When they were ready to move, Tol had Mandes placed on a horse and led the animal himself, so he could keep an eye on the strange fellow. Lord Urakan was camped above the headwaters of the West Caer River, twenty-two leagues away. Tol tried not think of how many Ergothian soldiers might die of the Red Wrack in the five days it would take for them to reach the camp.
Chapter 18
The sprawling imperial army camp looked more like a shanty town than a military encampment. The pall of smoke which hung over the site was visible five leagues away. Twenty thousand men, plus at least as many traders, sutlers, and camp followers, had carved out a blight on the once-pristine grassland. Intermittent bouts of heavy rain had drenched the great army of Ergoth, which was now sinking ignobly into a lake of mud. The camp was too large to protect with the usual stockade, so the hodge-podge of tents and shacks were surrounded by a deep, muddy trench. An appalling odor permeated the scene-the combined stench of disease, death, and the manure of horses, cattle, and chickens.
Afraid to expose his men to Urakan’s tainted hordes, Tol left them outside the vast, ill-favored camp and rode in with only Egrin, Narren, and Mandes. Kegs of the sorcerer’s curative potion were slung on the backs of four sturdy horses.
On the journey from Ropunt, Mandes had proved an entertaining, garrulous fellow. There was no doubt he was clever, and when he wasn’t being blindingly arrogant, he was fascinating company. He knew all the gossip of Tarsis (at least up to the time he fled), and he entertained Tol and his comrades with colorful accounts of life in the wealthy port city.
The sentries they encountered were listless and gray-faced. More than the Red Wrack was plaguing Urakan’s army, the men reported. Ague and flux were rampant. The sentries themselves were so weak they could barely stand.
Outside Lord Urakan’s tent, Tol and Egrin dismounted, leaving Narren to watch Mandes and the kegs. They entered and found Urakan at his table, alone, with his head in his hands.
“My lord?”
Urakan looked up. The arrogant, iron-limbed general Tol had known in Daltigoth was gone. In his place sat a tired, dispirited man, his beard starting to go white.
“Lord Tolandruth! And Egrin, Raemel’s son, isn’t it?” he said hoarsely. He stood, propped up by his hands on the table. “By the gods, I never thought to see you here!”
They clasped arms all around. “I had word from Prince Amaltar you were on your way north, but he didn’t say you were coming to see me,” Urakan added, somewhat plaintively.
“This wasn’t part of my original mission,” Tol replied. He described their encounter with the bakali and the subsequent capture of Mandes. Tol expected the old warrior to demand the sorcerer’s head for aiding the lizard-men, but the instant Urakan heard the word “cure,” that’s all he cared to know.
“I’m burying fifty men a day,” he said, eyes dark with pain. “Is there enough potion for the entire army?”
“If there isn’t, Mandes will make more,” Tol vowed.
Lord Urakan received the first dose, then the kegs were sent to the great tent serving as the temple of healing, with instructions to the priests and priestesses of Mishas as to how to administer the potion. Word of the cure quickly spread, and hundreds of warriors and camp followers dragged themselves painfully to the healers’ tent. Once the distribution was well underway, Tol had Mandes brought before Lord Urakan.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” asked Urakan gravely.
Not the least intimidated, the wizard launched into his tale. When he reached his enslavement by the bakali, the general interrupted him.
“Did you make this plague people call the Red Wrack?” Urakan demanded.
“No, my lord. It has always existed. I did give the bakali chief, Mithzok, certain magical perfumes and unguents, compounded into large balls of resin. When burned, the resulting fumes created a soporific veil of fog, which only sunlight could disperse.”
“The plague, wizard. How did it get into the mist?” Tol interjected sharply.
Mandes lifted his hands in a gesture of ignorance. “Forgive me, lords, but is it proven the Red Wrack was a component of the mist? It did strike Lord Tolandruth’s men right after the fog arose, but the sickness has long lurked in this land.” The sorcerer folded his hands across his belly and furrowed his high brow. “It could be a conjuration made by the bakali, my lords. They have knowledge of poisons and sickness spells. Mayhap one of their shamans joined a coughing spell to my fog-making incense.”
They cross-examined the wizard for a long time, trying to trick him into admitting he had created the plague for the bakali. But Mandes deftly avoided every trap laid for him and steadfastly maintained his innocence.
“Very well,” Lord Urakan said finally. “I accept your story. Under duress, you helped the lizards. You are forgiven that weakness. Today you’ve done a greater service to us by curing the Red Wrack. So you are free to go.”
“My lord!” Tol protested.
“What would you have me do, Tolandruth?” Urakan asked, a hint of the old arrogance coloring his voice. “I have a war to pursue. Thirty days we’ve lingered in this stinking morass, while Tylocost and the Tarsan army have overrun eastern Hylo. When my men are fit to fight again, I intend to retake the province. I don’t want to worry about this wizard.”
“What of Tylocost’s defeat? Whoever destroyed half his army may still be at large in the western part of the country,” Egrin observed.
“Could it have been the bakali?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it, my lord. Tylocost’s defeat took place well before the bakali are known to have arrived,” said Tol.
“Solving that enigma is your task. Mine’s defeating Tylocost.” Urakan’s strength was returning, and he plainly burned to come to grips with the elusive elf general.
Mandes cleared his throat. “May I speak, gracious lords?” At Urakan’s nod he said, “If there is some unknown force at work in Hylo, Lord Tolandruth may need help dealing with it-sorcerous help. I am willing to offer my services.”
Tol folded his arms and said, “That might be wise.”
Even Mandes was surprised at the easy acceptance. “I’m honored by your trust, my lord,” he murmured.
“Don’t be. We don’t know what we’ll be facing up there. It may be the monster XimXim or more bakali. Who knows? Maybe there’s a dragon loose in Hylo. Feel up to tangling with a dragon, Master Mandes?”
The wizard crossed his arms, insolently imitating Tol’s pose. “My lord, what you can face, I can face.”
For several heartbeats they gazed at each other, faces masks of measured stoicism. Suddenly Tol smiled, giving way in the end to a full-fledged grin.
“You have grit, wizard.”
“I seek only to serve a worthy master,” Mandes replied modestly.
The change in the imperial camp was profound. Healing tents emptied, and men who’d been without appetite for days crowded around the cookfires, stuffing themselves on beef and bread. The camp took on a new air of confidence and action. As Kiya observed, Tylocost and the Tarsans had better take care. Urakan’s hordes were looking to end their bored inaction, and the enemy would feel the force of their frustration.
From this scene of grim energy, Tol’s column moved quickly and quietly away. An army the size of Lord Urakan’s always attracted spies, especially when it remained in place a long time. Tol wanted no one to learn of his mission.
They made good progress up to the border between the Northern Hundred and Hylo proper. Beyond the stone markers bearing the arms of Emperor Ergothas II lay the kender kingdom, forested and sparsely settled. Four-fifths of the population of Hylo lived in six towns: Last Land, Windee, Hylo City, Far-to-go, Old Port, and Free Point. The rest wandered the countryside, doing incomprehensible kender things. One of Tol’s captains, the former seaman Darpo, had served on a merchant ship that traded in the Hylo ports. As they camped at the edge of the forest surrounding Hylo City, Darpo spoke of his experience with the kender.