He lifted the cup again, looked in it, and set it down.
“I don’t want to wear you out,” he said. “Umbriel-the city-is nearing arrival, and I have a lot to do, and preparations to make before our next conversation. Until then I’ve had quarters prepared for you. I hope you find them comfortable.”
FOUR
“Mazgar!” a familiar voice shouted, and suddenly Goblin was there, leaping at her from the mass of refugees. If her instincts had kicked in, she would have probably killed the kid, but somehow they didn’t, and the girl was clinging to her like a leech.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I missed you, too. No need to get crazy about it.”
“What happened? Where have you been?”
“Brenn and I got cut off when we stormed out of Cheydinhal,” she said. “It took us a while to catch up with the rest of you.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re alive,” Goblin said. “I thought maybe you weren’t.” She looked around. “Where’s Brenn?”
“He’s taking a rest on the wagon, there,” she said.
“How long have you been back with us?”
“Two days,” Mazgar said.
“And you didn’t come looking for me?”
“Captain Arges put us in charge of this bunch,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to do much else but shepherd them.”
“Well, I’m glad we ended up on the same side of the split,” Goblin said.
“Right,” Mazgar agreed.
It was clear that they weren’t going to reach the Imperial City before Umbriel overtook them. Arges, the ranking officer, had decided their best bet was to split into two groups, one north and one south of the Blue Road, and hope the main army of wormies didn’t come after both of them.
It had worked, at least so far; it seemed that Umbriel was trying to get to the Imperial City, and they just happened to be in the way. They were still harassed by groups like the one that had attacked Brennus and Mazgar, but no large groups had detached.
Mazgar wondered why they didn’t just make a big circle and march back to Cheydinhal, and a lot of the refugees were starting to say the same thing, rather loudly. After all, the Knights of the Thorn hadn’t found an occupying force in the city. Behind Umbriel seemed to be the safest place to be.
Arges, however, was focused on getting to the Imperial City, and without soldiers to protect them, most people weren’t willing to chance running into hunting parties. Not yet anyway. She had a feeling that wouldn’t last much longer.
They were walking on, with Goblin chattering away, when a rider came alongside them.
“Imperial troops up ahead,” he shouted. “Stand by for orders.”
“There we go,” Mazgar said, rubbing Goblin’s head. “Things are looking up.”
“Who’s in charge here?” the young commander shouted in a strong Colovian accent.
“That’s me, sir,” Mazgar replied.
“Name?”
“Mazgar gra Yagash, Imperial scouts.”
“Scouts? How did you end up here?”
She explained, and when she was done he nodded.
“I knew Falcus,” he said. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Commander Prossos, and I’m in charge of this wing of refugees now,” he said. “Given your experience, I’m giving you a field promotion to captain, and you’ll act as my second in command.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Our orders are to go north immediately. General Takar is going to meet the enemy a few miles west of here, and we don’t want the civilians in the dust-up. Frankly, I’m not sure why you all were still anywhere near that thing’s path.”
“I just follow orders, sir.”
He laughed. “I like that. You know Arges is an idiot, but you don’t want to say so. Well, if you think I’m being an idiot, you’ll speak up. In private, of course. And that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Take a party and make sure that hill south of here is free of the enemy. If it is, send us a messenger and wait. We’ll be along.”
“Yes, sir.”
She’d heard of General Takar. He was from Hammerfell. He’d fought against the Empire, before Titus Mede won him over-supposedly through personal combat. It made a good story, but she doubted it somehow.
Whatever the truth was, Takar was now one of Mede’s most trusted generals.
The hill wasn’t occupied, so she sent a runner down with the news and settled in.
Takar had about five thousand men with him, mostly mounted infantry and mages. She could see them formed up in a huge field, along with some eight large wagons that might be siege engines of some sort.
“I wish I was down there,” she told Brennus. “I’m deadly sick of running.”
“Well, at least we’ll get to watch,” Brennus said.
Brennus was right. Less than an hour later the legion met its counterpart as the shadow of Umbriel moved toward them. For whatever reason, the wormies had constricted their range, marching more tightly beneath the flying mountain than they had in the countryside.
Mazgar heard the distant shock as the front lines met a few seconds after it actually happened, and for a while that was the last time she watched the ground battle-because the air war had begun. Half of the legion suddenly left the ground, along with the wagons, and flew toward the city.
“Oh, yeah!” Brennus whooped, so loudly it startled her almost as much as watching an army fly.
When they got near Umbriel, she saw something coming to meet them. She had seen them before; they looked like birds, at least from a distance. They would drop down and then appear to dissolve, turning into trails of smoke. Brennus told her that they were the spirits that took over the bodies of the newly dead, and lost corporeal form when they passed through the rim of the bubble of Oblivion the city traveled in.
But the Imperials were now apparently inside that bubble, and the bird-things were smashing into them in swarms. Lightning and flame seemed to fill the sky, and the soldiers with her cheered. But their cheers dropped away when it became clear that most-if not all-of the bodies dropping wore Imperial colors.
It was over in less than an hour; one of the wagons made it as far as the rim, but none of the others even got close, at least not that she saw.
Below, the wail of horns went up. Takar was in retreat, and Umbriel moved on, undeterred.
They continued to march the civilians out of harm’s way that night and the following day, with no sign of the wormies, not even raiding parties anymore.
“Whoever is running things up there has tightened their focus on the Imperial City,” Prossos said to Mazgar. “Command thinks the refugees will be okay with a skeleton guard. A lot of the civilians have been slipping off back to Cheydinhal, and we’re letting them go. We can’t feed them forever anyway.” He stood a little taller. “I’m leaving you in charge, Captain. Take care of these people-use your own judgment.”
“Where are you going, sir?”
“To reinforce the city,” he said.
“I’d like to go with you, sir.”
“I’m doing you a favor,” he replied softly. “You’ve already seen a lot of action.”
“No, sir, you aren’t. If you order me to do this, I will, but my place is fighting, not nursemaiding. My mother went down in battle-what would she think of me if I didn’t? Please, sir. There are others here who can get these sheep to pasture.”
He studied her for a moment. “Very well,” he said, and sighed.
Brennus cleared his throat and spoke up.
“She’s under orders to watch out for me,” he said. She turned-she hadn’t known he was anywhere near.
“Is this true?” Prossos asked.
“Under Falcus, sure,” she admitted. “Each of the mages had a bodyguard assigned.”
“That came from the Imperial war office, directly,” Brennus said. “It can’t be countermanded in the field.”
“That mission is over, Brenn,” she said.
Prossos shook his head. “He’s right. If what he says is true, you have to stay here with him.”