Calis shouted, ‘Praji!’

The leader waved and spurred his horse into a canter, while his companions followed. As they neared, Erik saw that the six men were mercenaries, or at least dressed as such, and that the man in the van was easily the ugliest person he had ever seen. A face like seamed leather was dominated by an improbably large nose and a huge brow. His long hair, mostly grey, was tied back. He rode poorly; his hands were far too busy, and it was irritating his horse.

Getting down, the man walked toward the defensive position. ‘Calis?’

Calis walked forward and the two men embraced, with heavy back-slapping on both sides. The man pushed Calis away and said, ‘You don’t look a damn day older; curse you long-lived bastards – steal all the pretty women, then come back and steal their daughters.’

Calis said, ‘I expected to see you at the rendezvous.’

‘There isn’t going to be one,’ the man called Praji said; ‘at least not where you’d expect it to be. Khaipur has fallen.’

‘So I heard.’

‘That’s why you’re here and not marching up the banks of the Serpent River,’ said Praji.

Foster motioned for Erik and five other men to take the horses. As they gathered the animals, they studied the other five riders. Hard men all, they had a beaten, tired look. Praji said, ‘We got our tails singed, for sure. I barely got out with a score of our men; we got as close to the siege as we could, but the greenskins had outriders and they came down on us hard. I didn’t even have time to claim we were looking for work. No truces. You’re either with them or you’re attacked.’ He hiked a thumb at his companions. ‘After we got loose, we split up. Half the lads went with Vaja to the Jeshandi. Figured you’d be coming up that way, but in case you put in at Maharta I was heading that way. Figured you’d send word through our agents where you were if I was wrong. Give me something to drink; my throat’s coated with half the dirt between here and Khaipur.’

Calis said, ‘Let’s get a drink and you can tell me more.’

He took the man over to the pavilion, and as they moved, villagers began to appear as if from the air. Erik and the other men detailed to the horses took the riders over to the remounts, and Erik inspected them all. They had been ridden hard; they were heavily lathered and breathing deep. He unsaddled the horse he led, and told the other men to start walking the animals. They needed an hour’s cooling at least, he judged, before they could be allowed to eat or drink, lest they become colicky.

After the horses were cooled, Erik staked them out and rubbed them down, checking to make sure none was injured or coming up lame. When he was satisfied the horses were all right, he returned to his own tent.

With the arrival of the riders, order in camp was lax, and he found his five bunkmates lying on their bedrolls. He knew that it could be seconds before the order to fall to was issued, so he luxuriated in the first moment he felt the bedroll under him.

Natombi said, ‘Legionaries always grab whatever rest they can, minute to minute.’

‘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. 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?’

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.’