Sixteen

Adalon remembered old soldiers, his instructors at High Battilon, grumbling that life in the Army was either hurrying or waiting, with nothing in between.

We've hurried, he thought as he looked east along the length of the valley. And now we're waiting.

They'd set up camp a mile or so inside the entrance to the valley. Another mile eastward lay the stone bridge where the wild Sleeto River crossed the valley before bending back and plunging through the gap in the mountains that led to Callibeen. Adalon knew that the bridge was a vital strategic point. If they couldn't stop the Thraag Army from entering the valley, he would have to order his force to fall back over the bridge and then destroy it, in the hope that the river would prove a barrier to their foes' advance.

In the dimming light of evening, Adalon had time to set a picket line and send scouts to the Fist. In the forlorn hope that Callibeen might manage to send troops, he also sent scouts to the eastern end of the valley, from whence they would come. He doubted that any Callibeen troops would arrive, though. It was a peaceful kingdom, more interested in learning than war.

Sunset stained the mountaintops, turning their snowy heights pink and orange. The ruddy light climbed higher and higher until the tallest peaks glowed like hot coals while the others were still shrouded in shadow. Then night came and wrapped the valley in its cloak.

'The stars are bright,' Simangee said, her breath steaming. She had a pocket harp and strummed it absently. Adalon thought the music sounded sad. 'They look like chips of ice way up there.'

'Is that where the cold comes from?' Adalon rubbed his hands together. 'What about food and a hot drink?'

'As long as you're not looking for a feast, you'll be happy. A few of the saur who used to live here went scavenging after we set camp. They've come back with some roots they swear are tasty.'

'That's all?'

'And whatever we had left of our provisions. Filling, but not very toothsome.'

Adalon nodded. 'You go. I'll join you soon.'

He ambled through the camp, taking note of how his inexperienced soldiers were coping. His sword bounced on his hip and he dropped a hand to steady it.

He paused, wrinkling his snout, and frowned. The tents were badly sited. Too many had openings facing the wind. And the fire pits were poorly located, too. He clicked his tongue and felt anger rise. He clutched the hilt of his sword. A good flogging would teach the shirkers a thing or two.

He leaped onto a boulder, then scrambled upward until he was overlooking the camp. He stared at the Fist and imagined the Army of Thraag swarming into the valley. Absently, he slid his sword from its scabbard and tapped it against the rock at his feet. He enjoyed the soft ringing noise it made while he thought.

A tiny force resisting a huge one. It could be done in such a way to inspire legend. He remembered the battle of Srinath when he'd commanded fifty A'ak against an army a hundred times larger. He'd harried first, then fallen back over the muddy, churned-up ground. The enemy hadn't appreciated the slope and . . .

Adalon put a hand to his head. It was throbbing, pounding as if a pair of hammers were at work inside. What was I thinking? He shuddered. The chill, alien thoughts of an A'ak commander had pushed themselves into his mind. For a moment he'd seen things through A'ak eyes. With a groan, he thrust the sword back into its sheath.

He spat on the ground, trying to rid himself of the evil taste, but at the same time he pondered some of the insights he'd been granted. The A'ak commander had been experienced, something Adalon was not. In such a perilous situation, perhaps his memories could be useful . . .

Adalon hissed and shook himself as he remembered how casually the commander had thought of flogging his own troops. No, the cost of such wisdom is too high.

A flare of light bloomed in the night sky. Adalon looked twice. It wasn't a signal coming from the Fist – it was coming from the eastern end of the valley!

He bounded down the rubble-strewn hillside in time to meet Simangee. 'What have the lookouts seen?' she said.

Targesh appeared on his riding beast. 'I'll find out.' He galloped off into the night.

Adalon roused his troops. 'Get your weapons ready! Put on your armour!'

He asked Simangee, 'What potions did you bring?'

'Healing potions, mostly. They're the ones I'm surest about. I have a few fire potions, too.'

'Nothing else?'

'Well, when I was fetching the potions I remembered I'd just found that some of the bottles contained illusion potions.'

'Illusions?'

'Fantasies. Mirages. Things that don't exist. They're not real, but they appear solid.'

'How do you know?'

'I tried some of them.' She held up a thumb-sized vial. The glass was clear, with spiral grooves. Inside, the potion was a rich purple. 'When I shatter these, apparitions appear. Bright lights, frightening faces, loud noises from nowhere.'

'That was dangerous, trying them like that.'

'It was the only way to find out.'

At that moment, Targesh rode up, his steed clattering in its haste. 'Soldiers from Callibeen!'

Adalon brightened. 'Good news indeed!' He looked toward the cleft. Torches twinkled as soldiers marched into the tiny valley from the east.

'Simangee, can you assemble our company while I go and meet the commander?'

