“Dragon, he wants an army,” the other said. “Army, grisly way to gain one. Soldiers, willing ones perform better. Not starving ones.”
“Dragon, he be done, they be willing enough,” the first said. “Safe they be for a few days more. Me, don’t want to watch it again.”
“Me, never seen the men change.”
“Terrible.”
“Dragon, you question what he does?”
The taller one shook his head. “Me, no. Pay, it be good. Dragon, he be better to work for than to be hunted by. Me, just don’t want to watch it.”
“Fates, worse ones I would imagine. Other overlords, heard they capture people, keep them like cattle and eat them.”
“Death, not worse than being turned into a spawn “
Feril shuddered and tugged her senses back to her body. She was quick to relay what she had overheard. The quartet watched the stronghold for the several hours, the sun baking them.
There were about sixty Knights of Takhisis, with half to two-thirds of them scheduled to leave soon—the sun was already edging toward the horizon. Palin suspected more knights would eventually take their place. The troops were probably being rotated. Fortunately, they hadn’t noticed any Knights of the Thorn or Knights of the Skull, which meant the fortress was probably devoid of spellcasters.
“I agree we have to try something,” Palin finally said. “Even though we’re drastically outnumbered.” The knights had gathered, and their commander was barking final orders, readying them to march. “But we can’t just walk right in there. Even after most of the knights leave, there’ll still be too many for us to handle in a fight. We’ll be throwing our lives away.”
“Maybe we can walk right in.” The kender was looking over her shoulder, away from Relgoth and toward the south. “Or ride.” At the edge of her vision was a small caravan, and it looked like it was headed in their direction.
The caravan consisted often large wagons pulled by horses and loaded with barrels of water and other supplies. Each wagon had a driver, and the caravan was accompanied by about two dozen barbarians dressed in flowing hooded robes.
It took one of Rig’s thumb-sized rubies to bribe the last driver, who was lagging slightly behind. The mariner and the driver settled on a plan. Palin and Feril were to be the driver’s cousins, and Blister their child. Rig was to be a friend of the family. And for a few pearls, the driver provided hooded robes for each of them to wear—even, after some cutting and fashioning, a child-size garment for Blister.
The driver called the stronghold the “Bastion of Darkness.” He explained that supplies came to the castle nearly twice a week—food, clothes, paint for the brutes, whips and tethers to replace the ones that were used on prisoners, and, of primary importance, water from an oasis to the south. The prisoners, knights, and elephants consumed a lot of water.
Shortly after sunset, the caravan reached the city gates. Palin felt like he had a fever, his skin burned so, and he imagined the others felt the same. But with the onset of evening, it was cooling a little. A soft breeze washed over the dunes and stirred the air around the town. The Knights of Takhisis wing was just leaving, wending its way down the path and toward Palanthas. The men all wore black mail with death lilies on the breastplates. Foolish military protocol wouldn’t allow them to wear lighter clothing.
“Put the barrels in the courtyard!” A knight waved to a tall, hulking barbarian, the caravan master. The wagons rolled through part of the town and into the castle’s courtyard. A moment later, barrels were being carefully rolled down planks positioned at the ends of the wagons. They were rolled across the sand, over the drawbridge, and toward the center tower, which had an attached shelter to shade the barrels and help keep the water from becoming intolerably hot. Each wagon carried roughly a dozen large barrels, and it would take several trips to unload them all. On the return trips the men rolled empty barrels that were to be taken back to the oasis and refilled.
Blister darted around the wagon and tried to take everything in, while Feril, Palin, and Rig helped the nomads with the barrels. “The dragon should’ve built his sand castle closer to the well,” the kender softly said. “Would’ve made things easier on the nomads.”
On his second pass over the drawbridge, Palin glanced down into the deep ditch. Scorpions the size of his hand skittered at the bottom, thousands of them. The walls of the ditch were steeply slanted to provide shade. He whispered to Rig and Feril to watch their step. The ditch was more lethal than any moat filled with crocodiles.
The mariner hovered around the barrels in the courtyard, helping to stack the full ones against the wall, while Palin and Feril made another trip to the wagons. He rested his hand against the black sand structure, marvelling at its solidity. Looking closely, he could see the individual grains of sand that made up the wall. They magically clung together without any mortar or moisture of any sort. These were not compressed bricks of black sand. The wall, the entire castle, was made of millions of sand particles that were held together magically.
Meanwhile, Blister grew more anxious. “How are we going to sneak into the Bastion?” she whispered to Palin as he hefted another barrel. Her voice was muffled beneath the too-large hood of her robe. It hung far over her head. “I overheard the caravan master say we’d be leaving as soon as we’re done. I thought they’d spend the night here.”
“It’s getting dark, and no doubt they prefer to travel at night,” Palin observed, setting the barrel down on the ground.
“Or they can’t stomach staying around here,” Feril muttered
“We’ll find somewhere to hide. There.” The sorcerer pointed toward a crude stable with four large stalls for the elephants. “That should do.” The brutes were putting the elephants away for the night, and Feril brightened at the prospect of being near the exotic animals.
“You two,” the caravan master barked as he pointed at Palin and the Kagonesti. “Leave your child be and stop loafing! Move more barrels!”
The pair was quick to comply. Palin relayed their plan to the mariner, and when there were only a dozen barrels left to be moved, the quartet slipped away, sticking to the growing shadows, and stealing into an elephant’s stall. The straw that covered the floor was musty and insect-laden, and the animal’s considerable dung was pungent and made their eyes water. The elephant took sharing its home in stride, and busied itself eating fresh grasses that one of the brutes had left for it.
“It stinks in here.” Blister wrinkled her nose and tried to find a dean spot of hay to sit on. The kender instantly quit complaining when the elephant turned its head and seemed to study her. “Never seen anything like you before,” she said. “Wonder if you’d fit on the Anvil. I’d feed you and—”
“No,” Rig said, then turned his attention to Palin and Feril. “The central tower inside the walls is for the knights. The smaller towers at the corners are filled with weapons and food. Knights are constantly stationed here.”
“How’d you learn all this?” the Kagonesti asked.
“I listen well,” the mariner continued, his dark eyes flashing mischievously at her. “And I asked a few questions when a couple of knights strolled by for a drink of water.”
Palin drew his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I hope you didn’t ask too many questions. We don’t need anyone on alert.” Then he heard the wagons moving, the cracks of whips against the camels, and he fervently hoped the knights hadn’t counted the number of barbarians entering the stronghold and discovered the three missing adults and one “child.”