The Serpentwar Saga

Erik walked up the damp hillock upon which the fortress had been erected, and made his way along the perimeter until he reached the gate. It was still open and the guards on duty were almost asleep. A pair of Saaur, one wearing what Erik took to be an officer’s mark on his breastplate, were talking inside a hut at the gate, but they ignored him as he walked in.

De Loungville had called the fort a ‘classic’ motte-and-bailey, and Erik was fascinated by its construction. An earthen hill had been raised up and a tower built high upon it. Around this hill and tower, a large open area, the bailey, had been left, with the buildings nestled against the wall, sheltered by it. Suddenly it struck Erik that this is the sort of construction Calis had undertaken at Weanat, but on a much more modest scale. This tower could house a half-dozen bowmen with little discomfort, on a platform thirty feet above the ground. A fifteen-foot-high log wall had been erected around a small village, complete with wooden rampart and earthen reinforcement. An army would have little trouble with such a fortress, but most single companies would have had more than enough trouble to take such a fortification.

Inside there were a half-dozen buildings, all made of wood and covered with daub made from dried mud and straw. Smaller wattle-and-daub huts had sprung up around the larger buildings, and a fair-sized town had evolved. Erik could see why the Saaur at the gate had ordered them to remain outside; it was quite close inside this fortress.

He heard laughing and moved toward what he assumed would be an inn, and once inside he knew he had been correct. The room was dingy with smoke and poor light, but the stench of ale, spilled wine, and human perspiration struck Erik like a blow. Suddenly he was terribly homesick and wished to be nowhere so much as back at the Inn of the Pintail. He pushed down the sudden surge of feeling and made his way to the bar.

The barkeep, a stout man with a florid complexion, said, ‘What’ll it be?’

‘Got any good wine?’ asked Erik.

The man raised an eyebrow – everyone else seemed to be drinking ale or fortified spirits – but he nodded and produced a dark bottle from beneath the counter. The cork was intact, so Erik hoped the bottle was fresh and not resealed. Old wine tasted like vinegar mixed with raisins, but you couldn’t convince the average tavern keeper he couldn’t just stick the cork back in at the end of a day and unseal it again the next and not have his customers complain.

The barman produced a cup and poured. Erik sipped. The wine was sweeter than he would have liked, but not as cloying as the dessert wines made to the north of Yabon. Still, it was acceptable and he paid and indicated the barkeep should leave the bottle.

He glanced around the room and saw Biggo on the far side, trying to look inconspicuous and failing mightily. He leaned against the wall, behind a table where five men gamed with two Saaur. The lizard men were too large for their chairs, but they hunkered down as best they could and seemed intent upon the game. Erik recognized the sound of knucklebones, as they called dice here, rattling across the table and the accompanying shouts of the winners and groans of the losers.

After a few minutes. Dawar stood up and left the game. He came over to Erik and said, ‘Got a minute?’

Erik motioned to the barkeep for another cup and filled it. Dawar sipped and made a face. ‘Nothing like the wine from the grand vineyards of home, is it?’ he said.

‘Where’s home?’ asked Erik.

Dawar said, ‘Far from here. Let’s go outside for a minute.’

Erik picked up the bottle and let Dawar lead him outside into the fresh, cold night air. The man looked one way, then the other, and signaled for Erik to follow him around the corner, into a dark place next to the wall, sheltered above by the palisades.

‘Look, Corporal,’ began Dawar. ‘Let’s have an end to the mummery. You’re the company Nahoot was sent to keep from coming this way.’

‘What makes you think that?’ said Erik. ‘You’re the ones that jumped us.’

‘I wasn’t born this morning,’ said the man with a grin. ‘I know your Captain’s not your Captain, but the slender blond fellow is.’

‘What do you want?’

‘A way to get rich,’ said Dawar, a greedy glint in his eye.

‘How do you propose to do that?’ said Erik, moving his hand slowly down to his sword.

‘Look, I could maybe get myself a gold coin or two for telling Murtag you’re not who you say you are, but that’s a gold coin or two, and then I’m back looking for a company to join.’ He glanced around. ‘But I don’t like what I’m seeing lately, with this grand conquest. Too many men dying for too little gold. There’s not going to be much left of use to anyone if it keeps on, don’t you see? So I’m thinking I might be a help to you and your captain, but I’ll want more than wages and found.’

