Chapter Twenty-Eight

The camp had been packed quickly, as there was far less luggage now to take with them. Both armies had arrayed themselves across from one another. Luckily for the Vastrum army, they had beaten the Vuruni army to the base of the narrow path that led up towards the fort at Golconda and eventually to the Settru pass. That meant that their enemy could not block their retreat. A tent had been erected between the two armies, the same tent that Gorst and Dryden had met Kurush in several weeks prior. A sudden breeze gave the major a chill and he turned up his collar. He stood outside the warmth of the tent with two dozen Vastrum soldiers, half were his troopers and half Blackwater’s guards. Standing near them were two dozen of the elite enemy guards along with the Fyrin “observer” that was part of Kurush’s retinue. He had not been allowed into the tent either. To Dryden’s annoyance, the man sauntered over.

“Major Dryden, do I have your name right?” The man greeted him.

“You do. I do not remember yours.” Dryden replied dryly. He did remember, he simply wanted to annoy the man. The Fyrin were revolutionaries and more than being the enemies of Vastrum, they were, to his mind, guilty of sedition and treason. He was bound by the code of gentlemanly honour to not stab the man in the face, but that didn’t mean he had to be polite.

The man smirked at him, “Of course, I understand, I was not the most pressing matter at our previous meetings.” Then he held out his hand, “Jaqu Rovan.” His Fyrin accent was thick when he said his name.

“Indeed.”

“How long have you been in Vurun, Major?” The man asked.

Dryden shot him an annoyed look, “Two years.”

“I have only been here for one year, myself. I hope to be here much longer, of course. How did you find it, living here?” The man asked.

“Disagreeable,” Dryden replied.

“What did you not find to your liking?” The man almost sounded sympathetic for a moment.

Dryden decided to let the man have it, “The dust. The heat in the summer, the cold in the winter. It’s never in between. The wind never stops, no matter the season. The food is unbearably spicy and everything stinks of their chilies. If that weren’t bad enough, they serve their beer warm. You can’t find a drop of wine or whisky. If I’m honest, I can’t find a damned thing to recommend Vurun. I suggest you Fyrins find somewhere nicer to settle down.”

“Everywhere else is taken, I’m afraid.”

“Vurun was taken too, that didn’t stop you.”

“We’re not truly taking it in the strictest of senses.” The man pulled out a cigarillo from a tin and offered one to Dryden, who shook his head, “Kurush is merely taking back what’s his. We’re in favour of independence. Freeing oppressed colonies, you see.”

“Freeing them, are you?”

“Just so.”

“What happens when we’re gone and somewhere down the line the new king chooses to withhold the aethium supply? You won’t send in soldiers, or mercenaries, to force trade back open?”

“I cannot say what will or will not happen, sir.”

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It was Dryden’s turn to smirk, “We came here with our ideals and hope for free trade as well. Look where it got us.” He gestured at the surrounding armies.

“Ahh, you think we’re just the same as you?”

“I don’t think so, my good man, I know it,” Dryden replied.

“No good, no evil. A dismal view of the world, brutish. One might even go so far as to call it nihilistic.”

Dryden chuckled, “Nihilistic? No.”

“What holds the world together, then?”

“Duty and honour. Every man must find these in himself and cleave to them. It does not surprise me that you Fyrins know nothing of this.”

“You wound me.”

“Not yet I haven’t.” After a pause he stopped and looked out across the plain at the two bloodied armies, “This place, the power it holds, the beautiful visage; it entices us. It is a mirage. In the end, this land beggars us all. We have ruined ourselves here. It will ruin you after we are gone. The magic, the aethium; it is a dream. Soon, you will wake, as we have, and regret that you ever came to Vurun.”

“I think you are not wrong.” Jaqu replied softly, “We will regret it, as you have.”

“Then why come here?”

Before Jaqu could answer, shouts erupted from inside the tent. Dryden turned to the entrance. Two large Vuruni guards stood blocking the way. “Excuse me, sirs, if you would kindly…” Dryden began to ask. He heard swords being unsheathed behind him, followed by the clash of steel. Dryden felt movement to his right and ripped his sword from his scabbard, giving ground. He parried without even having time to look, catching the enemy’s sword with his own. One of the big Vuruni guards was coming at him fast with another blow. He struck that aside too. Instinct took over, the years of training in the yard at fencing. As the man came at him a third time he stepped forward, flicking the man’s sword aside he ran the big man through and stepped past him to the next. Ahead of him, another Vuruni was on top of a trooper pummeling the man with his fists. It was the standard bearer, Harper. Dryden pulled a pistol from his belt with his left hand, shot the enemy through the back, kicked the dead body off his own man, and helped him to his feet. Then together they went to find another enemy. Guards were killing guards around the outside of the tent. His men were winning somehow, despite the surprise attack. Dryden ripped open the tent flap. Jaqu was nowhere to be found. He looked around and saw riders from both camps coming to them. The 13th and what was left of the sepoy cavalry were coming on strong, but so were two hundred screaming Vuruni lancers.

Inside the tent was chaos. Rathma was standing over Havor’s groaning form protecting him with a Vuruni sword. Belfair was pinned to the ground by two guards. Blackwater was sitting on the ground holding his head as blood seeped from between his fingers. Kurush stood grinning. Aisa sat beside him looking at her fingernails idly, as if nothing were going on in the tent aside from the usual boring diplomacy. Kal’kuris sat next to her frowning deeply. Several big guards stood around the edge of the tent, swords drawn.

“Your plot is undone, warlord,” Dryden growled at him.

“I knew you for a warrior.” Kurush never stopped smiling, “When first I saw you in that tent, I said to myself, he is a man for fighting. It is your weakness.”

“You gave us safe passage. Why do this?”

Kurush stood in anger, “Roxana. She is hidden in your army. I am king of Vurun, and yet you defy me. Do you think she could ever rule us? Do you think she will be the one to replace me when Vastrum returns? I think not. If you will not return her, then you deny that I am king in Vurun, and our bargain is dead.”

The thunder of hoofbeats grew louder outside as the two armies approached. A head poked through the tent, it was Sergeant Vane from Lieutenant Wolcott’s old platoon, “Sir, outside the tent is secure, but the armies approach, we must retire.”

Aisa spoke next, “Did you know that long ago a battle was had here on this spot?” She smiled like a cat toying with a small bird. Dryden felt himself go cold at the tone of her voice. “This land has swallowed so many before you. Their bones lie shallow in the ground, and the memory of this land is long. You have not won here, warrior. You have wrapped your doom around you like a cloak.”

The sister of the king brought up a bronze pipe to her mouth and inhaled. A long puff of indigo smoke issued from her lips and a look of bliss crossed her face. The ground shook louder as the armies approached. Dryden could tell from the sound that the horse on both sides were breaking into a canter. Soon they would meet. Then, from outside the tent, a yell of alarm issued forth and something changed in the way that the horses ran. Horses neighed and screamed all across the field of battle. Shadows filled the tent, then, and Dryden fled. Behind him, the laughter of the sorceress echoed in the shadows.