Foretellers (The Ydron Saga Book 3) (20 page)

It was first light and Mahaz inserted a glowing orange sliver between the horizon and the layer of fog hovering low across the land, momentarily blinding Harad. He turned and waited for the dancing blue after-image to fade. Once the phantom had vanished and he could again see the dawn and the forces he had assembled without distraction, he filled his lungs and savored the crisp morning air. He felt alive and exhilarated, unusually alert for the hour, with none of the ache and dullness that should have followed the previous night’s alcoholic binge.

His hand went to the scabbard on his hip, caressing the textured onyx before moving up to the pommel, then finally descending to embrace the hilt’s leather grip. The moment’s sensuality spread throughout his limbs like fire across grassland until he found it hard to contain the exhilaration, though contain himself he would. It would not do for a warlord to display such emotions, lest those beneath him mistake them for indications of frailty. He would certainly show no such weakness when they encountered the Haroun.

The hunter who had thwarted Darva’s abduction arose in his mind. Wasn’t it he, after all, who had freed the thought gazer’s family, thereby undoing the threat Harad had held over Peniff? Wasn’t it he who had humiliated Harad by single-handedly slaying ten of his thugs? Wasn’t it he who had set into motion all the events that eventually landed Harad in Hath Kael’s disfavor? Why had he forgotten that particular man until precisely this moment, he wondered? Had he been so intent on seeking revenge against the thought gazer that this particular Haroun had vanished from his thoughts? No matter. Harad now commanded an army that would destroy not only the hunter, but his family, his village and all the Haroun people. He was determined he would set matters straight. He had become as strong and as dangerous, he decided, as any sword fashioned in Rutan. Like the one on his hip, that could cut through iron and sever any weapon the Haroun put against it, he would be a formidable enemy.

Hoof beats and the snorting of horses reoriented Harad and he turned to see the last of his cavalry approach from the garrison and fall into formation behind the infantry. All told, he had mustered almost twenty-five hundred foot soldiers and twelve hundred mounted. He would have preferred to have more—many more—but because of Orr’s neglect, this was the most he could assemble with so little notice. Many were raw recruits, herded from farms or nearby villages who slouched and shifted stance awkwardly and the lines they formed wavered. The spears in their hands, instead of aligning into neat rows of pickets, often pointed akimbo, canting at odd angles. Harad tried to suppress his concern that Ben Haro’s disparagement might not be entirely without merit. Even so, when combined with the ones Lehr was sending, this became a sizeable force. In the end, he believed, it was numbers that mattered. When he eventually released them against No’eth’s sparse population, against weapons designed for the hunt rather than warfare, he was certain the odds came down in his favor. After all, how could longbows, arrows and hunting knives stand up to crossbows, lances and swords?

Fortunately, these were not all of Monhedeth’s soldiers. He was saving the choicest battalions for when this initial campaign was done. Once he had put the savages in their place and received the next Rutani shipment, he’d arm some more officers and five hundred of his best and take those choicest troops eastward to Dar. He would have earned Lehr’s confidence by then, and he intended to lead their combined forces south to show Hath Kael what he had become.

Harad’s horse began dancing as Rodic rode up beside him. Gripping the reins, he strained for control. When it finally settled, Harad noticed several scrolls protruding from beneath the flaps of both his friend’s saddle bags.

“The ink is barely dry,” Rodic said, sounding breathless, “but they’re ready. The scribes went without sleep last night reproducing your map.”

“How many are there?”

“I have eight.”

“That’s good,” said Harad, feeling better about the morning as each minute passed. “We will keep one for ourselves, give four to the infantry commanders and two to the cavalry. The locations where they are each to begin their maneuvers are clearly indicated. Send a courier east with the one that remains. Lehr’s general is expecting it. If your man sets off at once, he should arrive at the site we’ve agreed on before Lehr’s forces do. Tell him the place where he’s headed is marked on the map just above Lake Ossan.”

Rodic nodded. Wheeling his horse, he rode to the spot where the commanders were gathered and distributed the scrolls. Harad, who otherwise loathed the formalities his new position sometimes demanded, elected to join them. He had sense enough to realize how even this simple act could bring the necessary element of unity to their endeavor.