‘You’ll get ample chance for loot when we take Maharta,’ Erik said noncommittally.

Dawar took a step forward, lowering his voice. ‘How long do you think you can keep this up? You lot are not like any company I’ve seen, and I’ve been around more than most. You talk funny and you have the look of … I don’t know … some sort of soldiers, without the parade ground nonsense, but tough, like mercenaries. But whatever you are, you’re not what you want people to think you are, and it ought to be worth something for me to stay quiet.’

‘So that’s why you covered for us at the gate?’

‘Sure. Most of us look alike to the Saaur and Murtag’s pretty stupid – don’t make that mistake about most Saaur – which is why he’s stuck out here running this garrison and not with the main host. I figure I can turn you in any time, but I thought I’d first give you a chance to make me a better offer.’

‘I don’t know,’ Erik said, holding his wine cup to his lips with his left hand, while his right moved to the hilt of his sword.

‘Look, von Darkmoor, I’ll stick with you until the end, if the pay’s right. Now, why don’t you talk this over with Captain Calis –’

Suddenly a figure loomed up behind Dawar in the darkness, and large hands reached around and gripped him by the shoulders. They jerked him around, and as he spun, they grabbed the back of his head and his chin and forced it in the opposite direction, and with a loud crack, his neck was broken.

Erik had his sword out as Biggo stepped forward. ‘We found a spy,’ he whispered.

‘How could you be sure?’ hissed Erik, his heart pounding as he returned his sword to the scabbard.

‘I’m pretty sure no one’s called you von Darkmoor since we met up with this lot, but I damn well know no man’s called the Captain by name since then.’ Erik nodded. Strict orders had been passed not to mention Calis by name. ‘How would he know who you were?’

Erik’s heart sank. ‘I didn’t even notice.’

Biggo grinned in the faint light. ‘I won’t tell.’ He picked up Dawar’s body and hoisted it across his shoulder.

‘What are we going to do with him?’ asked Erik.

‘Why, we’re going to take him back to the camp. It wouldn’t be the first drunk carried out of here by his friends, I’m certain.’

Erik nodded, picked up the fallen wine cups and bottles, and motioned for Biggo to leave. Erik set the cups and empty bottle down next to the door and hurried after the large man.

For a tense moment Erik expected a challenge at the gate, but as Biggo had predicted, the guards thought nothing of one drunk cheerfully carrying another back to the camp.

They rode out at first light. Erik had told de Loungville and Calis of the encounter with Dawar. They had disposed of the body down in a wash, not too far from their campsite, making sure it was fully hidden by rocks. There had been a brief discussion after that and Calis had said whatever they chose to do, they’d do it far from the Saaur and the other mercenaries.

The only attention they received as they got ready to depart was one Saaur warrior who came down to ask what they were doing. De Loungville merely repeated they had been ordered to rejoin the host and the warrior grunted and returned to the fortress.

As Calis had suggested, this fortress was as much for keeping deserters from heading south as it was to keep the main army’s flanks free from attack.

At noon, while the men rested and ate trail rations. Calis told Erik to get five of the men from Nahoot’s company and bring them over to where he waited with de Loungville. When they appeared, Calis said, ‘One of your companions, Dawar, got into a fight last night over a whore. Got his neck broken. I don’t want to see any repeat of that stupidity.’

All five men looked baffled, but nodded and left. Another group of five was brought up to Calis, then another. At last the final four men were fetched to Calis and he repeated the admonishment. Three of the men looked blank, but one of them tensed at news of Dawar’s death and instantly Calis had his dagger out at the man’s throat.

De Loungville said, ‘Take them away,’ to Erik as he and Calis, with Greylock, led the man away to be questioned.

As Erik escorted the two men back down the line, several of the men asked what was going on. Erik said, ‘We caught another spy.’

A moment later a scream cut through the air, from behind a small rise some distance away. Erik looked over while the scream lingered, and when it ceased, he let out his breath.

Then it started up again, and Erik found every man looking off at the ridge. A few minutes later, de Loungville, Calis, and Greylock returned, all with grim expressions. De Loungville looked around and quietly said, ‘Get them mounted, Erik. We have a lot of ground to cover and little time to do it.’

