"With pleasure," said Pel.
Khaavren and Pel rode to the top of a bluff, dismounted, and, lying flat, studied the surrounding area with the aid of a touch-it glass, Khaavren looking forward, Pel looking back.
"As of now, I see nothing," said the Yendi.
"I wish I could say the same," remarked Khaavren.
"More, I wish I had some understanding of the meaning of what I see."
"Well?" said the Empress. "Tell me what you see. It is possible that I can make some sense of it."
"Does Your Majesty think so?"
"Well, if you see what appears to be several thousand armed men in conflict, then, in fact, I have some idea of what it means."
Khaavren stared at the Empress in silent astonishment, until Zerika, smiling slightly, said, "Does my captain forget that his Empress has the Orb, and that, through the Orb, I am able to communicate?"
"The Horse," said Khaavren. "I had forgotten this circumstance. Then I take it Your Majesty has had a communication?"
"This very instant, and from none other than Sethra Lavode, who is, as you recall, more than a little concerned in these matters."
"I remember that very well. And will Your Majesty condescend to give me the gist of this communication, that I might be able to make better decisions as to our next tactical movement?"
"I will do so this very instant. In fact, I am about to."
"Then I am listening."
"The Enchantress tells me that the Lord Morrolan is engaged with Kâna's forces, even as we speak. If you have seen a battle—"
"I have."
"Then, no doubt, that is what it is."
"Very well, but—"
"Yes?"
"Who is Lord Morrolan?"
"Oh, as to that—"
"Well?"
"I have not the least idea in the world, I assure you."
"But he is on our side?"
"He is a Dragonlord who has chosen to defend the Empire, although whether from loyalty to me, to the Empire, to Sethra Lavode, or simply a dislike of Kâna, I do not know."
"That, then, is sufficient, I think. Is there more?"
"Nearly."
"Well?"
"He is terribly overmatched."
Khaavren nodded. "So it seemed, from my brief observation. Then we cannot expect him to gain the victory."
"That is true."
"However, perhaps we can use this battle to gain safety, at least temporarily."
"Yes. If we can reach Dzur Mountain, they will not find it easy to dislodge us."
"That, then, is the plan."
"Very well, Captain, let us then put it into practice at once."
"As Your Majesty wishes."
Khaavren led his small command, which included no less than the Empress herself, around the fighting, and as straight as he could toward Dzur Mountain, even as Morrolan was facing defeat for the first time in his career.
It had come about quite nearly by accident, although, to be sure, the disparity of forces had made something similar almost inevitable. But it was not, in fact, the brigades sent in response to Saakrew's urgent pleas, but, rather, some of a group of those who were searching for Zerika who came upon Saakrew's command just as Morrolan was advancing once more. Saakrew knew opportunity when he saw it, or, rather, he understood that if these four or five thousand additional troops were permitted to leave then there was nothing to stop his enemy from continuing his advance. He therefore, after a certain amount of discussion over precedence of orders and command, prevailed upon the leader of these companies to regroup them and fall upon the flank of those advancing.
This was done with considerable success, and it was only Fentor's quick realization of what had happened, and his ability to prevail upon Morrolan, even in the delirium of battle, that prevented his small army from being completely destroyed. Morrolan himself led the retreat, breaking through an opposing force attempting to complete the encirclement, and, after having done so, he returned to lead a delaying action to discourage the pursuit.
By the time he was able to rest, it was past the second hour after noon, and he ought, by all logic, to have been exhausted—yet, because of some strange power granted him by his Goddess, or because of some attribute of his remarkable weapon, or because of the peculiar nature of a Dragonlord in battle, or perhaps because of all of these things, he, according to all witnesses, showed no signs of fatigue as he consulted with Fentor upon what ought to be done next, as they regrouped on top of a hill not far from where they had launched their first attack (a hill which is today called Battle Hill under the mistaken impression that the battle was actually fought there).
Morrolan's first word was the simple question, "Casualties?"
"I don't know, my lord. We have suffered badly. Killed and captured, I should say at least two hundreds, with a similar number of wounded, though many of the wounds are light."
"Very well. How much time have we before we are attacked again?"
"Only minutes, I should think. There is no reason for them to delay longer than is required to organize a brigade or two."
"Then let us retreat to those fortifications you have so cleverly arranged. Do you agree with this plan?"
"Entirely."
"Then see to it, and there is no reason to hesitate."
"I understand, my lord."
"Fentor—"
"My lord?"
"You were right."
"Sir?"
"I had no conception of just how many they had. Or, to be more precise, I knew the numbers, but didn't know what they meant. You were right."
"Yes, my lord. As were you."
"As was I?"
"Indeed. We have delayed them considerably, and confused them more; your maneuver was far more successful than I'd have thought."
"Well, but—we cannot hold them, can we? Even in our fortifications?"
"That seems to be the case. But then, as I recall, you had some tricks which ought, at least, to delay them."
"Verra! I had forgotten those! Well, let us retreat at once, as we discussed, and I will consider matters. Apropos, where are the Necromancer and the Warlock?"
