Chapter Four

It had taken ten long days to travel from Vurun to Zundak. Once they knew they had an enemy they went cautiously from village to village. They’d had more of the same information from the other villages as they’d had from the elder of Ladash. Most of what they heard were rumours. An army to the east of the Shan mountains. Riders seen at the passes. A storm was coming. The storm was coming. Winter was coming too, and the snow with it, snows that would blow for months and bury the upper passes of the Shan and the Korum mountain ranges that bracketed the valley of Vurun and the city. Both ranges ran north-south. The Shan was to the east. The Korum to the west. While there were numerous smaller passes through these mountains, there were only a few passes by which an army could cross.

Now they were on a ridge that overlooked Zundak, the name of both the fort and the village that surrounded it. The ridge gave them as good a vantage as they would get. Most of the regiment was encamped just behind the ridge, which gave them good cover from the wind that blew down from the mountains. The officers stood together watching the fort. Both Colonel Havor and Captain Pugh were looking through spyglasses. The fort was one of many ancient forts that dotted the land. It was built long ago by another empire that had conquered this place. Now it stood dark and foreboding on a hill above the valley, covering the lonely road that led east through the Shan Mountains and Zundak Pass.

“Nothing. Not a sentry on the walls. Nothing but birds. A trap?” Pugh asked dryly. Then handed the lens to Dryden.

“Even the village is empty.” Havor agreed, “Maybe. If it’s an ambush it’s well disguised. Send a few scouts in. Local boys. Don’t want to risk our own men for this.” There was a small detachment of local irregulars that rode with the company on longer patrols, just for this sort of thing. They knew the valley better than the Vastrum men and were usually used as outriders or messengers.

Dryden looked through the glass. The town was really just a few ramshackle huts around the base of the fort. Havor was right too, it appeared completely deserted. There should have been women carrying water from the well down the hill, and a few men working the fields on the hills below. There should at least have been a few village dogs or goats grazing somewhere. All he saw were crows and vultures. Vultures were never a good sign. The fort too should have been active. Even a few sentries on the wall. It was concerning, to say the least, that there were none. He put down the spyglass and turned to Lieutenant Wolcott, “You heard the colonel. Send out scouts. Ready the men, if this is an ambush… “ He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. “Quick as you can, please.” Wolcott ran down the hill to obey his orders. They would be ready for it. He turned back and handed the spyglass back to Captain Pugh.

Havor put down his spyglass and closed it up, then handed it back to his manservant Rathma who was quietly standing behind him. Then he turned to Mar, the regimental wizard, “We may have need of you today.” He nodded to the grim-faced wizard.

Mar simply shrugged, sat on a nearby rock, reached into his pouch, and began rolling a cigarette. He added his tobacco and then pulled out a small vial of indigo powder. Aethium. The dust that hung like a haze over the valley. The product of the fields of flowers that grew only here. The reason for innumerable conquests that had swept Vurun century after century down through the ages. It was not the only such substance in the world, but it was by far the best, at least for making war. Mar sprinkled a hefty amount in his cigarette along with his tobacco, whetted the paper with his tongue, and finished rolling it. Once that was done he rested it between his lips, lit it with a match, closed his eyes, and took a slow drag from it. He sighed as he did so, a faint smile playing at the edge of his mouth. When his eyes opened again, his pupils had dilated and his face had a look of absolute ease and relaxation upon it. “I’m ready when you are.” Mar’s voice was strangely deep, vibrating Dryden’s chest and echoing around them as if his words were being spoken directly into his soul. This happened whenever Mar took the powder, and all the officers had experienced it before, but it was no less unsettling now than the first time. The effect of the narcotic would last several hours, and Mar had a ready supply of it.

They watched for several more minutes through the spyglass for any sign of ambush. They found none. Then they retreated down the hill to where the men were readying. A few of the irregulars were mounted up and just riding off up the road to scout the town and fort when the officers arrived back. The whole camp was in action as men mounted horses and organized into formation for marching. The slowest part of the whole affair were the baggage trains, servants, and attendants who would be riding behind them slowly with their equipment. It only took perhaps fifteen minutes for the whole regiment, servants and camp followers excluded, to be ready to move. Then they were off again. Dryden went to the front to ride with Lieutenant Brine’s vanguard. Ahead he could see dust being kicked up where the outriders were moving up the valley to the fort quickly. It was less than an hour later when the first scout returned.

