Chapter Twenty-Five

It was a slow ride back from Unkabi to Zundak. Every man of the 3rd squadron of the 13th Dragoons was bone weary. Ugruz, their guide, was no longer with them, and so the going was slower as several times they took a wrong turn and had to backtrack to cross small rivers in safe places or wind their way up ravines that cut the steppe. They knew the way, however, because the mountains and the pass through the Shan were seen clearly on the horizon. While they had resupplied in Unkabi, they continued to hunt antelope on the ride, keeping from burning through supplies too quickly. The horses ate the grass of the steppe which had started to turn yellow from lack of summer rain. Riders, possibly Fyrin or An-Beya scouts shadowed them, only ever being seen in the distance. It was a sign that the Fyrin army was close at hand. They were a kind of escort the whole way back to the Shan Mountains, and though they sometimes came closer than Dryden liked, they only ever watched the passage of the Bloody 13th as they rode out.

At night the stars shone in the clear sky, and the days were hot, though not so hot as the desert had been west of the Korum. It would not have been an unpleasant ride, except they had lost men, they had lost their prize in the sorceress, and they had seen and heard things that made Dryden’s blood run cold. He felt, as they rode, that he did not understand the world any longer, nor his place in it. Before the ride to Dau, he had known the world for what it was, now, he could not deny that beneath his ignorance there lay a vast ocean of knowledge he had not dreamt of. Even having seen the sorcery of Vastrum’s war wizards and the strange necromancy of Aisa, the world had seemed a relatively mundane place. But with the twisted black city and its shadows, the demons, the great pit of sacrifice, and the blood of the mountain-god Tizrun spilling down, his sense of place and purpose was unravelling. They had all put something into the pit. Each man had given up something to escape. Then Aisa had cursed them all and thrown herself in too.

They could almost forget as they rode, thinking of all the other things they had seen. Few men spoke on the way back. He thought over the witch’s words carefully. He did not know how her curse would come about. He was doubly cursed now. His oath of vengeance, carved in rage and written in the blood of his dead men, hung around his neck like a millstone. Every step back towards Vurun weighed heavier upon him. He considered riding off into the Kizil and living the rest of his days living upon the land, but he knew the curse would find him. Furthermore, if the men had looked upon him with a respect beyond that which was owed to him by his rank, they now looked at him with a kind of awe that went beyond the structure of military discipline. He could not abandon them, even while their looks of admiration shamed him, he was their leader. They had and would follow him anywhere it seemed. He would never abandon them, not willingly.

They had seen him, seemingly fearlessly, go at a demon and wound it. He had led them into a dark ruined city and led most of them out alive. These were the actions of heroes. Nothing about it had felt heroic. He had failed. Not only had he failed, but it had been revealed to him that all his actions were in the company of officers guilty of the most heinous and vulgar acts. His only consolation prize was that he had uncovered and captured a traitor in Chatham, but it was small consolation as he had once considered the man a trusted ally, it was Dryden himself who had been betrayed, and his ignorance of the betrayal had led to the deaths of thousands. It was with these dark thoughts swirling through his mind that he led his men up and through the pass at Zundak and back into the waiting embrace of General Haddock’s army.

The 3rd squadron of the 13th Dragoons under the command of Major Dryden and Captain Khathan rode back over the pass at Zundak in the late afternoon. The hazy sun shone down upon the indigo valley of Vurun. Flowers were in bloom as the summer went on, and it was a marvellous thing to see. The bloom had begun when they left, but now they were in full flower. Terraces of brilliant purple-blue carpeted the floor and hills of the valley as far as he could see south. It was too far to see the city of Vurun from Zundak, but he knew from experience the whole of the valley of Vurun, from Zundak in the north to Kashma in the south would be painted in vibrant indigo flowers. He took in the view for just a moment and then rode on.

The army of General Haddock was encamped where they had left it, though they had dug in far more than when Dryden and the squadron had ridden east. They were challenged at the pickets only once at the top of the pass as they rode in. They were well recognized by the sentry who saw them. He waved them along and they were through into the camp. The army had dug a series of temporary earthwork fortifications with gun emplacements, trenches, and stakes set to protect the fortifications. They had been gone for two weeks, and Haddock had turned the place into a fortress. They were waved through and directed by guards down to where the rest of the 13th under Commander Havelock was billeted. Rosie and the rest of the horses were stabled by Stablemaster McClary. The men were shown to tents where they could rest and eat.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Dryden took Chatham with him. The young man followed along quietly, saying nothing. They went to the tent that had been prepared for Dryden. A manservant waited for him at the entrance to the tent. He had never seen the man before in his life.

