The Usurper's Crown (68 page)

Adka made his decision. “Get the baggage train moving immediately. Put the lightest possible guard on it. Bring the imperial litter right behind, again, lightest possible guard. Keep as many of the men back as you can for as long as you can. Make sure the runners are ready to keep communication with the head of the train.”

He watched Gavron’s eyes flick back and forth as he absorbed the order. He saw the questions rise in the man’s mind, and knew that the over-colonel was far too good and disciplined a soldier to voice any of them.

Adka gripped the man’s shoulder briefly. “Let us work toward seeing the sun down today. Tonight, we will talk further.”

Gavren laid his hand over his heart and without another word turned to march back toward the baggage carts.

Adka struggled to muster his own discipline, but part of his mind was heavily occupied with an old prayer he had learned when he first came into the service.

The child came from the womb. It had no mind, no eyes, no will, no wicked heart. So may the fates of war have no mind, no eyes, no will, no wicked heart against me, Adka, faithful servant of Vyshko, Vyshemir and Eternal Isavalta
.

But the prayer brought no comfort, and Adka shivered as he set himself to his work.

Peshek watched the columns of blue-coated men marching east, and swore. He had been right in many ways. As it was, Isavalta’s navy could not seriously challenge Hung Tse’s, at least not at first. Kacha meant to start this war on land. He was hurrying his troops to the place the Isavaltans called Miateshcha and the people of Hung Tse called Erh Huan. It was a narrow peninsula of land that stood between the two empires. Mostly flat plain, with few difficult mountain ranges, it had been in Isavaltan hands, or in Hung Tse’s hands, or in the hands of its own people on and off since time immemorial, fought over, invaded, taken, re-taken, laid waste again and again. Its advantage to Kacha at this moment was that he could get Isavaltans to march there faster than the Hung Tse emperor could. Now the emperor could surely sail troopships up the coast, but if Kacha had not already started hiring pirates to harass any such attempts, he was an utter fool, which, unfortunately, he was not.

Put that together with what Peshek knew of the reinforcement of the garrisons on the coast, and the strategy became clear.

Kacha would attack the peninsula defenses swiftly, making short inroads and digging in before winter came. The Hung Tse, unable to maintain a winter siege, would get what they could through the pirate harassment and attack the Isavaltan coast. Having thus tied up and weakened Hung Tse’s navy, which was their true strength, Kacha would, come spring, start the real press, on land, down the Miateshcha peninsula, and up from the south. Because, by next year, his father in Hastinapura would be brought into the battle, and Hung Tse would be facing its worst nightmare. They would be besieged from north and south, and for all the size of their lands, they would not be able to survive that for long.

The only question truly was, did the Heart of the World realize yet what was happening to them? And if they did, what would they do? The armies of Hung Tse, Peshek did not fear overmuch. He was a soldier, and he had faced them. Isavalta could match them, not easily, perhaps, but it could be done, but the Nine Elders would not be idle, and their powers … Isavalta had nothing to match that, and how then would those men down there suffer? The Nine Elders were said to be able to call down armies of demons from the clear blue sky, or to be able to open the earth at your feet and swallow you whole.

It was this thought that steeled Peshek toward what must be done. They had to attack the army on the march, and inflict heavy damage doing it. The only place they could do that was while the marching men were confined within the pass, because this was the only place where he and his followers could create advance preparations unseen. On the other side of the pass waited Raichik’s plains, and they would have to move to much more dangerous night raids, swift hit-and-run efforts. That would harry and annoy, but would inflict minimal actual damage, even though Lord D’rno was promising them help in the form of two score of his famous horses. If they were going to strike a true blow, here and now was when it must happen.

Peshek squinted toward the east. The masses of men were thinning, giving way to the slower and more cumbersome supply and baggage carts.

This was wrong. These were Isavaltans. These were members of the house guard, whose only crime was obeying the orders that had come down from the imperial hand.

Peshek crawled backward from his perch to where Ferin waited for him. Ferin’s raised eyebrows asked the only question there could be, and Peshek’s nod gave the only answer needed.

