Dragon Lords, page 4
part #1 of Swords and Skulls Series
Vetra glanced sideways, as if the lizard at his horse’s hooves was of more interest than the man’s approach. Their eyes locked, but the attacker seemed fazed by the mercenary’s unflinching gaze. A sudden perturbation crept over his face, like a shadow fleeting by under a passing cloud.
Vetra had stared down men like this before, and he knew the man for the bully he was: a callous, condescending brute who had won perhaps too many well-picked fights and had a knack for preying on weaklings which by uncanny luck had boosted his confidence. He had judged his marks by the size of their ponies. But for all his cowardice, the man was not completely daft, for when a cloud of dust rose up the trail, he reined aside.
“You’ve just been saved, outlander, by luck.”
Vetra laughed. “Sure, keep on believing that.”
The leader snarled and the survivors rode off in a cloud of dust, mouths full of foul oaths.
“Cowards,” spat Vetra. “Is all this backhill country full of villains?”
Lehundr shrugged, dabbing at his brow. “No shortage of ruffians and bullies here, I’m afraid. It gets worse.”
Vetra shook his head. “Well, it’s good that I am a tolerant man, Lehundr. Have a care, Thrule, and don’t sweat so much.”
They slowed their own ponies, to let the oncoming riders and their guarded caravan pass. Even as he stopped to check the jewels were still there, Vetra frowned at Lehundr’s packbeast’s cargo bag which seemed heavily laden and bulkier than normal. Something didn’t seem quite right about it and Vetra stared at it for a long time, as if it had moved in the shimmering heat. Finally he shook his head and muttered some words about the desert heat getting to him.
The miles passed in a blur of dust and heat. The soil tended to a slightly reddish hue, and sometimes white sand would form dunes, caked with twitch-weeds and low shrubs like juniper. Always the tall, smooth-boled gumtrees dotted the landscape, arching their pale grey and green limbs skyward. Such giants offered welcome shade when they passed by. The only creature that dared the daytime sun were the tiny lizards that darted around the trees’ trunks.
Lehundr lifted a hand in warning before long. “The great oasis is fast approaching. See how the pipe runs up the hill alongside the road? We should be on guard for hostility.”
They moved with more caution now, well off the dusty track. But not as far as Vetra would have liked for he saw a ravine drop sharply to their left.
The sun pushed its somnolent face lower in the sky, turning a slightly more jaundiced hue. The wind had died, and Vetra brought his pony around to climb a low hill, north of the one where the pipe ran.
Commotion echoed from the valley below. Vetra pulled his mount out of sight, before crouching in the warm sand atop the high dune. He hissed at Lehundr to do the same.
Vultures circled above. He smelled the strong scent of carrion. A battle had raged here recently, for he could see the dark sand below was stained blood red and bodies lay strewn everywhere, both Thrule and Behundrian.
A cluster of Thrules in wine-coloured robes and loose hoods milled about a strange wheel, or some gigantic gumwood ring. The wheel lay flat on the sand, fifty feet in diameter and turned slowly under the desert heat. Its movement was aided by eight heaving bullocks with upturned horns, yoked to the ring’s perimeter. The mechanism powered a conveyor system up the slope, consisting of large buckets attached to chain and pulley. The conveyor drew water from the nearby oasis up the hill into the great pipe which ran from the summit down the hill’s opposite side and alongside the eastern road. Now the pipe lay broken at a lower point, pierced by pickaxe and hammer, and Thrules collected the spouting water into barrels and water bladders of their own, which they hauled with their packbeasts to a roped-off area.
The oasis was surrounded by giant gum trees and billowing palm with branches laden with ripe dates. A line of ruined stone columns reared up at its centre. The site was ancient, Vetra recognized. Flanking it were two stone, gaunt dragon-men, the lords of the time, holding wine cups up to the air as if to catch the rain.
At least a hundred Thrules swarmed the area. A central leader, waving falchion, gesticulated at the others. A red shawl flared around his shoulders. A score of hooded figures scouted the dead, scavenging the bodies for supplies and weapons. Vultures continued to wheel and to drop down with hungry cries to examine and plunder the corpses with parted beaks thick with flesh. Vetra saw some animals had been killed too. Bloated bellies of bullocks lay upturned, exposed to the sun, their hides teeming with flies, and an awful stench. Whether they had died from sickness, or purposeful violence was not evident. Around the wheel, some of the brute beasts’ places had been supplanted by Thrules who were chained at the leg to do the task normally done by bulls. They were being unshackled with growls of disgust and anger.