“Sahib,” The man bowed and bobbed his head, “Your tent is prepared.”

“Who are you?” Dryden demanded.

“General Haddock has hired me as your manservant, sahib. I have prepared your tent. Would you like to eat, sahib?”

Dryden frowned, he had not had a manservant of his own since he was back home on his family’s Marrowick estate, “Your name?”

The man looked embarrassed at the question, “I am Adesha. Will you take a meal now or after you meet with General Haddock?”

“After,” Dryden said.

“Very good, sahib.”

Dryden looked around his tent, threw his saddlebags with his gear on the bed, and then left. The manservant was already scrambling to put away his things before he had gone. He frowned as he made his way through the camp, Chatham trailing along behind. He met Havelock at the entrance to the General’s command tent. Two grenadiers in bearskin hats stood at attention guarding the entrance. He had only been in the Kizil two weeks, yet the military discipline of the King’s army already felt foreign to him.

“Dryden, old boy, good to see you made it back in one piece. Did you get her?” Havelock asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Dryden replied grimly.

Havelock frowned, “Who is this?” He pointed at Chatham.

“Another problem, and Aisa’s bastard half-brother,” Dryden answered.

They went into the tent. It reminded him of the command tent that Blackwater had used. It was well appointed, though the desk and chairs were smaller and lighter and more suitable for campaigning and transportation during a march. Another difference between Haddock and Blackwater’s command tents was the number of people. Haddock had a much larger and more organized general’s staff. At least a dozen men sat around the room at desks, writing reports, talking in low tones, and going over maps of Vurun. Everyone stopped working and looked up when Dryden entered the room. Haddock stood behind his desk, smiling as he did, then looked quizzically at Chatham who followed the Major in. Dryden snapped to attention and saluted the General as he approached the desk, as did Havelock. Haddock saluted in return, and then they sat. A third chair was brought for Chatham.

“So, tell me of The Kizil. What of Aisa, and who is this? I sent my hounds to hunt a witch, and you have brought this man in her stead?”

“Aisa is no more,” Dryden replied, “This is her younger half-brother. Chatham An-Beya.”

Haddock’s eyes flashed, “I asked you to capture her. Why did this not happen?”

Dryden told the whole story. He left out only the parts where he thought it made him sound a hero. As he spoke the General’s face became more intent on listening to every detail. When he spoke of Dau, a dark came across Haddock’s face, his steepled hands covering his frown.

“What did you drop into the pit?” Haddock asked when he was done, it was not the question that Dryden had been expecting.

“What?” He asked in surprise.

“What memory did you give to the pit?”

“I had an old keepsake in my pocket, a small pressed flower that I had been given by a girl. I believe I named my horse for her. I know that I did that, yet I cannot remember her face, nor why she mattered so much to me. I confess I am surprised by your line of questioning, sir.” There had been so much to discuss in the report. The Fyrin army, Aisa’s death, the curse, Sala Shuja’s betrayal, Chatham, and the list seemed to go on forever. Yet he had asked about the memory he had given up. He did not understand.

“Curiosity. I do not blame you for Aisa if your story is true. I will have the story from Captain Khathan and from Mar as well, and your lieutenants too I suppose. What concerns me more is this Fyrin army from the north,” Then he turned to a soldier standing nearby, “Take this prisoner to the stockade, we will keep him there. If he is indeed the brother of Kurush, he could be useful. I will question him later.” The soldier took Chatham by the arm and led him from the tent. Then Haddock turned back to Dryden, “There is another matter to discuss, and I mislike it greatly,” The grizzled general pushed a letter across the desk to Dryden. He picked it up and read it.

General Haddock,

By order of Lord Robert Blakely, Governor of the Eastern Colonies, you are hereby ordered to withdraw from Vurun at the first expedient and safe opportunity available to your army.

Signed, Lord Blakely

The letter was short and to the point. They would be retreating. The letter gave no reason or explanation. Dryden frowned at it, “Why?”

“I have heard General Winslow is struggling to make headway past Golconda. Difficult country, as I understand it. If intelligence knows of the Fyrin army too, that could make them afraid to commit us to battle,” General Haddock let the information sit.

Dryden felt frustration rising. His oath of vengeance was unfulfilled. More than that, their people still languished in captivity. Julia, Helena, and many more of their women were facing a myriad of tribulations. This order was to abandon them.

“You have thoughts on it?” Haddock asked.

“You’re damned right I do,” Dryden replied.

“I thought you would,” Haddock said, “and I would hear them.”