They had chosen this overlook because it was heavily forested. It gave them cover for when Kacha’s advance scouts rode through, and it gave them the raw materials for their work. Ferin raised his hand in signal to the nearest crew of men, and that signal traveled all down the ridgeline. The men crouched behind the great piles of pitch-and resin-soaked brush that they had spent the past few days gathering. Each team set to work with their flint and steel, starting up a tiny fire, little more than a spark on the end of a taper.

Peshek raised his hand. Ferin raised his. Peshek flattened himself down, and scanned the pass. The first of the baggage carts passed under the first of the waiting brush piles. He could hear the faint echo of the driver cursing the mules as they struggled with the stony ground. At last, the beasts pulled him clear of the obstacles. A knot of boys ran up and began clearing the stones away for the next cart. Peshek swallowed. He had forgotten the boys. How could he have done so? The second cart entered the pass, and the third, and the fourth.

Now. It had to happen now. Peshek closed his eyes, and swung his arm down.

He smelled the smoke instantly as the nurtured sparks were applied to the brush, with the pitch-soaked logs underneath. The crewmen scrambled back instantly and took up the long-handled pushes they had fashioned. The dry brush caught clean, clear and fast, the flames rising up and the heat reaching down.

The smell of it was strong, and reached the bottom of the pass quickly. Heads rose, and spied the fire, and voices shouted out, but the carts could not be quickly turned, and no archers were in position, and Peshek gave the signal to Ferin, and Ferin gave it to the men.

They pushed the piles of tarred and burning brush down onto Kacha’s baggage train. The burning bundles fell like stars, trails of sparks shining in their wakes. For a moment, it was beautiful.

Then the burning mass landed at the feet of the mules, who reared and stamped, struggling at their traces and screaming in their mindless, animal voices. Horses bucked and ran, beyond the control of any rider. The fire fell onto the carts, which erupted with fresh flame at once. It fell on the heads and backs of the men, who screamed even louder than the animals and threw themselves to the ground trying to smother the flames, and then it spread to the boys, who, lacking any experience or discipline, simply ran, and took the fire with them down the train. The stench soon grew worse than the screams.

But there was no time to wait. Already the fire crews had retired, making their retreat to the rendezvous. A man had Peshek’s horse and he mounted swiftly, charging down the ridgeline to join the other raiders cascading down the shallower pass toward the far end of the train. Someone among Kacha’s men had organized a response, and arrows flew up toward the raiders, and were met with an answering volley from Peshek’s own men. Lit torches flared in their hands, and pikes and swords were held at the ready.

He noted that absently, as the majority of his concentration was occupied trying to keep his horse and himself upright as they charged down a slope that was still steeper than he would have liked to see. The arrows whistled overhead, and the shouts of the hale and ready mixed with the screams of the burning.

“Medeoan!” shouted Peshek, and his men, as agreed, took up the cry. “Medeoan! Empress Medeoan!”

The litter rocked and tipped under him. Kacha pushed himself up on his good hand. Pain from the eye that strained to see coupled with the pain from the too-much wine he had drunk so he could find rest in the bottom of his cups.

“What is it!”

No answer came, only chaotic shouts and the maddened cries of men and animals. The litter swung this way and that and the horses neighed and balked. The smell of burning wood, and burning flesh, drifted through the curtains.

“What is happening!”

“Attack, Majesty!” answered some man. “Peshek and his deserters!”

Peshek. He dared.

Kacha curled his twisted hand. “Get me my sword!”

“Get His Majesty back!” barked someone else.

Voices shouted, men whistled and a whip cracked. The litter tipped again as the handlers attempted to back and turn the horses.

“Stop!” Kacha thrust open the curtains. “You will bring me my sword!”

Servants and handlers stood and stared, despite the rain of arrows, the rising flames, and the rush of men and beasts all around them.

Kacha climbed out of the litter, landing heavily on the rocky ground. “My sword, and if I have to ask again it will be over your corpse!” he bellowed at the nearest servant.
I will not cower in here. I am Emperor!