“Good morning,” he said, as Rodic rode off to deliver the remaining document. “Are we ready to kill Haroun?”

His commanders greeted the question with grins, and why wouldn’t they? Like Harad, each had a taste for the violent and it was largely on that criterion Harad had selected them.

Realizing he needed officers with backbone, for three days he had interviewed all of Orr’s, hoping to find even one who might qualify to lead this campaign. He had not been optimistic. Most of Orr’s officers had been handed their posts as payment for favors that either they or their families had performed. They enjoyed the soft life of being soldiers in name only and Harad felt in his heart they would either crumble or run the first time a weapon pointed their way. He was shocked, then, when he stumbled onto the first. He would have discounted the man’s assertion of how much he enjoyed killing, had his thoughts not confirmed it. But when a second, then a third of his kind sat down before him, Harad began to believe that there might be even more. Eventually, he identified half a dozen others he knew he could count on. These, however, came to his attention differently from the rest.

Orr had had one general who was determined to enlist real warriors, even in this land where threat from abroad was something unknown. After exhausting the nobility and civil population without success, he had turned his eye towards prison guards and dungeon torturers where he located three who met his approval. Not yet satisfied, he looked at the prisoners themselves. Among all the murderers and greater scoundrels, but necessarily apart from the totally deranged, he found three more. One had entered Monhedeth from the north. He was fleeing Rutan’s legal arm, after committing unspeakable acts on the general populace, when he made a careless mistake that landed him in prison. The remaining pair were locals who tortured and maimed Monhedeth’s citizenry as a team. What had appealed to the general then, and attracted Harad’s attention now, was not their ruthlessness, but rather their high intelligence. Mere viciousness and thuggery would not have been sufficient qualifications to give them command of his troops. Rather, it was each one’s ability to recognize when subordinating the desires that drove him might be more beneficial than acting on impulse alone. Since these three had been arrested due to happenstance, not because they lacked self control, he considered them near perfect candidates.

Harad returned his officers’ grins with one of his own. Once they completed this mission, he intended to have them instill their thirst for blood into the men they commanded. The warriors of Limast and Meden would surley pose a more difficult challenge than hunters dressed in skins and he would need determined, aggressive warriors to vanquish them. With luck, this operation would cull the inadequate.

After regarding the troops in formation, Harad announced, “It appears we are ready. If you will take charge of your regiments, we will get underway. By the third and fourth days, you will disperse your men at the places your maps indicate, along No’eth’s northern frontier. Then, at the designated hour, we will move south to destroy our only obstacle to the way east and the lands beyond.”

They drew their Rutani swords and raised them in a salute. Then, returning them to their scabbards, the six turned their mounts in unison.

In less than a week
, Harad thought,
I will control almost everything north of the Em, with only Dar and Miast remaining
. He did not yet know if he could conquer either, but if he were to rule all of the lands as he intended, he would either have to do so or somehow earn their allegiance.

By now, Rodic had returned.

“It’s begun,” Rodic said. “First barakMis and now this. Not bad for a man who, just a few weeks ago, could hardly stand upright.”

Not bad
, Harad thought,
for a man who, a few weeks before that, was Hath Kael’s henchman and was fearing for his life
.

“When do you think the supply wagons will reach their destinations?” he asked.

Over most of the land southwards of the Em, the armies had farms and villages, even cities to plunder. By contrast, between Monhedeth and Dar the land consisted of marshes and forests lacking even the basic wherewithal to supply wayward travellers, let alone an army numbering into the thousands.

Harad had sufficient foresight to predict what would happen over the course of what could easily turn into weeks of combat. Already weighed down by weapons and armor, the additional burden of foodstuffs and water, not to mention replacement weapons, would render No’eth’s terrain completely impassable. As a result, almost immediately after returning from Dar, he had ordered that dozens of wagons be loaded with whatever his army might require. Then, because they would travel slower than his troops, he dispatched them days in advance so they would be waiting when his soldiers eventually needed them.

“A pigeon from the wagoners arrived this morning,” said Rodic. “The message said that the way had been dry, so they arrived at the first of the encampments a day and a half sooner than you had projected. The rest should be in position on time.”

Harad arched his brows in pleasant surprise.