Vetra’s lip twisted in contempt. Likely the Thrules had taken revenge, had come to liberate their kin.
“The Ring of Pain,” muttered Lehundr. “The symbol of our brothers’ bondage. This time they have not been idle.”
“A pump?”
“That wheel down there is where our people have been enslaved ever since I can remember, to draw water for the precious Behundrians. Look at the chained oxen which drive the capstan. It pumps water to the Dragonskull traders’ post. Sometimes when the bulls die, ’tis only Thrules who drive it. Their oasis at Dragonskull dried up long ago, and some engineer had the clever idea to pump water from this oasis, which is as you see.”
Vetra rubbed his jaw, frowning in reflection. Like the spokes of a radiating wheel had the oxen been stationed. Where one of the yokes was empty, a great plank of wood had been strapped to outfit what looked ten Thrules to take the brute beast’s place. He saw the Thrules had taken axes to the chained shackles that held their remaining brothers.
He shook his head in marvel. His lip pressed in a grim line.
Some of the mystery of the water’s propulsion was dissipated in the course of his scrutiny. Gravity more or less pulled the water down the stone pipe toward Dragonskull. It was just a matter of getting the flow started, which the great pump with the wheel powered by the bullocks, provided.
Vetra caught the glint of vats and screens by the oasis shore. A thin tributary pipe drew water from the sparkling waters. The pump also served a parallel purpose: to draw out emerald-speckled water which when dried, left a precious Thorian residue. Slune the wizard-alchemist had long ago discovered such sediments could manufacture the hardest steel.
Vetra and Lehundr crouched, studying the proceedings below from the nearby hill, squinting against the glare of the sinking sun. “The way I see it, we have to get by this pump site to get to your tomb or dragon fort, but this ravine below us makes it treacherous. If we can skirt its edge maybe, slip by them without—”
A sudden sound of a rock tumbling down the hill had him whirling toward the bushes behind him. Five dark-robed Thrules scrambled out of the cacti grove, training crossbows at them.
“Down!” One motioned with his weapon to Vetra and Lehundr. “Now! Move—down the slope! No tricks!”
Vetra glared. The offender was a young bowman, of more than average height who he sized up in a glance. His swarthy features and thin hooked nose lay shadowed behind a hood. Fingers twitched on a mechanical trigger bar.
Vetra knew they would riddle him full of bolts before he could take two steps to cut them down. With a rumbling curse, he jerked about and made his way down the crumbling slope. White-knuckled, he gripped his sword. That they had let him keep it was a sign of inexperience. Lehundr scrambled behind. The other Thrules snatched up the reins of their ponies and led them down toward the encampment, prodding them with the ends of their bows. One nudged Vetra a little too forcefully and Vetra turned about snarling, swatting the crossbow aside with a sputter of rage. The bolt flew wide. The other Thrules came running, sending Lehundr sprawling forward.
“Down!” they cried. The lead Thrule, sweating and quivering in rancour at Vetra’s truculent manner, pushed and prodded him on, while two others stepped in beside him, bows trained at his midsection. One Thrule tried to tear the sword from Vetra’s iron grip, but the mercenary laughed at his pathetic attempt. That they hadn’t riddled him full of bolts meant they wanted to keep the prisoners alive, probably because Lehundr himself was half Thrule. He pegged his young captor as an unschooled and unseasoned pup, a new recruit whose heart was probably hammering in his chest.
Vetra let itchy fingers play on the hilt of his sword. The chance that he could gain advantage in this situation was slim; with reluctance he forewent a quick skirmish. Not the right moment...
Surprised shouts came drifting from below. The captain of the troop came marching up, curses thick on his lips at the intruders who dared approach the wheel. The lead bowman ordered the five who held Vetra captive to a halt.
