Chapter Forty-One

They left without farewells, for there was no time. Dryden mounted up on Rosie. His men mounted their horses in silence behind him. Every horse was exhausted and caked in dust. Every man was a shell of himself. There was no food and no rest to be had up here in the mountains with an enemy army bearing down upon them. They took little ammunition, leaving most for their comrades who manned the little rocky outcrop. There was little enough even for those men. There was no bugle and no fanfare. Dryden kicked his horse out from behind a great boulder and the men did the same. Then they were away in a cloud of dust, their hoofbeats echoing off the mountains around them. Dryden grunted with every one of Rosie’s strides, his ribs still aching as he rode. He gritted his teeth as they went. When the heat of battle came again, he would not feel his aches and pains anymore. He would only feel them after, and only if he lived. There was no time for trifling concerns such as broken ribs or missing hands or bullet holes ripped through their flesh. There was only the ride and the fight now. As they left, a single pistol shot rang out. Dryden didn’t dare look back. He knew that Gorst had taken his own life. Pugh would be in command of the doomed remnant now.

They were seen quickly by the enemy. The suddenness of their departure surprised the enemy just a bit, but in almost no time at all a contingent of horsemen were riding hard to intercept them across the rocky ground. Rosie was fast. She was not the largest horse, nor the fastest, nor the very strongest, but she was sturdy and built of an endurance that few horses could match. He put the spurs to her then, hard enough that he felt poorly about it afterwards. They had to reach Andaban. Gorst had made that clear, lest Andaban fall as well, and then the whole set of far-flung colonies across the vast north and east of the empire. Take Vurun, and you took the supply of aethium. Take Andaban, and you took the gateway to an empire.

This had always been their plan, Dryden realized as they rode. Vurun was the first step for them, not their main prize. They wanted to take the eastern holdings of Vastrum. All of them. All the catalysts, more valuable than gold, in all the lands of the east and south. The aethium of Vurun, the gris ports of Dravan, the Salvenium plantations of Gulud, the eperus mines of Huz, and more. So many more. Losing Vurun was bad enough, but there would be no stopping them if they had Andaban. So he spurred Rosie again and rode hard.

His men rode with him, spurring their horses to a dangerous pace down the hill. The enemy came on quicker, however. Their horses were fresher. A man came at their right and Sergeant Locke blasted him with his blunderbuss as they rode. Another came from behind with a wicked-looking scimitar and swung at Harper who took the blow across his back and fell from his horse with a cry. Then he was gone behind them. Dryden pulled Gorst’s sabre from its scabbard and nudged his horse close to the man’s as they rode fast. He swung first at the man, but when the man parried it, he swung at the horse’s face. The horse pulled up hard whinnying in pain and went over, crushing the man. Dryden and the rest rode on. He hazarded a look back and saw Harper lying on the ground. The private did not move. His horse went on, following the rest, and took no note of its fallen rider.

Still, they rode down the mountain where the pass narrowed a bit. More enemy came. There were too many. The horses of the small group were tiring, having run at a hard gallop down from the heights of the pass. There was no way to outrun them to Andaban. It was simply impossible, even with mounts as hardy as these.

“Mar, if ever you’re going to do something, now is the time!” Dryden shouted to him as they rode.

Mar looked up at the snow-packed peaks above. He took a large pinch of indigo aethium powder from his pouch and sniffed it straight into his nose. It was not his usual way. He usually preferred to smoke it, but such was the ride that it would have been impossible.

“Ride, sir! Ride like a demon, and do not stop, not even for the ending of the world!” He shouted to Dryden. Then Mar himself stopped, turned his horse, and began to cast his spell.

Dryden heeded his words well. He looked straight ahead and spurred Rosie on. He could feel her exhaustion coming on, could feel that her strength was waning. He needed her to move, though he did not want to ride her to her death, “Fly girl, just a little more. Fly like the wind.” He said to her, and she did.

It started with a crack like thunder, something high in the mountains snapped. Then a whiff of saltpetre came on the breeze. Slowly a sound became audible, a rumble growing nearer and louder. Then it was like a roaring gale and Dryden heard great creaking booms as if the whole mountain was crashing down behind him. He felt snow around him and his horse, and icy dust blasted out from behind where they had come from. He knew not to stop. The last man who had volunteered to ride out, a tall and nameless grenadier did look for a moment. This action slowed him, and his horse was swept away and he too was gone. There were other riders around Dryden now, a handful of Vuruni, all of them whipping their horses to outride whatever sorcery was bearing down upon them. Locke fired his blunderbuss at one and the man disappeared into the white wall that chased them. Down they rode, into the valley. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, all was quiet.