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“Report,” Dryden commanded.

The man rode a small horse, more like a pony, he was young with a wispy beard and had the light brown skin of a Vuruni. He spoke a little of the Vastrum tongue, “Sahib, no ambush. All dead.”

“No survivors at all?”

“No. All dead, sahib.” He repeated, “You come see.”

Dryden nodded to Wolcott, “I’ll go ahead. Sergeant Locke, why don’t you bring that blunderbuss and join me? Pick a dozen men. We’ll ride ahead and see if what this man says is true.”

The sergeant simply chose the nearest dozen. There were grumbles, but no complaints were voiced loudly. Not with Major Dryden sitting right next to them. He didn’t blame them, though. Bad luck was the only reason they were with him. Fifteen men. Dryden, Locke, the scout, and twelve troopers. Then they were off. They went at a canter the rest of the way up the valley. Before they arrived at the fort the valley narrowed almost to a canyon. It was a perfect spot to ambush them, but no enemy appeared. They slowed to climb up the road out of the bottom of the ravine, and then the fort was almost on top of them at the top of the ridge line. Below it were those few mud-brick homes that were called a village. All was quiet. Not a soul stirred here. Silence lay on the town like a shroud. They came around the small street to find two more scouts standing at the open gates of the stone fortress waiting for them. One of them pointed inside and said something in Vuruni.

The scout translated, “He says: dead inside.”

Dryden didn’t need to be told. He could smell it. It was the smell of burned wood and rotting flesh. One of the soldiers retched behind him as they approached the gate. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and held it to his face to block the smell. It didn’t help. The smell permeated everything. The gates loomed before him. He knew what was waiting inside. They all knew. The horses whinnied and refused to go into the fort. Even Rosie refused.

“Dismount, we’ll go on foot.” He said to the men.

They entered the fort cautiously. The men went in with their carbines loaded and at the ready. Sergeant Locke held his blunderbuss in the crook of his arm. Dryden advanced with his sword drawn. The scouts stayed outside. In the middle of the square was a blackened pile of burned corpses. A pyre had been built, upon which there were many dozens of burned bodies. It was impossible to make out any detail or identify anyone in particular. They knew who the dead were; they were the garrison of Zundak. Dryden would also see that there had been a bloody fight before the burning. Dry blood, weapons, and scorch marks were scattered across the courtyard.

“Locke, secure the fort if you please. Send a man back to report this to Lieutenant-Colonel Havor too. Make it one of our own boys. Quickly now.”

Dryden pointed to the two burliest-looking troopers, “You’re with me. I’m going to search the keep.” He could have sent Locke, but he refused to give the hard jobs to others unless necessary. It was Dryden’s estimation that leaders who did so were the worst kind of gentlemen.

Inside the keep was dark and silent. The two big men followed him down the stone halls of the ancient structure. He made his way quickly to the old commander’s offices to look for anything he could bring back to report, logs, a journal, a message, anything. It did not take him long. He had only been to Zundak a handful of times, but he remembered the way through the maze of hallways in the keep. The fort had been looted of valuables, but those who had sacked the fortress had not lingered, and didn’t seem to care for books and letters. He found the logs of the fort in the commander’s old office. The silverware had all been taken, the coffers of the pay chest of the fort were gone, but all the books and logs and letters were untouched. Dryden opened the logbook to the last entry.

To whomever finds this: We are besieged. Riders have been sent for help. We can only hope that help arrives soon, but if you are reading this, we failed to hold out. A great host of eastern horsemen has risen against us. Merely a small portion of them are here at Zundak. The storm is coming, that is what the Vuruni call it. Our agent in Unkabi has warned us of this warlord, Kurush An-Beya. He commands all the horse lords of the east and the north. Many in Vurun are loyal to him. Beware the Fyrin officer that rides with him. Word of this must reach the army at Vurun. The fate of every Vastrum man, woman, and child in the colonies rests upon it. Tell them. Tell Blackwater and Belfair. They must be made to understand or we are all dead men.

-Captain Crakehavn, V.A.C., Commander of Zundak