Flight of the Fallen

25 The Mask of a General

The next few days became a blur to Linsha-hot days on horseback and cold, uncomfortable nights spent tied in Lanther’s tent. The new general did not try to kiss her or touch her again, but he would not let her near Crucible, and he never let her out of his presence. Linsha wished sometimes he would, even for just a few minutes. She was starting to loathe this man she had once considered her friend. She stared at him sometimes as they rode, still in shock that he had turned on her so suddenly. She half expected him to slouch in his saddle, turn around with his crooked grin, and tell her it had all been a joke. A poor joke, but a joke nonetheless. And then he would limp to her side and apologize. But it never happened. The Lanther she knew was a lie, a fabrication that was gone forever, and she began to grieve for that person as surely as she grieved for Mariana.

She saw Sir Remmik a few times during those bleak days. The older Knight had been locked in a small barred cage used to discipline disobedient slaves. The cage was loaded on the back of the wagon that hauled most of the furnishings, ropes, and walls of the general’s tent, and in those rare moments when the Akkad-Dar was distracted and the wagon was unwatched, she tried to slip Sir Remmik a water bag or a fragment of food. The Tarmaks gave him water and bread in the evening, but it was not nearly enough to last through a long day. Sir Remmik swallowed his pride and took what she could give him with mumbled thanks. He would say nothing more to her for fear of being beaten. In spite of his earlier animosity to her, she feared for his well-being. At least the traces of the blue paint remaining on his skin protected him from sunburn and helped heal the wound on his leg and the many cuts and bruises from the fight.

When she wasn’t worrying about Sir Remmik or Crucible or Varia during the long days of endless riding, Linsha often wondered what Falaius and the militia were doing. Had they gathered enough people to confront the Tarmaks? Would they attack before the army reached Stone Rose? Or would the town be sacrificed? Where were the inhabitants of this land? Thus far she had seen no sign of tribesmen, centaurs, or anyone. The desolate land they traveled was seemingly empty of people. There were no travelers, no caravans, no shepherds herding their flocks, no nomads to watch them pass by. Even when they stopped near the river to replenish their water supplies and water the stock, they did not see boats or local fishermen. This was not a heavily populated land, Linsha knew that, but this close to the river, there should have been someone.

The Tarmak scouts did not seem to be finding anyone either. Whenever they returned to report to the Akkad-Dar, she sidled close to listen and heard enough to make her suspect the local inhabitants were fleeing the coming of the Tarmaks. They were wise, she thought.

But this empty peace would not last much longer. Of that she was sure. The people of Duntollik had not maintained their free realm between three dragonlords by sitting in their homes and running at the first sign of trouble. Somewhere out there on the Plains the tribes and clans were mustering to confront the Tarmak invaders, and she doubted they would wait much longer.

Three days’ march to the southeast of Stone Rose, another tributary of the Toranth River joined the Red Rose in a confluence of shifting sand bars, twisting currents, and treacherous shoals that changed the character of the river to a staid, meandering waterway with enough water to float a boat. The southernmost tributary, the Khol, was named for a village in its proximity and stretched lazily through the southern reaches of the vast desert. West of the confluence, where the Red Rose ran alone, the river was not a pretty sight in anyone’s imagination, for it was shallow, thick with silt, and meandered through rusty colored mud flats and sand bars. The Red Rose, Linsha learned, had been named by local centaurs for its reddish color and for the odd stone rosettes that could sometimes be found in the weathered gullies and canyons of its watershed. Its banks supported only tough cottonwoods and thick willows and beds of rushes that harbored every biting insect known to the Plains. But it was water, and water was more valuable in the desert than gems.

Even though the Run paralleled the river, the majority of the Tarmak army did not see the confluence of the Khol and the Red Rose simply because it was too far from the Run for the wagons, chariots, and slow-moving oxen to detour. However, a day later they reached a section of the road that passed a great northern loop of the Red Rose and saw for themselves the muddy, red-hued river and its striated hanks of red sandstone. After several days of skimpy water rations, everyone was pleased to see it. No one minded a little mud.

Especially Crucible. Without waiting for Lanther to agree, he galloped down the bank and plunged into the water, wallowing snout-first into the mud and sending waves of muddy water washing up the bank. Linsha laughed for the first time in days, and Lanther, who knew more about dragons than the Akkad-Ur before him, grunted and said, “He could have done that a little farther down stream.”