The man ran. Kacha did not bother to watch him go.

“Medeoan!” the wind brought the cry along with all the sounds and scents of burning, “Empress Medeoan!”

Damn them. Damn her
. “Where is General Adka?” he demanded of the nearest soldier. “What is the situation?”
I
will take command. I am the Emperor. Yamuna be damned as well, wherever he has gone
.

The man opened and closed his mouth several times as he gaped at Kacha’s ruined eye, but endeavored to pull himself together.

But before he could speak, there came a new sound overhead — a scream the size of the whole world, as if the heavens themselves had been wounded.

Kacha looked up in time to see his own death streaking down from the sky.

They poured down the slope into the baggage train. The flames roared high in the narrow pass, cutting the baggage train off from the majority of the army. Peshek rode hard down the line, swinging his sword at those who challenged him, knocking them off balance or out of the way, long enough for the men behind him to thrust their torches into the baggage carts and spread the fire further yet.

“Medeoan! Empress Medeoan!”

Shouts, flames, screams of horse and man, all blurred into one incomprehensible roar. The smells of tar, wood and flesh assailed his nostrils, and the smoke stung his eyes and wrung tears out to trail along his face. Heat pounded at his back and right side. The guards in the train managed to assemble themselves for their own charge. Screaming their own battle cries, they rode head-on into Peshek’s company.

Peshek could spare no thought for what was happening behind him. Men reared up before him, swords or pikes jabbing and slashing, and it was heat and noise, and only instinct and reflex to keep him alive.

Fight through, fight through, fight through
. The words sang in his mind as he slashed at the men he should have been fighting beside. He pushed his horse forward, wading through the fray.
Fight through!
That was the order, that was the plan. Fight through and get out the other side, and run for it. Ignore the screams, ignore the way your arm is beginning to ache, don’t see the faces, see the weapons, knock them aside, thrust, parry, hit hard, take down the horse and the man goes with it, ignore the arrows, ignore the flames, ignore the screams …

All at once the way in front of him opened to the sloping and stony apron that was the mouth of the pass, and Peshek drove his knees into his horse’s sides. The animal launched itself forward, streaking free down the remaining slope, galloping hard to leave the smells of smoke and battle far behind.

Peshek found himself grinning. He sheathed his sword and gripped the reins with both hands, hearing the other hoofbeats behind him.

They’d done it, they’d done it. They’d done serious damage to the baggage train; they’d slowed the march while the fire was dealt with and the damage assessed. They had maybe weakened Kacha’s force, not just by the dead and wounded they’d left behind, but by the men who might be sent out to find them.

If they were pursued, let it be so. They could deal with any such, especially if they were given a moment to talk, to show their proofs and make their pursuers believe. Then they would be that much stronger, and Kacha that much weaker.

“Vyshko’s name! What is it!”

A heartbeat after he heard that shout, the whole world changed. The light turned orange. A rush like the roar of the sea filled the sky, accompanied by a scream that grated Peshek’s bones and left him deaf. Then all was heat and a light of blood and brass overhead. Peshek tried to rein in his horse, but the animal bucked and fought, and it was all Peshek could do to keep his seat. He looked up, and the heat beating down from the sky felt as if it would singe his face.

And he saw the Firebird swoop down low over the pass. His jaw hung loose and his hands went slack around the reins. His horse lost no time. It charged, and Peshek was on his back on the ground before he knew what had happened. He pushed himself upright, and not even the pain of his fall could make him look away. The whole of his mind was filled with the sight of the creature of living flame. Even as it flew away, he could feel its heat against his skin. Fear and wonder left him paralyzed. It was coming for him now. He was vaguely aware he ought to run, ought to warn, but he could not do anything but stare at the wonder and deadly beauty that filled the sky.

Kacha’s army began to scream.

Peshek didn’t think. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled into a run. The world around him shivered with heat, and his lungs protested the need to breathe the burning air. The last of his men galloped past, in the other direction. A few saw him, and shouted. A few more turned around, and he heard the hoofbeats as they raced on with him, until he topped the stony rise.