Chapter Fifteen

It was still dark when the 13th prepared to ride out. A blessedly cool breeze blew out of the north, taking the edge off the summer heat that was felt even at night. There was little light from the camp, the moon was dark, and the sky was with glittering stars. Ugruz approached Dryden while he was standing with the quartermaster going over what supplies to take and how many carts to take, “Major, what are you doing?” He asked, perplexed.

“We know not how long we will be gone. I am ensuring we have food for the journey, both for men and horses.”

Ugruz laughed loudly, “The land east of the Shan is a great sea of grass.” The big man gestured to a water cart, “Rivers and streams are plentiful.”

“Food?”

“Hunt for it! The plains are thick with antelope! On the steppes you need nothing but your horse and your musket! Ammunition will be most useful. Take only what you can carry by horse. The land will provide the rest!” He sounded almost giddy about the land east of the Shan.

Dryden had to admit it sounded superior to the wastelands around Ghinai where there had been little to forage. Still, he was an officer in the Vastrum army. He knew as well as any that an army marched on its stomach and wars were won not only with brilliant tactics but with well-structured and secured lines of supply and communication. He thought for a moment before answering Ugruz, “I understand you know the land we seek to enter, but I know war. I must have supplies. We will take the carts.”

“You will never catch the witch pulling these carts with you. Not across the Kizil.” The Kizil were the steppe lands and plains east of the Shan, “You will learn soon enough.” The big man laughed and grinned at him, “Do you think she carries carts with her?”

“No. You must admit, though, that while they won a great victory in battle against General Blackwater, she is now losing her war. No, sir, I will take supplies with me.”

“You will see. The land to the east is like no land you have yet fought in. The Ans of the Kizil rule it. They move across the great plains with speed. You know the game chess?”

“I know chess,” Everyone knew the game, from east to west.

“They play by different rules in the Kizil, and upon a different board. You will learn quickly or you will die.” He laughed again like it was all a huge joke, “First we will go to Unkabi, yes?”

“That is on the way to Dau, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then that is where we must go. The general has told me of an agent I am to find there.”

“What is his name?”

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“Sala Shuja.”

Ugruz’s face darkened, “That is a bad name to know.”

“Bad? Why?” Dryden demanded.

“He is an enemy of Shah Kurush. A merchant, smuggler, and slaver. He was my master when I was a boy.”

“He is an agent of the V.A.C. as well. He will have resources for us,” Dryden countered.

“He is a dog. Sala Shuja acts only in the interest of Sala Shuja. Find him if you must, but beware this man,” Ugruz’s tone was deadly serious. The look on his face was not one that Dryden had seen before, a kind of darkness in his eyes that gave Dryden pause. There was no laughter there.

Dryden insisted on loading the carts and taking them with him despite Ugruz’s insistence that they would be unnecessary and a hindrance. They were well-loaded with ammunition and food. The next morning before dawn the third squadron of the 13th Dragoons rode past the old fort of Zundak and over the Shan mountains. They were climbing the pass over the Shan when the sun finally broke the tops of the mountains. Dryden took one more look back into Vurun as they went. The valley lay before them, terraced fields of vibrant indigo spread out before them, and sunlight shone off the river that snaked down the bottom of the valley. Somewhere in the haze of morning mist, the dream-like city of Vurun lay waiting to the south. The revenge that he had promised lay tantalizingly close, but before he could attend to his promises, there was a sorceress to hunt. He turned, Mar, Khathan, and Ugruz beside him, and they rode down into the east beyond the Shan.

There was no fanfare as they left. Only Havelock and a small guard of a dozen troopers rode with them up the pass to see them off. There were no teary-eyed farewells as they went, only grim faces. Then they went down and away into the great plains of the Kizil.

Dryden’s first glimpse of the east came as they rode down the long pass. There was no road here, only a small path wide enough for the squadron to ride single file. There was barely room for the line of carts that trailed the horsemen. The vast yellow-green plain spread out below as far as he could see. In the distance, he saw shallow valleys that cut through the land and rolling hills of grass. Looking upon it for himself, he had to admit, that the land would be excellent for grazing.

The carts had trouble immediately, just as Ugruz had predicted. One cart lost a wheel after ten minutes of rolling down the too-narrow path towards the plains. Another cart overturned on a steep switchback and lost half the hay down the mountain. It took them the whole day to arrive at the bottom where the flat plains met the mountains. By then, Dryden had given up on the carts. He ordered the hay abandoned, and for every man to carry as much ammunition as possible. They loaded up their spare horses with food and ammunition as well. Then they set off again much lighter.

The officers sat around the fire that evening, listening to the hum of insects and the crackling fire. Pickets had been set, the horses were grazing nearby, and all was quiet.

“It is good you have listened,” Ugruz told him when they set camp that night, “We will make good time like this.”

“Are you set for aethium, Mar?” Dryden asked the wizard.

“I am.” The wizard sat back against his saddle and smoked a cigarette, “I have none to share if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I am not. Ugruz, how far is it to Unkabi?”

“Three long days in the saddle.” The big easterner answered.

Captain Khathan looked up at the stars, an endless expanse of twinkling points of light in the night sky, “This place reminds me of Gulud.”

“It reminds me of home too,” Ugruz agreed.

“Where is it that you’re from?” Dryden asked.

“Go as far to the east into the Kizil as you can. Cross the mountains of Qil, there is no easy pass there. Skirt the desert of Zharim on the south. Go over the Obisan Pass. Ride northeast for a month across the plains there. Then you are in my homeland. It is called Baliku. There is a great open steppe such as this, with great lakes, forests to the north, and good hunting. It is where I was born and I hope it is where I will die. It is a hard place, it is not peaceful, but there are no empires and all men live freely, judged only by the gods.”