That evening, they saw the first rider on a hill to the west, silhouetted against the setting sun. Lanther send a band of the mercenary brigands after the rider, but he disappeared before they could get near him.

At dawn there were two watchers on the distant hill.

Lanther sent out Tarmak trackers and put his army on alert. They broke camp quickly, and every Tarmak carried his weapons on the march. They did not see a concentrated band of the enemy that day, but they saw watchers on every distant hill and occasionally a troop of centaurs would canter by on a parallel track and observe the Tarmaks as closely as they dared.

Linsha observed the sentinels and felt her nervousness increase by the hour. The Tarmaks’ opponents were out there, waiting for the most advantageous time or the best place to attack. Were they going to launch an ambush? Or use the old familiar form of advancing lines? Would they attack at dawn? She could only wait and try to keep her worried frustration from boiling over.

At dawn the following day, signal horns blared all around the camp, alerting the warriors and bringing the commanders running. They stopped and stared at a sun-capped hill on the western Run not far from the sprawling camp and saw at least seven mounted riders and three centaurs standing in the middle of the road as if they were attempting to block the Tarmaks’ path. One carried a truce flag.

Lanther buckled on his sword and strapped the gold mask of the Akkad on his face. Taking Linsha with him, he mounted his horse, called his guards, and rode up the hill to meet the waiting riders.

Linsha kept her face expressionless as the group of Tarmaks came to a halt ten feet away from the truce party. She scanned the faces in front of her and saw Falaius, Sir Hugh, and several of the militia she recognized. The others were tribesmen and centaurs from Duntollik clans. She gave Sir Hugh a scant nod and tore her eyes away from his questioning expression. She hoped they would not get a chance to talk. She did not want to have to explain Mariana’s death to him under these circumstances.

The rider carrying the flag nudged his horse forward to meet the Akkad-Dar. He held his hands out so the Tarmaks could see he was unarmed. The only thing he carried was the torn scroll Sir Remmik had given to the leaders at the Grandfather Tree.

He handed it back to Lanther and said, “I am bidden to return these to you and offer you the same terms. If you surrender to our commanders, we will not slaughter your men. You will turn over your weapons to us and return to Missing City.”

Lanther laughed behind his mask and took the torn scroll. “Very well. Your message has been delivered. I give you the same answer you gave me. No. Go back to your commanders and tell them to meet us on the field of battle.”

The tribesman turned to go, but there was a sudden commotion in the group of riders behind him. Sir Hugh, his face thunderous, urged his horse through the clustered party and yanked it snorting and prancing to a stop directly in front of Lanther’s horse. The Tarmak guards drew their swords.

“Who are you?” Sir Hugh demanded. “I’ve seen the Akkad-Ur! And unless he shrank a foot, changed his voice, and cut off his braids, you are not he! Who are you?”

The guard beside Lanther answered with a thick accent, “This is the Akkad-Dar, the golden general of the western armies, Lord of Missing City, Sword of the Emperor. Bow when you speak before him!”

“In a pig’s eye,” Sir Hugh snarled. “What happened to the other one?”

Linsha felt the tension around her tighten even further. If Hugh didn’t back away, she was afraid these guards were going to start the battle on the hilltop using him as their first target.

“He’s dead, Sir Hugh,” she said quickly. “Sir Remmik killed him in a duel. But we have found the traitor.”

Before she could continue, Lanther pulled the mask from his face and gave Sir Hugh a sardonic salute.

Exclamations of dismay and anger burst out from the militia who recognized him.

Linsha’s eyes sought Falaius’s face among the tribesmen. He had been the one who worked the closest with Lanther the Legionnaire; he had been Lanther’s commander and supporter. Had he ever guessed, she wondered, that this crippled Legionnaire from City of Morning Dew was in reality a spy, an assassin, and a dark mystic? From the look of angry surprise and dawning comprehension on the old tribesman’s face, she had to guess not. Lanther’s subterfuge had been perfect.

Falaius’s voice cut over the noise like a saw. “Sir Hugh, let us go. We have our answer.” He wheeled his horse back over the hill without waiting for the others. The rest of the party followed.

The young Knight looked at Linsha uncertainly, then he and the flag carrier spurred their horses after the group.