'Of course.'

Adalon ran for his riding beast and sprang into the saddle. With a clash and a clatter it bounded forward, sending gravel spraying from its brass hoofs. He arrived at the gap in time to greet the Callibeen soldiers and he was heartened at their numbers.

They eyed him suspiciously.

'Who is your commander?' he asked.

'I am.' A tall Billed One stepped forward. While most Billed Ones preferred the trading life, being well represented among merchants and traders, this Billed One had the bearing and the scars of a warrior. 'And what kind of creature are you?'

Adalon was taken aback at the question, but then realised how he must appear. Astride a brass beast that neither breathed nor blinked, clad in sky-blue armour that would appear inky-black in the night, he must look unsettling. He took off his helmet and cradled it in one arm. 'Adalon of the Eastern Peaks, good sir, here to stop the Army of Queen Tayesha.' He smiled. 'We're grateful for your joining us.'

The commander inspected him. 'You are young, Adalon of the Eastern Peaks. Where are your elders?'

Adalon frowned. 'How old do I have to be to defend Callibeen? Queen Tayesha's madness will destroy young as well as old. The young have a right to resist.'

The commander held up a hand. 'Well spoken, young sir. I apologise for my rudeness. What is the size of your force?'

'Nearly a hundred. Plus forty riders.'

'So few? You are courageous indeed, to oppose an army with such paltry numbers.'

'It is all we have,' Adalon said simply.

The Billed One was silent for a moment. 'I am the Duke of Ordoon. The King of Callibeen has entrusted the safety of his realm to me.' He held out his gauntleted hand.

Adalon took the commander's hand and shook it. 'Let me take you to our camp, Your Lordship, and I'll tell you of the countryside.'

'Call me Ordoon, Adalon. In battle a single name is more than enough.'

As they led the Callibeen warriors to the camp, Ordoon told Adalon of the troop-raising. It was almost the entire fighting strength of the country, or at least those who could be summoned at short notice. 'One thousand, more or less,' Ordoon said as they reached the first tents. 'Many Clawed Ones and Toothed Ones, but plenty of Billed Ones, Longnecks – everyone flocked to the flag.'

'Hoolgar!'

Adalon turned to see Simangee running through the tents. She'd removed her helmet and her eyes shone in the torchlight. She rushed through the startled Callibeen troops and threw herself at an ancient Crested One who was hobbling at the rear.

Adalon laughed with surprise and delight. 'You have some older soldiers,' he said to Ordoon.

'Not all who came are soldiers. That one insisted on accompanying us. A scholar and a musician, he claimed he knew the Sleeto Pass well and could help us. He was very insistent.'

Simangee, laughing, presented a familiar old Crested One. 'Adalon, it's Hoolgar!'

'Hello, Adalon,' said Hoolgar. He wiped his glasses on the long sleeves of his travel-stained robe. 'I hoped I would find you here, and it's important that I have.'

Adalon had always admired Hoolgar for his patience and his wide-ranging intelligence. Insects, mathematics, calligraphy and glass-making all came within his compass; he roamed across fields of knowledge like a bold explorer, belying his venerable age. 'Where have you been, Hoolgar?' he asked the venerable Crested One, then he embraced his frail form. 'Where did you go when you left High Battilon? Why didn't you send us news?'

'Questions, questions. You were always the one with the questions, Adalon.' Hoolgar smiled. 'It's good to see you again.'

'And you. But what have you been up to? Why did you leave us so suddenly?'

Hoolgar grew serious. 'I saw dark times on the horizon. Dark indeed. But I needed to know more, so I've been roaming all seven kingdoms, talking to wise ones, sages, scholars of all kinds.'

'You knew about Queen Tayesha's plans?'

'I learned much about them, and about Wargrach.'

Adalon held up a hand. 'We know about him. He's installed himself in High Battilon. We've been there and rescued my uncle.'

'You have, have you? That is well done.' Hoolgar looked at the sky for a moment. 'But that's not all. He's taken Knobblond, you know.'

Adalon was shaken. So soon? he thought. 'The seven kingdoms are no more.'

'Correct. With Knobblond fallen, we no longer have seven monarchs in harmony with the land. Such a disruption to the natural order has shifted the balance. We must be prepared for an upheaval.'

'Upheaval,' Adalon echoed. 'The land in torment.'

'But that's not all.' Hoolgar put his hands together, clasping them tightly and bumping them against his chin. 'I've learned that something equally dreadful is about to happen, something all saur have been fearing.'

Adalon felt as if a hand made of ice had clutched his heart. He knew what Hoolgar was about to say. He wanted to beg him to be silent, but he knew this would change nothing. 'What is it?' he whispered.

'The A'ak are returning.'