Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“So the dog has his spies amongst us.” Syth frowned. “We gave nothing through that conversation, since as yet we’ve no plans to reveal. But we must watch ourselves in the days to come. We need to be careful of lizards, too,” he added, and Mar-Yilot nodded curtly.

Rosha glanced around the floor, alerted now for anything. He was still but a hapless warrior among the wizards, and the prospects chilled him. Even so, the freedom to admit his fear somehow loosed him from feeling it so strongly. He wanted to talk with this Syth further. Perhaps the man could help him find Rosha again.

Tibb marched down the Down Road behind the horse of Admon Faye. It had amused the slaver to position him here; as they descended from the High Plateau, Admon Faye called back mocking encouragements. Tibb expressed no resentment. He pretended not to notice that he was the only slaver who wasn’t mounted. The insult rankled, but he saw advantages in being a walker rather than a rider. He cared nothing about the outcome of the coming battle. Since it would be the riders who would attack Belra’s force while the foot soldiers blockaded the foot of the road, there appeared to be little chance he would be drawn into action. It wasn’t that he was cowardly. His personal vengeance was simply more important to him than a victory for his employers. He intended to survive. He had every reason to expect that he would.

Poor Pezi had no such guarantee. Admon Faye had forced him to mount Chimolitha and lead the march down to the plain. The fat man had at first refused, but when the slaver had threatened to let Thuganlitha have him, Pezi had quickly climbed astride Chim’s horn. He’d evidently not resigned himself to his fate, however. Tibb could hear Pezi’s anguished pleadings from way back here.

Occasionally, Tibb glanced over the dropoff at the wide expanse of empty, white landscape. Quite suddenly, however, it was no longer empty. Out of nowhere, an army suddenly appeared. “Look!” he grasped, pointing down in excitement. Admon Faye casually turned his head and looked downward.

“What about it?” the slaver called back scornfully.

“It’s an army!”

“Of course it’s an army. Did you think we were out marching just for exercise?”

“But it just appeared!”

“That’s right,” Admon Faye responded calmly. “Which simply means Joooms has done his job.”

“Joooms?” Tibb said, and Admon Faye craned his neck around to regard Tibb with disdain. Then he seemed to remember something and nodded.

“That’s right. I’d forgotten you were Lamathian born. Never been in a war with shapers, little sneak?”

“Never,” Tibb grunted.

“Mercenary cutthroats, most of them,” Admon Faye sneered. He took pleasure in regarding others as poorly as he did himself.

“Look at those fools with him down there, believing themselves to be invisible, watching us descend and expecting to surprise us. They don’t even realize they’re uncovered.”

“I don’t understand. Why is their shaper betraying them?”

“Because we have his family.”

“Where are.. .oh.” Tibb nodded. The slave pit truly was filled to overflowing.

“Joooms should be grateful.” Admon Faye shrugged. “Belra’s paid him a fortune and won’t live to collect a refund. Pezi, stop shouting! We’re almost to the bottom of the hill.”

Indeed, Chimolitha was shuffling down the last of the incline. The slaver had already explained very carefully to the beasts that they were to do exactly as Pezi commanded, or he would punish them. For some reason, Admon Faye had been able to communicate that order in a way that had gotten their undivided attention. When Pezi leaned down to Chim’s huge left ear and said, “Turn toward this side,”

she moved left without hesitating. The other tugoliths followed her, maintaining a neat, orderly line. As soon as the last of the tugs was off the road and the riders began to form their ranks on the right flank, Pezi leaned back toward Chim’s right ear and said, “Now turn this way.” She turned to face the army of Belra, and the others followed her example. By then the cavalry was in place. Tibb stood beside Admon Faye’s stirrup, listening to his ugly master berate the enemy:

“Look at Belra there—see him? Red mustache, blue and white armor? Sitting there in his saddle, so arrogant! He hasn’t even deployed his force, you see? He thinks he’s still invisible. He expects us to march right past him, then in turn he will march up the road and take the city without a fight.” Admon Faye grinned, and looked down at Tibb. “He’s a fool to side against me, Tibb. Any man who sides against me is a fool.”

Tibb wondered if that was aimed specifically at him, but Admon Faye interrupted his thoughts. “Look there, next to Belra—You see the dark man? That’s Joooms. Watch him!” Admon Faye’s fist suddenly shot into the air. Tibb jumped, for Joooms had suddenly disappeared. At that moment it appeared that Belra suddenly realized he’d been betrayed, for Tibb heard him bellow with rage. “Now!” Admon Faye commanded, and the riders charged.

“Kill those men!” Tibb heard Pezi shouting at the tugoliths.

Like children released from school, the beasts cried aloud in glee, and barrelled forward. Not, however, before Pezi threw himself backward off Chimolitha’s horn, begging the powers to let him land in a snowbank instead of under Chim’s trampling feet. He got his wish. Throughout the course of the battle, Tibb could hear Pezi giggling joyfully.

A dreadful slaughter ensued. It became apparent immediately that the tugoliths would beat the riders to Belra, and Admon Faye wisely turned his cavalry aside and drew them up to watch. The tugs danced and gamboled gleefully across the snow, then plowed into their horrified enemies with the crunch of breaking metal. A few of Belra’s followers had the good sense to wheel their horses right then and take flight. Those who didn’t, out of loyalty, bravery, or simple indecision, were spitted on the tips of tugolith horns. Thuganlitha had thoroughly enjoyed his feast of slave flesh. As a result, many of his victims were quickly consumed. Chimolitha tossed Joooms’s mount casually aside, charging onward through the ranks.

Riganlitha trampled Belra, leaving the shreds of his broken body in the snow. He had been a noble warrior and a decent citylord and had always expected to die in battle, but not like this, certainly. Never like this.

Tibb watched it all, astonished. He was admittedly a rogue, a brigand. Even so, the savagery of this attack appalled him. Moments later, as the mounted slavers returned to the base of the road and started back up to safety, Admon Faye reined in beside Tibb and booted him lightly in the back. As Tibb tumbled into the snow, the ugly slaver cackled and asked, “What do you think of your master now, little sneak?”

“You know what I think of you,” Tibb muttered as he got to his feet, brushing the white powder from his cloak. “Not that it matters.” He pointed out at the tugoliths and asked, “What are you going to do about them?”

The encounter had been brief—evidently too brief, in the estimation of the tugoliths. Several of them still frisked around playfully among the carnage, but once all the horses and men were down, the game lost much of its appeal. Admon Faye took all of this in and murmured, “They’re in a dangerous state, aren’t they. Any suggestions?”

“None that would please you,” Tibb grunted, and Admon Faye laughed again.

“Better get up the road, little sneak,” he suggested. “Unless you wish to be squished.” Then he spurred his horse forward. The animal was most unwilling; but, after it felt the spurs again, it trotted toward the vast patch of red-stained snow. Admon Faye smiled broadly and looked directly at Thuganlitha. “Did you enjoy that?” he called brightly.