As soon as they were out of arrow range, Lanther and his guards rode to the crown of the hill to look down the road. Ahead of them the Run dipped down the slope of the hill and could be seen like a pale ribbon winding through a broad, low-lying valley On the far side, across a flat stretch of dried mud flats, small sand dunes, and rocky scrubland stood a large force of men, centaurs, and others waiting in quiet ranks on the rise of the opposite hills. To the left curled the river, its sluggish water glistening in the morning light. Beds of reeds and clumps of scraggly willow lined the shores, where Linsha could see ducks and small birds feeding in the shallows. She saw another, larger bird glide across the river and disappear into one of the willows, but she could not tell from this distance if it was Varia. She turned away from the river and sighed.

“Linsha,” Lanther’s voice cut through her thoughts. “You were in the gathering. How many warriors did the tribes muster?”

Linsha stiffened. She had been dreading this and had hoped he would not press the issue of divulging information. “I have no idea. Thanks to Sir Remmik and your trackers, I left the gathering before all the forces had arrived.”

He twisted around in his saddle and fixed his eyes on her face. Linsha glared back.

“Was there a tribesman there by the name of Wanderer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did the Windwalker clan come?”

“I don’t know.”

“What is their favorite color?”

“Tarmak blue. They can’t wait to see how it mixes with blood red.”

His eyebrow curved up and his lip twisted down in a sarcastic sneer, and he yanked her horse closer to his. “Good. You were listening. Then listen to this. It does not really matter how many face us today. We are the Tarmak. We will prevail. There is nothing on this plain that can stop us. Not elf, not centaur, not human. Not even dragon. If you wish to see that bronze of yours survive this day you will obey me. As much as I would enjoy to have you fight by my side, you will stay in the camp under guard, and if you so much as twitch a muscle, I will let him die. Is that clear?”

Linsha matched his expression with a sneer of her own and nodded. It was clear enough.

Lanther abruptly switched to Tarmakian and began passing orders to his officers. They turned the horses around and cantered down the road to the waiting army, taking Linsha with them. By the time they reached the camp, their plans were set and the leaders of the hundreds were waiting by the road to receive their commands. Horns blared throughout the camp. There was noise everywhere as thousands of Tarmaks roared their joy at the prospect of the coming battle. The boredom and tedium of the long march was about to come to an end in bloodshed and conflict.

Lanther hauled Linsha off her horse and left her fuming in front of his tent while he went inside to ready himself. For a little while she curbed her agitation and watched the warriors hurry about their duties. Some gathered weapons, arrows, spears, and hand axes. Others refreshed their body paint or tied fresh feathers in their hair. The charioteers were told to unhitch their horses and ride, for the ground was too uneven and cluttered for chariots. On the heavy, powerful Damjatt horses they would form a cavalry that would attack the centaurs. Very quickly the Tarmaks began to form lines for the march into battle.

Linsha glanced around. No one was watching her except Sir Remmik in his cage. He gave her quick nod and jerked his head toward the river.

But the river was not where Linsha wanted to go. A short distance away, behind the tents and wagons of the Akkad-Dar’s retinue, crouched Crucible. His head was raised and swaying slightly as if he was breathing the clean wind from the desert. A powerful desire swept over Linsha to go to him, to talk to him, to tell him why she had left and what had happened since. After the Akkad-Ur’s death, she had not been allowed near him, and she had missed him more than she imagined. There was a wagon close by. If she could just…

A Tarmak warrior stepped out of Lanther’s tent and grabbed her arm. At least at first glance she thought he was a Tarmak. Then she realized he was too short and his hair did not have the numerous braids with the white feathers decorating their lengths. Lanther had removed his clothes and painted his skin blue. The gold mask glinted in the sunlight, and his weapons hung from an ornate battle harness of leather and gold strapped over the Akkad’s cuirass decorated with the brass dragon scales. His fingers dug painfully into her arm as he hauled her to the wagon where Sir Remmik’s cage sat.

His guards unfastened the cage, pulled the Knight commander out, and pushed Linsha inside on her hands and knees. The cage was too short for any occupant over the size of a small kender to stand up inside.

“Stay here,” Lanther ordered. “I want you to see our army return victorious with the blood of our enemy on our hands and their heads on our spears.”

Linsha and Sir Remmik exchanged a long look, then to Linsha’s surprise, the older Knight raised his right hand and saluted her.

