Paul Thompson - A warrior's joyrney

“Eh? What?”

“He fell deep into the mountain and burned up in a pool of molten rock. All that’s left of him is smoke and ash, probably weighing no more than a grown boar.” Tol put two fingers in his belt pouch. “Seven coppers, you said, for pig-sized game?”

Plainly unhappy, Queen Casberry ignored the snickers of her militia and grabbed the coins. “How do I know XimXim burned up?” she asked, once the money was in her hand.

“You have my word as a Rider of the Horde and a lord of the Ergothian Empire,” Tol replied loftily. “Of course, Your Majesty could visit the cave and see for herself that the monster is dead. I myself will mark a map for you.”

“Yes, yes, thank you very much!” she said, waving away Tol’s offer. “You may camp outside our city for as long as you like.” The crafty look returned to her wizened face. “Your Lord Urakan is already defeated, though.”

Tol advanced two steps until he was standing over her. The Royal Loyal Militia tried to interpose their spears, but he would not be deflected.

“You have news of Lord Urakan?”

“I do,” answered the queen, not in the least intimidated.

When she offered nothing further, Tol said, “Perhaps my men and I should remain in Hylo City, to defend it from the Tarsans. We could camp here in this square-”

“They aren’t coming here!” Casberry snapped, then began fussing with her pipe, trying to stuff more brown weed into the bowl.

“How do you know?”

When she ignored him, stubbornly persisting in loading her pipe, Tol delved into his pouch and produced five gold coins-part of the original treasure paid to him by Prince Amaltar after the battle in the Great Green. The coins were imperial crowns, rated at twice the value of a typical gold piece. The haughty profile of Ackal Ergot marked each thick, heavy disk.

Seeing the coins, the queen of Hylo forgot her pipe completely. Tol put the imperial crowns in her hand and gently closed her tiny fingers around them. She could hardly hold them, they were so large.

“I may have been wrong about XimXim’s weight,” he said in a low voice.

Casberry bit one coin. Satisfied, she tucked all five up one voluminous sleeve. “I’m told on good authority that Lord Urakan’s army tried to cross Three Rose Creek two days ago,” she said, naming a shallow stream northeast of Old Port. “When half his army was across, the Tarsans attacked. Many Ergothians were slain, and Lord Urakan withdrew into the town.”

Tol chewed his lower lip. Timing like that was no accident. Tylocost was living up to his reputation. He’d probably had Urakan’s hordes under observation the whole time, and struck when he could do the most damage.

“How do you know the Tarsans won’t come here?” he repeated.

“Don’t have to,” was her acute reply. “If they destroy Lord Urakan, Hylo is theirs, isn’t it?”

When Tol turned to order his men to march away, he was stunned to see the square, formerly packed with deliriously cheering kender, was now empty, save for his ten companies. He heard a rustle of cloth and the clink of armor and spun around in time to see the last of the Royal Loyal Militia closing the door of the royal residence behind him. The Ergothians were alone in the square.

It was raining by the time they pitched camp, halfway between Hylo City and Far-to-go. A pile of thunderheads had risen out of the bay and rolled ashore, loosing a deluge that drenched everyone.

Tol made sure Mandes had a warm, dry place to sleep. The wizard was still in his litter, face wet with sweat. Tol lightly pressed two fingers to the vein in Mandes’s throat. His pulse was rapid, his breathing shallow.

Surprisingly, the sorcerer’s eyes opened. “My lord?” he said weakly. “The monster… defeated?”

Tol smiled. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

“Filthy creature… mangled my arm, didn’t he?”

Tol didn’t know how much to tell the weak man, so he said, “You made the difference, Mandes. If it hadn’t been for your magic, none of us would be alive now.”

“Thank you, my lord.” His gaze flickered around the tent. “Where…?”

“Outside Hylo town. We saw the queen today. She claims you owe her money.”

For the first time Tol heard Mandes use a foul word. “Some thieves get hanged,” he murmured. “Others get crowns.”

“Never mind. Take your ease while you can. We’ll be on the march tomorrow. Lord Urakan has been bested by Tylocost again, and we’re marching to his aid.”

Tol was leaving when Mandes rasped, “My lord, a thought!”

Tol returned, and the sorcerer said, “It’s no betrayal of the empire to help yourself, instead of Lord Urakan. To win the war, you must overcome Tylocost, even if that means letting others taste defeat.”

Mandes’s strength was exhausted. He closed his eyes and slept.

Outside, rain poured down Tol’s face. What did Mandes mean? The words of a feverish man were often like divination-a glimpse of truth through a veil of mystery. Was there a way Tol could defeat Tylocost with fewer than three hundred men?

Tol walked around the camp, weighing what he knew about the situation in eastern Hylo. He turned the facts over in his mind, considered, pondered, mulled. Although several of his soldiers called greetings, he never heard them.

There was a way, he decided at last. A very dangerous way, calling for extreme coolness and the utmost courage from his men. He was prepared to try it, but what of the others?

He stalked through the rainy night, calling for Egrin and his captains. It was time for a council of war.

“With all respect, my lord, the notion is insane.” The flat statement came from Egrin. As a life-long warrior, his opinion carried considerable weight, but for once Tol was unmoved by his mentor’s caution.

“Very well,” Tol replied. “Other opinions?” Darpo, as stalwart a man as ever lived, looked at the movements marked in charcoal on Tol’s map.

“If it works, it would be glorious,” he said, chewing his lip. Egrin was adamant. “Our men will be slaughtered.” “I don’t think so,” Tol countered. “Tylocost is a clever, accomplished general, but who has he faced all these years? Lord Urakan? — a stout fighter and steady leader, but a dull tactician. Lord Regobart? — a brilliant general, but impetuous and unstable. Prince Nazramin-” Tol paused, unwilling to speak his mind even in front of his loyal officers. “Prince Nazramin thinks war is like a boar hunt: Whoever sheds the most blood wins.”

A few tired chuckles greeted this comment. The council of war had gone on a long time, first with Tol explaining his idea, then with his subordinates discussing it. Midnight had come and gone.

“I believe in this plan,” Tol said. “Tylocost knows nothing about us. If he’s heard we went after XimXim, he might even believe us destroyed. Should word of the monster’s demise reach him, he’ll not credit it. After all, his army of trained mercenaries was decimated by XimXim. What chance would three hundred Ergothians stand?”

“It took only four,” said Sanksa, with a rare smile.

Tol remained serious. “We must attack,” he said, “but I want each of my commanders to believe in my plan. Anyone who doesn’t should remain behind in Old Port.”

The men from Juramona didn’t hesitate.

“We’ll follow you anywhere,” Darpo vowed, and others echoed the sentiment.

Only Egrin remained silent. He stared down at the map with a frown on his bearded face. All eyes turned to him.

At last he looked up. “I go where you lead, my lord,” he said.

“That’s not what I want,” Tol said. “Do you believe the plan can succeed?”

When the elder warrior pursed his lips and said nothing, Tol nodded. “Very well. I have a special task that needs doing. You will undertake it.”