Erik turned. ‘You heard the sergeant! Mount up!’

Men scrambled and Erik found the sudden motion a release. The sound of the spy dying under torture had set his nerves on edge and made him angry. The sudden movement seemed to lift that anger from him, or at least give him a place to focus it.

Soon the column was moving, heading toward the main army of the Saaur and the assault on Maharta.

• Chapter Twenty-Three • Onslaught

Erik blinked.

Acrid smoke filled the air for miles, making it difficult to see any distance. Stinging wind carried the smell of charred wood and other less aromatic victims of the widespread fires.

Nakor rode back to where Erik brought up the rear. ‘Bad. Very bad,’ he commented.

Erik said, ‘I haven’t seen a lot that wasn’t bad in the last week.’

They had been traveling for more than four weeks, heading across the plain toward the host surrounding Maharta. As they approached the site of battle, the area began to teem with all manner of passersby: patrols from the invading host, small companies of mercenaries who had decided to quit the city rather than fight – they tended to give Calis’s company a wide berth, though two had chanced a parley. When it was clear that Calis wasn’t interested in a fight, both companies had agreed to share a camp, and news.

The news was sobering. Lanada had fallen by treachery. No one was certain how, but someone had managed to convince the Priest-King to send his host north, leaving the city under the care of only a small company. The leader of that company had proved to be an agent for the Emerald Queen, and he had opened the gates of the city to a host of Saaur riding in from the southwest. The population had gone to sleep one night after a grand parade. The Priest-King’s war elephants, with their razor-capped tusks and iron spikes ringing their legs, had lumbered out the gate, the howdahs on their backs filled with archers ready to rain death down on the invaders. At their side had marched the Royal Immortals, the Raj of Maharta’s private army of drug-induced maniacs, each man capable of feats of strength and bravery no sane man could achieve. The Immortals had been promised great glory and a better life when reborn if they died in the service of the Raj.

The next morning the city was in the hands of the Saaur and the populace awoke to the sounds of wailing as the invaders turned each household out, herding everyone, to the last man, woman, and child, to the central plaza, to hear the Priest-King. He had been marched out under guard and had informed the citizenry that they were now subject to the rule of the Emerald Queen. He and his cadre of priests were taken back into the palace and never heard from again.

The host of Lanada that had been sent north to face an army already behind them returned under orders from the Priest-King’s General of the Army, who handed over command to General Fadawah, then joined his lord in the palace. Rumors flew through the city, ranging from the Priest-King, his ministers and generals being quickly executed to them being eaten by the Saaur.

One thing was clear, this conquest was coming to a head. With Lanada’s downfall a near certainty, General Fadawah had held back a token force at his position north of the city and sent the entire bulk of the host in a circling move around Lanada and down the far side of the river to Maharta. They had moved out only days after Calis’s company had deserted.

The benefit to the Queen’s army had been a swift strike south with almost no opposition. The detriment had been finding themselves on the wrong side of the river. Now the northern element from Lanada was moving down the main road between the two cities while engineers were throwing temporary bridges across the river some miles north of the mouth.

Erik looked at the blackened landscape; some locals had fired the dry winter grass to avoid being captured by the Saaur, he judged, for the brush fires had been started in several places. Only a cold rain had prevented a major conflagration on the plain.

Erik reflected on the cold weather and realized it was after midsummer back home. By the time they left Maharta, if they left Maharta, it would be nearly a year since he had fled Darkmoor.

One benefit to Calis’s company from the swift mobilization of Fadawah’s host southward was that most of the invading army was in the grip of turmoil and confusion. Moving closer to the front was surprisingly easy.

A day earlier an officer had tried to demand passes from Calis, who had said simply, ‘Nobody gave us anything on paper. We were told to move to the front.’

The officer had been totally baffled and simply waved them past the checkpoint.

Now they were at the crest of a rise overlooking the river valley below, where the Vedra emptied into the Blue Sea. Erik squinted at the scene below.

Maharta was a city of white stone and plaster, bright in the summer sun, now reduced to grey by weeks of falling ash. It spread across two main islands, while several suburbs had arisen on smaller islands in the delta. The main city was surrounded by a high wall on the northwest, north, and northeast, while the remaining sections were flanked by river, harbor, or sea. Several estuaries and inlets provided a variety of anchorages in the deep channel of the river as well as along the coast. Sprinkled across numerous islands were villages, and on the western shore of the river, a large suburb with its own wall.