“Then I believe we are ready. If you will join me at the column’s head, I will give the command to begin.”

“This is wonderful!” cried Darva. “It seems like years since we last rode together.”

This was Bedistai and Darva’s second day out. Mounted on endaths, they were spending a few days enjoying each other’s company. He was showing her the beauty of No’eth’s northern stretches. Having recovered sufficiently from his wounds that remaining in bed or restricting himself to strolls near his village had begun to feel confining, he decided to ignore his mother’s and friends’ admonitions to go easy. His initial impulse had been to take Chawah on a hunt, before he came up with something better. Lately, Darva had been talking about a thing she called a picnic and he remembered their feasting together on marberries in a woodland glade several weeks earlier, during the trip to reunite her with her brother. Something similar, he decided, would provide a necessary change from the last several weeks, especially since he increasingly found himself wanting to spend time with her. Recalling a spot near Lake Ossan where wild tesberries grew, he packed Salmeh’s freshly baked bread and some honey he had gathered, along with an assortment of similar treats, and filled two large skins with wine.

When he called on her the day before last and told her his plan, she replied, “Are you serious?”

He feared he had somehow blundered until he saw her broad smile and the glint in her eyes, then noticed she was bouncing the way Halli did in moments of excitement. Taking both of her hands into his, he drew her close and kissed her full on the mouth, holding her until she pushed back gasping, eyes wide and breathless. He was trying to decide what his next course of action should be when she moved against him, encircled his neck and left him wanting air as she had.

Since Darva’s endath, Chossen, was now Peniff’s, Bedistai needed to find her another. His own endath solved the problem when she arrived at his door with a male he believed was named Vyten. This was the first time Bedistai had met this particular creature, so he wondered how he could know how to call it. He was certain he was not imagining, because when he used the name, Vyten had responded. He wondered: if endaths were empathic, could they transmit thoughts as well? Clearly one of them had and he found this new possibility intriguing.

They had spent the previous night camped beside a river that flowed past danBrad in Monhedeth to the River Em. Growing increasingly demonstrative, after dinner and half a skin of wine, Darva transitioned from affectionate to downright amorous, testing the degree to which Bedistai had healed. Morning found her nestled in his arms and Bedistai, more than a little gladdened at discovering this new side of her, invented two good reasons, back to back, to delay having breakfast.

The rest of the morning also passed pleasantly and it was a little before midday when they emerged from the convoluted topography that made up the Expanse. They crested a ridge just east of the river above a grassy plain stretching out to the horizon. While much of the grass appeared a bright shade of green, other varieties colored rich maroon and orange mottled the grassland into a variegated patchwork.

Each had worn furs to guard against the chill, but Mahaz was high enough in the sky that they now found themselves undressing down to the skins they wore underneath.

“The land is beautiful,” said Darva as she strapped her coat to the saddle’s cantle.

“It is indeed,” he agreed. Then, pointing toward a cluster of trees that could provide them with shade, he said, “That looks like a good place to spend the day. Don’t you agree?”

Darva grinned broadly and nodded enthusiastically. Pleased by her response, Bedistai was about to urge Chawah forward when he noticed movement in the distance, something he might not have seen from a lower vantage.

“What is it?” asked Darva, when he remained staring for several seconds.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “They might be traders, although the customary trade route between Monhedeth and Dar starts at barakMis. As close as they are to Lake Ossan, their line of travel seems suspicious. I have a feeling I should get close and investigate.”

“Can we do that later?”

He almost agreed, but something inside insisted otherwise.

“I’ll feel better once I’ve established their identity and their reason for being here.”

She started to protest, then hesitated. He turned to her, unfurrowed his brow and smiled.

“It shouldn’t take long,” he said. “Once I’ve determined their intent, we will have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

“Can we go for a swim?”

“Hah! If you can tolerate the water for more than a minute, I suppose so.

“Chawah,” he called and his endath raised her head. “Do you see those strangers in the distance?”

She bobbed her head in affirmation.

“Please take me to them.”

Loping easily, she made her way down the decline. A few minutes later, they were entering the plain. Chawah had not yet begun to approach her top speed, but already they were covering ground faster than any horse and a glance past his shoulder revealed Vyten keeping up.