His hand had hardly dropped when Linsha heard the whisk of a sword blade slice the air and a thunk as it met solid flesh. Blood spattered over the side of the wagon. Struck with horror, Linsha clamped her hand to her mouth to stifle her scream as Sir Remmik’s head dropped off his neck and fell to the ground. His body swayed once as if greatly surprised and then it, too, collapsed to the earth in a small cloud of dust.

“Why did you do that?” Linsha cried, her face bloodless to her lips. Her head was spinning, and she feared she was going to vomit. She was accustomed to bloodshed in battle, but this second abrupt, vicious murder that came unlooked for was almost more than her over-stretched self-control could bear.

Lanther lifted his sword and watched the blood run down the blade. “It was a quicker, cleaner death than my men would have given him. He earned that for his courage in the duel. And now you will always remember his salute to you as the last thing he ever did.”

“But why? Why now?”

“I told you I would find a use for him. I will send him back to my enemy, so they will know what we intend to do.” He snapped an order to his followers and sprang onto his horse. “And now, my lady, to see a dragon.” He laughed and cantered away, his guards close behind.

Sick at heart, Linsha watched the Tarmaks heave Sir Remmik’s body onto the back of another horse and tie him upright in the saddle. It was not an easy task, for the horse was spooked by the bloodstench and refused to stand still. When they finally had his body tied to their satisfaction, they fastened his head to the saddle horn, led the horse up the hill, and let him go with a slap to the rump. The last sight she had of her old nemesis was his headless corpse disappearing over the top of the hill. It became a memory that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Crucible’s roar of protest rumbled through the camp like thunder, drawing Linsha’s attention back to the moment. She cast aside any thoughts of shock, hurt, and anger to concentrate on the battle and the dragon she wanted to help. The leaves of the Grandfather Tree were still hidden under her tunic near the dragon scales. Somehow she had to get free of this cage and work out a way to use the leaves to free Crucible of Lanther’s spell. It sounded easy enough in words, but in reality she had no solid idea how to proceed.

One step at a time, she told herself. First, she had to get out of the cage.

Over the uproar of shouting voices, trampling feet, and rattling weapons, Linsha heard the heavy tread of the dragon go by. She could not see him from her position in the wagon, but she listened as he passed and realized he was being unnaturally quiet. He no longer growled or roared or argued. Was he seething or had Lanther found a way to control him beyond the barb in his back? She craned her neck as far as it would go and finally found a way to see the hillside. She just caught a glimpse of Crucible escorted by Lanther and his bodyguards. Her worry grew more desperate.

Still on her knees, she lashed out at the door of the cage with her booted heel, but the door didn’t budge, and the two guards shouted at her. One slammed his shield on the cage to make her back away. They did not look very pleased to be left behind to guard a woman. Linsha responded with a Tarmak phrase she had heard the guards shout at slaves and was rewarded with a loud barrage of words and a second slam by the shield.

Suddenly the Tarmak’s war horns blared across the lines of waiting warriors, and a thunderous shout shook the camp. The guards turned around to watch as the long lines of blue-skinned Brutes broke into a trot and moved up the hill. In loose groups of a hundred, they moved past the camp, up the long slope of the hill, and down the crest out of sight. Several troops of heavy cavalry cantered by and veered north to move up the valley in a flanking maneuver.

Linsha’s fingers tightened around the bars of the cage as she watched them go. They were so tall, so strong and graceful that she could not help but fear for the people she knew and liked on the other side. Did they stand a chance? What were they doing at this moment as the Tarmaks appeared on the hilltop and swarmed down into the valley in seemingly endless thousands? She had seen Sir Hugh and Falaius, but was Leonidas there? Where was the healer Danian and his red-haired apprentice? She hoped they were close by, for she knew they would be needed before this day was over. And what would they do about Crucible? She knew Falaius had explained to the chiefs and tribal leaders about the dragon’s predicament, but what if they were forced to kill him to prevent him from destroying their men in his throes under the spell?

She glanced at the guards again and moved surreptitiously over to the door. The small door that opened into the wooden cage was firmly tied with a thick rope. The Tarmaks hadn’t bothered with a lock, since anyone inside the cage who wished to get out needed a very sharp knife or an axe—neither one of which she had—to get through the thick bindings. She studied the guards, but they were too far away, and they were more likely to jab her with their spears or swords than get close enough to be conveniently strangled. She sat back on her heels, taut with frustration.