Nakor peered at the distant city. ‘Things move close to a finish.’

‘How can you tell?’ asked Erik.

Nakor shrugged. ‘See the garrison on this side?’

Erik shook his head. ‘No. There’s too much smoke.’

Nakor pointed. ‘Look, there, at the river and sea, where they join in the delta. There were many bridges there – you can see blackened foundations where they were burned – and some villages on the smaller islands, but there, on this shore, there’s a good-sized town, with its own wall.’

Erik squinted against the smoke and fading sunlight and saw a spot of light grey against the darker water. Studying it, he thought it might be a walled town, but he couldn’t be certain. ‘I think I see it.’

‘That is the western precinct of Maharta. It is still holding.’

Erik said, ‘Your eyes must be as sharp as the Captain’s.’

‘Maybe, but I think it’s that I know what to look for.’

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Erik.

‘I don’t know,’ said Nakor. ‘I think Calis knows, but then, maybe he doesn’t. I do know that we need to be over there.’ He pointed at the far side of the river.

Erik looked at the massive host marshaled along the riverbank and said, ‘That seems to be everyone’s problem, Nakor.’

‘What?’

‘Being over there.’ Erik pointed northward and said. ‘They say there are bridges being built ten miles north of here. If so, why is everyone marshaled down here near the coast? They can’t be thinking of swimming across, can they?’

‘Difficult swim,’ Nakor admitted. ‘Doubt that’s what they’re going to do. But I expect they have a plan.’

‘A plan,’ Erik said, shaking his head dubiously as he remembered what Greylock had told him about battle plans and the realities of war. He sighed. ‘All we have to do is go through this army, cross the river, and get the defenders to open the gate for us.’

‘There’s always a way,’ said the little man with a grin.

Erik again shook his head in uncertainty as the order to move down into the waiting host was given, and suddenly he felt very much like a mouse invading a cat’s lair.

If the outlying fringes of the host were confused, the heart of the army was strictly under control. Calis noticed several heavily manned checkpoints and veered away from them, and twice had to improvise explanations for provost officers riding patrol. He claimed to be confused about which campsite he needed to locate, and said he was among those who were going to be first across.

Both times the officers assumed that no one would be lying to be the first across the river, so in both cases they merely waved Calis along. But as they skirted around the central position of the army, they got some sense of how things lay.

A large hill was central to the host, with the Queen’s pavilion atop it. Around that tent were the officers’ tents and rank upon rank of Saaur guard, with Pantathian combat troops arrayed behind them. Then came a series of tents used by Pantathian priests. The air was so thick with their magic it reeked, claimed Nakor. Then the bulk of the army radiated outward like spokes of a wheel.

De Loungville said, ‘It’s a pity there’s not another army lurking about in the grass nearby. These lads are so bound to conquer there’s nothing remotely defensive about this place.’

Erik knew little of warcraft, but after months of working hard to create defensible encampments, even he could see this: there were major flaws in the disposition of this army. ‘They must be planning on launching the attack soon,’ he observed.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Calis.

‘Greylock, what’s that word you told me, for supply?’

‘Logistics.’

‘That’s the one. The logistics are all wrong. Look at where they’ve got their horses. Each company has them picketed nearby, but there’s no easy way to get water to them from the river. This is going to be a mess in a day or two.’

Calis nodded, but said nothing, as he looked around.

De Loungville said, ‘You’re right. This host can’t stay here another week without a major blowup. Either men are going to get sick, start fighting, or run out of food and have to eat their horses. They can’t stay here much longer.’

Calis said, ‘There,’ as he pointed.

Erik looked to see a narrow peninsula of sandy ground, near the river’s edge, sheltered by tall grasses. They rode down a long incline, through some rocky gullies carved out by rain, and down to a sandy stretch, then back up a small rise, and at last reached the indicated area.

Erik jumped from his horse and knelt near the water’s edge. He cupped some in his hand and found it brackish and salty. ‘They can’t drink this.’