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Dryden, Locke, and four enemy Vuruni stood looking at one another. One of the enemy was Kal’kuris. Behind them now was a wall of ice, snow and boulders. The whole face of the mountain was now bare. Mar had brought down what seemed a whole mountain of ice upon the pass. There was no getting through. These four men were the only thing now between them and Andaban.

Locke started reloading his blunderbuss. Dryden heeled Rosie towards the nearest warrior. The man was slow, still in shock from seeing the glacier come down. Dryden hacked the sword down into his head. It sliced easily through flesh and bone. The man fell, a look of surprise still on his face. Locke fumbled while he reloaded. He aimed to shoot. Before he could, one of the enemy spurred his horse at the sergeant and their horses collided. The grizzled sergeant was knocked from his tired steed. Locke hit the ground hard and his blunderbuss flew from his hands. His horse trotted off. The sergeant struggled to his knees and scrambled for his weapon. The rider came back for him, swinging his sword low. The blunderbuss was in Locke’s hands. He turned and shot. The Vuruni’s talwar cleaved Locke through his shoulder down to his chest. The sergeant fell backwards dead, the sword still lodged in him. Then the Vuruni warrior slid backwards from his saddle and fell dead on the sand.

Dryden and the third warrior faced off against one another, circling in their saddles. Kal’kuris simply sat and watched. The warrior barked something at the emissary, probably a curse. He wanted help killing Dryden. Kal’kuris pulled a pistol from his robes and aimed carefully. The man pulled the same trick with his horse. Rosie tried to move aside but was exhausted. The move knocked Dryden off balance, and he fell from his saddle, landing on his side. His ribs bent and cracked again in a fresh wave of agony. He tried to breathe, but his breath was short and new waves of pain hit him. After all this, he was beaten. The Vuruni grinned at him as he rode up, talwar raised high for the killing blow. Dryden reached for Gorst’s sabre, but it was nowhere to be found, it had been knocked from his grasp. He awaited the killing blow. Kal’kuris fired his pistol. The man fell, a look of surprise on his face and a bullet through his neck. Dryden was in too much pain to react, though he was as surprised as his dead enemy.

“Why?” He gasped at Kal’kuris, “Why kill your own man?”

“He’s not one of mine. This man, he is more like you than he is like me. A conquerer who has been here so long he thinks the land is his. An-Bey, An-Dakal, Blackwater, Belfair, all the same.”

“You’re one of Colonel Hood’s agents?” Dryden pushed himself to sitting.

Kal’kuris nodded, “I am many things,” He answered, then nodded, “I am that too, yes. One day we will drive all of you from this place, the Ans too.”

“Why work for Hood? Why help me?”

“I help Hood because he pays well, and one master is as good as another. Why help you? You promised the great one below the mountains you would kill all the Ans. I am a man of my word. I hope you are a man of yours.” Then he tossed a water skin down to Dryden, “Will you make it to Andaban?”

“I think so.” Dryden grunted and took a sip of water, “If you can help me to my horse.”

Rosie had not gone far. Kal’kuris helped him up into her saddle. Breathing was difficult for Dryden.

“You are shot.” The emissary noted.

Dryden grunted in surprise. He had not noticed at all, such was the pain in his ribs and from his various other wounds.

“What will you do?” Dryden asked.

“I will find a way back and advise King Kurush in whatever way I find best for the true people of this land. I will do my best to protect your women until you come to claim them. Ride now, Dryden. Go to Andaban. Tell them what happened here. Then return and fulfil your oath to this land. It will hold you to it.”

“What of the witch?” Dryden asked suddenly, “Hood said she found power to the east.”

“She did. If you want to know, go east of the Shan, to the place where the blood of the land spills from the mountains onto the indigo steppe. You will find the ruins of the eldest in that place. It is there she delved her secrets. I warn you, it is not a place for men.” Then the Vuruni emissary turned his horse and rode north across the desert towards the treacherous northern passes that might take him home.

Dryden turned south down the road at that place where the land flattened from the mountains and became rolling dry hills and followed the long road home. All the way south to Andaban the mountains loomed up on his left, a silent reminder that his words were written in anger and sealed in the blood of the army upon the land of Vurun. Most of his friends were dead and gone. Pain, thirst, exhaustion, and grief were his only company on the ride. Rosie plodded along in silence, feeling the same exhaustion and pain as Dryden. Two days it took them to ride south, stopping only for meagre sips of water from muddy springs along the road. He could feel the life fading from him the whole way. The last thing he remembered of the slow ride was sighting the walls of Andaban in the distance. Then he awoke in the infirmary, with Dansby looming over him, asking about the fate of the army, and the bloody 13th.