Bedistai hoped he was acting out of unnecessary caution, but his distrust was bred by how seldom strangers visited this locale. He also understood how fortunate their timing had been. When he first spied the caravan, it was little more than specks strung out across the horizon. It was only the elevated outlook that had brought them better into view. Now that he and Darva had arrived on the plain, the intruders were invisible. Fortunately, once Chawah had seen them, she no longer required further visual cues. They had been travelling for several minutes when Bedistai raised a hand at shouts and whistles from ahead.

He slid from the saddle and quietly instructed, “Wait here,” as much to the endaths as to Darva.

No trees grew in the next stretch of land. It was windblown and covered with waist-high scrub. Knees bent, ducking low, Bedistai scurried forward, covering ground as fast as he dared, trusting the light brown skins he was wearing to meld with the colors of the brush. His injuries, while for the most part healed, prevented him from proceeding with his customary speed and even brought him up short on two occasions when a pain in his side grabbed him.

He had been moving so for several minutes when he noticed bits of scarlet poking above the undergrowth. Rising carefully to avoid being spotted, he recognized the things he had seen as the tops of banners bearing Monhedeth’s colors, and now the voices attracting him had grown loud enough to begin making out words. He eased forward. A few yards closer, afraid he would move into view if he came any nearer, he listened again.

“Set up the first group of cook wagons over there,” a man called. “Their supporting supply wagons will go behind them.”

There was a muffled response, to which the first one replied, “Tell the rest of the convoy to keep heading east and remind them to group their units at half-day intervals. The last of them need to be in position in no more than three days.”

He could not make out the conversation that followed, but when the first one shouted, “Lord Harad wants the second cavalry bivouacked behind the supply wagons,” the pieces of this odd scenario began falling into place.

Was the Harad he referred to the one who had kidnapped Darva? The one whom Bedistai had humiliated? Who else could it be, he wondered? Bedistai had no idea how Harad could have come into power, yet the man had called him Lord, so clearly he had. It also appeared that he now controlled at least one cavalry brigade. If that were true, he wondered, was he also bringing other units to No’eth as well? Since more supply wagons meant more troops, it was almost a certainty. Harad was dangerous and one not to underestimate, so it did not take a genius to deduce why he would position them along No’eth’s northern frontier and what then must follow.

Bedistai turned and began making his way back to Darva. He had travelled fewer than fifty yards when someone shouted, “There’s someone moving through the brush.”

He didn’t dare stop. Bending low, he kept moving. He was attempting to go left to avoid a bush, when his injured side grabbed and the pain halted him seconds before two arrows bit into the dirt just ahead. Had he kept moving, they would have struck him. He took a breath, changed course and started off again. An archer would have found his direct course ideal, so he dodged left and right as he went. Even so, Bedistai knew arrows were not the only danger. The party behind would likely send men in pursuit and his zigzag route would make catching him all the easier.

No sooner had he thought it, than something crashed through the brush at his rear. A quick glance revealed two men running after him. All attempts at stealth now futile, Bedistai straightened and ran, feinting from side to side as arrows struck all around, some barely missing him.

The sound of branches breaking indicated his pursuers were almost on top of him. Driving hard as he ran, he was gritting his teeth and fighting the pain that was threatening to undo him when noise from ahead made him look up, afraid the men had somehow encircled him.

He grinned as Chawah hurtled directly toward him. Covering ground faster than any man or beast could ever hope to, she was before him almost as soon as he recognized her. Executing a move Bedistai had never before witnessed, the endath dipped a shoulder low as she approached on the run. In the same instant, he flung himself onto her, landing on his belly and grasping for the saddle. As if realizing how an abrupt turn would fling him aside, Chawah executed a long sweeping arc to her left as she straightened.

Thanks to her speed—the archers missing their target because of it—the grace of her maneuver and the unequaled smoothness of her gait, Bedistai remained atop her, pulling himself onto the saddle and gradually seating himself as she ran. Passing the archers, Chawah flicked her tail and tossed them aside as she returned to the place where Darva and Vyten were waiting.

“Bedistai!” Darva cried as they arrived.

With no time to explain, Bedistai urged Chawah on to Mostoon and Vyten followed without prompting.