Vetra saw some gripped falchions in their hands, others short curved blades with ends wider than their middles. No taller than chest-height, these Thrules had polished gumwood boomerangs strapped in small packs on their backs. Their loose hoods showed only their eyes and mouths; their bare hands, browned by desert sun. Plump ponies laden with supplies stood a pebble’s toss away near the bullock ring, swishing tails to keep away the flies.
Vetra thought hard how he was going to outwit these offenders. Lehundr, rigid as a board, uttered no word, but his black eyes darted wildly about and passed over Vetra with meaningful fervour. He and Lehundr exchanged glances.
As the leader approached, a great cry went up amongst the Thrules. Vetra could only assume they thought that more of the enemy Behundrians had been caught spying.
He noticed the relaxed stance of the bowmen, and the weapons slackened in their hands. At the moment of the first cry, he struck with instinctive ferocity. Fists and hilt flew out, then he ducked in a protective crouch. The Thrule next to him dropped like a stone.
Bows came up. His Thrule captor gave a choked cry.
Vetra pulled the body of the nearest bowman toward his own. The struggling Thrule took the other’s bolt square in the chest.
Vetra threw the body aside while Lehundr stumbled in a limping dash toward his pony. He seized the animal’s reins as the bolt of a Thrule whizzed mere inches from his ear.
Vetra grunted. He sprinted to take out the next man between him and his horse. Blades came up to lock in feverish clangour with a competent Thrule, dancing on his sandaled feet. The robed man swirled close to his back, ready to arc a murderous backhand sweep across Vetra’s throat. Vetra twisted around him and lifted a knee to plunge his boot in the small of his back. He pushed him savagely to send him rolling down the slope. Vetra threw himself to the ground, while bolts sped overhead to smash into the foliage.
“Stop this madness!” a booming voice rang over the clangour and thunk of bolts. The commanding figure pushed aside one of the aggressors while wrenching the weapon out of the young Thrule’s hand pointed at Vetra. He rounded fiercely upon the mercenary. “You look like no friends of Behundrians.”
Vetra grunted. “You think? Maybe we’re dragons? Out to spit fire at you and burn up your water—an ugly sod of an outlander and a half Thrule? Dergath weeps. Muzzle your dogs!”
Something in Vetra’s sarcasm caused the other to pause and break out in a scowl. “Who are you then?”
“I’m Vetravincus. This is Lehundr. I’m a trader and a sometimes mercenary.”
“Well, what do you do here? This is sacred land. Don’t you know it is a time of war?” He gazed with rising anger at his dead kinsman.
“That we know. We heard it all the way back in Dragonskull.” He spat out a gob of phlegm. “We came in search of—”
“What he means to say,” interrupted Lehundr quickly, “is that we’re prospectors—in search of new lodes of silver and iron. You’ll see our tools on my pony, picks and screens, and more strapped to our packbeast.”
“Is that so? Then I expect if I search your belongings, I’ll find more of these gold-hunters’s wares?” The man strode over toward the mounts. “Zren, Yuel, Munan, go search—” he jerked his head.
The surly youth who had escorted Vetra down the hill pushed past the two other Thrules, thumbing his thin, hooked nose to rifle through the packs strapped on the packbeast. One quivered under his touch and he cursed it, but he jerked back with a sharp cry as a lithe form came springing out of the large bag, bowling him over. The figure sprang back, her hair matted with sweat, wielding a crude knife and a strange knout, with wicked metal barbs.
The Thrule’s cry rang with choked surprise as steel gleamed in her hands.
Others poised ready to attack. Jhara stood with her legs braced, blinking in the sun, eyeing the three hooded foes who circled her with curled lips. Her face creased in wary appraisal, then amusement, crouching on the balls of her feet like a she-cat.
The younger Thrule came at her, underestimating her puny weaponry. “Come to me, birdie!” She round-house kicked him in the head. He fell with a crunch, clutching at his head, moaning.
The other came in, swinging a curved blade high.
She grunted and ducked, elbows out, fists clenched and landed a fierce punch. Springing up from her crouch, she was ready to lash into flesh. The young Thrule was rising to his feet, shaking his head and groaning.
“Is that all you got?” she taunted. One hand clutched tightly on her curled dagger that gleamed in the noonday sun. The dangling whip in the other traced shimmering circles and drew blood and bits of skin. Already it had snagged black cloth and blood was flowing from it.