In the distance, from the other side of the hill, came the music of horns and drums, then a vast, ringing roar of war cries overlaying a thunder of pounding hooves and trampling feet. There was a great crash as the armies collided, and abruptly the sounds disintegrated into a cacophony of shouts, screams, clashing weapons, and a dragon’s roar.

Linsha’s guards took an involuntary step toward the noise.

She glared at their backs, wishing she had a handy supply of knives, when she caught a slight movement in the farthest edge of her vision. Somewhere, off to her left, something had moved in the trees down by the river. She turned slightly to get a better look. There were a few trees and only a little ground cover between the Tarmak camp and the riverbank, but she was sure something had moved down there where a clump of young willows had taken root in a depression about halfway between the edge of the camp and the river. She looked harder, and then she saw them—a dozen men or maybe more creeping through the high grass toward the camp. They were well camouflaged with mud and grasses and could barely be seen against the browns, greens, and reds of the landscape.

Linsha whipped around to check the guards, but they were still engrossed with the sounds of battle. Nearby, other Tarmak servants, a few slaves, and more guards moved about the tents and the wagons, unaware of the enemy stalking their camp.

She heard the soft, unmistakable sound of arrows whizzing by and saw both Tarmak guards pitch forward with arrows protruding from their necks. The men in the grass sprang to their feet and sprinted up the slope toward a rough line of brush just as two centaurs galloped out of the trees. A small brown shape flew with them and winged directly to Linsha’s cage.

“She’s here! She’s here!” Varia screeched to the centaurs.

A young buckskin and an older chestnut the color of polished cedar raced past the men and galloped through the outskirts of the camp to the wagon where Linsha was caged. Both carried bows that they nocked, drew, and loosed as they ran.

Shouts erupted in the camp, and Tarmak guards came running only to die in a barrage of well aimed arrows from the men hidden in the brush.

“Where are the others?” shouted the red horseman, whom Linsha recognized as Horemheb. “Where is the other Knight?”

“Dead,” said Linsha. “It’s just me.”

The buckskin Leonidas sliced through the ropes on the door of the cage and yanked it open. Linsha shot through it like an arrow and jumped from the wagon onto Leonidas’s back. The two centaurs wheeled and charged back the way they had come, firing their bows as fast as they could. The few guards left in that part of the camp fell back before them.

Linsha held onto Leonidas with her hands and knees as he ran down the slope into the trees. Once into the copse of young cottonwoods the two stallions turned and used their bows to cover the retreat of the men. A few Tarmaks tried to chase them and died on the grassy slope.

As soon as the last man was in the trees, the entire group ran for the river to a denser stand of willows. There, behind the cover of the trees, they splashed into the water and waded across the Red Rose to the opposite bank where horses waited patiently in the shade. Linsha watched, impressed, while the men waded out of the river and mounted their horses. They were Plains barbarians, locals probably, who knew the twists and turns of the river and where to find crossings among the dangerous mudflats and shoals. They grinned at her through their mud masks and congratulated each other in their own tongue.

“How long have you been here?” she asked Leonidas. She knew they would have been spotted by the Tarmaks if they had tried to cross in daylight.

“Since last night. We left the horses here and crossed over before dawn.”

She heard a flutter of wings and held out an arm. A delighted owl dropped from the sky, landed on her wrist, and scooted up to her shoulder.

“Varia told us you were still alive and where you were,” Horemheb said. “It made it much easier to strike fast and get out. But what happened to the other Knight and the captain? We thought they were with you?”

Linsha leaned her face against Varia’s soft feathers and took a deep breath. “Lanther killed Sir Remmik this morning. He sent the body on horseback to your lines. Mariana was killed by the Akkad-Ur four days ago.”

A sudden silence surrounded her, and she closed her eyes so she would not have to see the shock and sadness on his face that so deeply mirrored her own feelings.

“Oh no, not Mariana,” Leonidas whispered. “And Lanther? He is the traitor you and Falaius tried so hard to find? He killed Sir Remmik?”

Linsha could only nod. She had not yet cried for Mariana, or for her loss of Lanther’s friendship. Although she could feel the burning, prickling of tears in her eyes, she fought them back. This was not the time. Not yet. Not while Crucible was caught between two armies.

“Leonidas, please. I will tell you everything later, but now I have to get to Crucible. Lanther forced him to into the battle, and I fear what he might do if that barb overcomes his self-control.”