Chapter Three

The full strength of the 13th Dragoons in Vurun rode out the next morning just before dawn. The sky was just beginning to brighten and turn a kind of orange hazy colour. It was a week’s ride to Zundak in good conditions and another week to ride back. The men had been on countless patrols in the last six months with few breaks. News that they would have to wait another two weeks, at least, to get their night on the town did not go over well. They were tired and saddle-sore already. The horses were somehow in better condition than the men. First, they rode through the cantonment, the slice of the city around the fort and palace that was made up to look just like home. They rode through the gates there and then out into the higher-class part of the city with shops that catered to the colonizers. Finally, they rode on through the main bulk of the city which stretched along the river north of the fort. They passed hovels and mud brick houses for what seemed like ages. It took two hours of riding in their column for the lead elements of the column to finally come to the edge of the sprawling city. The change was not sudden, there were no city walls for defence there. Gradually the houses thinned and turned to farmland. They passed one of the outlying forts as they rode away from the city. Eyes of Vastrum soldiers on the walls in their black and red jackets, and sepoys in their white and black uniforms, watched the cavalry column pass by in silence.

Then they were out in the country, surrounded by farms and short stubby trees that lined the road north. The road was old and at one time it had been well paved. The cobbles had not been maintained, so the road was now difficult and bumpy. Old wheel ruts for carts were carved down the middle of the road, but few carts came this way anymore and dry weeds grew up between the old cobbles. Dryden had taken this path up to Zundak three times before. He hated the road. Every time they rode it horses went lame. It was a cruel road for the horses, and that was something Dryden hated especially. It was the kind of thing the Generals rarely considered, least of all these generals. The cost of a few horses was little to men like Blackwater and Belfair. His own horse Rosie, was sturdy and well-shod. Even she struggled with the road.

By midday the weather was sweltering. Even in autumn, the heat of this land could kill a man or a horse if they didn’t take proper care to water themselves. It was no accident that the road to the north didn’t stray far from the river. They stopped at midday to let the horses drink and take some rest from the heat in a stand of trees. It was no easy feat to make sure all the horses were able to drink. It took them longer than Dryden had wanted, but by early afternoon they were off again in the blistering sun. This slowness was common here in the valley.

At one point they came up over a rise and the view almost took Dryden’s breath away. The city in the distance blanketed the bottom of the valley. Snowcapped peaks loomed behind Vurun. Before him were endless indigo fields where the aethium flowers bloomed. All of it was covered in a violet haze. The indigo dust of the valley combined with the sweat of the men and horses and in the sun everything and everyone took on an almost iridescent sheen.

The Major’s reverie was broken by one of the younger lieutenants, one Mr Palfrey, who rode up and saluted crisply, “Sir, the lead squad is entering into Ladash now.” Ladash was a village along the road, and usually the first stop for the night when heading north out of Vurun. Palfrey was a wispy youth who was barely old enough to serve. His parents had purchased a lower commission. This was a boy, not a soldier. He knew that Havor probably had seen him quite the same way when he had first been commissioned himself. “Very good, Mr. Palfrey. See that our horses are quartered for the night. Set pickets around the town. Find a good billet for the lieutenant colonel, he likes that big house on the north end. As for feeding the horses, there should be some good pasture just southeast of the town.” Then he saluted in return and the man went riding off back to the front of the long column. This was not the first time coming through here, they knew the land well. The villagers were cooperative too, at least those who lived on the road and were accustomed to the soldiers coming through regularly.

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The regiment continued up the valley by the river. While the cavalry themselves moved quickly, supplies came behind slowly in carts that bumped along the poorly maintained road. They were packed light for patrol, but even so, there were substantial baggage trains needed when the full regiment was on the move. Havor and Mar rode up from the rear as they were coming into the village of Ladash. “All is well?” The colonel asked.

Dryden saluted. “Indeed, sir. Speak with Mr. Palfrey for your billet, sir.”

“I want the big house on the north side of town. I like the view from the porch.” He said idly, then he turned to Rathma, who was riding just behind him silent as ever, “Ride ahead and prepare it for me.” Rathma rode off quickly without a word.

Fifteen minutes later they were in the town. As they rode in, Dryden could see few locals. A child or two peeked out from inside darkened doorways. There were no women to be seen, they understandably made themselves scarce when soldiers rolled through. A few older men from the village were standing around watching.

Palfrey strode up quickly when he saw the cadre of officers arrive, “Sir. I’ve got you billeted in the house over…” He began to point to the house that Havor had wanted.

“Yes, yes.” The colonel waved off the eager young officer, “Where’s Chatham?” He turned and shouted. Everyone looked around in silent confusion, “Chatham? I need my damn translator!”

Chatham came riding up from behind, “Here, sir.” He hopped off his mount.

“I need to speak to these men.” He gestured to the elders of the village.

“Very good, sir. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Thank them for their generosity. Tell them they will be compensated for the food and housing they provide. Ask them if they’ve heard anything from the north.” Havor said politely.

Chatham translated. The elders nodded silently and smiled. They were perfectly happy to take payment, Dryden knew. Most armies wouldn’t have paid, they merely would have taken what they needed with violence, or the threat of it. However, when Chatham got to the third point, the villagers went silent and looked at one another nervously. From their body language, it was obvious that someone knew something. One of them shook his head and began to speak with Chatham. There was a back-and-forth for a while.

Chatham turned back to Jack and relayed what the villagers had said, “The old man is the hetman here. He said they’ve heard things, but nothing that makes sense to me. He says a storm is coming, and it is here for us, for Vastrum. They are worried about taking us in. They say that the storm might punish them too.”

“Storm? What storm?” Havor scoffed. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Not that kind of storm, sir.”

“Well, what bloody kind of storm is it, man? Can’t anybody say what they bloody well mean in this damned country?” Jack was nearly shouting, “The dead are walking, some storm is coming, tell that man to say what he means or I’ll shoot him dead on this damned spot.”

Chatham winced and relayed the message. The men spoke back and forth more. There were hurried hushed tones. The translator turned back to the colonel, “Sir. He says he doesn’t want to say. He will be punished if he says. He is afraid of you. He is afraid of this storm. Sir, I think the storm is a man.”

“Okay.” Jack retrieved his pistol and began loading it with powder.

“Sir, what are you doing?” Dryden hissed at him.

The lieutenant colonel continued loading his pistol. He finished loading and levelled his pistol at the man. The old leathery-skinned villager stood frozen to the spot. “Tell him to tell me, who is the storm? This is his last chance.”

The man shook as Chatham relayed the message. He whispered something back.

Chatham turned back to Havor, “The name of the storm is Kurush. Kurush An-Beya. He is Lord of the Winds, and of the lands beyond the Shan mountains, he says this man, Kurush, is the rightful king in Vurun, and that he is coming to take back his birthright.”

“Oh, is that all?” Was all Havor said in reply, and he put his pistol away.