"Nearby. Neither has been hurt. I will send them to you."
"Very good."
The psychology of an army is a peculiar thing. After the first few victorious skirmishes, the entire force was filled with a spiritual fire, ready to fling itself at any enemy with no hesitation, whereas now they were slow, hesitant, fearful, and uncertain—yet not more than one out of three of Morrolan's troops had, as of yet, actually faced an enemy; many of the companies had been in reserve, others had been moving from one place to another, while others had been in positions where there was no enemy. Nevertheless, they were as one in mood and spirit, and Morrolan, even then, was sensitive enough to be aware of this, and wise enough to know he must take it into account in his future decisions.
His horse was brought to him at the same time as the Necromancer and the warlock arrived; he gestured to them to accompany him as he led the way back to the fortifications Fentor had labored so hard to prepare. These fortifications, to be sure, were not the sort of which a modern military engineer would be proud, consisting of little more than obstacles to make it difficult for an enemy to mount a strong charge, and some minimal protection against any sorcerous or projectile weapons that might be directed against them; yet, should the supposed military engineer to whom we have just referred been made aware of the lack of time or resources with which Fentor had had to work, he would, without question, have respectfully saluted the Dragonlord who had carried out this construction.
We will not draw out the retreat unnecessarily—though it was, in the unanimous opinion of those who made it, drawn out almost beyond human endurance—and simply say that Morrolan's forces made it back to their fortifications as dark was falling, where each soldier slept, arms in hand, at his post.
We must also add that, by this time, the small troop led by Khaavren and including the Empress had suc
ceeded in making their way around the flank of Kâna's army, though, it is true, not without a certain amount of difficulty. The difficulty came only a mile outside of Nacine, when, in the course of avoiding a sizable body of the enemy, they stumbled upon an even more sizable body of the enemy—the most outlying edge of the massive search being conducted for Empress and Orb.
Zerika drew her thin weapon and said, as cool as any Dragonlord, "How many are there?"
Khaavren, who already had his weapon in his hand, said, "Perhaps a hundred. Rather less, I fancy."
"There are ninety-four of them, including officers and those who may not be engaged," said Aerich.
Zerika smiled. "You count quickly."
"Your Majesty will forgive me if I do myself the honor of disputing with her, but I did not count them."
"You did not?"
"Not at all."
"Then how are you able to know the number?"
"In the simplest possible way. You see before you, arraying themselves to charge, a dismounted cavalry company—as evidenced by the standard which is born by the lady in the middle—which consists of forty men-at-arms, four sergeants, a lieutenant, and a captain. This makes forty-six. For the rest, we see two platoons of light infantry, each of which consists of twenty soldiers, a corporal, and a subaltern. This brings our total to ninety. If we include the usual three errand runners and a physicker, all of whom can fight if the need is great enough, but will not be involved in the charge that, you perceive, they are even now beginning, we find that we are about to face ninety-four of them; or, rather, the ninety, if we assume that four will not participate in the charge, which, observe, is the case—those are the four remaining behind."
"Your Venerance seems quite certain," remarked the Empress.
"There is little doubt of the sorts of troops involved," said Aerich. "Your Majesty may observe the slight curve evident in the weapons of the dismounted cavalry, and how they do not charge in such an even, well-spaced formation as do the infantry—which infantry is proven to be light rather than heavy by the lack of pole weapons, as well as by the weapons they carry—either two swords, or sword and dagger. And you perceive their easy step, exact cadence—they have done a great deal of marching, and have often practiced this very charge—you see, in another moment, they will break into a run. Ah, you see, there it is. They really are well trained."
By the time the Lyorn had concluded this remarkable speech, Khaavren had arrayed his small company in a line, curving back on both sides. He made no observations about the unfortunate aspects of the situation—that is, that he was facing odds of more than four to one in an open area where there were neither any obstacles to interfere with the charge, nor enough time to permit maneuvering. In other words, he had no choice but to simply face the organized troop of trained Dragon warriors.
Khaavren frowned, studying the enemy approach, then said, "My dear Tazendra."
"Well?" said the Dzurlord, who was in position only a few steps away.
"If you are able to do something, well, now would be a very good time."
"Oh, I am capable of doing something."
"That is good."
"And, in fact, I had been about to do so. Only—"
"Well?"
"I have been unable to select which spell would be the right spell. You perceive, I have been looking forward to such a moment for a long time, and there are so many choices that—"
"Bah! Can you give us something with smoke, fire, and loud sounds that will disrupt their attack?"
"Well, yes, I believe I can do something of that sort."
"Then, my dear, I beg you to do so at once. You perceive, they are nearly upon us."
"Very well, my dear. Fire and smoke and—but would lightning and thunder be appropriate as well?"
"Certainly, yes, all of that."
"Then let us—"
"Gently, however."
"Gently?"
"You recall how it was when you made that test."
"That is true. Well, gently then."
"Very well, proceed."
Tazendra acted, raising the long, heavy staff she held in her left hand, and making certain gestures with it, while murmuring under her breath.
"That had some effect," remarked Zerika.
"None too soon," observed Khaavren.