‘I know,’ said Calis. ‘Form a team and haul water down from upriver to give the horses something to drink.’ Looking around as the sun began to set, he said, ‘We’re not staying here very long.’

Camp was quickly made and Erik saw to it that the eighteen remaining men from Nahoot’s company were always under surveillance. They were not certain exactly what had happened to Dawar and the other man, but they knew it had been fatal and it was clear they didn’t wish to meet a similar fate. De Loungville had remarked there might be another agent among them, but if there was, Erik was forced to concede he was far more clever at disguising his nature, for not one of those men tried anything suspicious. Still, Erik billeted them closest to the river, with his own men and the horses on one side of them and the river on the other.

Roo came and found Erik as he was checking to see the horses were fit. ‘Captain wants you over there.’ He pointed to where Calis stood with de Loungville, Nakor, Greylock, and Hatonis.

Reaching the mound on which they stood, Erik heard Nakor saying, ‘… three times. I think there is something strange here.’

Calis said. ‘That’s a well-defended position –’

‘No,’ interrupted Nakor. ‘Look closely. The walls are good, yes, but there is no way to bring in reinforcements, yet the man said they were facing fresh soldiers every time they assaulted the walls. Three times in one day.’

De Loungville said, ‘Camp gossip.’

‘Maybe,’ said Nakor. ‘Maybe not. If true, then there is a way from that place’ – he pointed toward the small western precinct of the city on this side of the river – ‘to over there.’ He then pointed to the distant lights of Maharta. ‘It might be why they tried so hard to take it last week. If not for a way in, why not leave it and let them starve?’

De Loungville scratched his chin. ‘Maybe they don’t want trouble at their back.’

‘Bah!’ said Nakor. ‘Does this army look like it’s worried about trouble? This army is trouble. Trouble soon if they don’t get across that river. Soon there’ll be no food. Bad …’ He turned to Erik. ‘What was that word?’

‘Logistics.’

‘Bad logistics. Baggage train all strung out from here up to Lanada. Men pissing into the river upstream, and soon men downriver get belly flux and bad runs. Horse dung everywhere up to your knees. Men don’t get food, men fight. It’s simple. They take this precinct’ – he made a diving motion – ‘and take tunnel under river, then up into city.’

‘There was that tunnel under the Serpent River before,’ conceded Calis.

Hatonis said, ‘But there’s lots of bedrock under the City of the Serpent River. Our clans dug those tunnels over a period of two hundred years because of the storms of summer, the monsoons. You can’t safely cross the bridges when the seas are high and the wind is that strong.’

‘They get big storms here in Maharta?’ asked Nakor.

‘Yes,’ admitted the clansman. ‘But I don’t know what the ground around here is like.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Nakor. ‘A good builder, he’ll find a way.’

‘Certainly a dwarf would know a way,’ said Greylock.

Calis showed a small flash of irritation. ‘Whatever. We take a risk of getting killed no matter what we do. That’s not the point. It’s wasteful getting killed to get into a city that has no way out, and we don’t know there is a way out of the Western Precinct. We know that across the river is Maharta, and we don’t know if there’s a tunnel on this side.’

‘What if I go and find one?’ said Nakor.

Calis shook his head. ‘I don’t have any idea how you plan on getting in there, but the answer is no. I want every man ready to move out at midnight.

‘Word’s been passed there’s some sort of celebration on tonight. The Pantathians and Saaur are making some sort of battle magic, then tomorrow the northern elements are supposed to hit the city.’

Nakor scratched his head. ‘There are some men building bridges north of the main camp, but they are not finished. Why this? And what tricks do the serpent men have to get this army across that river? They’ve been conjuring something all day long.’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Calis, ‘but I plan on every man being on the other side when the sun’s up.’ He turned to Erik. ‘That’s your job. Those men from Nahoot’s company.’

Suddenly Erik’s stomach tightened. He knew what Calis was about to say. ‘Yes?’

‘Put them around the horses and give them this to drink.’ He handed Erik a large wineskin that sloshed. ‘Nakor’s dosed it so they’ll be unconscious for a while.’

Erik felt himself grin as he took the skin. ‘For a minute’

‘If Nakor hadn’t given me this drug, I would have told you to kill them,’ Calis finished. ‘Now see to it.’

Erik turned away, again chilled and, for a reason he couldn’t put any name to, feeling shame.

