“Throw him in the slave pens,” he ordered, indicating the cowering tribesman. Then he paused and a slight smile eased across his face. “Better still, take him to the old palace and put him in with the Knights. We’ll let the woman brood a little further on disaster. And summon the dekegul.”
He leaned both hands on his work table and studied his latest map while the warriors bowed and left to obey his orders. Quickly his hand snatched another map from a stack and another and another until he had most of the Plains of Dust as far west as the Kharolis Mountains and Thorbardin spread out before him. He pondered the maps for a long time. There it was spread out before him. A land ready for the taking.
It was too good to keep to himself. Gloating, he went outside, past his guards, and across the street to the yew where the bronze dragon sat chained and waiting for his command. For once the Akkad-Ur did not bother to don his ceremonial mask, and his long face and aquiline nose were exposed to the bronze dragon’s sullen view. Crucible glanced at him briefly then turned his head away and glared into the darkness that had fallen over the city.
Too energized to stand still, the Akkad-Ur paced in front of Crucible only a few steps away from the limit of the short chain that bound the dragon.
“This seems to be a disastrous year for dragons,” he said, knowing full well that Crucible was listening to him. “I have heard from my scouts that Thunder and Iyesta were not the only dragons to fall this summer. The dragon Beryllinthranox has also died.”
In spite of his efforts to appear disinterested, Crucible’s ears swiveled around to hear the Tarmak better.
The Akkad-Ur continued to pace back and forth. “She invaded the Qualinesti Forest and destroyed the city of Qualinost. But in the course of the invasion, she was killed. It’s a shame really. All those elves displaced and wandering. But there you are. The fortunes of war.” He stopped in front of Crucible and crossed his arms. “You certainly know what that means. The deaths of these three dragons leaves the entire Plains of Dust now available to the first conqueror strong and daring enough to take it.”
Crucible’s head swung around until he was staring down at the Tarmak, his golden eyes as cold as a winter dawn.
The Akkad-Ur gave the dragon a short, derisive bow and turned on his sandalled heel. He made it nearly ten paces back toward his headquarters when the dekegul, the Akkad-Ur’s commanders of the army, came running at his command. They saluted and waited eagerly for his news.
“Tomorrow the next shipment of reinforcements and supplies arrives. In three days we march. We will take the army north and west to consolidate our hold on Iyesta’s realm as planned and take the remaining lands of the Plains of Dust. In the name of our emperor, we shall establish a new realm where the Tarmak nation will grow strong.”
The dekegul cheered.
Distracted by his plans and visions of conquest, the Akkad-Ur paid no heed to the dragon behind him. Gesturing to his officers to follow, he strode back to his office to make further plans.
The dragon watched him go. Did you hear that? He sent his thought to a creamy white and brown owl sitting motionless in the depths of the yew tree.
Yes. If he goes north and west, he will soon reach Duntollik, the owl replied in his mind. And if he takes that the rest of the northern Plains will fall.
He may decide to finish off the militia before he goes. He has ignored them thus far, hut he is known to rid himself of loose ends.
That is very likely. He knows where they are.
Take the news to Linsha. And to Mariana. Perhaps the militia should flee north and warn Duntollik.
I will tell them. Be careful, Crucible. The owl dropped from her branch and drifted silently away on the night wind.
You, too, small one.
15
Escape
The first storm of autumn came early that year in a chilly, blustery wall of clouds that moved in from the southwest and blew over the city. That night the fleet of Tarmak ships arrived. In the lashing rain and pounding waves, the ships staggered into the harbor and signaled for help. Every available Tarmak was pulled out of the city and sent to the harbor to help the warriors disembark, to unload the shipment of Damjatt horses, and to batten down the ships. They made no attempt to unload the supplies and stacks of weapons that lay within the holds. Those could wait until the sea calmed. But the horses were exhausted, and the warriors were seasick and thoroughly tired of the cramped conditions on the ships. Tarmaks and horses alike wanted off, and the Akkad-Ur wanted them to have time to recover before they marched north. Unfortunately, the docks and the harbor facilities were only primitive makeshift structures set up after the huge storm in the early summer had destroyed the entire waterfront. Only one ship at a time could be brought to the one long pier, and it had to be carefully roped at the bow and stern to prevent the ship from being smashed to splinters in the heavy surf. The difficult process of unloading the Tarmaks and their horses from each ship took most of the night.
The storm also caused some minor damage and flooding in the town. The wind ripped off some roofs and blew down a few trees. The rain flooded cellars, dripped through old ceilings and ran gurgling through the streets. But it filled rain barrels in town and filled the stock ponds and dry creeks for miles around the city. The storm also offered one service to the beleaguered militia they had not looked for. It offered them excellent cover when they raided the slave pens just outside the dragon’s palace.
Using a few tricks they learned from the Tarmaks, a small group of Legionnaires led by Falaius eased through the driving rain to the rear of one of the high makeshift fences that formed the complex of pens and waited for the guards to make their rounds.
They killed three without a sound and moved the bodies out of sight in the ruins. While the Legionnaires protected their flanks, a party of militia went to work on the stockade fence. The fence was crafted of pointed upright poles woven together with strips of green wood tied with stout rope. It was strong enough to hold unarmed people within, flexible enough to prevent a centaur from kicking it over, and high enough to keep the centaurs from jumping over. But it was not impervious to determined soldiers with stout knives and axes. They reduced a section of the wall to collapsed strips of wood and bits of rope in short order.
Mariana and Sir Hugh slipped into the compound. In the dark and rain they went from one huddled group to another and sent them moving silently toward the hole in the fence. The pen they had penetrated held mostly the centaurs from Linsha’s captured party, soldiers captured in the field, and a few craftspeople from the city. Every one snatched at the opportunity to escape and followed Mariana’s orders without question.
Every one except Leonidas. The young buckskin ambled casually to the back of the pen and ducked quietly through the hole as everyone else did, but the moment he was out he grabbed Sir Hugh’s arm.
“Where are the Knights?” he hissed. “We must get Lady Linsha out, too.”
Sir Hugh shushed him. “Come with me,” he murmured over the wind. “You can help.”
He led the stallion out into the darkness to another small group of militia that waited patiently in the storm. At Sir Hugh’s nod, they fell in behind him and worked their way through the ruins to the back of the storehouse that served as the Knights’ prison. Using hand signals, the Knight sent two men to watch for Tarmak guards and the rest began to hack at the base of the wall with trowels and small shovels.