If the good captain was less than completely comfortable with how long it took Tazendra to cast her spell, he was, at least, entirely happy with the results—there was a flash that caused everyone present to shut his eyes, and to see spots when opening them, after which was revealed a long line of flame reaching to a height of ten or twelve feet, and, though it was a good twenty yards in front of them, the heat was sufficient to make them uncomfortable. These effects, spectacular as they were, were accompanied by lightning, which, as is the custom in sorcery and nature, was, in turn, accompanied by a thunderclap.
In point of fact, the effect of the spell was less than might be assumed—some five or six of the enemy were killed outright, and perhaps thirty more received burns sufficient to take them out of combat. But the reader can well understand that none of the rest had any interest in continuing the attack—nor, indeed, in doing anything except retreating as quickly as possible from the flames.
"That was well done, indeed," remarked Khaavren.
Tazendra bowed.
"It was," echoed Zerika. "Only—"
"Well?"
"Can you put the fire out?"
Tazendra frowned. "I'm not certain I know how to do that," she said.
"In that case," said Khaavren, "may I suggest this way as a direction, and that we move quickly? The wind is blowing toward us, and I have no doubt the fire will follow the wind, and I do not think I would appreciate the irony of being destroyed by our own spell."
"I agree," said Zerika.
"Then let us mount up again, if the fire has not scared away the horses."
"It has not," said Aerich. "The lackeys did a sufficient job of securing them to stakes; they are not happy, but they are still where they have been left."
"Then let us go."
Go they did, and quickly, so that, before their enemy had time to report their presence and ask for aid, they had gone some distance along what seemed to be a crude road, or perhaps a new but well-trod path, running west from Nacine.
As they rode, Tazendra said, "Well, are you satisfied?"
"More than satisfied, my dear friend," said Khaavren. "You have saved us."
"It was nothing," said Tazendra, smiling happily. "I could do the same a thousand times."
"Perhaps you will need to," said the Tiassa.
Zerika, overhearing this, said, "Excuse me, Captain, but you seem worried."
"Perhaps a little," said Khaavren.
"What, then, is the reason for this worry?"
"It is this. We cannot continue at this pace all night without killing the horses; yet I fear to stop. There is no question but that there is a pursuit. Should they catch up with us, well, even our skilled Dzur will be hard-pressed to save us."
"It will be dark soon," said the Empress. "Will we be able to hide in the darkness?"
"I am not certain. But it seems we must try, or else, at least, abandon the horses. We will kill them soon."
She nodded. "Another hour, then, and it will be dark. We will look for a place to hide."
"I dislike hiding," observed Tazendra.
"Then," said Khaavren, "do not think of it as hiding, but, rather consider it husbanding our forces for an attack on the morrow."
"I like that better," said Tazendra.
Chapter the Fifty-Fifth
How the Ninth (If One Considers
Geography, Or the Tenth If One
Considers Personality) Battle of
Dzur Mountain Was Fought
— Continued
Zerika and her escort were able to find a place between two hills some distance from the road, where ran a small brook, and they spent some nervous hours there, resting the horse
s, and themselves when they could, and keeping a constant and vigilant watch throughout the night—or, to be more precise, throughout much of the night, until a certain time when Röaana came to Khaavren where he was resting and said, "I hear something moving."
Khaavren was on his feet at once, listening (for it is well known that a Tiassa will listen better on his feet, whereas a Dzur will hear better with his ear near the ground).
"It is the enemy," he said in a whisper. "As I thought, they are searching for us even at night. This Kâna is more than a little anxious to possess the Orb. Come, let us wake the others, as quietly as we can, and saddle the horses."
By chance, this complex operation was performed, even in the nearly complete darkness, quickly and without undue noise or mishap. Very soon, they were traveling once more, Khaavren setting out in a northwesterly direction, hoping to stay parallel with the road, but fearing to ride on it before knowing if it was safe. After an hour or so, the captain decided they were secure for the moment, and called for a rest.
"Well, what do you think, Captain?" asked the Empress.
"Your Majesty, it is a difficult situation. We are still at least two days' ride from Dzur Mountain, and the forces arrayed against us are overwhelming. If they are now between us and the Enchantress, well, it could be difficult. If they come upon us, it could be unfortunate. But I see no alternative to our plan—that is, to continuing toward Dzur Mountain, avoiding the pursuit as best we can."
"Very well. How long shall we rest this time?"
"A few minutes only. Alas, I should have liked to rest until dawn, but the enemy is too close."
Zerika nodded. "We are in your hands, Captain."
At this expression, a certain shade passed across Khaavren's countenance, as if of a sudden pain, or a painful memory. Zerika affected not to notice, and soon it passed. A few minutes later, Khaavren gave the word, and they mounted up once more, picking their way carefully, according to Zerika's map and the few landmarks they could see, through fields parallel to the road.
As the first soft glow of morning began to spread itself through the gentle fields of Southmoor, Khaavren stopped, and said, "Come, my dear Pel. Bring those sharp eyes of yours here along with a touch-it glass, and tell me what you see."