The camp rang with alien sounds, music from distant lands, screams of joy and pain, and laughter, swearing, and, most of all, drums.

Saaur warriors pounded on large wooden drums stretched with hide. The sound echoed across the river like thunder, and rang in the ears like the blood’s own pulse. Bloody rites had concluded and now warriors readied themselves for the morning’s battle.

Horns blared and bells rang, and on and on pounded the drums.

Hatonis and his men stood near the horses, and Erik quickly saw that all eighteen of Nahoot’s men were unconscious. He knew that had any avoided the drug’s effect he was to kill them.

Erik returned to Calis and reported, ‘All eighteen are truly asleep.’

Praji said, ‘If they can sleep through that racket, they are indeed senseless men.’

Calis stuck out his hand. ‘Good-bye, old friends.’

First Praji, then Vaja, then Hatonis took it and shook. They and the eight remaining men from their companies would make their way up the river, trying to position themselves to get across the river over one of the northern bridges while the main band attacked. In the confusion of battle they were going to try to slip away and head east, making for the City of the Serpent River. Whatever occurred in the coming days, eventually the City of the Serpent River would have to face the Emerald Queen’s might. Hatonis would ready the clans; once they had been nomads, like their cousins the Jeshandi, and if need be, they would roam the hills near the city again, striking at the host, then fleeing into the high forests. For Hatonis knew that this struggle would be settled far from his native city and more than mere strength of arms was needed.

The night was dark, as swift clouds from the ocean blew in to the shore, keeping the moons’ light masked. Only those of especially good vision might notice someone moving along the river’s edge from any distance away.

Nakor sniffed the air. ‘Rain coming, I think. Tomorrow, almost certainly.’

Calis motioned and Erik turned and signaled the first company into the water. The plan was simple: swim across the swift-running but shallow delta to one of the tiny islands near the city wall and look for a way to climb the southern breakwater and slip along atop it into the greater harbor. They would still strike for the southernmost quarter of the harbor, the shipbuilders’ estuary. That small firth fed off the main river and joined with the larger harbor, to form a natural launch point for ships. Calis had complete intelligence from agents who had been on this continent for years, but he knew little about the harbor beyond that. It had never occurred to anyone else that the Emerald Queen might need a navy until Roo brought it up.

After the burning of the shipbuilding facilities, the plan was still simple: steal a boat and sail up the coast to the City of the Serpent River. Erik thought, not for the first time, that simple didn’t mean easy.

The water was chilly, but Erik quickly got used to it. The men had wrapped their swords, shields, and armor for quiet, and some of the men had abandoned their heavier arms so as to be able to swim better.

The path taken brought them perilously close to both a picket of the Emerald Queen’s host and lookouts in the suburb fortification. Torches on the walls showed clearly that the ruckus from the Queen’s camp had alerted the garrison that something was up. Erik hoped they were all watching the lights on the top of the hill and not the rocky shore below their walls.

Every man in the company was a competent swimmer. Those that hadn’t had the knack had been trained at the camp outside of Krondor. But when they reached the distant spot that marked their first meeting point, a small sandy island in the mouth of the river, three men were missing. A quick head count showed thirty-two men on that island, exposed to view save for some tall grass and one lone tree. Calis signaled back into the water and Erik waited until everyone else was in before taking one look around for the three missing men, then he followed after the others.

The channel deepened and the current got stronger as they neared the city, and the water tasted saltier. A cough, sputter, and splash nearby were followed by a choking sound, and Erik knew someone else was in trouble. He swam toward the sound of splashing in the darkness, but as he reached the spot only silence met him. He glanced around in the gloom, then listened, and finally started swimming toward the distant shore.

Suddenly he skinned his knee and found he was clambering across an underwater islet. Then he was suddenly sucked downward and pulled back into a deeper, swifter current, and struggling to keep his head above water.

His armor weighed him down and Erik had to will himself to keep his head above water. He had trained for hours to swim with his sword and shield on his back, but nothing in training had prepared him for this nightmare of laboring through a wet inky darkness.

His chest burned and his arms felt leaden and he had to force himself to move forward. Lift one arm and throw it forward, and kick, lift the other and kick. He moved forward, with no idea how far he had come and how far he had left to go.