Vetra could not hold back a strange surge of admiration for this spunky girl, in spite of his surprise.
“Stealing young girls now, are you?” grunted the Thrule leader, disgust clear on his face.
“I had no knowledge of her,” Vetra growled, miffed at the chief’s quizzical, cold stare.
Creeping like cats, many Thrules moved to surround Vetra. Others blocked the girl’s path and Lehundr’s prancing feet found no avenue of escape. Vetra drew his blade. Snarling through his teeth, he stood bent-kneed and dared any to take him.
Lehundr gibbered attestations in Vetra’s defence, but to no avail. “He speaks truth. I came with him from Dragonskull, escaping the persecutions of Behundrian thugs.”
“Do not listen to them, Zaln,” hissed the young Thrule guard who had prodded Vetra down the hill. “Ulra lies dead with a bolt through his chest because of these pigs’ aggression.”
“No thanks to your stupidity in holding us under crossbow threat,” growled Vetra.
Zaln, the leader, paused, nodding silently to his scout. He turned to Lehundr. “And we should listen to you, why? Because you lied to us earlier? Coming from a half Thrule, this means nothing. Take them!”
“Peace!” uttered the girl. “They speak the truth. I emptied out their cargo bag and stowed away when they were swilling ale at the stables. They had nothing to do with me and are not ‘women stealers’. I merely wanted to follow them—this rogue in particular.” She waved her bloody whip at Vetra.
The leader frowned with wonder. “And why should you do that?”
“Because this big ox helped save my brother—and because of the map.”
“Map? What map?” Zaln growled.
“Stupid girl!” shouted Lehundr. “Shut your mouth or I’ll—”
“No, you’ll do nothing—so hold your tongue, half Thrule!” Zaln ordered his men to keep the half Thrule constrained, who had rushed over to the girl’s mount.
“I ask you again, what do you do here at the Ring of Pain?”
“It is as we have said,” muttered Lehundr stubbornly. “Prospectors.”
The leader sneered an explosive sound. “A girl who fights with knives and scourge, and a limping, lying half Thrule and a sullen mercenary? I doubt it. I hardly think the word ‘prospectors’ applies to you. What’s your game?”
“Let it go, Lehundr,” sighed Vetra. “Sometimes it’s better to tell the truth.”
“But—”
Vetra waved him off. He pushed past the scowling Thrules, and ignored the wicked crossbows trained at him. He pulled up Lehundr’s caftan and exposed the vest beneath. “Because of this, we are here: an ancient roadmap. It shows where the secret hoard of the Dragon-lords is.” There was a leaden pause as dull murmurs passed through the awed group. “It could mean immense riches. Not that we’re expecting anything,” Vetra added with a cryptic grin. “The reality is there’s no way we’re getting past armed men, or your own patrols and camps. That’s why we were skulking so close, and that ravine is not helping. It’ll be seething here by sundown with avengers from Dragonskull. Either you help us, or let us go.”
“How be we just kill you?” piped up Zren like a surly badger. “Like we did these Behundrians, and take the map for our own?”
“What? And be just as treacherous and base as your enemies?” said Vetra with comic irony. “That’s exactly what the Behundrians tried to do.”
“Cool your head, Zren. You’re much too hot under the hood. I’m in charge here,” murmured Zaln. “Nothing is decided yet.”
“Perhaps you could help us?” suggested Vetra, half sarcastically to the young Thrule. “Unless you’re all just as shifty and treacherous as that blackguard Cthan and his Behundrian scum at the outpost? I don’t think you’re as cold-blooded as that lizard and his cronies like Rafa, otherwise your whole rebellion is just a sham, a web of hypocrisy.”
“You do not know all,” said Zaln through clenched teeth. “We defend what is ours.”
“You broke the pipe they made,” argued Vetra. “You incited their wrath. How can you not expect retaliation?” he growled.
The leader turned on him, his brows bristling. “They kidnap our women. They sell us and use us as slaves. They breed us for more slaves to work for the cruel lords of the east—Eustan, Daranthia, Gattrland and other parts. You do not know all, outlander. So, do not judge us through the eyes of your own biases.”
Vetra frowned, licking his lips. “It seems Cthan has severely misrepresented your cause.”
